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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dae8c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65148 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65148) diff --git a/old/65148-0.txt b/old/65148-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7d41ddc..0000000 --- a/old/65148-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5650 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October -1841, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: April 29, 2021 [eBook #65148] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada - team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images generously - made available by the Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XIX, NO. -4, OCTOBER 1841 *** - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XIX. October, 1841. No. 4. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - Brother and Sister - Kate Beverly - Lame for Life, Or Leslie Pierpoint - The Rowsevillers.—No. I. - Wawhillowa - Shakspeare.—No. II. - The Roman Bride - The Vagrant - The Reefer of ’76 - Sports and Pastimes.—The Fowling-Piece - Review of New Books - Secret Writing - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - We Were Boys Together - The Christian’s Dream of the Future - A Forest Scene - Ballad - Niagara - The Baptism of Pocahontas - Israfel - Bye-Gone Hours - Latest Fashions, October, 1841 - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Painted by Vinterhalter._, _Engraved by J. Sartain._ - -_Brother & Sister_ -] - - - - -[Illustration: W. H. Bartlett. A. L. Dick. - -THE DESCENT INTO THE VALLEY OF WYOMING - (Pennsylvania) - -_Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XIX. PHILADELPHIA: OCTOBER, 1841. No. 4. - - * * * * * - - - - - BROTHER AND SISTER. - - -What is so beautiful as childhood? Where can we find such purity and -frankness, such an absence of all selfishness, as in the love of -children? And where does that love exist, deeper or sweeter or more like -that of heaven than when between a brother and a sister? - -Brother and sister! what a spell in the very words! How they bring up to -our mind visions of days long past, and such, alas! as we shall never -see again; when, with that dear one who is now in heaven, singing among -the white-robed choir around the throne of God, we wandered over hill -and dale, through fields of waving corn and meadows of the freshest -grass—and all the while drinking into our souls sensations we could not -then understand, but which we now know sprung from that sympathy which -exists between us and every beautiful thing in nature, and which, -beginning at the humblest flower, links together all inanimate and -animate creation, ascending step by step from tree to breathing thing, -from breathing thing to man, from man to the angels, and so through -cherubim and seraphim and archangel, up to the highest intelligence who -veils his face before the effulgence of the great I am. We little knew -the reason then, but we felt how sweet it was to wander thus—often from -morning until night—threading the old wood, or gathering flowers on the -lea, or playing merrily beneath some shady grove, or loitering perchance -at noon-day beside the stream, to gaze at the silvery trout glancing far -down in the cool depths, or hanging like a motionless statue close under -the mossy rocky caves that skirted the banks. Oh! those were delicious -hours. Arm in arm would we sit, scarce speaking a word for hours, but -with a thousand sweet though indescribable emotions at our hearts, until -a dreamy quiet would creep over our souls like that which lapped the -poet into Elysium. The very soughing of the wind among the trees would -become lower and softer, until it died away with a tone as mellow as -that of a flute at midnight. The current would sweep noiselessly at our -feet, save when it whirled by some projecting rock, or babbled over a -pebbly bar on the bosom of the stream. Now the whirr of a woodcock might -be heard, and now the whistle of a wild pigeon broke clear and silvery -on the silence. Often the long tresses of the overhanging willows -drooped down around us until they slept upon the waters, while ever and -anon the noon-tide breeze would rustle the neighboring trees, and a -sound would go up like the whispers of a company of angels. How often -have we thought that in these low mysterious tones might exist a meaning -of which we little dream, a language as full of adoration as it is of -harmony. But be that as it may, is not all nature an instrument from -which the fingers of God are drawing perpetual music? The roar of the -surf, the whisper of the zephyr, the rustling of the forest, the -gurgling of the stream, the song of the bird, the low of the kine, the -rain gently pattering among the forest leaves, and the thunder wheeling -and rattling among the hills, are all notes in that great anthem of -praise which continually goes up from earth—an anthem which is swelled -by the music of satellites and worlds, aye! of a revolving universe, -sweeping sphere on sphere beyond the ken of man. All creation is but one -vast whole, engaged day and night in hymning Jehovah’s praise. - -Brother and sister! Alas! we are alone. Manhood has left us of that -happy time only these emotions—first felt in the companionship of that -now sainted being. But never shall we forget those days. They are linked -in with our very being. How many sweet emotions, how many lasting -impressions, how many glimpses of the beautiful and true were drawn into -our souls in that joyous time of innocence and youth. And how all seem -the sweeter, and holier, and more enduring from the associations -connected with them. Oh! tell us not of other’s love, it cannot surpass -that of a sister. What can be purer than her little caresses, what can -be more heavenly than her smile? Years have passed since the days when -we thus wandered together, and the cares of the world have eaten like a -canker into our heart, but the memory of that sister’s kindness and the -consciousness of her affection, have been a balm to our hearts in every -ill. They have cheered us in sickness, and sorrow, and absence; they -have been to us beacons of hope and happiness. And they will continue -with us, thank God! until we too shall have done with the toils of life. - - J. S. - - * * * * * - - - - - KATE BEVERLY. - - - A STORY OF THE VALLEY OF WYOMING. - - - BY PERCIE H. SELTON. - - -“Do you see that landscape?” said the old man to me, as we paused on the -edge of the mountain road, and looked down into the valley of Wyoming -beneath us. “Well, that spot, calm and beautiful as it now is, was once -the scene of massacre. God help me! the agonies of that day almost wring -my heart to think of them, even after the lapse of fifty years.” - -“I have heard it was a fearful time, and you have often promised to tell -me the tale of your own connection with it. Yet, if the subject be so -painful to you, I dare scarcely make the request.” - -“No, boy, no,” said the old man, sadly, “I will tell it, for the promise -is of long standing, and I feel to-day as if I could narrate that -tragedy with less emotion than usual. Sit down on this rock, and give me -a moment to rest; I will then commence my story.” - -While the old man wiped the perspiration from his brow, and sat fanning -himself with his broad-rimmed summer hat, I took the place pointed out -by him near his side, and spent the moments that elapsed before he began -his narration in gazing at the landscape before me. - -Sitting on a huge boulder, at the edge of the mountain, just where the -hill began to slope down into the valley, we commanded a view of one of -the most unrivalled landscapes in the world. To our left rose up the -mountain, bold, rugged and barren, like the back of some vast monster -reared against the sky—but on the right nothing interposed to destroy -the view: whose loveliness so far exceeded even my expectations, that -for some minutes I gazed on the scene in mute admiration. Beneath me -stretched the valley, diversified with gently sloping elevations, and -sprinkled with fields of waving golden grain; while here and there a -patch of woodland, with its dark green hue, lay slumbering on the -landscape—the surface of the forest ever and anon varying to a lighter -tint as the wind swept over the tree-tops. Right through the centre of -the valley meandered the river, now rolling betwixt bluff banks, and now -stealing gently among the rich meadow lands in the distance, until at -length it turned to the left, and, skirting the foot of the far off -hills, was lost behind the profile of the mountain before us. In the -centre of the vale was the village, with its white houses and airy -church steeple, smiling over the scene. Far away on the horizon -stretched a line of hills, their dark blue summits, half hid by the -clouds, which wrapped them as in a veil of gauze. No sound came up from -the valley. Occasionally the twitter of a bird would be heard from the -surrounding trees—while the low tinkle of a tiny waterfall on our left -kept monotonously sounding in our ears. The morning rays of a summer’s -sun poured down upon the landscape, and every thing around was bright, -and gay, and beautiful. I was still lost in admiration at the loveliness -of the scene, when the old man signified his readiness to commence his -tale. - -“It is now fifty years ago,” he began, “since I came to this valley a -young frontier-man, with a hardy constitution, a love of adventure, and -the reputation of being the best shot on the border: the place was, at -that time, settled principally by families from Connecticut, and even -then bore traces of its present luxuriant cultivation. Many of the -families were in good circumstances, others had seen better days—and -altogether the society was more refined than was usual on the frontier. -Among all the families, however, in the valley, none pleased me so much -as that of Mr. Beverly—and, of his fireside circle his second daughter, -Kate, was, in my eyes, the gem. How shall I describe her beauty? Lovely, -without being beautiful, with a sylph-like form, a laugh as joyous as -the carol of a bird, a step lighter than that of a young fawn in -sportive play, and a disposition so amiable as to win, irresistibly, the -love of all who met her. Kate Beverly was scarcely seventeen before she -had a host of admirers, and might have won any youth in the valley. Why -it was that she preferred me over all the rest, I cannot say: perhaps it -was the consciousness of some mysterious sympathy linking us together, -or perhaps it was that we both came from the same town in Connecticut, -and had been school-mates in childhood—so it was, however. It soon -began to be known throughout the valley that before another season -should elapse, Kate Beverly would become my wife. - -“Oh! how happy were those days—too happy, indeed, to last. I will not -dwell upon them, for they fill my soul with agony. Suffice it to say, -that while dreaming of bliss such as mortal never before experienced, -the war of the revolution broke out—and, after a hard struggle between -my passion and my duty, the latter conquered, and I joined the army. -Kate did not attempt to dissuade me from the act—she rather loved me -the more for it. Though her woman nature caused her to shed tears at my -departure, her reason told her I was right, and she bid me God speed. - -“‘Heaven bless you, Harry,’ she said, ‘and bring this unnatural war to a -conclusion. I cannot bid you stay, but I pray that the necessity for -your absence may soon cease.’ - -“Time rolled by—the American cause was still doubtful, and the war bid -fair to be protracted into years. I had risen to be a captain in the -—— regiment, when I received information that the tories and Indians -intended making a descent on the valley of the Wyoming. I knew the -unprotected situation of my adopted district, and I trembled for the -lives of those I held most dear. At first I discredited the -rumor—chance, however, threw in my way an opportunity of ascertaining -the reality of the reported descent, and I became convinced that not a -moment was to be lost if I would save the lives of those I loved at -home. My determination was at once taken—I solicited for leave of -absence—it was refused: I then resigned my commission, and set forth to -Wyoming. - -“I never shall forget my emotions when I drew near that ill-fated place; -it was on the very day of the massacre—and the first intimation I had -of the calamity was the mangled body of one of the inhabitants, whom I -had known, floating down the stream. A cold shiver ran through every -vein as I gazed on the terrible sight, and a thousand fears agitated my -bosom; but my worst surmises fell far short of the truth. When, hours -after, I met some of the fugitives, and they rehearsed to me that tale -of horror, I stood for a moment thunderstruck, refusing to believe that -beings in human form could perpetrate such deeds—but it was all too -true. - -“Almost my first inquiry was for Kate. No one knew, alas! what had -become of her. One of those who had escaped the fight, told me that her -father had been killed at the beginning of the conflict—and that, -deprived of a protector, she had probably fallen a victim to the -infuriate savages, while the other inhabitants were severally engaged in -protecting themselves. How I cursed them for this selfishness! And yet -could I expect aught else of human nature, than that each one should -protect those dearest to them, even to the desertion of others? - -“But my mind was soon made up. I resolved, come what might, to ascertain -clearly the fate of Kate—so that if dead I might revenge her, and if, -living, I might rescue her. Bidding farewell to the flying group, I -shouldered my rifle and struck boldly into the forest, trusting in the -guidance of that God who never deserts us in our extremities. - -“I will not tire you with a protracted narrative; I will only say that, -after numerous inquiries from the fugitives I met, I learned that Kate -had been last seen in the hands of a party of savages,—this was -sufficient for a clue,—I once more began to hope. I waited until -night-fall, when I sought the spot which had been described to me as the -one where Kate had been last seen—and, never shall I forget my feelings -of almost rapturous pleasure, when I found in the neighboring forest a -fragment of her dress sticking on a bush, by which it had, doubtless, -been torn from her in passing. I was now satisfied that Kate had been -carried off captive. Fortunately I had met, in the group of fugitives, a -hunter who had been under some obligations to her family, and he was -easily persuaded to join me in my search. Together we now began a -pursuit of the savages. He was an adept in forest warfare—could follow -a trail as a hound the chase—knew the course which would be most likely -to be chosen by a flying party of Indians, and withal, was one of the -keenest shots who had carried a rifle on the border. - -“‘It’s my opinion,’ said he, ‘that these varmint did not belong to the -regular body of Indians who followed Butler, though even they were bad -enough. I think, however, he wouldn’t suffer a deed like this. These -villains seem to have acted on their own behalf—and, if so, they would -fly to the back country as soon as possible. You may depend upon it we -shall overtake them if we pursue that way.’ - -“I felt the truth of these remarks, and assented to them at once. In -less than a quarter of an hour after first discovering the trail, we -were threading the forest in pursuit of the savages. - -“Let me hasten to the close. Hour after hour, all through the livelong -day, we pursued the flying Indians—crossing swamps, clambering over -rocks, fording streams, and picking our way through the labyrinthine -woods, until, towards night-fall, we reached the edge of an open -space—or, as it were, a meadow, shut in by gently sloping hills. - -“‘Hist,’ said my companion, ‘we are upon them. Do you not see that thin -thread of smoke curling upward over the top of yonder aged hemlock?’ - -“‘Ay—it must be them—let us on.’ - -“‘Softly, or we lose all. We know not, certainly, that this is the party -we seek; let us reconnoitre.’ - -“Slowly and stealthily, trembling lest even a twig should crackle under -our feet, we crept up towards the edge of the meadow—and peeping -cautiously through the underwood, beheld the objects of our search in -six tall swarthy savages, sitting smoking around the remains of a fire. -At a little distance knelt, with her hands bound, but her eyes upraised -to heaven, my own Kate. Oh! how my heart leaped at the sight. I raised -my rifle convulsively, and was about to fire, when my companion caught -my hand, and said: - -“‘Softly, or you spoil all. Let us get the varmint in range, and then we -shall fire with some effect. Hist!’ - -“This last exclamation was occasioned by the sudden rising of one of the -savages. He gazed a moment cautiously around, and then advanced towards -the thicket where we lay concealed. I drew my breath in, and trembled at -the beating of my own heart. The savage still approached. My companion -laid his hand on my arm, and pointed from my rifle to one of the -Indians. I understood him. At this juncture the advancing savage, warned -of our presence by the crackling of an unlucky twig beneath my -companion’s foot, sprang back, with a loud yell, towards the fire. - -“‘Now,’ said my companion, sternly. - -“Quick as lightning I raised my piece and fired. My companion did the -same. The retreating savage and one of his companions fell dead on the -ground: each of us then sprang to a tree, loading as we ran. It was well -we did it, for in an instant the enemy was on us. Shall I describe that -dreadful fight? My emotion forbids it. A few minutes decided it. -Fighting from tree to tree—dodging, loading, and endeavoring to get -sight on a foe, we kept up the conflict for nearly five minutes—at the -end of which time I found myself wounded, while four out of the six -savages lay prostrate on the ground. The other two, finding their -companions dead, and despairing of being able to carry off their -prisoner, suddenly rushed on her, and before we could interpose, had -seized their hapless victim. I had only been prevented, hitherto, from -rescuing Kate by the knowledge that an attempt of the kind, while the -savages were still numerically superior to us, would end in the certain -ruin of us both,—but now, worlds could not have restrained me, and, -clubbing my rifle, for the piece was unloaded, I dashed out from my -covert, shouting to my companion— - -“‘On—on, in God’s name, on.’ - -“‘Take care of the taller varmint,’ thundered my companion. - -“The warning was too late. In the tumult of my feelings I had not -observed that the savage furthest from me had his piece loaded, and -before I could avail myself of my companion’s cooler observation, I -received the ball in my right arm, and my rifle dropped powerless by my -side; had I not sprung involuntarily aside at my companion’s cry, I -should have been shot through the heart. - -“‘On—on,’ I groaned in agony, as I seized my tomahawk in my almost -useless left hand. - -“‘Stoop,’ said my companion, ‘stoop lower;’ and as I did so, his rifle -cracked on the still air, and the Indian fell dead. - -“All this had not occupied an instant. I was now within a few feet of -her I loved, who was struggling in the grasp of the other Indian. He had -already entwined his hands in her long hair—his tomahawk was already -gleaming in the setting sun. Never shall I forget the look of demoniac -fury with which the wretch glared on his victim. A second only was left -for hope. My companion was far behind, with his rifle unloaded. I made a -desperate spring forward, and hurled my tomahawk at the savage’s head. -God of my fathers! the weapon whizzed harmlessly by the wretch, and -buried itself, quivering, in the trunk of a neighboring tree. I groaned -aloud in agony,—there was a yell of triumph on the air—a sudden -flashing in the sun, like a glancing knife, and—but I cannot go on. She -I loved as my own life; she who was the purest and loveliest of her sex; -she with whom I had promised myself a long life of happiness—oh! must I -say it—_she_ lay a mangled corpse at my feet! But her murderer, -aye!—_he_ was cloven to the breast by a blow from his own tomahawk, -which I had wrenched from him with the strength of a dozen men.” - -The old man ceased,—big tears rolled down his furrowed face, and his -frame shook with emotion. I saw the remembrance of the past was too much -for him, and I sat by his side in silence. - -I subsequently heard his sad tale from others, and then learned the -manner in which Kate had been carried off. The old man’s companion was -right—she had been made a prisoner by a predatory band of Indians, who -had followed Butler, and deserted him directly after the massacre. - -Beautiful as the Valley of the Wyoming is, I never have seen it, from -that day to this, without thinking of the sad fate of Kate Beverly. - - * * * * * - - - - - WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - We were boys together, - And never can forget, - The school-house on the heather, - In childhood where we met: - Nor the green home to memory dear, - Its sorrows or its joys, - Which called the transient smile or tear, - When you and I were boys. - - We were youths together, - And castles built in air! - Your heart was like a feather, - While mine was dash’d with care! - To you came wealth with manhood’s prime, - To me it brought alloys - Ne’er dreamed of in the primrose time - When you and I were boys. - - We’re old men together— - The friends we loved of yore, - Like leaves of autumn weather, - Are gone for evermore!— - How blest to age the impulse given, - The hope time ne’er destroys, - Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven, - When you and I were boys. - - * * * * * - - - - - LAME FOR LIFE, OR LESLIE PIERPOINT. - - - A TALE, IN TWO PARTS. - - -BY PROFESSOR J. H. INGRAHAM, AUTHOR OF “LAFITTE,” “KYD,” “THE QUADROONE,” - ETC. - - - PART II. - - “Love knows no rank—beauty - Is aristocracy—birth, lineage and blood.” - - - “Love ne’er broke a heart, love ne’er could mend.” - - -It was on a cold, bleak evening in autumn, that Leslie Pierpoint, as -described in Part First of our tale, sat in his arm-chair in his -comfortable library, with his feet buried in a thick rug of Angola -fleece; a cheerful fire glowing in the grate; a round stand with the -tea-tray at his left elbow; and a large table covered with magazines, -papers, books, &c. &c., on his right hand. He was alone. The rich, -crimson curtains drawn closely across the deep windows with the -comfortable air of the whole room, gave indication that the occupant -loved his ease, and was that evening disposed to enjoy it. - -Twenty years had passed since Leslie’s _affaire du cœur_ with Clara -Clayton. With her treachery expired his confidence in the sex. In vain -had the lovely, gay and fashionable women thrown their gilded nets. In -every one of the fair fishers he but saw a cousin german to Clara, and -warily shunned the danger. Thus had he reached forty-one years of age -with the full consent of all his friends, male and female, that he -should remain a bachelor for life. And to all appearances such seemed to -be the settled destiny of Leslie Pierpoint. He himself had no more -thoughts of committing matrimony than suicide. He never spake to any -woman save his washerwoman and linen sempstress. His mother had been -several years dead, and he lived alone—a bachelor! the victim of a -heartless woman’s treachery. - -He now sat gazing into the fire with a cup of tea in his hand, and which -he seemed to have forgotten that he held. The state house clock tolled -seven and he started, laid down his cup and saucer, and rang the bell. -It was immediately answered by a very gentlemanly African servant in -grey clothes with bright steel buttons, red cravat, and shoes with old -fashioned paste buckles in them. - -“Cato.” - -“Sar, massa?” - -“Have my new linens come home yet?” - -“No, massa, not yit.” - -“They were to be here at six. Go and see that they are sent in time to -pack into my trunks to-night, for we must start for New York early.” - -“Yes, massa,” said Cato, with a graceful bow, and was in the act of -leaving the room to obey his master’s orders, when a ringing at the -street door bell arrested him. - -“I guess dem is de sharts now, massa.” - -“Go and see, and show the woman up.” - -Cato left the room, while Leslie took up the evening paper. Directly the -servant reappeared, ushering in a very modest young girl, coarse in her -dress, but of extraordinary beauty. She was scarcely seventeen, yet the -womanly outline and youthful roundness of her sylph-like figure were -perfect. Her complexion was very brilliant; her cheeks blushed with -diffidence and beauty; her eyes were large, blue, and melting in their -own cerulean heaven; her lips ripe and full, and her chin voluptuously -rounded, yet most exquisitely turned. Native grace was in every movement -she made. Her dress was of very plain calico, and she wore a common -straw hat with a long green veil. In her hands she carried two bundles, -very neatly done up in white paper. - -“De sharts come,” said Cato, making a low bow to Leslie’s back. “Here de -young woman wid ’em.” - -“Very well, Cato; remove the tea-tray. I will ring for you to show the -woman out soon as I have settled with her.” - -“Yes, massa;” and the black, taking the tray in his hands, cast a -glance, first at the beautiful face of the young girl, then over his -shoulder at his master, and, gravely shaking his grey pate, left the -library. Leslie completed the paragraph he was reading, and then, -lifting his face and looking into the fire, but without turning round, -said in the low, pleasant tone natural to him: - -“So, my good woman, you have brought the shirts. They have come an hour -later than you promised them, but I suppose you are very much hurried -with work. They are in plenty time, however. Be so kind as to undo the -package and let me see one of them.” - -For a few moments there was no sound in the room but the snapping of -strings, as they were untied by the busy fingers of the linen-draper’s -maid, and the rattling of the strong paper covering the linens. At -length a shirt, white as the drifted snow and beautifully done up, was -hesitatingly advanced over his shoulder, so as to intercept his vision. - -He took it, and after carefully examining it (old bachelors are very -particular in this matter) with an appearance of satisfaction, admiring -the stitching of the wristbands, the French style of the sleeves, and -the neatness of the bosom folds, he laid it down beside him where the -tea tray had stood. - -“Well, my good woman, I am very much pleased with them. They are very -neatly made. Please let me see your bill.” And he turned his head -slightly back to receive it. - -The young girl, embarrassed by his mode of addressing her, and abashed -at his presence, timidly stretched forth her hand containing the bill. - -“Nearer, woman, nearer. I cannot reach it.” - -Agitated by his voice, she thrust her arm forward so quickly that he -received in his grasp her hand as well as her bill. The sight and touch -of the soft, white member, thrilled through him. He started, blushed, -rose from his chair, and to his surprise discovered that he had been all -the while talking to one of the loveliest girls of seventeen he had ever -seen, instead of an old woman, whom he supposed was the bearer of his -linens. - -“Pardon me, miss—I beg pardon,” said the Major embarrassed, “I thought -you were your mother.” - -“I have no mother, sir,” answered the pretty maiden, with a drooping -eyelid. - -“I beg pardon! Sit down! No, you may stand! Upon my word you are very -beautiful.” The Major hardly knew what he said. - -“Sir, the bill if you please,” said the maiden confused, her bright -intelligent face suffused with crimson. - -“Oh, ah! sit down if you please! no—stand up; no, no, no! _sit down!_” -Poor Major Pierpoint! - -“No, I thank you, sir.” - -“What a sweet voice,” soliloquized the Major to himself. “No mother?” - -“No, sir,” with a musical sadness in her voice, touching as it was -natural. - -“No father?” asked the Major with as much delicacy as he could put the -question. - -“No, sir.” - -“No brothers, neither, I dare say.” - -“No, sir.” - -“Nor sisters, either?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Ho! hah, hem!” - -And the Major, having finished catechising her, put his hands behind his -back and looked steadily in the grate for full a minute, his lips -compressed, his brow set and thoughtful. - -“If you please, sir, the bill is waiting.” - -The Major started at the sound of the sweet voice as if he had been -clapped on the shoulder. - -“Oh, ah! I beg your pardon. Let me see—six linen shirts—five dollars -each—thirty dollars—all right.” And the Major looked up from the bill -into her face. He felt a delight he could not account for in gazing upon -its sweet beauty. She was confused by his ardent look, and became still -more beautiful from her sweet confusion. With instinctive delicacy he -withdrew his gaze, and a sigh, the first he had felt for twenty years, -escaped him. A gentle sadness at the same time overspread his fine -features. Again he looked into her face, but with an expression that she -did not shrink from, and said kindly, touchingly, - -“So then, sweet child, you are an orphan.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Your name?” - -“Mary Lee.” - -“A pretty name.” - -“Sir, I have another errand to go—if you will please pay the bill for -my mistress.” - -“Oh, ah! yes, the bill. Thirty dollars. Here is a check for the amount.” - -“I thank you, sir,” said Mary, curtseying with a grace that charmed him, -and turning to leave. - -“Stay, Mary—that is, Miss Lee,” said Leslie, following her a step and -speaking with amusing hesitation. The linen-draper maiden had, however, -reached the door and placed her hand upon the lock. She was evidently -alarmed and surprised, and seemed uncertain whether to take the -gentleman’s manner as rudeness or as an uncommon degree of civility. She -appeared to be a sensible, good natured girl, however, with all her -charms, and probably with woman’s ready tact divined the true cause of -his singular conduct. Yet with all a woman’s tact she pretended to be -blind to the impression her beauty had made upon him. She could not help -thinking that he was a very handsome man, if he was an old bachelor, and -she felt pleased rather than offended at this evidence of the triumph of -beauty. For Mary Lee well knew she had beauty, and what pretty miss of -seventeen is ignorant of this possession? - -“Stay, if you please, one moment, Miss Lee,” said Leslie. - -“Indeed, sir, it is late.” - -“But one moment. Are you an apprentice with Miss Phelps, the -linen-draper?” - -“Yes, sir;” and Mary turned the lock of the door. - -The Major laid his hand lightly upon her wrist. - -“Excuse me, Miss Lee! One more question!” But the maiden, with a -pleasant laugh, threw off his hand and bounded through the open door -into the hall. Cato was in waiting. - -“Ah, Cato,” said the Major, with as much coolness as he could summon at -this crisis, “you save me the trouble of ringing. Show this young woman -out.” - -“Yes, sar,” said Cato. - -Major Pierpoint lingered an instant in his door to follow with his eye -the receding form of the maiden, as with a light, graceful trip she -followed the dignified Cato to the street door. He then re-entered his -library, and after pacing his room two or three times as if his thoughts -were in a tumult, he suddenly stopped before his mirror and looked at -himself. After a brief and satisfied survey of his fine face and person -he walked to the fire, folded his hands behind his back, and stood and -looked into the grate with a very thoughtful brow. - -“Well, Leslie Pierpoint, after remaining bachelor twenty years, thou art -made captive by a linen-draper’s ’prentice! ’Tis true, and pity ’tis, -’tis true! Leslie Pierpoint, thou art false to thyself! But what a soft, -sweet hand! How could I help taking it if she would thrust it into mine? -But, poor child, I suppose I had frightened her by calling her an old -woman, and she scarcely knew what she was about! Old woman? A youthful -divinity! What heavenly blue eyes! What a sweet round bust! What an -exquisite waist, the charms of which even her coarse dress could not -conceal! And her foot, so petite and delicately turned! How rich were -the tones of her voice! How enchanting her smile! Ah, Leslie Pierpoint, -thou art in love with a ’prentice maiden! At forty years thou art become -a fool! Yes, I am a fool! What have I to do with the sex? Have I not a -lasting feud with it? Ah, let me not forget Clara Clayton! Remember her, -and so forget this pretty maiden, for she belongs to the same false -hearted sex!” - -Thus soliloquized Major Pierpoint, and, turning from the fire, he walked -his room some time with a thoughtful brow. All at once he stopped and -pulled his bell with an emphasis. Cato made his instant appearance. - -“Sar, massa.” - -“Bring me my boots.” - -“What massa say?” - -“Bring me my boots,” repeated Leslie, more decidedly. - -The black left the room with an inquiring look, as much as to ask what -could take his master out in such an evening. - -“Yes, I will do it. I will learn all about her! Such beautiful teeth! -Such a bright, intelligent, sensible face! Such innate high breeding!” - -Cato brought the boots, and in a few minutes afterwards the Major had -exchanged his evening home costume for boots, overcoat and hat. - -“My stick, Cato.” - -“Yes, sar,” answered the black with dilating eyes, as he handed the gold -headed Indian cane. - -“I shall return in an hour, Cato,” he said, as his wondering servant -showed him out of the street door. - -“Yes, sar,” and Cato closed the door on his master. - -“Now, if massa Peerpount hant a loss his sebenteen senses, den heabenly -marcy nebber gave Cato any. De firs’ time I ebber know him go out after -him once take his boot off! Someting ’ticklar be goin’ to happ’n for -sartain! No disordinary circumcasion take massa Peerpoun’ out dis col’ -ebening. I mus’ feel werry pertickler distress if as how any ting -surreptitious occur.” - -Thus commented honest Cato upon this unusual step of his master’s, whose -general habits were so regular that each day he went through the same -routine of eating, sleeping, smoking, reading, and walking or riding. He -had never gone out in an evening before. Cato had cause, therefore, for -marvel; and leaving him to his conjectures on the motive for this -strange movement on the part of his master, we will follow him on his -expedition. The evening was clear but cold and windy, and he wrapped his -coat closer about his person as he entered Chesnut street from Sixth, -and took his way past the hotel and theatre which were brilliant with -lamps, and gay and lively with the moving things about their doors. -Heedless of these, he kept on until he came to Third street, which he -followed north for a few doors, where he stopped beneath a lamp and -turned back the cape of his surtout, arranged his slightly awry cravat, -and made such other little toilet reparations as young gentlemen are -accustomed to do before going into a house to pay a visit to ladies. -Having _fixed_ himself to his satisfaction, though without a mirror, -(men of taste are a glass to themselves!) he walked more deliberately -onward and entered a door over which hung a sign reading “Mrs. Phelps’ -Gentlemen’s Linen Store.” - -A very pleasant looking widow-like person presided in the brilliantly -lighted shop behind the counter, while there were glimpses of two or -three girls at their work in the rear room, and a little old woman in -spectacles tying up bundles—doubtless the identical “old woman” whom -the Major had imagined he was talking to as the bearer of his package. - -“Good evening, Mrs. Phelps,” said the Major politely. - -“Ah, Major Pierpoint, good evening, sir,” said Mrs. Phelps with very -great respect, for the Major was a monied customer and never disputed -bills! “Lord me! I hope you haven’t come after the shirts!” she said -with apologetic volubility; “they have been gone this half hour! I was -so hurried, Major, I couldn’t get them done at the precise hour you -ordered them, though I know you are so very particular. But soon as they -came into the shop, lest you should get impatient, as your black man -said you were going out of town early in the morning, I despatched one -of my apprentices right off with ’em, knowing she would go quicker than -aunt Dolly here, who is always mighty slow in cold weather. If you come -right from home you ought to had ’em there! If Mary has taken that -bundle of hemmed handkerchiefs to Miss Clayton’s first, I shall give her -a good scolding; for I told her, Major, pertickerlaly, to go and leave -your package first.” - -“Never mind all this, my good woman,” exclaimed the Major as soon as he -could find an opening in her speech; “I have received the shirts, and am -very well satisfied with them! They do you credit.” - -“Oh, I am glad to hear it. I thought the child wouldn’t disobey me, for -she is always so correct! Here she comes in now! Ah, Mary,” said Mrs. -Phelps with a good natured smile, “you like to have had a scolding. So -you took Major Pierpoint’s linens home safe?” - -“Yes, aunt,” answered Mary, blushing and stammering at seeing Major -Pierpoint in the shop, while the Major himself, taken by surprise at her -sudden appearance, colored like a school-boy; and scarce conscious of -what he did, respectfully lifted his hat, as with downcast eyes she -tripped past him to the rear of the shop. She had let her bonnet fall -carelessly back from her head as she entered the shop, and the bright -light of the gas-burners flashing upon her forehead, revealed more -clearly the radiant beauty of her complexion, and the exquisite -loveliness of her features. Her hair, which was the richest shade of -dark brown, was parted upon her smooth forehead and lay on either cheek, -after the fashion of young maidens of her age; behind, it was gathered -by her tasteful fingers into a neat braid, the number of whose silken -folds showed the opulence and great length of this glorious ornament of -woman. - -She bent her head and blushed between pleasure and shame at this -distinguished notice from Major Pierpoint, while Mrs. Phelps looked from -one to the other, with a face on which wonder, curiosity and suspicion -were as plainly written as they ever were on the face of woman. Leslie -saw instantly the position in which he had placed himself, and with -great presence of mind said, as if to excuse himself, while he pursued -at the same time the main object he had in view— - -“She is, I am told, an orphan, Mrs. Phelps. I feel deep sympathy for -orphans, particularly for young unprotected females.” - -Mrs. Phelps’ face immediately parted with its combined expression, which -was replaced by that peculiar one which talkative women always put on -when they have an opportunity of indulging their propensity. “Ah, yes,” -she sighed, “ah, dear yes, Major Pierpoint, she is indeed an orphan. She -is a good child, and has a face that will be either the making or the -breaking of her. I feel towards her just as if she was my own flesh and -blood; though, between you and I, Major, I am neither kith nor kin to -her or hers, though I lets her call me aunt for affection-like.” - -“Who were her parents?” asked Major Pierpoint, becoming deeply -interested. - -“Ah, me, it is a sad story! I never tell it but it makes me cry like a -child;” and here Mrs. Phelps, in anticipation, applied the corner of her -apron to her dry eyes. - -“Be so kind as to relate it, madam, if you please. I shall listen to it -with great interest.” - -“Well, you must know when I was younger than I am now, and before dear -Fritz, my husband, died, we were living in Boston, in quite respectable -society, Fritz keeping a thriving store, and I living a lady, as it -were, at home. But times is changed since then; ah, me! Major Pierpoint. -Well, don’t you think, as I was waiting tea one winter’s night for -Fritz, the bell rung, and, instead of my husband, a man left a basket of -champaigne, as he said, telling the girl it was a present for our -wedding day, which was to be on Saturday of the next week, sure enough, -Major; we having then been married seven years. Well, I told her to set -the champaigne basket down in the tea room, and soon afterwards Fritz -came in. He was delighted when I showed him the present, and we both -puzzled our heads to guess what friend it came from; but we sat down to -the table intending to open it after we had finished tea. Mr. Phelps was -taking his second cup when we both thought we heard a child cry right in -the room. We started, and both asked ‘what is that?’ ‘It must be the -cat,’ said Fritz, and so we sat down again. We had not taken two bites -of toast before we were startled by the loud shrill scream of an infant. -‘The champaigne basket,’ exclaimed Fritz: ‘it is in the champaigne -basket,’ I cried. ‘It is a baby in the champaigne basket,’ yelled the -girl, letting fall the tea-kettle. - -“Fritz sprung to the basket and cut the cord with the table-knife, and -sure enough, Major Pierpoint, there lay in the bottom the beautifullest -little female baby eyes ever looked upon—the very same Mary Lee you -just now took off your hat to! Well, to cut the story short, Fritz and I -concluded, after making all inquiries, and advertising it in vain, to -adopt it, seeing as how Providence had never blessed us with any -children, neither before nor since. So we took the dear infant as our -own, and to this day I have been as its own mother to it, and she has -been as an own child to me. Ah me! the cruel parents that could desert -such a sweet cherub. I have never been sorry to this hour we took the -dear child. Oh, she has been a blessing to me!” - -“She would be a blessing to any body,” said the Major warmly, his heart -overrunning with emotion at her narration; and his eyes unconsciously -wandered to the rear of the shop, where Mary sat quietly sewing. He -sighed, and then turning to Mrs. Phelps, thanked her for her trouble in -narrating Mary’s story. - -“Not the least, Major, not the least! I could tell it fifty times a day -if I had such a listener as you.” - -“You may send me half a dozen pairs of gloves, handkerchiefs, -and—and—” Leslie hesitated, and then hastily added, “any thing else in -your shop you think I would like.” - -“Oh, you are such a good customer, Major Pierpoint,” said the pleased -landlady; “I have just got in some new style India cravats which I think -will suit you. Shall I send them to-night?” - -“No, to-morrow at twelve.” - -“But you leave town to-morrow.” - -“Oh, true—true, I had forgotten. But never mind, madam, send them up, I -think I shall be at home—yes, I am sure, quite sure I shall be at home! -I have postponed my departure till the next day.” - -“I will certainly send them.” - -The Major lingered an instant over the glass case, and then buttoning up -his overcoat, prepared to go. - -“Good evening, Mrs. Phelps.” - -“Good evening, sir.” - -“You will be sure and send them?” - -“You shall not be disappointed, Major.” - -“Very well.” - -Major Pierpoint took three decided steps towards the door and then -turned. - -“Twelve o’clock, Mrs. Phelps.” - -“Yes sir, they shall be there precisely.” - -The Major still did not move. There was evidently something he wished to -say more, but was at a loss how to say it. All at once he turned back to -the counter. - -“By-the-bye, Mrs. Phelps, you may, if you please, let the same young -person bring them that took the linens. That old woman, the last time -she came, like to have broke her neck by catching her foot in the brass -stair band. Besides, she is deaf as a post.” - -“I will send Mary, then,” said Mrs. Phelps, smiling. - -“You are very obliging, my dear madam. Good evening.” And Major -Pierpoint walked out of the shop with a free, light step, and a bland -smile illumining his handsome features. - -Mrs. Phelps followed him with her eyes, and then put on a very -thoughtful look, and for a few moments seemed to be communing with her -own mind. Suddenly she laid one fore-finger down upon the other with -emphasis. - -“Yes, ’tis clear as that gas-light! I can see as deep as some folks can. -He is not above forty, rich, respectable, and kind and pleasant-hearted -as a child, and Mary’s beauty has evidently made an impression upon him. -He is a bachelor, and old bachelors often fall in love with young girls! -I do believe, now I think it all over, he is in love with her. But then, -he is so rich and respectable! But Mary isn’t my daughter; how does he -or any body know but she is respectable as he is himself? Plainly, there -is something at the bottom of all this. Major Pierpoint is too honorable -and moral for me to apprehend any evil coming out of it. Mary shall go -up to-morrow, looking her best. Who knows what may happen? The poor -child is not mine, but then I wish her to do as well as she can. I -wonder what he said to her this evening. Mary, dear, come here child.” - -Mary came forward with a half finished linen collar in her hands. - -“Well, dear, what did Miss Clayton say to the handkerchiefs you took to -her?” - -“She said they were very neatly done, but that the price was too -high—and told me she could not pay the bill unless you took off the -‘nineteen cents!’” - -“How close some people are, especially rich old maids that have once -been beauties! They have no children or husband to pick or peck at, and -so they must pick and peck on those that have to do work for um. She -don’t care about the nineteen cents—its only to have something to find -fault with. To-morrow, at half past eleven, you call there for the -seventeen dollars, and let her have the nineteen cents, if it will do -her temper any good. Did Major Pierpoint appear displeased because I -didn’t get the shirts there by six o’clock?” - -Mary blushed, she knew not why, at this common-place question, and -looking up and seeing her ‘aunt’s’ eyes fixed inquiringly upon her face, -she became too confused to speak in reply—and, after one or two -attempts to answer, dropped her head over the collar in her hand, as if -sewing it. - -“What is the matter with the child? What did Major Pierpoint say to -you?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Nothing?” - -“Yes, m’m, here is the check he gave me.” Mrs. Phelps glanced at it. - -“It’s all right! Prompt pay—no nineteen cents to be cut off. But didn’t -he say any thing to you?” - -Mary appeared still more confused. Her adopted mother looked at her -steadily though without displeasure for a few seconds, then shook her -head affirmatively, with a slight smile of self-satisfaction. “Humph,” -she said to herself, “I see how it is! It has gone further than I -thought. He came here to-night for nothing else in the world! Well, -Mary, to-morrow, at twelve precisely, you must be at Major Pierpoint’s -with them gloves, and handkerchiefs, and silk stockings. You must start -at half past eleven, so as to call on the way on Miss Clayton for the -money for her bill. Why do you blush so—are you afraid of Miss -Clayton?” - -“No, aunt.” - -“Are you afraid of Major Pierpoint?” - -“No, aunt.” - -“Very well, child, go to your sewing.” - -Mary bounded away lightly, and Mrs. Phelps looked after her with a -prideful glance; “yes, if she is not foolish she has her fortune made. I -will say nothing to her of my suspicions, but let her have her own way. -To talk to young girls on such a subject and try to guide and advise -them, only makes puppets of them, and destroys the natural character. -Leave Mary to her own native good sense and unbiassed feelings and she -will be more likely to please such a man as Major Pierpoint than if she -practised the most consummate artifices.” - -With these sensible reflections, Mrs. Phelps dropped the subject for -that night. - -At a few minutes before half past eleven, Mary Lee made her appearance -in the shop from her little chamber over it, arrayed in a neat black -silk dress, with a pretty straw cottage, trimmed with delicate blue -ribbon, and her beautiful brown hair arranged with elegant simplicity. -It had not been ten minutes since she left the shop to make this change -in her appearance. Yet it was as complete as if five hours had been -wasted before her little mirror. Can any female reader tell me _why_ -Mary paid such attention to her appearance? Mrs. Phelps on seeing her, -lifted up both hands, and an exclamation of surprise and displeasure was -on the tip of her tongue! But some sudden reflection checked it on the -verge of utterance, and dropping her hands, she said quietly and as if -not noticing it— - -“So, Mary, you are ready. Take the bundle and stop on the way at Miss -Clayton’s. Be sure you are at Major Pierpoint’s when the clock strikes -twelve.” - -“Yes, aunt,” said Mary, hastening from the shop on her two-fold errand. -As she passed up Chesnut street with her little bundle, the sparkling -beauty of her face, her buoyant step and graceful motion, drew after her -many admiring eyes. It so chanced that Leslie was returning from the -Exchange reading-room, whither he walked every morning, and was standing -on the corner of Sixth and Chesnut, conversing with several bachelor -gentlemen, when Mary passed. She looked up, and seeing him, coloured and -dropped her head. Leslie did the same. - -“A lovely creature,” said one of the gentlemen; “I seldom have seen a -sweeter face or figure. You know her, Major, by your mutual blushes,” -added he, smiling. - -“I, gentlemen? oh, no,” said the Major, confused. - -“She is certainly extremely beautiful. See how free and light her step -is!” - -“Some pretty milliner, I dare say,” said the Major, laughing. “Good -morning, gentlemen;” and Leslie took his way home more than ever -enchanted, deeper than ever in love! The quick, bright, eloquent, yet -unintended glance he had received from her as she passed, kindled an -imperishable flame in his bosom. He hastened homeward with anticipations -of the delightful visit he was to receive at twelve o’clock. - -Was Leslie Pierpoint really in love? did he resolve to pay his addresses -to this beautiful girl? did he intend to ask her hand in marriage? did -she fill the place in his heart which Clara Clayton had left void? - -Yes. - -Mary soon reached Miss Clayton’s door in the upper part of Chesnut -street, near Ninth. It was one of the most imposing mansions in the -street. Miss Clayton lived there with her old father—the two alone! For -several years after freeing herself from Leslie, she lived in hopes of -marriage, but in vain. The men were afraid of her. Her mortification -when she found Leslie restored to perfect health, knew no bounds. She -had a secret hope that he would yet re-address her; but from that period -she never received more than a cold and civil bow from him. She could -have poisoned herself with vexation. But as years passed away, and she -saw that he still remained unmarried, she consoled herself with the idea -that she was the cause—and that he could never love any one as he had -loved her. This devoted bachelorism was Clara’s only and greatest -consolation. It was a healing balm to her wounded spirit. So he married -not, she felt she could forgive herself for her folly in not marrying -him. It is true, she watched his course to forty with some anxiety, lest -he might yet marry; but when he had passed that climax, she gave herself -no farther uneasiness, and rested in the conscious assurance of his -eternal celibacy. This idea was the rainbow that spanned her darkened -skies—the sweet in her bitter cup of life. But, alas! she was soon to -see the rainbow disappear, and her horizon become dark with storms! -Alas! she was to drink the remainder of the cup with additional -bitterness mingled with its dregs. - -She was seated in her usual sitting room when Mary arrived. Her hair was -drawn back above her ears and tied untidily with a dirty yellow ribbon; -she wore a loose wrapper, and her stocking feet were thrust into red -slippers. Her fingers were loaded with rings, and ear drops hung from -her ears. Her complexion was something coarser for the wear and tear of -time, and had very plain traces of being now indebted to white paint and -rouge, for whatever pretensions it claimed. Her forehead was crossed by -horizontal impatient wrinkles, and a deep frown was cut between her -eyebrows. She was thin about the breast and shoulders, and very slender -in the waist, more so than in her youthful prime. The general expression -of her face was querulous and sour—precisely such an expression as she -might have been expected to wear. As Mary was shown in she looked up -with a sharp, impatient gesture. - -“So, Miss, you have come for the amount of your bill!” - -“Yes, m’m, if you please.” - -“Don’t _mem_ me as if I was fifty, Miss.” - -“No, m’m.” - -“Did I not forbid your saying _marm_ to me—what is the amount of the -bill?” - -“You have it, m’—— I mean Miss.” - -“That is better. Ah, yes, here it is, $17 19, What did your mistress say -about the 19 cents?” - -“That she would take it off.” - -“Very well; here is seventeen dollars. Receipt it.” Mary took a pen from -an inkstand on the table and acknowledged the payment. - -“Humph, you write too pretty a hand for an apprentice girl,” said Miss -Clayton, glancing contemptuously at Mary’s beautiful chirography. “I -dare say you can dance too?” - -“Yes, Miss,” said Mary slightly smiling. - -“And sing and play,” more contemptuously still. - -“Yes, Miss.” - -“Humph. Read Byron, Moore, Scott, doubtless, and perhaps the French -poets?” she continued with a contemptuous smile of incredulity. - -“Yes, Miss.” - -“Yes, Miss. I suppose if I should ask you if you read French and sung -Italian, you would reply with your parrot phrase, ‘yes, Miss.’” - -“Yes, Miss.” - -“Upon my word! Ha, ha, ha! here’s a linen-draper’s apprentice for you! I -suppose you look to marry some nobleman at the least, with all them -accomplishments, if you can! What package is that beneath your arm, my -pretty minx,” for Miss Clayton had conceived a sudden and unaccountable -(save that her youth and beauty were the cause,) dislike for Mary. And -without waiting for a reply she snatched it from her. - - “_For_ Major Leslie Pierpoint, - No. 27, South Sixth St.” - -“You are sent with this to Major Pierpoint’s, are you?” she asked -sharply and with a suspicious look at the young and guileless girl. - -“Yes m’m,” answered Mary quietly. - -Miss Clayton let her eyes rest on the superscription for a few moments, -and then lifted them steadily to the face of the maiden. - -“You had best return directly to your shop with the amount of your -mistress’ bill, lest you lose it on the way. I will dispatch my footman -with this package to his lodgings.” - -“I thank you, but I am ordered to take it there myself,” said Mary -firmly. - -“Indeed; but it would not be prudent for so young a person as you to go -to a bachelor’s rooms alone. I will send it for you. Do you know Major -Pierpoint?” - -“No, m’m,” answered Mary with embarrassment. - -“Have you never seen him?” - -“He was in the shop last evening,” answered Mary evasively. - -“Did he speak to you?” - -“If you please I will take the package and go,” said Mary, half angry at -this singular inquisition upon her affairs. - -“Take it, trollop,” said Miss Clayton, flinging it towards her, “and -tell your mistress when she has occasion to send any one to me again, -she will oblige me by sending some civil person.” - -Mary stared with surprise, at a loss to account for the lady’s humor, -and gladly took her departure. - -The heavy tocsin of the State House had struck the last stroke of -twelve, as Mary timidly pulled the bell at Major Pierpoint’s handsome -residence. It was opened by Cato. - -“Massa says de young woman will please walk up and wait,” said Cato, as -Mary offered to leave the bundle in his hand. Mary hesitated an instant, -and then, trembling, (she could not tell why,) she followed him to the -library. The door was opened, and Cato ushered her in with one of his -best bows. Leslie pretended to be very busily engaged in a book as she -entered, though he had been walking his room, or watching through the -blinds with ill-concealed impatience till he heard the street door bell. -He permitted Cato to leave the room, and Mary to advance half way to the -table, before he gave signs of her presence. He then suddenly rose up -and turned round. - -“Ah, Miss Lee,” he said, with tender respect, “you have brought the -gloves.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Mary, without lifting her eyes. - -“Sit down, if you please, while I examine the package.” - -Mary quietly took a seat, and Major Pierpoint began to look over the -parcels. But evidently his thoughts were not with this pursuit. His -fingers trembled—he shockingly rent several pairs of gloves; put six of -the handkerchiefs, one after another, into his pocket; blew his nose on -a pair of silk hose, and at length sprung from the table in the most -admirable confusion of mind in which a bachelor, at such a moment, could -well be. After thrice striding the room to gather courage, he approached -the surprised, embarrassed, yet not _unexpecting_ Mary. No woman of any -sense, or feeling, or mind, could be blind at such a time. He approached -and seated himself beside her. - -“Miss Lee——” - -Mary trembled and remained silent. The Major gazed upon her tell-tale -face, and then furtively sought her hand. She withdrew it instinctively, -and half rose. - -“Nay, my dear Miss Lee! pardon me! I meant no injury to your delicacy. -Pray be seated!” and he took her hand and gently drew her to the chair -which she had left. “I beg you to listen to me one moment. I have -conceived for you a deep and respectful passion. Your beauty, grace and -intelligence have made an impression upon my heart no time can ever -efface. It is true you are young and full of life and beauty—I have -passed half the allotted life of man. But the disparity is in years -only. My heart is as young as your own, my feelings as buoyant, my hopes -as bright. I have sought to meet you to-day to make a confession of the -sentiments with which you have inspired me, to tell you how intimately -my happiness is involved in your existence, to throw myself upon your -generosity. You are an orphan, alas! and a cold, unpitying world is -before you! Your loveliness and helplessness claim protection. Permit me -to fill that delightful position near you while life lasts. I offer you -my heart, my hand, my fortune, and promise to devote my life to the -promotion of your happiness.” - -The Major, after ending his eloquent appeal, gazed upon her downcast -face several moments in silence. She made no reply! He still continued -to hold her hand. Slowly he lifted it to his lips. There was no -resistance. He again sought her eyes. Tears were silently gushing from -them, and rolling in sparkling globules down her lovely cheeks. - -“Good God, Miss Lee, have I offended you?” - -“No, sir,” said Mary, lifting her eyes, the lashes dewy with tears, and -sweetly smiling. - -“Why these tears, then?” - -“I do not know, indeed, unless it be that they flow from gratitude,” she -answered, looking into his face with a radiant smile, like sunshine in -an April shower. - -The Major’s eyes filled also, and the next moment he pressed the happy -girl to his heart. - - * * * * * - -Yes, Mary Lee became Major Leslie’s wife through _gratitude_. They were -married, for he well knew gratitude would grow to love, and a brief time -proved that he judged rightly. One month from the day on which he -confessed his passion he led to the altar his charming bride. They were -married publicly in church. - -“Ah, Major, so you—don’t know her—some milliner’s apprentice, eh?” -laughingly said a gentleman present, after the ceremony was over. - -Clara Clayton, hearing that Leslie Pierpoint was to be married, went to -the church, disguised in a strange bonnet and long green veil—but -Leslie recognised her by her taper waist, and felt that his triumph and -(if such a feeling really existed in his breast) his revenge were -complete. Yes, Clara Clayton witnessed the ceremony, and when she saw it -and recognised the bride’s face as she turned from the altar, she could -scarcely suppress a shriek of mingled anger and disappointed malice. She -went home and died the same year, the victim of her own selfishness. - -Leslie Pierpoint and his beautiful lady are now travelling in Europe. -Mary makes him an excellent wife, proving to be as good as she is -beautiful. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE CHRISTIAN’S DREAM OF THE FUTURE. - - - BY ROBERT MORRIS. - - - How brief our earthly span! Youth, Manhood, Age— - We creep—we walk—we totter off life’s stage, - A thin, weak voice—a fuller, stronger tone, - A peevish, child-like cry, and then a groan! - How quick yon star shoots down the illumined sky— - ’Tis gone! And yet we see not where on high, - Its bright lamp shone! ’Tis thus with feeble man— - He twinkles here a moment, and, is gone! - On rolls the world! Each evanescent year - Bears on its current to some distant sphere, - Myriads of mortal forms—vain things of time, - Youth in its hour of hope—and Manhood’s prime— - Beauty, and all its fading hues of clay, - The tints that _are_ not, but were yesterday! - The eyes whose light enkindled many a flame— - The lips that breathed in love some cherished name— - The fair slight hand—the cheek so like the rose, - The form where Grace herself had sought repose— - The music voice—the shadowy locks and all - That touched the heart—or glittered in the ball; - These all have been—but Death has claimed them now— - The look of scorn—the proud and lofty brow— - Vice, with its heartless sneer, and Wealth and Pride, - Lifeless and still, now slumber side by side! - - And is there then no grace to mortals given,— - No hope to brighten here and lead to Heaven? - No faith to lift the soul from worldly ties, - And point the way to Joy and Paradise! - - Look to thy heart, vain mortal, question there, - Of life and death—of glory and despair— - Ask, if within a spirit may not dwell— - A viewless tenant of thy bosom’s cell— - Whose thin small voice, in accents soft and sweet, - May oft be heard to warn thy erring feet— - “Beware—avoid—beyond is Heaven’s high road, - Where knees are bent, and souls commune with God— - There, where the meek of heart, the pure and mild, - Walk hand in hand with Virtue’s dove-eyed child— - There, where the widow gives her liberal mite, - And points the orphan in the way aright— - There, where soft Feeling sheds the heart-wrung tear, - And bends in sorrow o’er the sinner’s bier— - Where patient Grief leans on her thin white hand, - And smiling, dreams of the unshadowed land— - Look—mortal look—the pathway is not bright— - But mark, it closes in a world of light— - The clouds that hang above its troubled way, - Melt in the distance into perfect day! - - Such is the Christian’s Future! There are seen - Eternal sunshine—vales of softest green, - Grottos, savannahs, deep and flowery glades, - Clear sparkling streams and rainbow-lit cascades, - Thick shadowy woods, where many a voice of song - Gladdens the hours, as fast they flit along; - No care to mar their brightness, and no gloom - To whisper “onward, onward to the tomb”— - Bright Youth and Hope, by Grace and Beauty’s side, - No look of scorn—no air of worm-like pride, - No voice of woe, to pain the spirit ear— - No orphan’s cry—no widow’s heart-wrung tear— - No secret fear, to chill the hour of bliss, - No hollow heart—no false or Judas kiss— - No wan Disease, to steal the rose away! - And write at Beauty’s door, “Decay, Decay”— - Oh! no—the Future, Virtue’s happy clime— - The land beyond the grave, untouched by time, - Where the worn soul throws off its mortal clay— - And, god-like, springs to Heaven’s eternal day— - The realm of bliss—where, with a joy half wild, - The mother clasps and cherishes her child— - The widow claims her long lost son—the maid - Her plighted lover, years to her a shade— - Where friends embrace, and souls again unite, - Fond faces greet, and gladden on the sight— - The buried sire once more his idol boy - Clasps to his breast with more than human joy— - And well remembered voices—looks of love— - Kind words that sweeten every lip above; - Where, as we downward gaze, and distant far, - The world appears a faint and feeble star, - Where Life and Bliss their arms together twine, - And Nature’s charms are added, Heaven, to thine— - Where “moth nor rust,” nor chance nor change may come, - Forever wandering and forever home; - Joys brightening in our footsteps as we pass, - And Hope before us with his magic glass— - Each sound and song, each object, every thought, - With some new pleasure, some fresh feeling fraught— - Where one pure Spirit animates the whole, - One thrill excites the universal soul! - - ’Tis these, and joys like these, the Future brings, - When ’midst her depths we soar on Virtue’s wings— - When from the Past the light of hope we borrow, - And throw its brightness o’er the coming morrow,— - When, as we wander through life’s devious way, - The realm beyond this mere domain of clay - Shall, like some beacon on a rocky strand, - Win the strained gaze and nerve the feeble hand— - Shall point where danger lies, and where at last - Our bark may ride in safety from the blast! - - Such is the Christian’s dream of time to come, - The land of light and love—the happy home— - Where the worn spirit, freed from earthly ties, - Above the things of dust and time shall rise, - And mount on angel pinions to the skies! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ROWSEVILLERS.—No. I. - - - O’DONNELL’S PRIZE. - - - “To be plain with you,” said the barber, shaking his head, “I - can scarce believe what you say.” _Gil Blas._ - -When I was in the dragoons, we were quartered, for a while, not far from -Rowseville, and it was my lot to receive a general invitation to the -dinners of the club. A jollier set of fellows never drew cork or emptied -a decanter—heaven be merciful to them for their sins! They always had -the best a-going; could tell north from south side Madeira,—and tossed -off their bumpers, hour in and hour out, as easily as an old spinster -drinks her tea. As for their president, Captain Humphreys, he was a -paragon of a good fellow. Short, square, deep chested, and muscular as -Hercules, he was just the man to keep a set of such spirits in order; -and, I verily believe, if any of the youngsters had ventured to dispute -his will, he would have tossed them over the marquee as easily as I -could hurl a racket ball. He had spent most of his life at sea, having -seen service in every latitude. He could tell a good story, and danced a -jig to perfection. He was, moreover, something of a _gourmand_; always -presided over our culinary rites; and made the best chowder of any man -in the States, or, for that matter, as the old cook said, “in the -’varsal world.” - -There is nothing like fishing, and a table on the green sward, to give -one an appetite; and it would have done your heart good to have seen us -on the day I first dined with the club—but especially to have beheld -Humphrey’s jovial face, when he announced the opening toast. And then -such a time as followed. Sherry, Port, Madeira, Jamaica and -Cogniac!—why they chased each other from the table faster than the -witches did old Tam O’Shanter, in the road by Ayr. Some of the -youngsters soon began to grow noisy; and even one or two of their -seniors winked a good deal unnecessarily; but Humphreys, and a set of -the older stagers at the head of the table, kept it up, without drawing -a rein, until I began to think they could fag down even Bacchus himself. -And all this time their jests would have made a hermit die with -laughter! Yet Humphreys never suffered his youngsters to indulge beyond -a certain point, and he had a story to account for this circumspection -which made my ribs sore for a week after hearing it. - -“Silence, you addle-heads,” he thundered, as soon as he saw they were -getting beyond their depths—“can’t one of you sing at a time, without -keeping up such an infernal clatter of Dutch, French, English and Congo -songs? You remind me of a set of chaps I had the honor to dine with in -Boston—no, not the honor, for they all drank to excess—and a man in -that state” (and here the worthy speaker, by way of corollary, tossed -off a bumper) “is a shock to my moral feelings. Keep in soundings if you -can’t sail safely out of them; but, for heaven’s sake, don’t disgrace -our table with a set of indecent inebriates. - -“But, to come back to my story—you must know that the Governor’s -Guards, in Boston, are a gay set of youngsters, and, at their annual -dinner at the State House, they make the corks fly as I’ve seen only -grape shot showering from a battery. Well—no disrespect to the -cloth—their dinner is always opened and closed by a parson; and a good -rule it is; for when the governor sees that his youngsters are getting -heady, he has but to give a nod—the benediction is pronounced, and they -are forced to break up. When I was there, however, his excellency -postponed the dismissal rather too long, so that when he gave the signal -to the parson, there wasn’t a chap, at the lower end of the table, who -could carry his wine to his mouth without spilling half of the liquid. A -blessed sight it was to see them then—as proper a set of youngsters, in -general, as you’d wish to look upon—shouting, laughing, singing, -standing in chairs, waving their glasses on high, and altogether cutting -a figure not the most pleasant for a moral man like me to behold. They -saw the parson get up and they heard him begin to speak, but they were -too far gone to distinguish either his person or his words. - -“‘Hilloo, Bill,’ said one to his neighbor, ‘is that a new toast? What -does he say?’ - -“‘Can’t—make—it out,’ hiccuped Bill, with drunken gravity, ‘but I -guess—it’s—it’s—something con—found—ed fine. Let’s give the old -cock three cheers,’ and the whole set sprang to their feet and huzzaed -’til the very roof above us seemed to tremble with the din. The poor -parson hesitated, stopped, and looked in bewilderment at his -excellency—who could only keep himself from laughing, so inexpressibly -ludicrous was the whole scene, by hanging his head down and cramming his -handkerchief into his mouth. As for the rest of us, there was no -resisting it—we laid back in our chairs and laughed until the tears ran -out of our eyes,—while the ladies in the gallery, the dear creatures, -almost burst their boddice strings. - -“His excellency explained all to the parson the next day, and made a -thousand apologies—but the good man never could be got again to ask a -benediction over the Governor’s Guards.” - -“I suppose you tell that for the morals of your table, eh!” said one of -the party. - -“Exactly,” answered the president, laughing, “and I never saw one yet -whom it didn’t cure of excess at table, except a fellow who used to say -it was hereditary in him, by the mother’s side, to have the cholic, and -that brandy was the only cure. That chap was a character: I’ve a story -I’ll tell you about him some of these days.” - -“Why not now?” asked a dozen in a breath. - -“Well, I suppose if I must I must,—but first pass us the bottle, and -let us drink to his memory—he died, poor fellow, in Florida, where many -a brave man has laid his bones. Here’s to Tim O’Donnell.” - -A silence of a few moments having elapsed, during which all eyes were -turned on the president, that personage, after hemming twice, thus -began. - -“Never was a handsomer fellow than Tim O’Donnell, lieutenant in the -——. Tall, well shaped, with the eye of a young eagle, and a pair of -jet black whiskers, that were worth, to a fortune-hunter, fifty thousand -dollars, Tim was the perfect picture of a soldier—and, to use his own -phrase, ‘a divil of a chap among the girls.’ He made more conquests in a -week than I would in a year; and, as you may see,” and here he stroked -his chin complacently, “there are few fellows as good looking as I am. -But Tim was after money, and used to flirt with the dear creatures only -to keep his hand in for an heiress, when one should present. At length -he was introduced to a lovely creature at a ball,—blue eyes, auburn -hair, the shape of a goddess, and lips that would make your mouth water, -even if you were as dry as old mahogany—and, for a while, he scarcely -knew whether he was standing on his head or on his feet. He even paid -court, so much was he smitten, to a long, scraggy, hatchet-shouldered -spinster of an aunt, who attended his charmer as a sort of _chaperon_. -The next day he was somewhat cooled down—at least he determined to -check his raptures until he inquired after the fortunes of Miss Wheeler, -for so his charmer was called. He left me for this purpose about noon, -and in an hour rushed into my room perfectly insane with joy. - -“‘Och—give me your hand—shower the blessings on my head,’ he -exclaimed, dancing round the room, ‘sure and I’m in heaven the -day—ouch, ullabaloo, was there iver such luck?—ten thousand acres, the -dear sowl, and a rint roll as long as a rigiment’s line: I’m a made -man—hurrah!’ and throwing his cap up he caught it again, and then -capered around the room, even carrying his antics so far as to leap over -sundry chairs. I was nearly dying with laughter—and as yet I was -totally ignorant of the cause of this joy. - -“‘What do you mean?’ said I, ‘you haven’t told me what all this -congratulation is to be about.’ - -“Never did I see a fellow look more astonished than Tim. He stopped -still, stared at me incredulously, and then gave vent to his wonder. - -“‘Blood and ages, and is the man drunk? Don’t ye know it’s all about -Miss Araminta Wheeler, and the immense fortune she’s to bring me? The -only living child—all the rest dead of scarlet fever, praise to the -saints! and her owld father expected to kick the bucket everyday. Ouch, -ullaloo-o-o, ain’t I the happy man? It’s marry the girl I will, this -blessed week.’ - -“‘But will the ‘owld father’ consent—eh! Tim?’ - -“‘Divil a bit do I care whether he consents or not, if the daughter says -‘yes’—oh! such a jewel of a woman,—and what an iligant pattern the -young O’Donnells will be!’ - -“‘Suppose the father guards her too well to permit an elopement? That -dragon of an aunt looks as if she was kept to play the duenna.’ - -“‘Arrah, my lad,’ said Tim, with a knowing wink, ‘I’ll soon fix that, or -my name isn’t Timothy O’Donnell, of Ballywhangle, of the county of -Clare, standing six feet two in my stockings. Can’t I pretend to make -love to the owld hag when the niece isn’t by? Oh! trust me for _brushing -the dew_ into her eyes.’ - -“I saw no more of Tim for nearly a week, except occasional glimpses -caught of him at balls and concerts, where he was in attendance on his -charmer and a spectral looking spinster, whom I recognised as the aunt. -As I wanted to give him a fair field—keep the bottle lively—I did not -approach them; so I had no opportunity of judging his success, until one -morning he burst into my room vociferating that he had got a note from -his charmer, in answer to one he had sent the day before, in which she -consented to elope with him that very night. He called on me to ask me -to get a post-chaise; for, in order to avoid the publication of banns, -they would have to be united in another state. Tim was in such raptures -that he couldn’t attend to any matter-o’-fact business, so I promised -all he asked, and he left me, singing as he went, ‘Come, haste to the -wedding,’ and cutting all sorts of extravagant antics. - -“Midnight was the hour fixed on for the _affaire_, and, punctual to the -minute, Tim’s post-chaise drew up a few rods from his charmer’s door, -while the gallant lieutenant himself, springing out, made all haste to -the rendezvous. The night was black as pitch—you could have cut the -darkness out in slices—and a wild wind blew over the fields, roaring -away down in the woods, like a gale in the rigging of a line-of-battle -ship. Tim could scarcely pick his way along through the garden, but at -length, after sundry tacks, he gained the front of the house,—yet not a -sign of a living being could he see. He began to fear that his charmer’s -heart had failed her, but at that instant he perceived a dark moving -object just ahead of him, and hurrying forward, he soon recognised his -future bride, muffled and cloaked for the journey. - -“‘Shure, and ye’re as welcome as the birds in spring,’ said Tim, -catching her in his arms, ‘and it’s mighty proud I am to see ye, my -darlin.’ - -“The trembling bride clung closer to Tim as he spoke, and murmured -something in reply, but what it was, the whistle of the wind prevented -him from hearing distinctly. Tim knew there was no time to lose, -however, so, without waiting for a repetition of the words, he bore his -prize off, and never stopped till he had placed her in the chaise, -stowed her maid opposite, and was himself seated by her side. - -“‘And now,’ said he, as the post-boy put up the steps, ‘don’t spare the -horse-flesh—do ye hear, ye blackguard?’ - -“The boy nodded, and, the next instant, they were thrashing along as -fast as four posters could carry them. - -“If Tim had been in raptures before, he was now fairly mad with his -success. Up to the last moment, he had been tormented with a fear lest -something should occur by which this rich prize should slip through his -fingers; but now his charmer was actually beside him, and they were -being whirled over the ground at a rate which would soon defy pursuit. -‘Was ever fellow in such good luck?’ thought Tim. Thousands of acres, an -only daughter, and she as clean in her run as a Baltimore clipper. How -he cursed the presence of the maid, which prevented him from being as -tender as he thought the occasion demanded. However, he could take his -charmer’s hand, without shocking her modesty, and he went through pretty -quick, all the variations of which squeezing is liable. He would have -stolen his arm around the bride’s waist, but the envious cloak prevented -this. Tim could scarcely endure the probation. On they rattled, all this -while, with the tempest roaring at their heels, and, as the night -without grew stormier, the agitation of the bride increased, she almost -sobbed, and clung closer and closer every minute to Tim. It made his -heart, as he said, ‘leap into his mouth intirely,’ to feel her arms -around his neck in the extremity of her fright. - -“‘Whist, darlin,’ he said, ‘don’t be alarmed—it’s only a little bit of -a storm, to keep our bloody pursuers from hearing us. Before mornin -we’ll be in York, and then the praist will make you my own. Speak, and -tell me, ye’re not frightened? Shure, and ain’t I by your side, -mavourneen?’ - -“The answer of the bride was delivered in such a low and tremulous -voice, and interrupted by so many sobbings, that Tim, though he listened -his best, couldn’t for the life of him make out more than a word here -and there. However, he thought he distinguished enough to fill him with -more rapture than ever, and, forgetting all about the maid, he drew his -bride still closer to his bosom, and, nestling her head on his shoulder, -poured forth his vows in torrents of eloquence. The Lord only knows what -he said—Irishmen are proverbial for hyperbole. - -“‘And is it that I wont love ye intirely, my princess?’ said Tim, by way -of a grand wind up. ‘Shure, and I’ll worship ye as the heathens do the -sun, and so will my five brothers, and the tenantry on my estate—though -it’s more than I know,’ muttered Tim to himself, ‘where to find -them—and won’t I be proud to shew ye off to my friends as the -handsomest and sweetest woman in the rigiment? There, now, be aisy, my -jewel—your father won’t catch us. Oh! isn’t it iligantly I’ve outwitted -him, and that owld hag of an aunt, your namesake?’ - -“‘Old hag of an aunt,’ screamed the bride, starting back from Tim’s -shoulder as if an adder had stung her, ‘why—who—do you take _me_ for?’ - -“‘For Miss Araminta Wheeler, and divil a one else—shure, and I have not -offended ye, my darlin, by that same thrifle of a remark?’ and he drew -his bride again toward him. - -“‘Murder—off—help—oh! you vile, deceiving, wicked monster,’ shrieked -the bride, pushing away Tim with both her hands, ‘you’ve ruined me -forever. And to call me a hag—oh! oh!’ and she went off almost into -hysterics. - -“‘Blood and ages—who have we here indeed?’ thundered Tim, all at once -recognizing the now shrill tones of his companion, and kicking open the -coach door, he saw, for the first time, by the faint light of the -chaise-lamps, the face of the speaker, ‘it’s the aunt herself—the owld -serpent take her! A pretty mess I’m in, running off with ye, ye apology -for a skeleton, instead of with the niece. Pray, madam,’ and he bowed -sarcastically, ‘was it ye I honored with my proposal?’ - -“‘Didn’t you send me a note—a—asking me to elope?’ hysterically sobbed -the aunt. ‘Oh! you vile wretch.’ - -“‘Ou—u—h! I see it all,’ whistled Tim. ‘The dumb baste of a messenger -gave it to ye instead of to the other.’ - -“‘You said before, too,’ sobbed the aunt, ‘that you a—a—dored me.’ - -“‘The Lord forgive my sins,’ muttered Tim betwixt his teeth. ‘But -may-be,’ he said coaxingly, as a new thought struck him, ‘ye’re the -heiress after all.’ - -“Tim got no answer but a new burst of hysteric tears, mingled with -ejaculations, among which he could distinguish a whole dictionary of -reproaches. - -“‘I’m thinking,’ said Tim, after awhile, ‘ye’d better be getting home as -soon as convanient. This is a bit of a mistake,’ and then, in an under -tone he groaned, ‘oh! but it’s ruined I am with the chaise hire -intirely.’ - -“The horses’ heads were soon turned, and just as morning dawned, the -runaways drove up to the lane leading to Mr. Wheeler’s residence, where -the bride expectant alighted, and Tim, cursing his blunder, kept on to -his quarters. What became of the aunt, I never cared to inquire. As for -Tim, he had sense enough to know that the game was up for him in that -quarter. Though he strove to keep his elopement a secret, the joke soon -leaked out, and he was the banter of the whole regiment. An order to -repair to Florida was hailed as a God-send, as it saved him from the -quizzing of his mess, which to this day has for a standing toast, -O’Donnell’s Prize.” - -Many a burst of laughter interrupted the President during the recital of -this story, which loses half of its effect when deprived of his -inimitable mimicry of the conversations. - -We adjourned, at a late hour, for the stars were already twinkling in -the sky when we turned our horses’ heads homewards. The cool evening -breeze, and the exhilaration of a rapid pace, kept up the flow of our -spirits until we parted for the night—though we did not separate until -we had drunk a parting cup at the house of that most hospitable of -hosts, Deacon Green. - -The next meeting of the club found me again amongst them. But the -incidents of the second dinner must be reserved for another paper. - - H. P. - - * * * * * - - - - - A FOREST SCENE. - - - BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS. - - - I wandered out in summer time, - One pleasant afternoon, - Amid the green and cooling woods— - The leafy woods of June; - As through its temple’s shadowy aisles - In mournfulness I walked, - I listened to the breezy trees - As friend with friend they talked! - - And gazing upwards in my face, - Each meek wood-flower drew back, - Nor did a single blade of grass - Impede my onward track; - And ever on my listening ear - There came a lulling sound, - As of a multitude in prayer— - Methought ’twas holy ground! - - I rested on a mossy bank, - And cast my eyes above; - The lithe green branches arch’d o’erhead, - And twined their arms in love; - And nought was seen of the blue sky - Save islets here and there, - Which seemed like some fair summer lakes - That smiled in upper air! - - A twilight, rich and tender light, - Came stealing from the skies, - And, oh! ’twas like the light that rests - In a young mother’s eyes! - I saw the gentle flowrets wave - Their urns, still filled with dew, - And by my side the dark-fringed fir— - The “tree of Heaven,” grew! - - Oh! all was fair and beautiful, - In these bright forest bowers, - A region of perpetual green— - A paradise of flowers! - Though all was very beautiful, - So free from woe and sin, - I turned from the bright world without, - To darker worlds within: - - I closed my eyes, and pressed my hand - Upon my burning brow, - And many were the busy thoughts - That crowded round me now! - For, oh! the memories of years, - With all their clouds o’ercast, - Rose up from that vast charnel-house, - The dim, sepulchral past! - - And like a train of spectres wan - They passed in my review, - And each faint shadow as it came, - Still pale and paler grew! - On, onward yet, they came—a throng - Of white and ghastly things, - As if stern Memory had stirred - Oblivion’s darkest springs! - - And still the tears fell thick and fast, - For nought could then control - The passion and the agony - That swept across my soul! - Oh! many light and careless words - Were ringing on the air, - And thoughtless things I said or did— - All seemed embodied there! - - And mingling with accusing sins, - Faint-shadowed forms swept by, - And glanced upon me as they passed, - With mild, yet grieving eye! - At length a sweet, reproachful face - Looked in upon my dream, - It spake—and, oh! the tones were those - Of some sweet, mournful stream! - - And words came flowing from its lips, - That bade me cease to weep, - So that the dead within their graves - In peacefulness might sleep! - I started from this heavy trance, - The breeze came sweeping by, - It had no knowledge of my grief, - Yet gave me sigh for sigh; - - And there where I had madly wept, - Unheeding sky and earth, - With all their light and loveliness— - Their gladness and their mirth, - I knelt me down and humbly asked - My sins might be forgiven, - And that the incense of my heart - Might float with peace to heaven! - - • • • • • • • - - I turned me from that forest scene, - And Hope her radiance shed - About a heart that ceased to mourn - The pale, rejoicing dead! - - * * * * * - - - - - WAWHILLOWA. - - - A LEGEND OF THE QUONNECTICUT. - - - BY D. M. ELWOOD. - - -Whoever has once stood upon the summit of Mount Holyoke, will never -forget the rich scene spread out before him. For miles—as far as the -eye can reach on every side—may be seen Nature in her most imposing -forms. Vales clad in their rich vesture of green, watered by the limpid -streams, cool, pure, and refreshing; gently sloping hills, crowned with -fields of waving grain, and spotted here and there with the fleecy -herds; and yet farther on, rising peak upon peak, and summit upon -summit, the “huge pillars” which “prop the heavens” rear their craggy -heads on high, bidding defiance to storm and tempest, and scarcely -trembling even at the peals of “living thunder” which “leap” from crag -to crag. Occasionally, peering above the tall trees that surround them, -the spires of numerous churches point out the villages, and form -agreeable pictures on which the delighted eye may rest. Sweeping the -very base of Holyoke the broad Connecticut rolls its calm tide along, -and winding away into the distance far to the south, may be traced on a -clear day, circling its way through the verdant meadows almost to its -very mouth. Directly across the river from Holyoke, Mount Tom rises in -sullen majesty, as if disdaining to hold fellowship with the humble yet -beautiful objects around. Northampton—with its snow-white dwellings, -its spires and turrets, its hill—the sides of which are occupied with -delightful mansions—and its top surmounted with a lovely grove, forms a -panorama, the beauty of which must be seen to be realized. Between it -and the river is a broad valley, chequered with fields of various -colors, spotted with trees, and giving rich promise of the harvest. -Nearly at the foot of the mountain—a little to the northward, rising -not far above the surface of the river—is a small and fertile island, -of a diamond form, like an emerald set in silver. This island we will -call Hockanum, a name given to it years and years ago. Still further -north, on a broad peninsula formed by a bend of the river, stands the -town of Hadley, with the history of which is associated many a thrilling -tradition. One of these it will be our object now to present to the -reader. - -The town of Hadley was settled in the year 1659, by emigrants from the -Colony of Connecticut, who removed on account of differences in -religious opinions. The principal man of these emigrants was Mr. John -Webster, accompanied by the Rev. John Russell, formerly minister of -Wethersfield. Although Whites and Indians were mingled in close contact -here, it is believed that there was no disturbance of any kind until -after the breaking out of King Philip’s war in 1675. A perfectly -amicable disposition was manifested on either side, and danger and fear -of the aborigines were scarcely entertained. - -At the southern extremity of the beautiful street on which the town is -principally built, close upon the bank of the majestic Connecticut, or -as it was formerly, and perhaps more properly called, the -_Quonnecticut_, stood, at the period of our tale, the residence of the -Rev. John Russell—mentioned above as one of the first settlers of the -town. A few rods lower down, and on the opposite side of the street, -lived Mr. Webster, his friend and companion in emigration. William, the -oldest son of Mr. Russell, was a young man about twenty-three years of -age, of a bold and fearless disposition, with a heart generally open and -confiding. Yet there was enough of cautiousness in his disposition, to -render him capable of keeping secret his designs, and of acting silently -yet effectually. He was finely formed, and remarkably well gifted by -nature. There was, indeed, but one trait that marred the general harmony -of his natural constitution, and that was, at times, a slight want of -amiability, a haughtiness of spirit that could not brook restraint or -opposition. As it was, he was the pride of his father’s family, and the -object of admiration to the blooming maidens round. But there was one -whom he esteemed far above all others—the daughter of his father’s -friend. Eliza Webster was one of those beings whom one would love -without exactly knowing why. Not really beautiful—indeed, rather -ordinary looking than otherwise—it was impossible for any sensible -young man to enjoy her society for any length of time, without finding -himself fast yielding to the impression which he could not prevent her -from making on his heart. Always lively and cheerful, with a rich fund -of humor, and a shrewd and penetrating mind, she determined to enjoy, -and to make the most of life, and to render all about her as happy as -herself. She was the simple and unaffected, the true child of nature, -and yet nature’s adorer. Never was she happier than when rambling along -the course of the river on whose banks she had always lived, or climbing -the craggy heights which towered at a short distance below. - -On the little island of Hockanum lived an old man who had formerly been -a chief at Nonotuck, now Northampton. His name was Shaomet. He subsisted -on the fish he drew from the clear waters, and the deer and other game -which he found in the fastnesses of Holyoke. The solace of his declining -years was his daughter, Tahattawa, a sprightly lass of eighteen summers. -Her step was light as that of the young fawn, and her merry laugh rang -out upon the clear air, and danced like music over the broad bosom of -the river. - -With this girl, Eliza Webster had formed an intimate attachment. Often -had Tahattawa paddled her across in her light canoe to the little island -on which was her home. For hours had they sat under the shade of its -green trees, and laughed and conversed together, instructing each other -the while in many of the little arts with which each was familiar. - -Now, Tahattawa had a lover—a young warrior belonging to the fort which -the whites had allowed the natives to build within a few rods of the -most populous street of Nonotuck. Eliza had often met him at the tent of -Shaomet, and frequently accompanied him and Tahattawa in his fishing -excursions down the river. The thought of danger to herself never -entered her mind; she reposed perfect confidence in the integrity of her -friends—even though their skins were tawny; and the youth appeared to -be almost as fond of the society of his pale-faced friend as he was of -that of Tahattawa herself. - -One fine morning in the month of May, 1676, a deer was seen swimming -swiftly down the Quonnecticut. William Russell snatched his rifle, and, -springing into a light canoe, started in pursuit. At length, as they -neared the little island of Hockanum, the huntsman had gained so far on -his game that he was just raising his gun to his shoulder to fire upon -him, when suddenly the deer sprang more than a foot clear of the -water—and the sharp crack of a rifle came ringing on the ear. - -A canoe immediately shot out from a small cove on the shore of the -island, and a young Indian, paddling up to the deer, seized him by the -horns and lifted him into the boat. By this time William had come up. -Whether the Indian had seen him in chase of the deer before he fired or -not, he certainly laid claim to it as his own. The other was no less -strenuous in asserting his own right to the game; and, drawing up his -canoe along side of the Indian, was about to place it in his own boat. -The other also seized it, and declared he would not surrender it but -with life. - -The fiery spirit of young Russell now began to chafe, and the flash of -his eyes told plainly that he would not tamely brook such a wrong. The -blood rose to his face, and his heart beat quick and violently with -anger. He stood for a moment hesitating what course to pursue. Give up -the deer he would not—yet he shuddered at what might be the -consequences of an open rupture, at a time when Philip was in arms, and -the name of that mighty chieftain was inspiring many of the Indians with -courage, and striking terror to the hearts of the whites. - -Wawhillowa—for it was he, the lover of Tahattawa—with an air which -seemed to challenge his antagonist to its removal, placed his foot on -the game, and rising to his full height regarded the other with a look -of calm defiance. Not a muscle moved, but his teeth were firmly -clenched, and the heavy frown that slowly settled on his brow, told of -the storm that was gathering within his breast. - -We know not what might have been the result of this controversy—for -there was equal resolution and courage, and perhaps strength on both -sides—had it not been for a third person. At the instant that William -grasped his rifle, and the other his tomahawk, Shaomet, the old man of -the island, sprang between them and called on both to desist from their -useless strife. He had watched the whole proceeding from the door of his -tent, and, fearful of a dispute, had launched his canoe and approached -them without their perceiving him, so absorbed were both the young men -in the feelings of the moment. They seemed at first somewhat angry at -his interference; but when Wawhillowa remembered that Shaomet was the -father of his intended bride; and William, that he had often manifested -his friendship for Eliza, their resentment towards the old man instantly -began to cool. - -Their animosity towards each other, however, was not at all diminished. -They stood over the game like two young lions; and each of them, -perhaps, exercising about as much reason. The old man quietly proceeded -to skin the deer, and to cut it into equal parts. This was quickly done. -He then tried to induce them to accept each a part. It would have been, -perhaps, a difficult matter to decide which was the rightful owner of -the game—but each of the two opponents was resolved to have it all or -none—William threw into the river the half which Shaomet had placed in -his canoe, while the young Indian dropped his tomahawk and hastily -paddled towards the island. The old chief having secured the game in his -own boat, slowly followed him, and the Englishman sullenly worked his -way up the current, muttering revenge. - -It was the morning of the 12th of June, 1676. Day had hardly dawned. The -bright star of morning had not yet melted away; but the dark clouds that -had obscured the sky broke in pieces, and rolled away in huge masses far -into the distance, disclosing the bright full moon—her radiance not yet -dimmed by the presence of the king of brightness. Under cover of the -night a powerful body of Indians had advanced near to the town of -Hadley, and at the southern extremity of the street on which it was—and -still is—principally built, had proceeded to dispose among the thick -trees and underwood, a strong band of faithful warriors as an ambuscade. -There they lay, still and motionless as the trees that concealed them. -There was many a stout heart beating eagerly for the fray that would -soon cease to beat for ever. Many a strong arm firmly grasped the rifle -or the tomahawk, soon itself to be in the grasp of an all-powerful foe. -Many a fiery eye rolled round in its socket which was soon to be covered -with the film of death. - -How calmly and soundly slept the inhabitants of that village, even -whilst the chafed savage was prowling for his prey. All, unsuspecting, -their slumbers were deep and unbroken, while the hungry lions about them -were awaiting, impatiently, the moment of attack. How often while we -sleep are our destinies decided for us! Wealth—fame—happiness—the -rewards of toil—the requiters of virtue—good and evil—little -circumstances and great—are all hovering above and about us, while we -are unconscious of their presence. Life and death may hang upon a single -hair, while we cannot raise a hand or bend a thought to avert or secure -either. - -The eastern sky had just begun to be tinged with red, and a few -straggling rays of the sun, still far below the horizon, were dancing in -fairy shapes towards the zenith, when the work of death and of cruelty -began. Stealthily and silently the savages crept on. Yet let us not call -them _savages_: they were but redressing their wrongs—but avenging the -life blood of their race; and though blood was that morning poured out -like water; and though the tomahawk and scalping knife were the -instruments of death, and the sleeping and the helpless were the -victims;—yet their destroyers were but doing with their enemies as they -did with each other: they were not doing violence to their own natures: -they were even exercising far more _humanity_ than those who, with the -Gospel of Peace in their hand, and the light of civilization around -them, had sapped the very foundations of the Red Man’s race. Swiftly the -work went on. A stifled groan—a scream of anguish occasionally broke -the stillness of the hour. Save that, all was wrapped in deep, dread, -ominous silence. At length, by accident, a rifle was discharged. On that -little circumstance hung the life of hundreds. The sound echoes through -the long street—a window is raised—a door is opened—the alarm is -given—and armed men pour forth, and prepare to resist the foe. - -All was confusion and dismay. Rifles were fired—loaded, and discharged -again. Tomahawks gleamed—swords flashed—occasionally a small piece of -ordnance rolled its infant thunder over the plain, and the smoke and din -of the contest rose up together to the heavens. Men ran hither and -thither. Some commanded, and none obeyed. - -Suddenly, “a man of venerable aspect” appeared among the scattered and -nearly discomfited inhabitants. He collected them in a body, and, -assuming the command, arrayed them in the best manner for defence. He -seemed experienced and skilful in the art of war. And now the tide was -changed; the Indians in their turn were routed and fled in confusion. In -vain the chiefs attempted to rally them. A sudden panic seized the -savages; and they, precipitately, fled. After the danger was over, all -eyes were looking for the man who had so wonderfully assisted them, but -in vain—he had gone, none knew whither. Many conjectures were formed as -to who the stranger could be; some supposed it was the guardian angel of -the town—but no; it was Goffe, _the Regicide_! - -His seemingly miraculous appearance at that time may be easily accounted -for. Goffe and Whalley, two of the Judges of Charles the First, were -then both secreted in the house of the Rev. Mr. Russell. Seeing the -inhabitants in danger, Goffe determined to hazard his life for those who -had so generously afforded him refuge at the risk of their own. - -Amongst those of the Indians who had lain in ambush, the most eager of -all was Wawhillowa, the young chief of Nonotuck. With a disposition -naturally fierce, his intercourse with the whites had done little to -soften it, or to influence him in their favor; and since the dispute -with William Russell, over the carcass of the deer, he had been burning -with indignation and resentment. He had joined the expedition against -Hadley with his warriors, partly in the hope of meeting Russell in the -fray, and thus gratifying his revenge; and partly because his spirit -could not bear to be inactive, whilst the name of Philip was spreading -terror through New England. Emulous of the rising fame and fortunes of -the Narragansett King, he hoped, ere long, to raise for himself a name -among the tribes that should eclipse the reputation of all before him. -The English, he thought, were fit objects on which to exercise his -ambition; and, having lately conceived a strong aversion to the whole -race, he had determined to embrace the present opportunity of -signalizing himself, and venting on his enemies his hearty dislike. - -The ambuscade laid for the purpose of cutting off the expected retreat -of the English, of course, utterly failed of its object; and when those -who formed it saw the ill success of their coadjutors, they began to -seek safety—each for himself as best he might. Wawhillowa disdained to -leave the field without some trophy of his valor; and, while his -associates were fleeing in every direction, he was bent on executing a -plan which would at once satisfy his animosity, and establish his -celebrity among the warriors of his tribe. - -Just back of the house in which Mr. Webster resided was a small -eminence, from the top of which could be obtained a fine view of the -whole plain of Hadley. The sides of this little hill were thickly -covered with bushes, through which a narrow foot path led from the house -to its summit. To this hill had Eliza Webster repaired to witness the -contest that was raging on the plain. Wawhillowa having cautiously -approached the house, at length caught the flutter of Eliza’s white -garments through the bushes, and hastily but silently approached her. -Suddenly she was grasped by a strong and unseen hand, and her -handkerchief being pressed into her mouth effectually prevented her -screaming. The strength of the young chief was that of a giant, and -scarcely hindered by the slender form of the fair girl he bore, he -bounded like a tiger after his comrades. - -Swiftly they fled, nor paused till the sun was within an hour or two of -high noon. And still Wawhillowa pressed on, bearing his fair charge, not -left far behind even by his unencumbered associates. When he considered -that there was no longer danger of pursuit, he set the poor girl on her -feet, and, removing the handkerchief from her mouth, ordered her to walk -on before him. In vain she asked him why he treated her thus—why he had -torn her from her friends and was bringing her to a cruel death—or to a -captivity worse than death. In vain she pleaded her friendship with -Tahattawa—her former intimacy even with himself; he walked on in stern -silence, and now and then by an impatient gesture, gave her to -understand that he wished her to be as taciturn as himself. With the eye -of one accustomed to the forest, the chief bent his course directly -towards the place of their encampment. Bushes and thorns often -obstructed their way; and although Eliza was wearied and sadly torn by -the briars, she even dared to threaten her foe. Not aware of the -difficulty that existed between them, and which had been the cause of -her own seizure, she warned Wawhillowa to beware of the vengeance of her -lover. - -At the mention of the name of his deadly foe, the fiery savage sprang to -the side of his victim and was about to plunge his knife to her heart, -but calming the transport of his passion he spared her for a more -perfect revenge. His eye glared fiercely on her, and triumph shone in -every lineament of his features as he replied, - -“I hate him! I will have his blood; his scalp shall hang up and dry in -the smoke of Wawhillowa’s wigwam. The fair Flower that loves him shall -never again see his face except it be in death. She shall never be his -wife; she shall be the Red Man’s slave—aye, a captive to the Red Man’s -bride. - -In the mean time, all was consternation at the house of Mr. Webster. No -one had seen Eliza when she left the house, and her absence could be -accounted for only by the supposition that she had been slain, or -carried away captive by the Indians. The alarm spread from house to -house. The whole village was ready to pursue the enemy, and to recover -the lost one, or to revenge her death. Ah! revenge! as if the lives of -ten or of fifty of the foe could bring back one spirit that had gone! - -A small but ardent band was soon organized, and ready for pursuit, with -Young Russell at its head. They struck at once upon the trail of the -Indians, and kept it without difficulty till they came to the bank of -the river at the foot of Mount Holyoke. Here all traces of their course -vanished. They had evidently entered the river; but whether they had -crossed it, or only proceeded along its margin and left it again on the -same side at a distance below could not be determined. The company here -separated, and one party crossed the river to search for the trail on -the other side, while the remaining party scoured the eastern shores, -but all in vain—no traces of the enemy could be discovered. It was -finally conjectured that they had concealed their canoes in the bushes -and trees on the side and at the foot of the mountain—and that after -their defeat they had hastened thither and embarked on the river, and -were by this time at such a distance as to defy pursuit or discovery. -Hour after hour did that little band search the country round. Some -climbed to the summit of the mountain—some went far down the broad -river—here—there—and everywhere the closest search was made—but -still without success. William now began to despair of the safety or -rescue of his betrothed. His heart grew sick—his cheek paled—and he -felt that it would be a boon to sit down and die, if he could but be -buried by the side of his lost bride. And then, as he remembered the -dispute with Wawhillowa, and the truth flashed upon him, his face -flushed with anger, his teeth became firmly set, and his breathing hard -and laborious. Again he started on—retraced the steps he had taken, and -hurried towards the island on which stood Shaomet’s tent. When he -arrived opposite the spot, not seeing a canoe at hand, he threw himself -into the river, and soon found himself, breathless and exhausted, at the -door of the old man’s wigwam. He entered abruptly—Shaomet sat alone, -quietly smoking his pipe. - -“Your daughter—where is she? Where is Tahattawa?” cried William. - -“I know not,” answered the old chief; “when I awoke this morning, roused -by the firing on the plain, she had already left the wigwam, and I have -not seen her since.” - -“Where is Wawhillowa, the Nonotuck prince?” - -“I have not seen him these many days; and yet I think he has been about -here, for Tahattawa has seen him and had a long talk with him not longer -ago than yesterday.” - -“Have you heard that the Fair Flower, who used so often to visit your -tent, is lost?” asked William. - -“Yes—some of your people came here to search for her,” replied the -Chief, shrugging his shoulders, “but they might have known better than -that. Shaomet is old now—his hair has turned white—his step is no -longer light and swift, or he would help you to find your poor lost one. -She was a beautiful Flower, and she and Tahattawa were the delight of -Shaomet’s old heart; but she is stolen now, and love has proved stronger -too in Tahattawa’s heart, than her affection for her poor old father. -She has left me, I fear, to follow the young chief. But he is a brave -warrior, and worthy of her love. Many of his enemies shall fall before -his eye. He has a strong arm and a steady hand, and—but here is -Tahattawa! She has not forsaken me”—and a flash of joy for a moment -kindled his sunken eye, as the light form of his daughter bounded into -the tent. - -She stood for a moment panting from the effect of recent and violent -exercise. Oh! she was beautiful! The rich, red blood could clearly be -seen through the dark skin,—her eye beamed, and her swelling breast -heaved with the excitement. - -“Have you seen Eliza?” eagerly asked Russell. - -“Ay, she is a captive to the Nonotuck chief. I saw him seize her, and -bear her away in his arms. How bravely it was done! But she was my -sister. I would not have her die. I followed them—my step was light—he -saw me not—heard me not; I followed them to the encampment, and now I -am come to tell you where you may find her.” - -“But why did you not give the alarm when you saw him seize her?” -impatiently demanded William. - -The girl turned her rich dark eye full upon the speaker, as she said, - -“Wawhillowa is the betrothed of Tahattawa, and should she betray the -life of her lover? No! my sister shall be safe, but the brave chief must -not die! And now promise me that you will not seek his life, and I will -lead you to your bride.” - -“I promise you,” said William. - -“Nay, but the promise of a _pale-face_ is easily broken; you must swear -it!” - -William did as he was required, and the two immediately started to -recover the captive. - -Let us return to Wawhillowa and his companions. Some six or eight miles -down the river from Hockanum island, on the east side of the range of -hills abruptly terminated by Mount Tom, and renewed again on the other -side of the Quonnecticut by Holyoke and the peaks with which it is -connected, is a sort of natural amphitheatre, enclosed on three sides by -steep and precipitous hills, and on the other, towards the river, -closely shut in by a belt of dense forest. This was the spot selected by -the Indians as a place of retreat should retreat be necessary; and -thither they had fled after the defeat at Hadley. The spot was admirably -calculated for the purpose of concealment and security. The huge grey -rocks lifting their shaggy crests far above the little plain at their -base, seemed to bid defiance to all the world around. The only way of -access to the Indian encampment was by striking through the forest that -separated it from the river. - -The sun had already gone down behind those rough peaks, and the -twinkling stars, one by one appearing in the blue vault above, told that -the night had come. The pale moon was not looking on—yet it was a -bright and lovely night; too bright—oh! far too beautiful for the many -scenes of wickedness and crime that were, all over the earth, about to -be transacted under its shades! - -In the amphitheatre which we have described sat the chiefs, who had that -day been in the action, in grave and solemn council. The causes of their -defeat were discussed, and it was determined that a conciliatory -offering must be made to the Great Spirit, and that the captive maid -must be the sacrifice. Wawhillowa arose, and long, and earnestly, and -even eloquently pleaded for her life. He claimed her as his own; he -wished not for her death, but chose to keep her for his slave. His suit -was unsuccessful; and when he sat down, a murmur of disapprobation was -all that he heard. The voice was unanimous against him, and he was at -last obliged to acquiesce. - -New fagots were thrown upon the council fire. The dance began with slow -and measured tread. The fires blazed, and glared on the painted and -hideous countenances of the revellers, giving them an unearthly and -demon-like appearance. The march quickened, and the wild song rose up in -deep and deadly tones, and was echoed back from those high rocky hills. -The stake was driven, and Wawhillowa ordered the guard to bring forth -the victim. The man stirred not—answered not; and the chief himself -flew to the spot, burning with rage. He soon came back with inflamed -countenance, and muttering curses deep and loud. The prisoner had -fled—the savage that had been left to guard her lay weltering in his -own gore! A wild, unearthly shout of fury rent the air as the maddened -savages learned their disappointment. - -We left William Russell and the Indian maid, Tahattawa, just leaving the -wigwam of her father for the rescue of Eliza Webster. They entered a -light canoe and glided swiftly down with the current of the river. As -they approached the place where the Indians were encamped, the two -travellers kept close under the western bank, to be more secure against -the observation of any one who might have been stationed as a look-out. -By six o’clock they were within a mile of the encampment, and here, by -the advice of the girl, Russell moored the canoe, and they struck into -the woods. Tahattawa, taking the lead, glided through the dense bushes -with surprising facility—so swiftly indeed, that her companion found -some difficulty in keeping her in sight, although his heart was -continually prompting him to put forth every effort. At length, just as -the shades of night began to appear, they caught a glimpse of the -council fire. They now proceeded with the utmost caution till they came -in sight of the wigwam in which the prisoner was bound. Fortunately, it -was placed on that side of the opening which was nearest them, just in -the edge of the forest. Tahattawa crept along—keeping the tent between -herself and the Indians, till she could look through a small hole in the -rear. She now motioned Russell to approach. He did so, and looking -through the opening, he saw, sitting, his lost bride, her face buried in -her hands. At the door of the tent sat a brawny Indian, who, confident -of the security of his prisoner, was gazing towards the fire and quietly -smoking his pipe. - -Tahattawa quickly drew William’s knife from his belt, and, without the -least noise, cut a large piece from the thin bark-covering of the hut; -then placing the knife in Russell’s hand, she directed him by signs, to -enter, and despatch the savage. As he was passing Eliza, she raised her -head, and would have screamed, had not Tahattawa been already at her -side, and covered her mouth with her hand. At that moment the Indian -turned his head; he grasped his tomahawk, but before he could give a -blow the hot blood spurted from his heart, and he fell back and died -without a groan. - -The fugitives now began, as rapidly as possible, to retrace their steps -towards the canoe, which had been left concealed about a mile up the -river. Their progress, however, was slow, and the underwood was very -thick, and all three of the party were already wearied with the toils of -the day. Still they struggled on, and, at length, succeeded in reaching -the spot where the canoe had been left, before the hideous yell that -came sweeping up the river warned them but too surely that the escape of -the prisoner, and the death of the Indian in the wigwam, had been -discovered. - -Notwithstanding the fatigue of its occupants, the light bark swiftly -stemmed the broad current, its sharp prow gracefully cutting the tiny -waves as it darted on, curling the water from its path as if it -disdained to touch them. And well might it be! for that light craft held -a bold heart and a strong arm—and one too, that, had it not already -been worn out by exercise, would have laughed at pursuit. About one half -the distance between Hockanum Island, and the place from which they -started, had been gained, when they heard anew the shouts of the -Indians, and looking round they saw two canoes about a quarter of a mile -below them in active pursuit. This was but an incentive to fresh effort, -for they well knew that if they should be overtaken, instant death or -cruel tortures would be the fate awaiting two at least, perhaps all -three of the party. The Indian girl seized a paddle and applied her -strength in assisting the young man, whose own was well nigh exhausted. -This aid was not inconsiderable, for though the girl was not near as -muscular as her companion, yet her skill in managing the canoe was but -little inferior to his. They were now enabled to keep on without losing -ground, though safety was far from certain, as several miles yet -remained to be passed over, before they could hope to find assistance. - -Directly in the gorge between Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom is a short -bend in the river, forming a peninsula, now familiarly called “The -Bellows,” from its supposed resemblance to that article. The distance -around this peninsula is perhaps two or three miles, while the direct -course of the river is only about fifty rods. The isthmus, connecting -the bellows with the main land, does not now exist as it did then; for, -a year or two since, the ice collecting in the river just below, the -water swept over the narrow barrier, and washing away the earth, formed -for itself a new channel many feet in depth. When the fugitives reached -this isthmus they turned the canoe towards the shore, and William, -springing out, directed the two girls to walk across the narrow strip of -land, while he should drag the light boat over to the other bank. This -was but an easy task, compared with that of impelling it against the -current, for two or three miles—while the whole distance was as -effectually gained as if they had kept the river. Fortunate was it for -them that they adopted this stratagem, and fortunate, too, that there -was no moon, and that the bushes from the foot of Holyoke here swept to -the very shore; for they had hardly crossed half way over the isthmus -before their pursuers were opposite to them, close under the western -shore. As it was they were not discovered, and the canoes in chase went -sweeping round the whole length of the stream. - -Again the little party embarked, and hope began to beat strong in their -breasts. They pushed on with renewed energy, and at length their eyes -rested on the little island of Hockanum. It is always a sweet spot to -look upon, but never did it appear so beautiful to any eye as it did to -them on that night when they could just discern its dim outline. - -“You are safe, Eliza, you are safe!” cried William. - -But the savages below, growing fearful of being baffled in their -pursuit, were pressing on with all their strength; and the furious -Wawhillowa, in the foremost canoe, was continually urging on his men, -while he stood in the prow with his eyes eagerly strained into the dim -distance beyond. - -“We are safe!” cried William; but at the moment a bullet whistled close -by his head and gave the lie to his exclamation. - -As soon as the canoe touched the southern extremity of the island, -William sprang on shore, and hurrying out the females, all three -hastened to the tent of Shaomet. The old man had been in waiting for -them, and, as soon as they entered, pointed to a corner of the wigwam, -where lay a heap of fagots and a number of skins which he had prepared -as a means of concealment should concealment become necessary. William -quickly led Eliza to the spot, and placing her behind the fagots threw -the skins over the top. While he was doing this, the yells of the -Indians grew louder and more terrific, for they had now gained the -island, and were certain of their prey. William had scarcely turned away -from the corner where Eliza was concealed, when the door was thrown -violently open, and the savage features of the Nonotuck chief glared -full upon his face. Quick as thought the rifle of Shaomet was in -Russell’s hand and levelled full at the Indian’s breast. - -“Hold, hold!” cried Tahattawa, “your promise—your oath!” and she -snatched at the rifle. It was too late. William had already fired, and -the tall form of Wawhillowa fell heavily to the ground. The poor girl -turned mournfully away, and, covering her face with her hands, burst -into a flood of tears. - -By this time the other canoe had come up, and six or eight stout Indians -were surrounding the wigwam. They immediately drew away the body of -their chief; and, as it fell outwards, those within were uncertain -whether or not the wound was mortal. A council was now held by the -besiegers as to what mode of action should be adopted. Some proposed to -fire through the sides of the hut; others to burn it; but both of these -plans were rejected, as it would endanger the lives of Shaomet and his -daughter, which was far from being their object; for Shaomet had been a -bold and renowned chief, and still possessed much influence among the -neighboring tribes; while the beauty of the girl obtained for her an -influence and celebrity, but little less extensive than her father’s, -though of an entirely different kind. At last it was decided to burst -into the wigwam, and secure the fugitives, doing no harm to the old man -or his daughter, even though they had endeavored to give protection to -their enemy. - -Whilst they were hesitating what course to pursue, William reloaded the -rifle, together with an old musket which he found hanging in the tent. -As soon as the door opened, and an Indian appeared, he fired. The shot -was effectual, but still the odds were fearful. Another and another -savage entered, and the foremost had already levelled his rifle at -William’s heart. The musket was in Shaomet’s hand; with the quickness of -his youth he brought the piece to his shoulder. It missed fire. In -another instant William Russell lay a bleeding corpse. - -They immediately advanced to secure his scalp, but the old man would not -permit them. - -“You have killed my friend,” said he, “in my own wigwam, and now I will -protect his body while I live. Shaomet is old now—he will soon be -buried with his fathers; you may shoot me if you will, but never shall -you take his scalp.” - -All this time Tahattawa sat upon the bundle of fagots in the corner of -the tent. She spoke not—moved not. For the sake of her friend—her -_sister_ as she familiarly called her—she had perilled her own life; -nay, what was far more, the life of her betrothed. She had seen her -“_sister’s_” lover shot down—she had seen her own young chief fall, and -of course supposed him dead. Poor girl! A victim to her own benevolence -and to the evil passions of others! - -The savages, casting a glance round the apartment, and perceiving no -other inmate besides Shaomet and his daughter, immediately left the -wigwam, and, taking their canoes, went silently down the river. - -On the afternoon following the events above related, the little island -of Hockanum looked as bright and as beautiful as ever. It was as lovely -as if it had not witnessed the tragic scenes of the preceding night. The -bright sun shone gaily upon it; the birds warbled their sweet notes; the -soft breeze played among the bright green leaves; and the whole spot -looked like a little paradise;—a sad contrast to two hearts that were -even then in its bosom. - -The friends of William Russell had already assembled to perform the last -sad duties to his remains. He was to be interred here, in accordance -with the request of her who was to have been his bride. - -“Here,” said she, “here on this little island he was slain, and here let -him be buried. Here I will spend many of my hours; I will plant flowers -around his grave. Here I can come and weep, away from all eyes but the -eye of Him who has seen fit to afflict me thus.” - -The ceremony had just been performed and they were just turning away -from the grave, when all eyes were directed to a canoe which was slowly -moving up the river. It had two occupants. One sat motionless in the -stern—the other was gently using the paddle. As it approached the -island, Tahattawa regarded it with a fixed and earnest gaze. As she did -so her heart beat quick and her eyes darted with joy. - -“It is—it is _he_,” cried she, “Wawhillowa;” and away she bounded to -the shore. As the canoe touched the bank, the Indian, who sat in the -stern, stepped on shore. The next instant his companion pushed off, -turned down the stream, and quickly disappeared from view. - -Wawhillowa—for it was he—advanced with a few staggering, uncertain -steps towards the girl, but before they met, he fell headlong on the -ground. Those who had been standing around the grave now approached. The -girl sat holding his head, and chafing his temples with her hands. He -had fainted. The blood was slowly oozing from a wound by a rifle ball in -the right breast. It appeared to have bled considerably, for it had run -down even to his ankle, and the right leggin was deeply stained. -Tahattawa looked the very image of despair. Hope had been kindled in her -breast only to be destroyed, and her poor heart could hardly contain its -grief. - -Shaomet ran to his tent, and brought a calabash full of water from the -river, and some being sprinkled on the face of the young warrior, he -slowly revived. Turning a melancholy glance on those around them, his -eye brightened for a moment, and the sternness of his features relaxed -as his look rested on the face of his betrothed. - -“Tahattawa,” said he, in a feeble voice, “I am dying. Bury me—here—on -the island. I am going—to the—happy—hunting grounds. See!—the -spirit—of my father—calls me.—Ha! It grows dark—Tahattawa!” - -The poor girl bent over him till her face rested on his bosom. When she -again raised her eyes, the spirit of the Nonotuck chief had departed, -and she looked on the cold, fixed features of the dead. - -Another grave was dug close by the side of the one which had just been -filled. Some of the friends of the “pale-face” objected to the burial of -an Indian so near the body of their own kindred, but the sisters wished -it, and their feelings were regarded. He was buried, after the manner of -his people—his face towards the rising sun. His hunting weapons were -buried with him. There they lay—two fierce and haughty spirits. They -would not hold fellowship in life, but in _death_ they sleep side by -side. - -From that hour the hearts of the two survivors were as one. Theirs had -been a sad and mournful fate. Their destinies were similar. They -lived—lived long—and as happily as two could live whose first dream of -bliss had been thus cruelly broken. They lived to atone for the faults -of those whom they had loved. They were never separated during their -lives, and nearly at the same time the summons came to both to go and -meet their Judge. They have long since passed away. Their clay has -“returned to earth as it was, and their spirits have gone to the God who -gave them.” - - Unionville, Mass. - - * * * * * - - - - - SHAKSPEARE.—No. II. - - -BY THEODORE S. FAY, AUTHOR OF “NORMAN LESLIE,” “THE COUNTESS IDA,” ETC. - - - HAMLET. - -None of Shakspeare’s characters are insignificant. If I had been Garrick -or Mrs. Siddons, I should have tried sometimes, as an experiment, the -most apparently trifling of his personages. I believe they would give -room for striking development, only there is this objection—neither -Siddons nor Garrick, nor any other of the great actors _could_ take -parts promiscuously from the crowd. They are too unlike each other. They -are too essentially different identities to permit of being represented -by one. Garrick might take Macbeth in the play—and _Scrub_ in the -after-piece, and do them both well; but he could not play equally well -with two such opposite characters by Shakspeare. No actor has appeared -_capable_ of playing all his principal tragic _rôles_ well. It is -sufficient honor to attain to the height of illustrating one or two. -Kean, for example, was very great in Lear and Richard. He was fine, by -starts, in Othello, but not equally so. He wanted sustained simplicity -and calm grandeur. Othello was a hero of nature: he had the quiet self -respect of a long successful soldier. Kean did not satisfy me, as a -whole, in Othello. I like Forrest, in many respects, better. I saw -Forrest play the part at Drury Lane one night far beyond what I had ever -seen before; particularly the first half of the play was perfect; the -last I thought wanted, although in a slight degree, that mellowing and -chastening which time gives to a painting, and will, doubtless, perhaps -_has_ given, to this part of that dignified and impressive portraiture. -He carried with him a crowded and intellectual audience—and, at certain -points, profound and unbreathing silence—the highest -applause—indicated the grasp this distinguished tragedian had on the -minds of the people who have beheld the character so often and so -grandly given—and so often and ably criticised. Cassio’s drunken scene -was full of the thrilling strokes of a master. - -Of the characters in these plays we may always speak as of historical -characters—as if they had lived—just as the poet drew them. Men always -do speak of them so. The _opinions_, even of these Shakspearian men and -women, have authority in the senate and the field—at the bar and in the -pulpit. Many a statesman—many an editor has struck at his antagonist -with a citation, not from _Shakspeare_, but from his men and women. By a -common consent of two centuries, Othello and Macbeth, Lear and -Coriolanus, have _lived_—they have been substantial beings—their real -historical individuality has passed into their dramatic being—and they -appeal to our minds from the scenes where Shakspeare left them. So with -all his vast crowd of people. A young man who has made himself really -acquainted with this assemblage, will have formed valuable friends and -advisers; and should he select properly the persons whose opinions he -means to act on, he will live a happier and a wiser life than he could -without them. - -I have said there is no insignificant character in Shakspeare; so I may -say there is scarcely one which would not make the subject of an -interesting volume. As classes of men, scores of volumes might yet be -written on the kings, the queens, the generals, the rebels, the -usurpers—on the mothers, the children, the self-murderers, the -assassins—on the poor and the rich, the innocent and the guilty—on the -supernatural characters—on the noblemen and the peasants—on the fools -and drunkards—on the spirits—on justices and physicians, landlords and -servants—on sea captains, lawyers and executioners—on mobs and -fairies—on Spaniards, Italians, English and Frenchmen—on Romans, Jews, -shepherds, shepherdesses and wenches, courtiers, pages, etc., etc., etc. -Indeed, there is scarcely an end to the various relations in which his -characters may be considered; each one may be performed with effect. -Nature has made, or will make, some particular mortals gifted with a -distinct capacity to represent one of each of them—as Mrs. Siddons was -for Lady Macbeth, and Kean for Lear. The greatest actors seem but -prophets fitted to illustrate one or two of his creations. Some of them -have never yet been represented as they may be. Probably Lady Macbeth, -and Queen Catharine, in Henry VIII. will never be better given—as also -Richard, Lear, and several others; but I suspect many of the subordinate -_rôles_ are yet to be filled. - -There really are many indications which bear out the praise of the -commentators, that this world was not _large_ enough for his genius. His -spirits, magicians, monsters, and ghosts, are evidences of it. Other -writers have resorted to these materials before him, but only as a mode -of acting on human feelings. It was reserved for Shakspeare to make us -as well acquainted with the secret heart of a _ghost_ as of a mortal. -Hamlet’s spectre not only frightens and startles us—he touches our -feelings. We see into that unearthly mind—that solitary, disembodied -being—revisiting the scene of its mortal life, but indicating, -fearfully, by its stealthy dim night walks—the solemn march with which -it goes slow and stately by—its allusions to things too frightful for -human ears—its guilty starting at the crowing of the cock, and its -hurrying back to its nameless and awful task—its anguish-stricken -bewailings over the earthly state of peace and happiness from which it -was so ruthlessly hurled—indicating by all these and many more -expressive tokens, the dark and sublime load of woe it bears, and -appealing to our sympathy with terrible power. Ulrici may have found, in -this scene, grounds for his theory. - -The character of the unhappy exile from earth to the secret and -impenetrable abode of spirits, is drawn with as much reality as that of -Hamlet or the grave digger. There are two or three touches of -individuality which invest it with a singular attraction. It is not only -a ghost; it is _the_ ghost of a particular individual—of a majestic, -noble, benevolent, affectionate king, overwhelmed by a mighty calamity: -the victim of the most shameful lewdness—the blackest treachery that -ever was seen—and deploring, “in fire,” the “foul crimes” done in his -“days of nature.” We are not to presume he had been a peculiarly wicked -man, but he was _suddenly_ called to his account before he could -_prepare himself to die_. - -What a sublime hint of Christianity is this, and how fraught with a -tremendous lesson to all mankind. Death itself is not the misfortune; it -is death to an unprepared spirit. That he was - - “Sleeping, by a brother’s hand - Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched,” - -is not so terrible as that he was cut off even in _the blossoms of his -sins_— - - “Unhousel’d, disappointed, unaneal’d: - _No reckoning made_, but sent to my account - _With all my imperfections on my head_.” - -I have always thought this one of the sublimest and most terrible -reaches of our author’s genius. All earthly misfortunes, regarded in -their temporary consequences are, of course, unworthy to be placed in -comparison with the misfortune of the immortal disembodied soul. The -wreck of old Lear’s mind, the agonizing fall of Othello from bliss, the -banishment and murder of Coriolanus, the stern fate of the sweet Juliet -and her tender Romeo—all fall short of the horror of this spectral -lamentation, coming up from the central caves of the earth, or the yet -more unimaginable caverns of hell itself, and deploring in the “dead -waste and middle of the night,” the vast, dire and unnameable wo it -suffers from its unreflecting manner of living while yet a mortal tenant -of the globe, and when the means of _making its reckoning_ were yet -within its power, and had been so unwisely neglected. Had this unhappy -creature been a thinking and pious person, the sudden blow would not -have found it unprepared. It would not have been wasting the precious -hours of age in the _blossoms of its sin_. It would not have deferred -the imperative duty of making its peace with the creator, and of -endeavoring, (_before_ the condemnation “to fast in fire”) to purify -itself from earthliness—from the enervating and selfish tendencies of -luxury and royal power, and from the soils and weaknesses of youthful -passions, uncurbed, and the follies—perhaps we may also with justice -term them “foul crimes”—which all mortals commit in a greater or less -degree. - -In these few words is a grave lesson to the men of the present living -world. Many of the most prominent characters in history have felt, in -time, the importance of the mighty truth which this “poor ghost” had -neglected—and, by withdrawing from active life, as old age came on, and -devoting themselves to reflection, to self-examination and -self-purification, to thoughts of death and communion with their Maker, -have endeavored to prepare themselves for the closing scene. Men require -this process. We are all heated with the cares and passions of life, and -cherish in our breasts flames which ought to be extinguished before we -enter the presence of our Maker. Some abandon themselves to such -unworthy wishes, to such mean, selfish and ridiculous opinions and -determinations, that the years of ordinary old age cannot be too long to -enable us to regain our balance, and to recover (or if we have never had -it, to acquire) the dignity of a moral being. What a picture is -presented to the imagination by the thought of a _miser_ standing before -the throne of God. How would a _profligate_ feel, restored, as he will -be by death, to a true estimation of himself, on being thrust suddenly -before the dread tribunal; or, what would be the sensations of an -arrogant, presumptuous man, going through life with no thought but -himself and his own greatness, on being, like the ghost of Hamlet, “cut -off” even in the blossoms of his sins, _no reckoning made_, “but sent to -his account” with all his imperfections on his head? What would be the -feelings of any mere worldly man—one who had been a cruel persecutor -and oppressor—who had taken the bread from the widow and orphan? - -All men have not sinned equally, but all men have sinned. It is not -likely any one has gone through the world without having an opportunity -of feeling, with a most bitter humiliation, the innate depravity and -woful weakness of human nature, unless _sustained_ by the creating hand. -Trusted to themselves the stoutest will faint, the purest will be -soiled. The events of life act upon the heart with a kind of chemical -power, extracting from it baseness and weakness, as poison may be -extracted from flowers. Perhaps this is capable of being turned to good, -if read aright. For the heart which has looked in upon itself, with -distrust and shame, is wiser and purer than any other: it is stronger -also. To come to the feet of the Creator with a _true_ trust in him, is -almost impossible, till we have seen the shipwreck of self confidence, -and felt that by ourselves we are less than nothing. - -After a life, then, of action, and of temptation, of false hopes, ill -placed affections, frivolous desires and enjoyments, and perhaps impious -and guilty occupations, how happy he who has the wisdom to break away -from them _himself_, before inexorable fate calls him, and who cleanses -and prepares his spirit for the great change it is destined to undergo. -I will not enter here upon the graver tenets of religion, but surely we -may believe that he who sees in time the nature of sin, and disentangles -himself from its snares—who spends the latter years of his life in a -sincere endeavor to become what he ought to be, and to release his -spirit from the world before his body is called away, if he cannot -wholly efface the traces of sin, may soften them. - -For my part, although not an old man, I begin already to look upon human -life more as a spectator than an actor, and to feel myself within the -sublime and mysterious attraction of another world. I distrust the -effect upon me of the collisions, temptations and pleasures which I may -yet have to encounter—and I feel a hesitation even in wishing for -wealth or worldly honors. The idea of a hereafter—of the actual visible -presence of my Maker—is becoming every day less remote and more -familiar to me. It hushes the voice of indignation, and checks the -impulse of contempt—which, when I keep my eyes on this world alone, I -cannot always master. It teaches me that my mortal part, as far as -related to earthly things, is a brief, passing shadow—that the world is -but the reflection of one point in the career of the soul—that human -vice and folly are but mysteries of nature, and that human passions were -given us as our slaves—not our masters. No medicine—no magnetism can -have a more striking influence than this thought, upon the physical as -well as the moral part of me; and when I enter the chamber where a dead -man is lying, I feel all that is _bad_ within me so rebuked, silenced -and destroyed—and all that is good so awakened, so pure, sustaining and -holy, that I have little enthusiasm to search after the vain phantoms of -mere earthly philosophy, or earthly happiness. I see only the form of -religion, ever calm, ever young, standing above the wreck of the mortal -universe, and pointing to another and a better one. - -What a powerful stroke of dramatic art is it then in our great poet to -throw this idea, not into the voice of a sage or a preacher, but to -announce it to startled generations from the dim faded lips of a -suffering spirit. - -It has been a custom with many great characters, both of ancient and -modern times, to devote the latter part of their lives to this moral -preparation. It seems as if a kind Providence had conceived old age on -purpose for this process. If we have lived properly, our minds will then -have become cultivated in proportion as the body, that great tempter, -has been weakened; and we are called upon to retire from the active -world just when we are become unfit for it. Yet how many old men do we -see clinging to its gilded toys, empty hopes, and frivolous amusements, -without a thought of any thing beyond; or, how many a grey head is at -this moment working schemes which might better become the imagination of -the thoughtless school-boy, or the grovelling nature of the brute. In -how many a heart, which should be the altar only for the pure, silent, -undying flame of piety, do we see the unholy passions of earth burning -beneath a hand which ever feeds with the impurest food their vain fires. -How few are there among aged men who have thought of letting loose their -hold on earth, of slackening their pursuit after wealth or vain -distinctions, of turning their minds to the period (which to-morrow may -bring) when all things not connected with their future career shall seem -to them like infant toys. - -I often think of that poor ghost’s touching lament, and hope that death -may not find me thus unprepared. I take a profound lesson from this -profoundest of mortal teachers, and learn to go through the earth like a -passing traveller, paying but a brief visit of curiosity and instruction -to its beautiful wonders, but who does not mean to build, even in the -fairest of its bowers, or by the most tempting of its streams—because -his home is in another country, to which all that he has and all that he -loves is either gone or going. - -How deeply Shakspeare—even the laughter-loving, etherial, sunshiny -Shakspeare, was impressed with the same thought, you may gather from his -works. It is not the night-walking spirit alone who utters to mankind -this sublime truth, but the most high climbing and successful of his -living personages also proclaim it. _Prospero_, among others, in a -solemn and touching remark, betrays how full he is of the nothingness of -mere human life. After having given utterance to that most magnificent -of all the sublime breathings of a thoughtful mind— - - “And like the baseless fabric of this vision, - The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, - The solemn temples, the great globe itself, - Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, - And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded, - Leave not a rack behind.” - -He invites his companions to his cell: - - “Where you shall take your rest - For this one night; which (part of it) I’ll waste - With such discourse, as I no doubt, shall make it - Go quick away: the story of my life, - And the particular accidents gone by, - Since I came to this isle: and in the morn - I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, - Where I have hope to see the nuptial - Of these, our dear belov’d, solemnized; - And thence, _retire me to my Milan, where_ - _Every third thought shall be my grave_.” - -It is true this man has made himself a _magician_ for the purposes of -the poem; yet the reflection is that of a Christian turning away from -the most splendid paths of this world to prepare himself for the next. -Of the _Tempest_ it may be said, in passing, that over it hangs a -beautiful mystery which has not, that I am aware of, yet been explained. -There is some deeper meaning in the extraordinary contrast of -characters, in the delicate and harshly used Ariel—in the brutish and -diabolical Caliban, - - “Which any print of goodness will not take, - Being capable of all ill;” - -and yet, by a mysterious exercise of power, obliged to obey an art -sufficiently strong to control his “dam’s god Setebos.” I am so -accustomed, in the works of Shakspeare, as in those of nature, to look -for meaning where all seems most capricious, that I dwell with a kind of -delightful curiosity over the grand and not yet all explained lessons of -this fascinating creation. What a delightful amusement for an old age of -leisure to relieve its graver moments by a habitual study of Shakspeare! - -To return a moment to the spirit of Hamlet. The _human traces_ found in -this pale spectre are great heighteners of our interest in it, and of -the probabilities of its existence. The return to Elsinore, and to the -platform before the castle, in the night, when the sentinels are on -guard—its appearance first to the soldiers on the watch—then to -Horatio, who has been induced to watch by the report of it—its sudden -appearance, and equally abrupt disappearance—giving an idea of -capricious impulses and laws not within the reach of mortal -conjecture—its seeking out _its son_ as the confidant of the amazing -secret, are all ghost-like, and yet show the shadow of mortality. Its -dismal, half-breathed, mysterious revelations of what it is undergoing -in its new abode, are spectral to the last degree; but there is nothing -which elevates it to a higher and nobler place in our commiseration, -than the exquisitely tender allusion to the guilty queen. This is the -mortal, always majestic, superior, merciful and refined—but now -enlightened and subdued by the influences of its new state. - - “But, how-so-ever thou pursu’st this act, - Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive - Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, - And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge - To prick and sting her.” - -And then the startled, reluctant, yet abrupt and compelled return. - - “Fare thee well _at once_! - The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, - And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire; - Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me.” - -Again, in the scene where Hamlet kills Polonius, and reveals to his -mother his full knowledge of her crime, the spirit wo-stricken, and -bringing with it always the terrible cold breath of the other world—yet -still, with the fingerings of human affection, is touched with pity at -the terror and suffering of her whom it had once loved: - - “But, look! amazement on thy mother sits: - Oh, step between her and her fighting soul; - Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. - Speak to her Hamlet.” - - * * * * * - - - - - BALLAD. - - - BY J. R. LOWELL. - - - Gloomily the river floweth, - Close by her bower door, - And drearily the nightwind bloweth - Across the barren moor. - - It rustles through the withered leaves - Upon the poplars tall, - And mutters wildly ’neath the eaves - Of the unlighted hall. - - The waning moon above the hill - Is rising strange and red, - And fills her soul, against her will, - With fancies lone and dread. - - The stream all night will flow as drearful, - The wind will shriek forlorn, - She fears—she knows that something fearful - Is coming ere the morn. - - The curtains in that lonely place - Wave like a heavy pall, - And her dead mother’s pale, pale face - Doth flicker on the wall. - - And all the rising moon about - Her fear did shape the clouds, - And saw dead faces staring out - From coffins and from shrouds. - - A screech-owl now, for three nights past, - Housed in some hollow tree, - Sends struggling up against the blast - His long shriek fearfully. - - Strange shadows waver to and fro, - In the uncertain light, - And the scared dog hath howled below - All through the weary night. - - She only feels that she is weak - And fears some ill unknown, - She longs, and yet she dreads to shriek - It is so very lone. - - Her eyeballs in their sockets strain, - Till the nerves seem to snap, - When blasts against the window-pane - Like lean, dead fingers tap. - - And still the river floweth by - With the same lonely sound, - And the gusts seem to sob and sigh, - And wring their hands around. - - Is that a footstep on the stair, - And on the entry-floor? - What sound is that, like breathing, there? - There, close beside the door! - - Hush! hark! that was a dreadful sigh! - So full of woe, so near! - It were an easier thing to die - Than feel this deadly fear. - - One of her ancestors she knew - A bloody man had been, - They found him here, stabb’d through and through, - Murdered in all his sin. - - The nurse had often silenced her, - With fearful tales of him— - God shield her! did not something stir - Within that corner dim? - - A gleam across the chamber floor— - A white thing in the river— - One long, shrill, shivering scream, no more, - And all is still forever! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ROMAN BRIDE. - - - A TALE OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE. - - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” ETC. - - -The might and glory which had of yore reared the imperial city to its -throne of universal domination, had long ago departed from the -degenerate and weak posterity of the world’s conquerors! The name of -Roman was but the lucid meteor of the charnel imparting a faint lustre -to corruption and decay! The bold hordes of the hardy north had -oftentimes already avenged the wrongs done by the elder Cæsar, while the -frail silken puppets, who had succeeded to his style and station, -trembled in the unguarded capital at every rumor from beyond the Danube. -For, to the limits of that mighty river had they extended, years before -the time of which we write, their arms, their arts, their sciences, and -their religion—the pure and holy doctrines of the crucified Redeemer. -All the Dalmatian coast of the bright gulf of Venice, now little more -known than the wilds of central Asia, was studded with fair towns, and -gorgeous palaces, and gay suburban villas; and all the wide spread -plains of Thrace and Thessaly, now forest-clad and pathless, save to the -untamed klepht or barbarous tartar, waved white with crops of grain, and -blushed with teeming vineyards, and nurtured a dense happy population. -At times indeed the overwhelming deluge of barbarian warfare had burst -upon those fertile regions; and, wheresoever it burst, - - “With sweepy sway - Their arms, their arts, their gods were whirled away—” - -yet ever, when the refluent billows ebbed, the grass had sprung up green -and copious even in the horse tramps of the innumerable cavalry that -swelled the armies of the north, and the succeeding summer had smiled on -meads and vineyards abundant as before, and on a population careless and -free and jocund. - -But now a mightier name was on the wind—a wilder terror was -abroad—Attila!—Attila—the dread Hun! Still all as yet was peace; and, -although rumors were abroad of meetings beyond the Danube; of the bent -bow—emblem of instant warfare—sent with the speed of horse o’er moor, -morass, and mountain—although the tribute, paid yearly by the -degenerate Cæsars, had been refused indignantly by the bold -Marcian—bold, and wise, and worthy the best days of the -republic!—although from all these tokens prudent men had foreseen the -wrath to come, and brave men armed to meet it, and cowards fled before -it; still careless and improvident the crowd maintained their usual -demeanor, and toiled, and laughed, and bought, and sold, and feasted, -and slept sound o’ nights, as though there were no such things on earth -as rapine, and revenge, and merciless unmitigated war. - -It was as sweet and beautiful an evening in the early autumn as ever -looked down with bright and cheerful smile from the calm heavens upon -man’s hour of rest, what time the labor and the burthen of the day all -past and over, he gathers round him his blythe household, and no more -dreaming of anxiety or toil or sorrow, looks confidently forward to a -secure night and happy morrow. And never did the eye of day, rising or -sitting, look down from his height upon a brighter or a happier -assemblage than was gathered on that evening in a sweet rural villa, -scarce a mile distant from the gates of Singidurum one of the frontier -towns of Masia on the Danube. - -It was a wedding eve—the wedding of two beings both young and beautiful -and loving. Julia, the fairest of the province, the bright and noble -daughter of its grave proconsul, famed for her charms, her arts, her wit -and elegance, even in the great Rome itself before her father had taken -on himself—alas! in an evil hour—the duties and the honors of that -remote provincial government—and brave Aurelius, the -patrician—Aurelius, who, though not yet had he reached his thirtieth -summer, had fought in nine pitched battles, besides affairs of posts and -skirmishes past counting—won no less than five civic crowns, for the -lives saved of Romans on the field, and collars, and horse trappings, -and gold bracelets, as numerous as were awarded to the deeds of Marius, -when valor was a common virtue in Rome’s martial offspring. - -They were a noble pair, and beautiful, as noble—well-matched—she, -light as the summer cloud and airy as its zephyr and graceful as the -vine that waves at every breath—he vigorous and tall as the young oak -before the blight of eld has gnarled one giant limb or scathed one -wreath of its dark foliage. - -Delicate, fair, and slender and tall beyond the middle height of woman -with a waist ‘shaped to love’s wish’ and every graceful outline full of -rich rounded symmetry, young Julia was a thing to dream of as the -inhabitant of some far bright Elysian, rather than to behold as an -inmate of the rude heartless world. It seemed as though it were a sin -that the sun’s ardent kiss should visit her transparent cheek too -warmly, that any breath but that of the softest summer gale should -wanton in the luxuriant ringlets of her long silky auburn hair—her eyes -were blue and clear as the bosom of some pure moonlit fountain, and -there was in them a wild, yet not unquiet gaze, half languor and half -tenderness. She was indeed a creature but little fitted to battle with -the cares and sorrows of this pilgrimage, and as she leaned on the -stalwart arm of her warrior lover, hanging upon him as if confident in -his vast strength and relying absolutely on his protection, and fixing -the soft yearning gaze of those blue eyes full on his broad brow and -expressive lineaments, no one could doubt that she had chosen well the -partner who should support and guide her through this vale of tears and -sin and sorrow. - -But who thought then of tears—who ever dreamed of sorrow? The day had -been passed happily—alas! how happily!—in innocent and pure -festivity—the blythe dance on the velvet greensward, the joyous ramble -amid the trelliced vines, the shadowy cypresses, the laurelled mazes of -the garden; with lyre and lute and song, and rich peals of the mellow -flute and melancholy horn blent with the livelier clashing of the -cymbals, waking at intervals the far and slumbering echoes of the dark -wilderness beyond the Danube. Oh! had they but known what ears were -listening to their mirthful music, what eyes were gloating with the -fierce lust of barbarous anticipation on their fair forms and radiant -faces, what hearts were panting amid the dense and tangled forests for -the approaching nightfall—how would their careless mirth have been -converted into despair and dread and anguish, their languishing and -graceful gait into precipitate and breathless flight—those blythe light -hearted beings! - -The sun set glowing in the west—glowing with the bright promise of a -lovely morrow—and many an eye dwelt on his waning glories, and drew -bright augeries from the rich flood of lustre, which streamed in hues of -varying rose and gold up to the purpled zenith; while on the opposite -verge of heaven, the full orbed moon had hung already her broad shield -of virgin silver, with Lucifer the star of love kindling his diamond -lamp beside her. - -“Farewell, great sun—and blessings be upon thy course”—whispered -Aurelius to his lovely bride, as hanging fondly on his arm, she watched -from the Ionic porticoes of spotless Parian marble, the last sun of her -maiden days—“that thou hast set so calm and bright, and with such -promise of a glorious future—Hail, Julia, Hail with me the happy omen!” - -“To-morrow”—she replied in tones of eloquent music, half blushing as -she spoke even at the intensity of her own feelings—“To-morrow, my -Aurelius, I shall be thine, all thine!”— - -“And art thou not all mine, even now, beloved—By the bright heavens -above us—for long—long years!—my heart with all its hopes and fears -and aspirations, my life with its whole crime and purpose—my soul with -its very essence and existence have been thine—all! all thine—my -Julia—and art not thou mine, now!—why what save death should sever -us?—” - -“Talk not of death!”—she answered with a slight shiver running through -all her frame—“Talk not of death, Aurelius—I feel even now as if his -icy breath was blowing on my spirit, his dim and awful shadow reflecting -darkness on my every thought—dost thou believe, Aurelius, that passing -shades like these, which will at times sadden and chill the soul, are -true presentiments of coming evil?” - -“That do I not—sweet love”—he answered—“that do I not believe; when -by chance or some strain of highly wrought and thrilling sentiment the -heart-strings of us mortals are attuned too high beyond their wont, like -harp chords, they will harmonize to any sound or sentiment that accords -to their own spirit pitch; and, neither sad nor joyous in themselves, -will respond readily to either grief or sorrow: that, feeling no cause -for mirth or gloom, we fancy them prophetic feelings, when they are but -reflected tones, and so disquiet ourselves often with a vain shadow!” - -“Well,”—she replied, still sadly—“I wish it may be so, as I suppose it -is. Yet—yet—I would it were to-morrow!” - -“Come, come! I must not have thee thus sad on an eve like this, my -Julia—lo! they have lighted up the hall—and the banquet is spread, and -the wine poured—the queen of the feast must not be absent!” - -And shaking off the gloom which had, she knew not why, oppressed her, -she turned with one long lingering last glance to the sun as he -disappeared behind the dark tree tops which seemed to swallow him up in -an unnatural gloom, and entered the vast hall which, hung with -tapestries of silk and gold, and garlanded with wreaths of choice -flowers, and reeking with unnumbered perfumes, lighted with lamps of -gold pouring their soft illumination over the gorgeous boards, shewed -like a very palace of the senses. - -The bridal strains burst forth harmonious at the first, and slow and -solemn, but quickening and thrilling as they rose, till every ear that -heard them responded to their enlivening impulse, and every bosom glowed -and panted to their expressive cadences. The wine went round, and -laughter circled with it, and many a tender glance was interchanged, and -many a whisper that called up burning blushes, and many a pressure of -young hands betwixt those, who hoped that as this night to Julia and -Aurelius, so should one be for them at no far distant!—and many prayed -that such might be their lot—and many envied them!—Oh God, what -blinded worms we be—when left to our own guidance! - -The bridal feast was over—the bridal hymns were hushed—the banquet -hall was left deserted—for in an inner chamber all hung with spotless -white at a small altar placed beneath a cross gorgeous with gold and -jewels stood Julia and Aurelius—the tender and solicitous mother and -the gray headed noble father at her side—the priest of God before them, -and all the joyous company hushed in mute awe, that arose not from -fear—and the faith of that bright pair was plighted, and the gold ring -set on the slender finger, and the last blessing was pronounced, and -they two were made one. - -Just in that breathless pause as the words of the priest ceased to -sound, although their cadences were still ringing in the ears of all who -heard them—there was a sudden rustle heard without, and a dread cry. -“The city!—the city!—Singidurum!” So piercing was the cry, that not -one of all those who heard it, but felt that something dreadful was in -progress—in an instant the whole company rushed out into the -portico—and lo! one flood of crimson flame was soaring up the sky from -what an hour before had been a beauteous and a happy town—and a -confused din of roars and howls burst with the shrill yells of -despairing women, the clash of arms, and the thundering downfall of -towns, palaces, and temples, filled the whole atmosphere with fiendish -uproar. Scarce had they time to mark, or comprehend what they beheld, -before, about them, and around, on every side came the thick beating -hoofs—and in another moment they might see the myriads of the Hunish -horsemen circling them in on every side, and cutting off all hope of -flight or rescue with a dark living rampart. “Romans,” Aurelius -shouted—“Romans to arms—for life, and liberty, and vengeance!” - -His words were obeyed instantly, for all perceived their truth—but what -availed it? To hew down a dozen trees and batter down the village gates -was but a moment’s work for the blood-thirsty hordes who swarmed around -the building. The outer gate was shattered in a moment—the inner, -frailer yet, gave at the first assault, and now no bulwark was left any -longer to the Romans save in their own good swords and stalwart sinews! -Bravely they fought—aye, desperately—heaping the marble floors with -mangled carcasses, and dying, each man where he stood, where the sword -smote or javelin pierced him, dauntless and undismayed. Long they -fought, for each Roman slain cutting down ten barbarians—but by degrees -they were borne back—back at the sword’s point, foot by foot—and -marking every step by their own streaming gore. At the hour’s end but -five were left—five, and all wounded, and one old: the father of the -wretched Julia, Aurelius and his brother, and two young nobles of the -province. Retreating, step by step, they were at last driven back into -the bridal chamber—the altar stood there yet, and the great cross above -it, and the priest clinging to the cross, and at his feet the bride, -with her fair tresses all dishevelled and all her lovely comrades -prostrate upon the ground around her. The door was barred within—brief -respite, no defence—and the strong men leaned upon their weapons in -despair and gazed on one another, and then from one another to the -women. It was a sad and awful scene. A rush of heavy feet was heard -without—a halt, and then a rustling sound, with now a clang of steel -and now the clatter of a grounded spear, as if the multitude was getting -silently into array and order—a pause, and a loud -cry!—“Attila!—Attila!—the king!” - -Then came a slow and measured footstep striding up to the door—one -short and heavy blow upon the pannel, as with a sword’s hilt—and a -stern, grave voice exclaimed “Open!” - -“I will,” answered Aurelius, “they would destroy it in an instant—it is -but one chance in a myriad, but best trust to his mercy.” With the words -he drew back bar after bar, and threw the door wide open—and there! -there on the very threshold, with his swart cicatrized features, and -short, square, athletic form, sheathed in scale armor of a strange -device, with the hideous Charntean head gleaming out grim and awful from -his breastplate, and the strange sword—all iron, hilt and blade, and -guard and scabbard—his weapon and his God, firmly grasped in his right -hand, but as yet bloodless—there stood the dreadful Hun! - -“Death,” he exclaimed—“Death to all who resist,” in tones singularly -deep and stern and solemn—“Mercy to those who yield them!” - -“Do with _us_ as thou wilt, great king,” returned Aurelius steadily, -lowering as he spoke his sword’s point—“but spare our women’s honour!” - -“Down with thy weapon, or die, Roman!” thundered the monarch, striding -forward as he spoke and raising his sword high. - -“The terms, great Attila?” - -“Death for resistance!—Mercy for surrender!—A king’s love for fair -women!” shouted the Hun, enraged at finding opposition where he dreamed -not of meeting any, and his blood fired almost beyond endurance by the -exquisite charms of the women, whom he could clearly see beyond their -few defenders. - -“Then die, Aurelius! die as becomes a Roman—and by the Heavens above us -both, I will die with you,” exclaimed Julia, nerved by despair to -courage. - -“Ha! wilt thou?” exclaimed Attila; “Onegisus, reserve that girl who -spoke so boldly, and that black-haired maid with the jewelled collar, -for the king’s pleasure! Make in, Huns,” he added in an appalling -shout—“kill, win, enjoy—but leave this dog to me!” and with the word -he assailed, sword in hand, the new-made husband. One deadly close -charge, and the four defenders were hewn down—yea! hewn limb from limb, -by a hundred weapons—and then what followed was too terrible for -words—enough! all that war has most horrible—murder and agony and -violation, in their worst, most accursed shapes, reigned there and -revelled fiends incarnate. - -Onegisus had seized the bride and the other wretched girl indicated by -the king, and they were for the moment safe among the tumult—and still -Aurelius and Attila fought hand to hand, unwounded, and well paired, a -perilous and deadly duel. And ever as she stood there, unconscious of -the hellish deeds that were in progress round her, she gazed with a -calm, fearless eye upon her bridegroom. Onegisus had her grasped firmly -by the left arm, and as she neither strove, nor shrieked, nor struggled, -but stood still as a marble statue, he thought no more about it, but -gazed himself with all his eyes upon the combat. At last, as if by -mutual consent, the champions paused for breath. - -“Thou art brave, Roman,” said the Hun, in his deep, stern, low tones, -not seeming in the least degree disturbed or out of wind—“Attila loves -the brave!—Live and be free!” - -“Her honour, mighty Attila—my young bride’s honour—be merciful and -generous as thou art brave and noble.” - -“Choose—fool!” the king exclaimed in a voice resembling more the growl -of a famished tiger than any human sound—“choose between life or -death!” - -“Death or her honor!” - -“Then die—idiot—Roman!” sneered the other, and with a fearful cry, -grinding his teeth till the foam flew from them as from the tusks of a -hunted boar, he leaped upon Aurelius. Three deadly blows were -interchanged, and at each blow a wound—but at the fourth, Attila’s -sword descending like a thunderbolt, shivered the Roman’s blade into a -thousand pieces, and, glancing from his helmet, alighted on his -shoulder, and clove deep into his chest!—he staggered forward, and at -the next instant met the sword’s point, driven home by a tremendous -thrust into his very vitals. Headlong he fell backward; but, as he fell, -his glazing eyes turned fearfully toward his loved Julia—they glazed -fast—but he saw, and smiled in dying, and died happy! For, as the last -blow fell, she saw the fight was over—and by a sudden movement, the -less expected from her complete and passive quietude, she snatched a -long knife from the girdle of Onegisus, and before he well knew what she -had done, much less had time to prevent it, had stabbed herself three -times—each time mortally—into her virgin bosom. - -“Husband,” she cried, “I come!—true to my word—Aurelius—I am thine -now—all thine!” and, as the horror-stricken Hun released his hold upon -her arm, she darted forward, and threw herself upon the bosom of her -brave lord. Convulsively, in the death spasm, his arms closed about her, - - And in that act - And agony her happy spirit fled. - - * * * * * - - - - - NIAGARA. - - - [WRITTEN ON THE BANK OF THE NIAGARA RIVER—BETWEEN THE RAPIDS AND THE - CATARACT.] - - - BY GRENVILLE MELLEN. - - - Their roar is round me. I am on the brink - Of the great waters—and their anthem voice - Goes up amid the rainbow and the mist. - Their chorus shakes the ground. I feel the rock - On which my feet hang idly—as they hung - O’er babbling brooks in boyhood—quivering - Under the burst of music. Awful voice! - And strong, triumphant waters! Do I stand - Indeed amid your shoutings? Is it mine - To shout upon this grey cliff, where the bird, - The cloudy monarch-bird, shrieks from his crag, - O’er which he’s wheel’d for cent’ries. I lift up - My cry in echo. But no sound is there— - And my shout seems but whisper. I’m afraid - To gaze or listen! Yet my eye and ear - Are servants to a necromance that God - Alone can hold o’er Nature! Ministers, - At this immortal shrine of the Great King! - Ye never tiring waters! Let me pass - Into your presence—and within the veil - That has no holy like it—a great veil, - Within which the omnipotent outspeaks - In thunder and in majesty—within - The shadow of a leaping sea—where He - Opens His lips in wonder—and His brow - Bends ’neath a crown of glory from the skies! - - My prayer has speeded to the fount of power— - The veil has lifted—and I’ve entered in! - I feel like one whose visage has been bar’d - In presence of the Father of all earth— - Like one transported to another sphere, - Of the far company that walks the sky, - Who, in the stern confronting of a God - Has scann’d his own dimensions, and fall’n back - From an archangel’s reaching, to a man— - I feel like one on whom eternity - Has graven its large language, in the lines - Which mem’ry may not pass—nor can send back! - I am as one admitted to the door - That bars me from the future—the black port - Where clust’ring worlds come round, of spirits dim - Beckon’d to mysteries of another land. - - Tell not of other portals—tell me not - Of other power or awfulness. If you’ve stood - Within that curtain of Charybdis—if - You’ve seen and heard the far-voiced flood above, - Clapping its thousand hands, and heralding - Seas to a new abyss—you have seen all - The earth has of magnificent, like this— - You’ve stood within a gate that leads to God; - Where the strong beings of his mercy bend - And do his will with power—while they uphold - Our steps that grope the footstool. - - O! go in - Say not that to your gaze has been unbar’d - The mightiness of majesty, until - You’ve stood within the shadow of that sea - And heard it call unto you—until eye - And ear have stood the terrible rebuke - That rolls from those great caverns—till your blood - Flies to its citadel, and you grow white - Within the whirlpool presence of a flood - That leapt thus when on soaring Ararat - Rested the broad bark of a world! say not - The front of glory has been yet reveal’d - Until you’ve _felt_ the tempest in that cloud - And heard, ’mid rock and roar, that harmony - That finds no echo like it in the sea! - - O! go in - All ye who view not earth as monuments - And men as things but built to—to decay; - Pass ye within—ye will take lesson there. - How passing is the littleness of Earth— - How broad the empyrean reach of Heaven— - How fading is the brilliance of a world— - How beautiful the majesty of God! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE VAGRANT. - - - BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO. - - -A man was lying at the further end of a dismal cell, in the prison of -Versailles, when one of the jailors, thrusting a huge key into the lock -of a small but massive door, roused him with the unwelcome salutation, -“come, get up—the time is come, and the gentlemen are waiting for you.” - -“What, already!” replied the unhappy wretch to whom these words were -addressed, and stretching his muscular limbs, he added, “what a pity, I -was so sound asleep!” - -He rose, shook the bits of straw from his hair and beard, and putting on -the remains of an old hat, which had once been white, calmly said, -“well, I am ready—the sooner it is over the better.” - -The executioner, who was waiting with one of his assistants in the outer -vestibule of the prison, threw an oblique glance upon the prisoner, -then, looking at his watch, exclaimed, “come, make haste! we are already -after our time—the market is nearly over.” - -“Oh, but you have not far to go,” replied the turnkey; then addressing -the prisoner—“old one,” said he, “it will soon be over, and the weather -is fine. Here, take this, it will keep up your spirits.” And he handed -him a glass of brandy, which the prisoner drank off with evident -delight. - -“Thanks, good master,” he replied, returning the glass to the good -natured turnkey, “I shall never forget your kindness.” - -“Well, well,” said the latter, “that is settled. Never mind what I do -for you, man—it is little enough, God knows—only behave well—dost -hear?” - -The executioner’s man drew from his pocket a long and strong cord, with -a slip knot at the end, and tightly tied the hands of the convict, who -calmly looked at him, and said not a word. The executioner himself -carried a board, on which was a sort of notice, partly printed and -partly written; and all three proceeded slowly towards the market place, -where the prisoner was to be placed in the pillory for one hour, and -exposed to the gibes and taunts of an almost ferocious populace. - -From the scaffold to which he was fastened, the old mendicant cast a -look of pity upon the crowd, and said— - -“Well, and what are you looking at? am I an object of such intense -curiosity? But you are right; look at me well, for you shall never more -behold me. I shall not return from the place to which they are going to -take me—not that I fear a dungeon, for I have been too long accustomed -to have no other bed than the cold ground. No, I shall return hither no -more; and I should have done well had I not returned this time. But I -could not help it. I was born here, though I never told any body so; and -I love the spot where I first drew breath. ’Tis natural enough; yet why -should I love it? I never knew either home or parents—the latter left -me, when an infant, upon the steps of the church of St. Louis.” - -Here the sun-burnt countenance of the old mendicant assumed an -expression of bitterness. - -“Who knows,” he continued, “but I may have among you some uncles or -cousins—perhaps even nearer relatives.” - -The crowd gathered round the scaffold, listening to the words of the -mendicant. - -“And my excellent father,” said the latter, “what a pity he is not here -to own me! Perhaps he would be delighted at the _elevation_ to which I -have attained. For my own part, I never had a son; but if I had, I could -not have deserted him. He should never have been able to reproach me -with being the author of his misery. The other day I was hungry—I asked -for a morsel of bread—everybody refused to give it me; and that is the -reason why I am here.” - -As the old man uttered the last sentence, his head fell upon his chest, -and he wept. - -At length the executioner returned, accompanied by his assistant, who -carried upon his shoulders a furnace, in which was an iron instrument, -with a long wooden handle. Both ascended the scaffold, and placed -themselves behind the mendicant. The crowd drew nearer. The -executioner’s man laid the mendicant’s shoulder bare, whilst the -executioner himself stooped and took up the instrument. The poor convict -shuddered, uttered a plaintive cry, a light smoke arose, and the -ignominious letter was imprinted for ever. - -The poor man, scarcely able to stand, was helped from the scaffold, and -conveyed back to his prison through the crowd, who pressed upon his -passage to glut upon his sufferings. - -Old Philippe—such was the mendicant’s name, was well known in the -department of Seine and Oise; but nobody could tell who he was, whence -he came, or who his parents were. About fifteen years previous, just -after the restoration, he had appeared in the country for the first -time. He then asked questions, and seemed in pursuit of information on -secret matters, of which nobody could penetrate the motive. After some -time, he appeared to suffer much, as if from disappointment, and then -disappeared. About two years before the period of our narrative, he -again made his appearance at Versailles, very much altered, and looking -much older. Fortune had not smiled upon him during his absence, for he -went away a poor man, and returned a mendicant. - -No one knew where he had been, or how he had lived during this interval. -It was supposed, that, previous to his first appearance at Versailles, -he had travelled a great deal, and even borne arms; for of late years, -whenever he obtained the favor of a night’s lodging in a barn, he would -repay this hospitality by descriptions of foreign countries, and -accounts of bloody conflicts. - -On the day after his exposure in the pillory, as above related, the -following particulars concerning him were made known:— - -One evening, faint with hunger and fatigue, after having begged through -the environs of Versailles, without once obtaining alms, and his wallet -having been empty for the two preceding days, he had stopped at the door -of one of those elegant habitations which overlook the heights of -Rocquencourt. - -He begged a shelter for the night, and a morsel of bread, but both were -refused him, and he was rudely driven from the door. Leaning upon his -stick, he slowly quitted the inhospitable mansion, and with difficulty -gained a part of the demesne laid out in the English style of landscape -gardening. Taking shelter under a thick clump of trees, he laid himself -upon the grass, to die with the least possible pain. - -The autumn had already begun. The grass was wet—the wind whistled -through the trees, already in part stripped of their leaves—all around -was pitchy dark, and every thing seemed to announce an inclement night. -Cramped with cold, he felt the most unconquerable gnawings of hunger. -Could he but sleep, he thought, perhaps the next day might prove less -unfavorable than the two preceding ones. But sleep refused the call, and -the poor mendicant suffered the most cruel pangs. Unable to bear them -any longer, he rose, took his stick, and returned to the mansion. - -He had observed an angle of the wall which could be easily escaladed, -and a window badly closed. It was late, the night was dark, and he might -perhaps find a bit of bread. At least, he determined to try. - -The house was inhabited by an old man of more than eighty—a rich miser, -who lived alone, like many of those who go to spend their last days at -Versailles. He had perceived the mendicant, and had seen him take refuge -under the clump of trees. He ordered his servants to watch him, and -scarcely had poor Philippe opened the window, when he was seized, -handcuffed, and taken to Versailles, where he was thrown into prison. -There, at least, he found shelter, and a bit of bread to eat, which the -turnkey gave him from humanity. - -At the expiration of six months, the mendicant was convicted at the -assizes of the department of Seine et Oise. His sentence was the gallies -for fifteen years, and to be previously exposed and branded. He had -entered a house at night for the purpose of theft, and with deadly -weapons—the possession of the knife, which he usually carried in his -pocket, and was found there, being thus interpreted. - -A month had already elapsed since he had been publicly branded, and poor -Philippe seemed patiently waiting for the time when he was to be sent to -his destination at Toulon. He always said that he would not go, and the -turnkey did not contradict him. - -One evening a small iron lamp upon a shelf, suspended from the wall by a -cord on each side, threw a weak and vacillating light upon the gloom of -a cell in the prison of Versailles. - -Upon a straw matress, half covered with an old patched blanket, lay a -man apparently overcome with weakness and despair. His face was turned -towards the wall. An earthen jug without a spout was near him, and close -to it a wooden bowl filled with soup. - -“Poor Philippe will never get over it,” said the turnkey in the -corridor, speaking to some one to whom he was showing the way. “But it -is his own fault; he would not remain in the infirmary. The fact is, -Monsieur le Curé, ever since he exhibited upon the _little stage_, about -a month ago—curse this lock, it would sprain the wrist of the devil -himself—” - -“Peace my friend,” replied a mild voice, “do not swear—it is an offence -against God.” - -The door of the prison was at length opened, and the turnkey ushered in -a venerable priest, the chaplain of the prison. - -“Hollo, old one!” cried the jailor, “take heart, man, here is a visitor. -Here is Monsieur le Curé come to see you.” - -The mendicant made no reply. - -“My friend,” said the minister of the Gospel, “I am one of your brethren -in Christ, and I bring you words of peace and consolation. Hear me, in -the name of our Lord Jesus, who died on the cross to atone for our -sins—He suffered more than you; and it depends upon yourself to be one -day happy, and to dwell with him in eternal life.” - -Still the prisoner spoke not. - -“He sleeps,” said the kind-hearted turnkey. “If your reverence will but -wait a moment I will awake him.” And he shook the mendicant, but in -vain—the latter stirred not. “Oh! oh!” said the jailor, leaning over -him; “but it is all over with him; he has slipped his wind—the poor -fellow’s as dead as a door post.” - -And, in fact, the unfortunate Philippe had ceased to live a few moments -after he had been removed, that very morning, at his own request, from -the infirmary to his old cell. - -“Is the poor man really dead?” inquired the priest. - -“Dead as a pickled herring, your reverence.” - -“And without confession!—unhappy man!” - -And the good priest knelt upon the cold flag stones and prayed with -fervour for the soul of the deceased mendicant. - -Next day the wealthy owner of the mansion was reclining in an easy -chair, his tortured limbs writhing with agony on the cushions of down by -which they were supported. His physician in attendance was seated near -him. - -“I find myself worse to-day, doctor: I am weaker than I have yet been, -and I feel something which I cannot well define.” - -“At your age, my dear sir, and in your state of health,” the physician -replied, “you must seek amusement for your mind. I have always told you -that solitude is baneful to you. You should send for some members of -your own family, or get some devoted friend to come and live with you.” - -“Family! devoted friend! Why, you well know, doctor, that collaterals -are mere heirs; you are in their way whilst you live: they only wait to -prey upon your soil after your death.” - -“But had you never any children?” the doctor asked. - -“Never,” replied his patient, after some hesitation. “And I have no -relations.” - -Here the unhappy old man sighed, his brow became clouded, and he seemed -to writhe in mental agony. Suddenly, by an apparent effort, changing the -conversation, and assuming a tone of unconcern— - -“Well, doctor,” he said, “and so this scoundrel of a mendicant, who, you -may be assured, wanted to murder, and afterwards rob me, died yesterday -in the prison hospital.” - -“No, not in the hospital,” replied the physician. “I did all I could to -induce him to remain in the infirmary; but he refused, and even -solicited, as a favour, to be taken back to the cell he occupied before -his trial.” - -“You see then, doctor, what a villain he was. I suppose he felt remorse -for the crime he intended to commit in this house. Did he make any -avowal? Is any thing known of his family?” - -“Nothing, except that he was an illegitimate child, and was found, -shortly after his birth, under the peristyle of St. Louis’ church.” - -“St. Louis’ church?” - -“Yes: and he was taken to the Foundling Hospital in the Rue du Plessis.” - -“The Rue du Plessis?” - -“Yes: he told me the whole story the day before yesterday, at my evening -visit to the prison infirmary. He had carefully preserved an old card, -upon which were traced some strange characters, and an engraved stone -belonging to a seal. He requested me to take charge of them. I believe -they are still in my pocket-book. Yes, here they are. This stone must -have belonged to a valuable trinket—he probably sold the setting. Here -is the card.” - -The old invalid, whose increasing agitation had not been observed by the -doctor, threw a rapid glance over these objects,—then, with a shriek of -horror, sunk back upon his chair. - -“Great God,” he exclaimed, “the mendicant was my son!” - -A few minutes after, this unnatural parent had ceased to breathe. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BAPTISM OF POCAHONTAS. - - - ON THE PICTURE IN THE ROTUNDA AT WASHINGTON. - - - Sweet, gentle girl! in holy meekness bending, - Though of a wilder race and darker hue; - Etherial light is on thy soul descending, - Loveliest of wild flowers! like thy native dew. - Seen in the struggling of that heaving breast, - The quivering lip—the downward, fawn-like eye, - The strange, deep penitence that will not rest, - That gushes tears, and vents the swelling sigh. - - From thy dark shades of superstitious lore, - Thou com’st arrayed in purest vestal white, - That he, the man of God, might on thee pour - Jordan’s still wave, to give thy blindness sight; - And to that heart, where hath been deeply stealing, - The fading bloom of earth’s bright flowery way, - A brighter—far enduring bliss revealing, - In the pure path of Truth’s eternal ray. - - Bound in the rapture that thy beauty lendeth, - Thy pale-face lover at thy lonely side, - Holdeth with silent joy the book that blendeth - Life and life’s hope—its comfort and its guide. - Breathing in his warm look the bliss that springing— - The pure, bright thoughts that thrill his yearning breast, - The golden visions that around are flinging, - Their airy spells of future love and rest. - - But there is one upon the ground reposing, - With curious gaze, yet wild, irreverent air, - Whose fallen deer-skin her full charms disclosing, - With beaded arms, and crimson braided hair, - Declares her kindred to thy own wild race, - The swift-foot wanderer of thy early day; - When by Powhatan’s stream thy footstep’s trace - Told, where like fawns ye frolick’d in your play. - - And one, in beauty of majestic form, - Who stands erect, with scorn like lightning’s gleam - Darting from eyes as black as ebon-storm, - When midnight revels with its vivid beam— - Who will not brook a sister’s sacred vow, - The solemn faith, the strange baptismal rite— - Who will not bend in holy praise, or bow, - When in deep prayer the list’ning throng unite. - - Oh! in this hour, while angels’ harps are swelling, - The rich rejoicing of the upper skies, - While the sweet anthem of the earth is telling - That one crush’d wild flower ’neath the altar lies. - Would that a ray, from that pure shrine descending, - Might pierce the darkness of thy forest kind— - Lighting a pathway that to thee is lending - Thy surest hope the spirit-home to find. - A. F. H. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE REEFER OF ’76. - - - BY THE “AUTHOR OF CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR.” - - - BON HOMME RICHARD. - -The time sped merrily away in _la belle France_, and months passed, -leaving us still in port. In fact, when our craft came to be surveyed, -it was found that her hull was so rotten, as to make it dangerous for us -to put to sea in her, until she had been thoroughly overhauled. This -occasioned some delay. Having but little to do, and finding society -thrown freely open to them, the officers spent most of their time in the -interchange of courtesies with their affable entertainers. There was -beside a good number of French naval officers in the place, and many a -wild meeting took place betwixt our mess and them. At length, however, I -tired of this, and hearing that Paul Jones was in Paris, I set off for -the capital. - -That singular individual was, at this time, engaged in fitting out the -Bon Homme Richard and her accompanying squadron, preparatory to a cruise -off the English coasts. He was all enthusiasm as to the success of the -expedition, but found great difficulty in procuring a fitting crew. He -received me warmly, recognizing me at once, and flatteringly calling to -mind several of the affairs in which I had been engaged, and my conduct -in which he thought proper to commend. I was gratified by his notice, -and spoke in reply something, I know not what, respecting his own -career. His eye kindled as he answered— - -“Aye! but that is not all—we will make our name a terror to the whole -English coast. Had it not been for some knavish foes of ours here, who -throw every impediment they can in our way, we should have done deeds -before this at which the cheeks of his majesty of England would have -blanched. But our time has come. We have the ‘Good-man Richard,’ a -sturdy old Indiaman, for our own craft, beside the Pallas, a smart ship, -the Vengeance brig, and the Cerf, a cutter of metal. They tell me the -Alliance is to go with me, under the command of that fellow Landais. So -at least Franklin has said—God help his knowledge of naval warfare! -However,” he continued, with a shrug of his shoulders, “there is no help -for it, and the frigate would be quite a God-send if it were not for the -commander.” - -“I understand you have some difficulty in getting a crew—is it so?” - -“Yes! And, by the bye, why can’t you join me? Come, you are the very man -I want.” - -Flattered as I was by this offer, I could not persuade myself to leave -the Fire-Fly; beside, as the officers in the squadron were to take -precedence according to the dates of their commission in the American -service, and as I had always served under the commonwealth of New York, -I foresaw that my acceptance of this offer would either place me under -those who were really my juniors in service, or else occasion jealousies -among the parties I should supplant. Moreover, I knew not what might be -the eventual determination respecting my craft, and I felt unwilling, in -case she should again go to sea, to desert her. I stated my objections -frankly to the commodore. He hesitated a moment, and then replied, - -“I believe you are right. Yet I am sorry I cannot have you. We sail in a -week from L’Orient. Come, at least, and see us off.” - -I accepted his invitation, and it was with a heavy heart I saw them put -to sea. By the end of the month, however, I heard at Paris that the -squadron had returned to the roads at Groix, and that difficulties had -already occurred between the commodore and Landais. I hurried down at -once to L’Orient, and found both the Richard and Alliance undergoing -repairs. The commodore gladly received me, and renewed again his offer, -telling me that he had heard that my craft was to be dismantled; and, -sure enough, that afternoon I received a letter from my captain, -informing me that the schooner had been found unworthy of repair, and -been condemned. There was now nothing to detain me, except the -difficulty respecting my rank in the squadron. This I soon removed by -going as a volunteer. I accordingly wrote to my captain, obtained leave -of absence, and on the 14th of August, 1779, went with my traps on board -the Bon Homme Richard. The same day we put to sea. - -The events of that extraordinary cruise are matter of history, and I -need not dwell on them at length in this hurried autobiography. We soon -parted company with our consorts, and were forced to seek them at the -rendezvous; but, during the whole voyage, our plans were continually -frustrated by occurrences of this character, sometimes accidental, and -sometimes, I believe, designed, especially on the part of Captain -Landais. After taking three or four prizes, we bore up for the north of -Scotland, when having been at sea about a month, we made the Cheviot -Hills, vast blue landmarks, lying, like a thunder-cloud, along the -western horizon. - -Learning that two or three armed cutters, together with a twenty gun -ship, were lying off Leith, the commodore planned a descent on that -place; but in consequence of the absence of the Alliance, was forced to -delay his project for several days. At length we beat into the Frith of -Forth; and when just out of gun-shot of the town, the boats were ordered -out and manned. But at this critical moment a squall struck our -squadron, and we soon had enough on our hands, for the puff settling -down into a regular North Sea gale, we had to fill away, and bear up -under a press of canvass for an offing. The storm lasted so long that we -were forced to give over our attempt, as the country had now become -alarmed, and beacon lights, to rouse the yeomanry, were burning on every -headland. We bore away, therefore, for the south. - -We had kept on this course for several days, until one calm evening, off -Flamborough head, when, the sea being nearly as smooth as a lake, and a -light southwardly wind dallying playfully with our sails, we discerned -the headmost vessels of a fleet of merchant ships, stretching out on a -bowline from behind the promontory. Every man of us was instantly on the -_qui vive_. The commodore’s eye kindled, and he shouted, - -“Signal the squadron for a general chase.” - -“Aye! aye!” answered the signal officer, and the next moment the order -was passed through our fleet. It had scarcely been done, however, before -the merchant ships hurriedly tacked, fired alarm-guns, let fly their -top-gallant sheets, and, huddling together like a flock of frightened -partridges, went off to leeward. - -“There’s a frigate in yonder, convoying, with a smaller man-of-war,” -hailed the look-out, as the hostile ships shewed their head-sails around -the promontory. “They haul up, sir, and are coming out.” - -“Let them come,” said the commodore enthusiastically, “and we’ll have -them for our own before midnight. Shew the signal to form a line—cross -royal-yards—keep boldly on.” - -“There goes the Alliance,” said the first lieutenant, at my side, “see -how gallantly she passes the Pallas—but in God’s name what does she -mean? Surely she is not flying.” - -“Curses on the craven Landais,” muttered Paul Jones betwixt his teeth, -as he saw his consort haul suddenly off from the enemy, and then turning -to the helmsman, he thundered, “keep her on her course—steady, steady.” - -Meanwhile the crew had been ordered to quarters, and the tap of the drum -brought every man to his station at once. Unmoved by the cowardice of -our consort, the men appeared to long for the unequal conflict as -eagerly as their daring commander. Silently they stood at the guns, -awaiting the order to open their fire, and endeavouring to pierce -through the fast gathering gloom, in order to detect the manœuvres of -the foe. Paul Jones stood on the quarter deck watching the enemy with a -night-glass. As we drew nearer, we detected, in our antagonists, a -frigate of fifty guns, attended by a twenty gun ship a little to -leeward. The sight would have appalled any hearts but those on board our -daring craft,—for our armament, all told, did not exceed forty-two -guns, only six of which were eighteens; while, from the lower gun deck -of the frigate alone, might be seen frowning through her lighted ports, -a battery of ten eighteens to a side. Yet not an eye quailed, not a -cheek blanched, as we drew up towards the foe; but each man stood calmly -at his post, confident in his leader and in the righteousness of his -cause. My own station was near the commodore. We were now near enough to -hail. - -“What ship is that?” came slowly sailing on the night wind, from a dark -form on the quarter of the frigate. - -“You shall soon know,” answered Paul Jones, and on the instant the word -was given simultaneously by both commanders to fire, and the two ships -poured in their batteries with scarcely the delay of an instant betwixt -the broadsides. I had no time to observe the effect of our discharge, -for scarcely had the commodore spoken, when I heard a tremendous -explosion in the direction of our gun-room; the deck above it was blown -bodily up, and as the smoke swept away from the spot, I beheld two of -the eighteens shattered and dismounted, and surrounded by a crowd of -wretches, maimed and dying from the accident. I rushed to the place, and -a more awful sight never before or since have I beheld. There lay our -poor fellows, dismembered and bleeding, groaning in agony such as no pen -can picture, and crying aloud, with their dying breath, for -“water—water—water.” Here one, horribly mangled, hung over a gun that -had burst—there another was stretched on the deck, with no marks on him -except a black spot by the eye, from which the blood was trickling -slowly. I shuddered and turned away. It would have been madness to have -attempted to work the other eighteens, so the men were called away, and -we began anew the action, with our chances one-third lessened by this -horrible calamity. But the death of their messmates fired the rest of -the crew with a thirst for revenge, which soon told in the murderous -fire we poured in upon the enemy. For nearly an hour we kept up the -conflict, working our lighter guns with the utmost vigor, and attempting -to manœuvre so as to rake the enemy, but at every new endeavor we were -foiled by the superior working qualities of our opponent. Meantime the -moon had risen, and we could see that the Pallas had got alongside of -the enemy’s consort, and was gallantly engaged yard-arm to yard-arm with -her—the Alliance hovering out of range in the distance, and -occasionally discharging a random broadside which did no execution. How -our brave fellows cursed the cowardice of her captain! - -“Ay! there she is,” said one, “afraid to come within range even of a -twenty gun ship, lest the lace of her coxcomb captain’s uniform might be -ruffled. But never mind—we’ll win the battle without her—bowse away, -my hearties, and give it to the Englisher with a will.” - -Meanwhile the enemy’s frigate doggedly kept her luff, and her masts were -now seen, for the hull was completely shrouded in a thick canopy of -smoke, shooting ahead, as if it was her intention to pay broad off -across our forefoot. Paul Jones saw the manœuvre, and determined to -avail himself of it to run afoul of his antagonist; for, with our vast -inferiority of metal, there was not the remotest chance of success in a -regular combat. The attempt, however, was in itself almost as desperate; -but it afforded a hope, though a slight one, of victory. Whatever might -be the fate of this daring proceeding, however, we were all actuated by -but one impulse, and that was, a determination to conquer or die. When, -therefore, the frigate forged ahead, we kept our sails trimmed and bore -steadily on. The result was as we had expected. Finding that she could -not effect her purpose, the frigate put her helm hard down, making a -desperate attempt to clear us. It was in vain. With a crash that shook -both vessels to their centre, we ran aboard of the foe, bows on, a -little on her weather quarter. With chagrin, we saw that it was -impossible to board our antagonist—an intention so well understood -among our men, that they had ceased firing on the moment. At this -instant the smoke swept partially away, and the English captain was seen -near the mizen rigging, shouting to know whether we had struck. The -inquiry brought the red blood in volumes into the face of Paul Jones, as -he thundered hoarsely, - -“I have not yet begun to fight;” and then turning to his men, he said, -“out with your guns and have at them. Will you, by your silence, be -thought to have surrendered?” - -“Never,” answered back the captain of a gun before him; “Huzza for the -brave thirteen—down with the tyrants—give it to ’em one and -all—huzza.” - -An answering shout rose up from the crew, the guns that could be brought -to bear were jerked out, and simultaneously the whole of our forward -larboard side was a sheet of flame, while the old craft trembled from -kelson to cross-trees, and heeled back with the recoil, till the -yard-arms almost touched the water. - -“Brace back the yards,” shouted the commodore, as soon as his voice -could be heard above the din, and obedient to the press of the wind, our -vessel fell slowly astern. - -“They are laying aback their forward, and shivering their after sails, -on board the frigate,” said Dale. - -“Box-hauling her, by St. Andrew,” said the commodore; “the knaves are -for luffing up athwart our bows, in order to rake us. But it takes two -to play at that game—we’ll drop astern a little more, fill on the -opposite tack, and luff up against her as she comes to the wind. Let us -once lay her athwart hawse, and the battle’s won.” - -Rapidly and steadily our daring leader gave his orders to execute this -manœuvre, but the smoke had settled down so thick around us, shrouding -the moon almost entirely from sight, that we could only now and then -catch a glimpse of the approaching enemy, and miscalculating our -distance, instead of meeting her as we had expected, we were run into by -the frigate, her bowsprit crashing over our high towerlike poop. - -“Parker,” said Paul Jones, quickly, “get some lashings and help me to -fasten her head-gear to the mizzen mast. That’s it—we have her now.” - -“Aye, and the frigate feels the strain already,” said I, as we finished -our hasty work; “see how she swings around by our side—something has -given way on board of her, by that crash.”[1] - -“You’re right, but lash fast yonder anchor that’s hooked in our -quarter—we’ll not let them escape now—but yonder come their fellows as -if to board us. Boarders ahoy! beat back the villains,” and springing -from my side, our ever ready leader, himself led the party to repulse -the foe. I followed. Dark masses of seamen, clustered on the sides of -the frigate, were endeavoring to effect an entrance on our deck; -thrusting with their long pikes, cutting and slashing with their -cutlasses, and cheering each other on to the attack, with shouts and -imprecations. For an instant, our crew, fearfully outnumbered, seemed to -waver; but at this moment Paul Jones leaped into the midst of the fray, -and, with one stroke of his weapon bringing a foe to the deck, shouted, -“Down with the miscreants—strike home one and all—bravely my lads,” -and accompanying each word with a blow, he cleared a space before him in -less time than I have taken to narrate the event. For an instant the -enemy faltered, but a huge boatswain the next moment rallied them, and -aiming a pistol at Paul Jones, the fellow shouted, - -“Hurl the pirates to perdition—come on, hearts of oak—” - -I was luckily by, and as the villain spoke, I struck up his arm, and his -ball glanced harmlessly over the Commodore’s head. The boatswain did not -live to take vengeance on me for my interposition—he did not even -survive to finish his sentence; for scarcely had the words left his -mouth, before Paul Jones drove his boarding pike deep into the -Englishman’s heart. There was a dull gurgling sound, as he fell back -without a groan, dropped heavily to the water, and sank like lead. His -companions were aghast, and struck with a sudden panic, retreated. The -next moment not one was left attempting to board. - -During the last few minutes, my attention had been so occupied by the -sharp conflict, in which I was personally engaged with the boarders, -that I had lost sight altogether of the general battle; and I now cast a -hurried glance around to see what other advantages, if any, we had -gained over the enemy. - -The sight that met my eye, almost blanched my cheek with apprehension. -Crowds of our men from the main deck were hurrying up the gangways, and -the thought instantly flashed across my mind that they had mutinied. The -guns, too, below, were all silenced, and only three or four twelves, -with a couple of pieces on the quarter deck, were being worked; while -the fire of the enemy was still kept up with unremitting fury. At this -juncture, a midshipman from the main deck passed me hurriedly. - -I caught him by the arm. - -“In God’s name,” I said, “what is the matter?” - -“They are ripping us to pieces below, with their cursed eighteens,” was -the hurried response. “We kept it up as long as we could, often -thrusting our rammers into their ports, as we loaded, so close were we -to them. But it’s no use. They’re beating in our timbers as if our good -stout oak was no better than pasteboard. I am taking my men forward and -aloft, it is sheer murder to keep them below; they must fight now with -muskets and hand grenades,” and hurrying breathlessly away, he was the -next instant engaged in directing his men with an energy only second to -that of the Commodore, and which seemed to have diffused itself amongst -all. - -The combat, which had paused a moment, now raged again with redoubled -fury. Crowding into the tops, and thronging on the forecastle, our brave -fellows kept up such a galling contest, with musketry and grenades, -that, in less than five minutes, every man of the enemy was driven -below, and his quarter deck was left tenanted only by the dead. But -fearfully did the foe return our fire from his heavy guns on the main -deck. Broadside after broadside was poured into us without -intermission—the old craft quivering like wounded flesh, at every -discharge, until it seemed as if each successive fire would end the -contest, by sending us to the bottom. Yet our men never flinched. No cry -for quarter, no murmur even, was heard. Manfully they stuck to their new -posts, keeping up their deadly warfare through the ports of the foe, and -though now and then an eye was turned around the horizon, to see whether -the Alliance was not coming to our aid, not a man displayed any signs of -fear. One of our fellows, even bolder than the rest, provided with a -bucket of grenades and a match, lay out on the yard, and coolly dropped -his combustibles on the deck of the frigate. One he threw with such -precision, that it went down the main hatchway. In an instant a slight -explosion took place, and we could hear, notwithstanding the uproar of -the guns, a whizzing sound running aft on board the enemy—while almost -simultaneously, the most thrilling shrieks of anguish rose up on the -air, succeeded by a stunning explosion, which drowned every other sound -in its fierce uproar. - -“Their loose cartridges must have been fired,” I exclaimed, “God help -the poor wretches.” - -“The day’s our own—huzza!” sung out a warrant officer beside me, “but, -in the name of heaven,” he said suddenly, “what means the Alliance?—she -is firing into us.” - -I looked to windward, and no words can express my astonishment, when I -saw, in the hazy distance, the ship which ought to have been engaged at -our side with the foe, now heading to the westward, and firing hotly in -our direction, at the very moment that she was crossing our larboard -quarter, and when her shot could not reach the foe without passing -directly through us. The discharge, indeed, dismounted two of our guns, -beside damaging us aloft. She was by this time nearing us fast, and -directly abeam. - -“You’re firing into a friend,” shouted fifty voices in a breath. - -“What does he mean?” said Dale, “surely he can see that we haven’t -yellow sides like the foe—shew him the signal of recognition.” - -The three lanterns, in a line, were instantly let down on the off side, -when the Alliance ceased firing. - -“Lay the enemy aboard,” shouted the officer of the deck. - -No answer was returned, and our consort kept coolly on her course. - -“Did you hear the order?” thundered the now exasperated commodore; “lay -the enemy aboard, I say.” - -“Ay, ay, sir.” - -“Perdition take the cowardly traitor,” muttered Paul Jones betwixt his -teeth, as he turned from the recreant ship. - -I watched, however, the course of the frigate until she had hauled off -some distance, and was almost lost in the shadowy gloom to larboard, -when suddenly a cry of “fire” startled me, and turning hastily around I -saw that the lower deck was a mass of flame. The confusion, for a -moment, baffled description. Men were hastening to and fro for buckets; -some shouted one thing and some another; a general consternation seemed -to be spreading among the crew, and all discipline, for an interval of -several minutes, was lost. To add to the disorder, the ship was -perceptibly settling, and a rumour spread through the decks that we -would sink in less than ten minutes. While everything was still plunged -in chaos, the Alliance again appeared, edging down on our larboard beam, -and hauling up athwart our bows, she poured in a fire of grape, which -took effect on our crowded forecastle, instead of on the enemy—if -indeed it was ever intended for the foe—and killed several of our own -men. Never shall I forget the fate of one of our best officers—poor -Creswell! who fell a victim to this discharge. I held his head in his -last moments, and with his eye already glazing in death, and his tongue -faltering in its accents, he prayed God to forgive his countrymen for -his wanton murder. My blood boiled with indignation against the -scoundrel who commanded the gallant Alliance, and, at that moment, I -would have given ten years of my life to have crossed swords with -Landais. - -But I had no time for thoughts of revenge. Louder and louder swelled the -cry ‘that we were sinking,’ and, as I laid the dead man’s head on the -deck, I saw the carpenter hurry to the commodore with consternation -depicted on every feature of his face. Instantly the cry arose, that he -had sounded the pump-wells, and that all was over. The wildest confusion -followed. More than a hundred of our prisoners were let loose by the -master-at-arms, who imagined that all was over, and in a few minutes the -deck was crowded with them. Had they then known their power, we should -have been overpowered with ease, and, as I looked on their fierce faces, -I trembled for the first time. To add to all, the gunner rushed, at this -crisis, on deck, and not perceiving the commodore or the lieutenant, -would have hauled down our flag, and failing in this—for the staff had -been shot away—he cried out for quarter. Another second would have -decided our fate, but springing aft, I shouted that we had not -surrendered, and, at the same instant, the commodore re-appeared, and -confirming my assertion, rallied his men hastily around him, and led -them to repel a party of boarders, which taking advantage of our -disorder, was, at this moment, clustering on our gunwale. The conflict -here was short, but decisive. Fired anew by the words and example of -their commodore, our brave fellows redeemed their momentary vacillation, -and, aided by the men in the tops, hurled back the foemen, as if an -avalanche had struck them, on the decks of their frigate. Meantime, the -first lieutenant, availing himself of the fears of the prisoners, had -mustered them at the pumps, and, arming another party with buckets, had -succeeded in extinguishing the fire. The re-action, on the part of our -crew, was decisive. The men now fought with a fury that nothing could -suppress, for they knew over what a mine they hung, and that victory -must be soon theirs, or they would lose all. Several guns were dragged -over to the side against the foe, and the fire of our battery -re-commenced with treble vigor. The top-men hailed down grenades on the -frigate’s decks, and deafening volleys of musketry incessantly rattled -from our forecastle. The enemy could hold out no longer. A man darted up -the frigate’s hatchway, dashed aft, and the next moment the cross of -Britain was at our feet. A cheer, that shook the very welkin, and which, -dying away, was renewed and renewed again, burst from our brave tars, -and rolling down to leeward announced our hard bought victory. - ------ - -[1] The jib boom of the Serapis gave way, somewhere about this time. -Perhaps this was the moment. Ed. - - * * * * * - - - - - ISRAFEL.[2] - - - BY EDGAR A. POE. - - - In Heaven a spirit doth dwell, - “Whose heart-strings are a lute;” - None sing so wildly well - As the angel Israfel, - And the giddy stars (so legends tell) - Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell - Of his voice, all mute. - - Tottering above - In her highest noon - The enamoured moon - Blushes with love, - While, to listen, the red levin - Pauses in Heaven, - With the rapid Pleiads, even, - Which were seven. - - And they say (the starry choir - And the other listening things) - That Israfeli’s fire - Is due unto that lyre - By which he sits and sings— - That trembling living lyre - With those unusual strings. - - But the Heavens that angel trod, - Where deep thoughts are a duty— - Where Love is a grown God— - Where Houri glances are - Imbued with all the beauty - Which we worship in the star— - The more lovely, the more far! - - Thou art not, therefore, wrong, - Israfeli, who despisest - An unimpassioned song. - To thee the laurels belong, - Best bard, because the wisest. - Merrily live, and long! - - The ecstasies above - With thy burning measures suit— - Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, - With the fervor of thy lute. - Well may the stars be mute! - - Yes, Heaven is thine; but this - Is a world of sweets and sours— - Our flowers are merely—flowers; - And the shadow of thy bliss - Is the sunshine of ours. - - If I did dwell - Where Israfel - Hath dwelt, and he where I, - He might not sing one half so well, - One half so passionately, - While a bolder note than this might swell - From my lyre within the sky! - ------ - -[2] And the angel Israfel, or Israfeli, whose heart-strings are a lute, -and who is the most musical of all God’s creatures.—Koran. - - * * * * * - - - - - BYE-GONE HOURS. - - - WORDS BY THE - HON. MRS. NORTON. - MUSIC BY - MRS. PRICE BLACKWOOD. - - _Philadelphia_: John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street_. - - -[Illustration: musical score] - - ’Tis sad, ’tis sad to think upon - The joyous days of old— - When ev’ry year that wearies on, - Is number’d by some friendship gone! - Some - -[Illustration: musical score] - - kindly heart grown cold! - Could those days but come again - With their thorns and flowers! - I would give the hopes of years! - For those by-gone hours! - - ’Tis sad—’tis sad to number o’er - The faces glad and gay, - Which we have loved! Some smile no more, - Around us as they did of yore! - And some have turn’d away! - Could those days, &c. - - ’Tis sad—’tis sad to come again, - With changed heart and brow, - To our youth’s home, where none remain - Of those who made it blessed then— - Who leave it lonely now! - Could those days, &c. - - Oh! little things bring back to me - The thoughts of by-gone hours. - The breath of kine upon the lea, - The murmur of the mountain bee, - The scent of hawthorn flow’rs! - Could those days, &c. - - * * * * * - - - - - Sports and Pastimes.—THE FOWLING-PIECE. - - -A book presents to the shot an elastic body, like down, through which -large shot does not penetrate much farther than small, because it has to -displace and carry with it a larger mass of paper. Fur and feathers of -game do not present such a resisting body to the shot as the leaves of a -book do; therefore, although large shot will bear the above test, a much -fairer way of trying it would be to fire at thin pieces of wood fixed -upright, (a pile of cigar boxes would answer the purpose). The latter -trial would, we think, convince any one of the great difference in -momentum between the two charges. At forty yards, not more than three -No. 7 pellets could be calculated on to strike a partridge, and those -from a light gun would necessarily be weak; whereas, at that distance, -with our charge, two No. 2 pellets might be calculated upon, and with -what effect we leave the experimentalist to decide, when he has tried it -at a target composed of pieces of wood one eighth, one third, and one -half of an inch thick. - -It is not so much the velocity as the momentum of a shot that renders it -effective. The momentum of a shot increases in a direct ratio with its -weight. The momentum of a No. 2 shot much more than compensates for the -diminished weight of powder and additional weight of lead that we have -recommended. - -The structure of a bird or quadruped not protected by feathers or -fur—and we contend that game is very slightly so protected as against -shot—may be compared with that of a ship. It is a well ascertained fact -that a 64 lb. ball, moving with only half the velocity of a 32 lb. ball, -would produce more than double the effect; the larger, but slowly-flying -ball, would split a much thicker mast or beam, and do more damage to the -frame-work of a ship, than the small one. Upon the same principle, we -think large shot is more effective for shooting the stronger species of -game. - -But assuming that game is right well fortified with a covering of fur, -feathers or down, that circumstance would not induce us to resort to -small shot; quite the reverse, because we know that small shot cannot be -fired through down effectively from a large gun at thirty yards, much -less from a light fowling-piece. No stanchion-gun will shoot No. 7 -effectively at ducks, geese, and the larger wild-fowl—the birds killed -would be chiefly such as were struck in the head; not one would be -stopped by a body blow. Yet large shot from the stanchion-gun, after -passing through down, strikes an effective body blow. No doubt No. 7 may -be shot through down, but after overcoming the resistance, it would -scarcely injure the bird, certainly not break a bone. - -Thus we find that small shot, fired from any gun, is totally inadequate -to kill birds protected with down by a body blow; but that large shot, -flying from a large gun with not half the velocity of the ineffectual -small shot, achieves what is desired. It is the momentum that effects -the object. - -A collateral advantage arising from the use of large shot should not be -overlooked. In order to kill in good style with small shot, the aim must -be such that the bird fired at shall be near the centre of the charge as -thrown; for if the bird be near the outer circle of the charge, it is -ten to one that it is only slightly wounded; but if near the outer -circle of a charge of large shot, it is ten to one that it is brought -down; for it must not be lost sight of, that when large shot is used, a -single pellet will mostly be sufficient to bring a bird down. There is a -stunning effect produced by large shot, which throws the bird off its -balance at once. Small shot has not the same _immediate_ effect. Hares, -rabbits, grouse, pheasants, and full-grown partridges, will carry it -off, though they fall within a hundred yards. It is very seldom, indeed, -that a bird towers after being fired at with large shot. - -The term friction implies a gradual contraction of the barrel towards -the muzzle, which retards the progress of the shot, that more time may -be allowed to the powder to burn. Relief accelerates the progress of -shot through the barrels. What is the proper degree of relief or -friction for different descriptions of barrels, is a subject fruitful of -controversy; as is also the form of the breech. The best breech is that -which will cause the greatest quantity of powder to consume in the -barrel, and give the least recoil. The percussion system of firing has -simplified the boring of guns. We think that short barrels intended to -be fired by percussion, should be bored perfect cylinders, and the -breech should be conical or nearly so, and capable of holding a little -more than half a charge of powder. Long barrels should be bored true -cylinders throughout the greater part of their length, a little relief -being allowed near the muzzle. - -A barrel, which recoils from being light, or from not being held firmly -when fired, throws shot very weakly. So, on the other hand, barrels -which have sufficient weight to break the recoil, or which are placed -against something solid when fired, have their shooting power amazingly -increased. The reason is, that when the gun is allowed to recoil, a -portion of that power which should be employed in expelling the shot is -uselessly expended on a yielding surface in a contrary direction: -whereas, when the barrel is firmly fixed, or is of sufficient weight to -break the recoil, that portion of the explosive force which strikes -against the breech rebounds and is forced back upon the shot, and -consequently becomes a portion of the available strength of the charge. -This explains why the weight of the gun rather than a difference in -length or bore regulates the shooting power. In what follows, Mr. -Greener,[3] whose book contains a lucid exposition of the nature of -projectile force, shows this more clearly:— - -“The fact that the shooting powers of a gun are increased by its being -fixed in an immoveable frame, is proved with the practice of mortars. -Mortars on iron beds, and these firmly embedded in the earth, will throw -a shell farther when on the ground than when placed on a platform, or on -board a ship. It is for the purpose of destroying the recoil, that -mortars for sea service, though of the same calibre as those intended -for land-service, are made three times the weight. Dr. Hutton states, -that he found no advantage by retarding the recoil in practice with -artillery. He means, that no advantage is gained by stopping at three -feet a gun accustomed to recoil to the distance of six. The statement is -perfectly true. If he were to allow a gun to recoil only an inch, and -then to strike against a solid substance, he would gain nothing. For if -it recoil ever so little, the shooting force is as much weakened as if -it recoiled twice as far. - -“To increase that force, a steady fixed resistance is required. The -velocity of the projectile depends on the force of the immediate -impulse. Before a gun, suffered to recoil, could rebound from striking -some solid substance in its recoil, the charge would be gone, and could, -therefore, receive no additional impetus from that rebound. The truth of -this fact may be illustrated by throwing a hand-ball against any loose -body with sufficient force to displace it. However hard or elastic that -body might be, the ball would not rebound from it, but would fall -perpendicularly down. Fix and secure that same body, and then the ball -will rebound with little less force than that with which it was thrown -against it. So it is with gunpowder. If it meet with a firm resistance, -it will rebound and project the ball or shot with additional force.” - ------ - -[3] _The Gun_, by William Greener. London, 1835. - - - WOODCOCK SHOOTING. - -There is a proverb current among sportsmen, that to kill a woodcock is -to perform a day’s work, which doubtlessly originated in the -circumstance of a woodcock being seldom found until a large extent of -wood has been closely beaten. When, however, woodcocks are most -abundant, it would not be a difficult task, according to that standard -of labor, to do the work of a week in a day, in any noted cover; for -every cover frequented by cocks acquires a notoriety which it seldom -loses, since any wood well frequented with cocks one year, has generally -a fair supply the next. But whether the same cocks that frequent a wood -this year return the next, with their offspring, or whether an entirely -new set of occupants take possession, we leave the ornithologist to -decide. A certain description of woods are seldom known to fail of -woodcocks during the winter months; these woods or plantations are such -as are swampy, or have a stream of water running through them, or woods -abounding in springs—or where, from the nature of the ground, or want -of draining, the top water encourages the growth of moss. The woodcock -is rarely found in woods where moss is not abundant. During a frost, -cocks are found near fresh water springs; at other times they are most -commonly flushed in the open glades of the densest woods, or rather in -those parts of the woods not choked up at the bottom with fern, rushes, -or brambles, but where they can freely run about, and in those parts -where willows, oziers, hazel-trees, or crate-wood is plentiful. In such -places it will readily be ascertained whether there are cocks or not, by -the borings in the moss or dead leaves, and by the chalkings. A cock -will often be found near its feeding place, after a dark night. - -A cock will seldom fly far until it has been fired at several times: it -should, therefore, when practicable, be marked down. By a judicious -system of marking, many successive shots may be obtained at the same -bird. It is seldom that the skilful shooter flushes a cock, which, with -the aid of markers, he does not eventually kill. The difficulty of -woodcock shooting arises, for the most part, from the birds being -flushed in the thickest part of woods, and contriving to wing their -flight through the trees in such a manner as to baffle the sportsman’s -aim. After being fired at in a wood, cocks will frequently alight -amongst hedge-rows on the outskirts, especially under a hedge running -close to and parallel with a water-course, when they are easily killed, -as they will not rise until the shooter is close upon them; and their -flight is not difficult to master when there are no trees to obstruct -the aim. - -A shooter, who has not opportunities of grouse-shooting, deems -cock-shooting the perfection of his art; but he considers himself more -than repaid for his toil, if he bag a couple or two. Combined with -pheasant shooting, it is glorious sport. - -As cocks are birds of passage, and their tarriance in our covers is of -uncertain duration, permission to shoot them is often given to persons -whose honour can be depended upon not to kill pheasants. To any but a -real sportsman this is a tantalizing employment; the pheasants rise -before him every fifty yards, and he may perhaps not meet with more than -a couple of cocks in a day. - -Spaniels are the best dogs for this sport: they give tongue when close -upon game, and so allow the shooter notice, in a situation where he -could not see a pointer or setter. - -Formerly any one who was an adept at bringing down a woodcock, was -certain of the enjoyment of a considerable local reputation as a shot, -and he deserved it. Place one of their long, heavy, single-barrelled -pieces, furnished with an ancient lock, flint of course, in the hands of -a modern shooter, let him charge with powder similar to that used in the -early days, and take his chance in a tangled brake, where the cock can -make play among the branches for its life, and he will readily believe -that killing a cock in those days was a real trial of skill. A short -light detonator is thrown upon the bird, the trigger is drawn, and the -shot reaches the mark in an instant; so speedy is the whole process, -that it is scarcely necessary to make any allowance for the motion of -the object, when attempting snap shots at short distances; but, with the -fowling-piece and ammunition of the period we are speaking of, it was -necessary to take aim half a yard above or before the object moving, for -a bird would fly that distance at least, after the trigger was drawn, -and before the shot reached it; or if it made a sudden turn, the shot -swept past it. Besides the less chance of killing with one of those long -heavy guns, the shooter would not fire half so often as with a light -one; so much more time being necessary to bring up the piece and -calculate the requisite allowance, the bird would generally be behind -the next tree before the gun would be at the shoulder. Such was the -slowness of ignition, that wild-fowl would take alarm at the flash from -the pan, and dive out of harm’s way ere the shot reached the water. In -all shooting, whether in the open or in cover, a deal depends upon where -the shooter places himself,—a knowledge of this part of his art will -enable him to obtain twice as many fair shots as his uninitiated -companion. When shooting in high covers, the sportsman should push on -hastily through those parts where, though very likely for game, he -cannot command a view of it should it rise; but whenever he comes to a -glade that commands a view in several directions, he should wait some -time while his dogs beat around him, and his companions, buried in -brambles and brushwood, pass him. It is often advisable to follow a -footpath in a wood, particularly where ground shots are expected. - -In our next, we shall pursue this subject, and give some remarks upon -the lock, the percussion system, triggers, wadding, ammunition, etc., -and shall then proceed with remarks upon Snipe Shooting, etc. We are -determined to make this department a perfect _vade mecum_ to the -sportsman. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.[4] - - -[4] Owing to the temporary absence of Mr. Poe, the reviews in this -number are from another hand. That department is exclusively under the -control of Mr. Poe. C. J. Peterson, his coadjutor, has the charge of the -other departments of the work. - - _The Life and Times of Red Jacket, or Sa-go-ye-wat-ha; being a - sequel to the History of the Six Nations. By_ William L. Stone. - _1 vol. Wiley and Putnam, New York and London, 1841._ - -The first settlers of this country found it tenanted by a people totally -different from the effeminate races of Hispaniola and Cuba. Bold, -patient and sagacious; sinewy in form and inured to fatigues; warlike in -character, wise in council, and hospitable to a proverb, the savages of -North America approached more nearly to an equality with the Anglo-Saxon -race, than any people whom the rage for discovery had then made known to -Europe. Nor was their progress in civilization to be despised. Their -wigwams, though not luxurious, were comfortable; their women cultivated -maize, tobacco, and numerous vegetables; pillows of wood were used in -common by them and by the English peasantry; and, in the comforts of -every day life, the savages of this continent fell little behind the -mass of the European population. Women were held in high respect; their -persons never violated in war, and their opinions consulted in cases of -difficulty. The form of government in use among the Indians was -singularly adapted to their condition. Like the ancient Germanic leader, -the Indian chief was usually chosen for his wisdom, strength, and -bravery—we say _usually_, because in nothing has more ignorance been -shown than in describing the Indian polity as everywhere the same. No -general rule can be laid down respecting it. In most of the tribes the -government was that of a democracy; in some that of an aristocracy; and, -in a few instances, that of a nearly absolute despotism. Sometimes there -was one chief in war and another in peace: now he was ruled by a council -of old men, and now he had delegated powers equal to those of a -dictator; but, on the whole, the usual polity appears to have been -democratic, each brave having a chance of attaining the leadership by -his eloquence, wisdom, or courage. Often these qualities preserved the -supreme power in a family for generations, the son succeeding the -father, unless a more worthy leader was chosen by the people. Where -there was both a war chief and a civil ruler, the latter office was the -more likely to be hereditary. In short, what Tacitus said of the ancient -Germans, may be pronounced of the Indians: “_Reges ex nobilitate, duces -ex virtute sumunt: nec regibus infinita, nec libera potestas; et duces -exemplo potius quam imperio præsunt_.” “They took their kings on account -of nobility, and their generals on account of valor: nor was the power -of their kings absolute and unlimited; and their generals commanded by -the authority which their example rather than their power gave them.” -And, in another place, “_de minoribus principes; de majoribus -omnes_”—“the principal men consulted and decided about the least, the -whole body of the people about the greatest affairs.” Nor did the -resemblance stop here. The same forest life, the same habit of -recounting their deeds in chaunts, the same warlike character, the same -wild and yet spiritual religion, and the same haughtiness of spirit, -arising from the consciousness of independence, characterised alike our -Teuton ancestors, whose freedom we inherit, and our predecessors on this -continent, whose liberty we have destroyed. And to this day, if we may -credit Catlin, the Western Indian remains the same proud being. The -Sioux, glittering in his showy costume, and careering along the prairie -with his spear and steed, reminds us of the ancient Pole, flashing with -jewels, galloping to the diet at Warsaw, and seeming to justify the -haughty boast of his order, “that if the sky were to fall they would -support it on the points of their lances.” - -At the period of its settlement by the whites, the two most powerful -nations of what now forms the Northeastern section of the United States, -were the Lenni-Lenape and Mengwe—the former occupying the shores of the -Delaware river, and extending into Connecticut—and the latter living -chiefly in the Valley of the Mohawk and its vicinity. Neither of these -people were the original occupiers of the land; but who their -predecessors were, or whence they came, no man can tell. Their language, -customs and laws are as unknown to us as those of the Antediluvian -world. They have passed away and left no sign. Now and then the -traveller, through some primeval forest, will come across the ruins of -their forts—rude, vague and vast—but he can gather nothing from these -silent mounds, except the single fact, that a race once peopled this -continent superior in civilization to the Indians. The Alligewi gave -name to our mountains,[5] and that is all we know. - -Betwixt the Lenni-Lenape and Mengwe there raged continual wars, in which -the former nation generally came off victorious. At length, however, the -several tribes of the Mengwe united into a confederacy known as that of -the Five Nations; and, being supplied with fire-arms by the Dutch, -succeeded in subduing the Delawares, and forcing them to assume the -character of WOMEN. This singular ceremony was performed at Albany, in -the presence of the Dutch, in 1617. From that time the Iroquois have -been the dominant nation. A work recording their history, explaining -their governmental polity, and discussing their manners and customs -would throw great light on the whole Indian race, and prove invaluable -to the student; and it is as one of a series, intended to carry out such -an idea, that the present volume has been published. The author has -divided his subject into four periods: the first of which will contain -the history of the Six Nations, up to the arrival of Sir William -Johnson—the second will be occupied by the life and times of that -remarkable individual—the third carries on the history through the life -of Brandt—and the fourth, the present work, brings the subject up to -the sale of the last Seneca lands in 1838. Only the last two eras of -this history have as yet seen the light. - -The life of Red Jacket is the least important portion of this subject, -affording little more than a narrative of treaties for the sale of -lands, with an occasional glimpse at the polity of the Six Nations, and -the Senecas in particular. The period is not one calculated to display -the powers which the early history and origin of the Six Nations might -call forth. Industry and research are nearly all that is required. Both -of these qualities Colonel Stone has evinced. There is little that is -positively new in the book, but many doubtful questions have been -settled, and a clearer insight given into the Indian character and -customs than we had been led to expect. As an instance of the latter, we -notice the fact mentioned of the women and war-chiefs in the Canandaigua -council, who took the business of the treaty out of the sachems’ hands, -asserting that the latter had no right to refuse the sale of lands, -against the opinion of the women and braves. We are also made more fully -acquainted, in this volume, with the subjection, in general, of the -military to the civil power among the Indians. Perhaps the style is -objectionable in one or two particulars, and there are too many speeches -given “in extenso;” while events of little importance sometimes occupy -as much space as those of greater moment, and tend to give an occasional -prolixity to the work, which would be well worth the author’s revision -when a second edition comes to be demanded. The anecdotes which -intersperse the volume are highly characteristic. On the whole, in -collecting and arranging so many undigested facts, and in preserving -from oblivion the oral traditions of the actors in the scenes he -relates, Colonel Stone has shown a commendable industry. But his work is -only begun. The mere record of a chieftain’s life, however celebrated -the individual may be, is secondary to the history of a mighty people -and the inquiry into its origin. We care little, comparatively, when or -how Red Jacket spoke, but we do care whence his people came. Our object -is to learn the polity and customs of his nation, to analyze its -language—in short, thoroughly to understand its history and character. -To do this is what constitutes Colonel Stone’s design, but as yet he has -only incidentally carried out his plan. Neither the life of Brandt nor -that of Red Jacket does more than skim over the great question our -author has proposed to discuss. Biography is not history: the narrative -of a few land treaties is not the account of a nation’s glory. As the -greatest people of the Indian race, and as the conquerors of the -Alligewi, we feel an interest in dissipating the obscurity which attends -the origin of the Six Nations. It is in vain to say such an attempt -would be fruitless. Has it ever been methodically, analytically, -perseveringly tried? Why does Colonel Stone avoid this portion of his -subject—the portion which should naturally claim his attention first? -We tell him frankly that he would gain ten times more reputation, and -prove himself possessed of ten times more talent, if he would come up to -this matter gallantly, and not scour around and around it, like a -frightened hound. - -Red Jacket was a sachem or civil chief among the Senecas. He seems to -have been of no family, and to have won his way to the first place in -the councils of his people, by his tact, his patriotism, and, more than -all his eloquence. Few men have ever lived who surpassed him in oratory, -if we may judge his proficiency in that art by the effect he produced on -his hearers. All that has been related of Demosthenes and Cicero among -the ancients, or of Bolingbroke and Chatham among the moderns, may be -applied with equal truth to this great orator of the Senecas. When he -rose to speak not a word was heard—when he took his seat his enthusiasm -infected all. He was even able to carry his point when superstition, in -its darkest guise, was arrayed against him. Some specimens, at least, of -such wonderful powers of eloquence may naturally be expected to have -come down to us; yet, with but one or two exceptions, his printed -speeches are tame to mediocrity. Much of this, no doubt, is to be -attributed to incompetent translations: indeed, our author lays the -whole fault at this door. But there is another and simpler reason, to -which Colonel Stone has not alluded. - -Every nation has its distinctive spirit, or, to speak more plainly, its -peculiar mode of thought. To this the orator must accommodate himself. -The same style of eloquence which affects an Englishman, falls cold on -the ear of an Italian. Even the Philippics of Demosthenes, or the -orations of Cicero, were unrivalled, only so far forth as they were -adapted to the peculiarities of an Athenian or Roman audience; and, had -the situation of either of these orators been changed, there is great -chance that, unless they altered their style, they would have been -hooted from the forum, or at least listened to in silence. So with the -oriental orators, whose most celebrated passages seem turgid to us. We -take it, then, that one of the great secrets of this apparent tameness -in Red Jacket’s orations, arises, as much from our different -appreciation of his style, as from the inadequacy of the translations. -We admit that there exists no perfect transcript of a harangue by him, -but could one of his speeches be handed down to us, word for word, we -predict that it would seem to us little better than turgid bombast or -inflated allegory. Yet that Red Jacket was a great _Seneca_ orator, we -have the concurrent testimony of more than fifty years—to say nothing -of the evidence, in the book before us, of his vigorous intellect and -grace of manner, the two most important requisites for oral eloquence. - -The character of this celebrated chieftain was an odd mixture of “dirt -and divinity.” He was great as a whole, but mean in the detail. He ruled -over warriors, and was an arrant coward. He professed to be frank, and -lived on intrigue. His constant struggle was to retain the lands of his -people, and yet more than once he would have sold them for his personal -emolument. He was a hypocrite, a drunkard, and devoured by vanity; but -he was also an orator, a statesman, and devoted to his country. He -sometimes was capable of the loftiest generosity, and at other times he -would stoop to cheat the government out of a coat. But in one thing his -character is above reproach—he never ceased asserting the rights of his -country; and from the treaty at Canandaigua, down to the latest hour of -his life, he opposed manfully every alienation of the Seneca soil. He -was often unsuccessful, and always misrepresented; but he did not relax -his efforts. On the size of their domain, he said, depended the -importance of his people; and that people it was his ambition to -preserve an entire nation. For this he would have built up a wall of -separation betwixt them and the whites—for this he excluded -missionaries—for this he opposed schools—for this he denounced -intermarriages—for this he lived and died a pagan. Yet he survived to -see all his efforts in vain. He survived to behold the Senecas dwindled -to half their numbers, to see their forests cut down, and to witness -their lands slip piecemeal from their hands. How melancholy to -contemplate the poor old chief, when, returning to hunt in the beautiful -valley of the Gennesee, he found the ravages which the white men had -made in the forest so great, that he sat down and wept. - -We have said that Red Jacket was intemperate; and the vice grew on him -as he grew older. When a council was to be held, however, he abstained -from indulgence until the deliberations were past, but then his excesses -were often frightful. An anecdote is related by Colonel Stone, which -shows the old chiefs propensity in rather a ludicrous light. Colonel -Snelling was a great favorite with him. When that officer was given the -command of Governor’s Island, Red Jacket bade him farewell in the -following words: - - “Brother:—I hear you are going to a place called Governor’s - Island. I hope you will be a governor yourself. I understand - that you white people think children a blessing. I hope you may - have a thousand. _And above all, I hope, wherever you go, you - may never find whiskey above two shillings a quart._” - -Red Jacket died in 1830, and with him perished the glory of the once -powerful Six Nations. Their subsequent history is well known. Their last -rood of land in New York has now passed into the hands of the white man; -the places which knew them shall know them no more, and in a few years -the Iroquois will be numbered with the dead. - -The short sketches of the lives of Cornplanter, Farmer’s Brother, and -Harry O’Bail, in the conclusion of the work, are unusually interesting. - -The volume is printed well, on paper of the finest quality, but -disfigured, here and there, with typographical mistakes. - ------ - -[5] Alleghany. - - * * * * * - - _The Ancient Régime: A Novel. By_ G. P. R. James, Esq. _2 vols. - Harper and Brothers._ - -“Stale, flat, and unprofitable” are the novels of Mr. James, and of all -his novels the Ancient Régime is the most flat. We have just flung down -the book, wondering how any man could, “_sanâ mente_,” in a sane mind, -publish two volumes so very common-place. Yet Mr. James has done it, -once and again, and yet again, and—God help us—seems determined to do -it, so long as he can find a publisher. - -We do not say that the novels of James are unreadable, paradoxical as it -may seem, after what we have written. They are, on the contrary, -pleasant, often instructive. In some respects they are even well -written: if they were not so written, we should pass them in silence; -but when a man of talent persists in writing such common-place affairs -as Corse de Leon and the Ancient Régime, we feel bound to caution the -public against reading them. - -In reviewing the last novel of this author, we took occasion to comment -on his repetition of himself; and had not but a bare six months elapsed -since the publication of that article, we should have thought, that he -had commenced this work with our criticism before him; for the whole -conception of the Ancient Régime—according to the preface—is -essentially different from that of Mr. James’ former romances. To do him -justice, he seems to have set out intending to write something really -new. But a dog that has once tasted blood is forever killing sheep,—and -our novelist, after the first few chapters of the work, runs into all -his old habits. Indeed, had he not told us in set phrases that his -object was to show the gradual changes of a female mind from infancy to -womanhood, and that too while she was in the peculiar position of a ward -of a man to whom she bore no relationship: had he not told us this—we -say—and added that he had in the Ancient Régime attempted a new and -more gentle style, we should have divined neither the one fact nor the -other. - -There is too much _clap-trap_ in the work before us. Most novelists are -contented if their hero saves the life of his mistress once in the space -of two orthodox volumes. But James thinks this entirely too little. His -heroine seems put up like a ten-pin, only to be bowled at; for her life -is preserved once from a wolf—once from a robber—and once from an -assassin—and beside this, her honour is kept in jeopardy, as a kind of -running commentary, through the whole book. We are tempted to say with -Titmouse, “’Pon honour—most uncommon luck.” Then, too, everything -happens, not as it would in life, but just as it ought to happen. Such a -chain of fortuitous circumstances, following each other link by link, we -venture to say, author never imagined, since the old romances of -chivalry gave up the ghost. The deserted babe passes into the very hands -to which it _should_ go—the supposed father gets a place in the police, -_the very thing for all hands_—the young lady when grown up falls in -love with the son of the _only man living who knows her parentage_—the -king is frustrated in meeting Annette, until after Du Barry has given -him _a new object of pursuit_—the Baron de Cajore is arrested at the -_very instant_ he is arresting the hero—Ernest de Nogent is rescued in -the park at Maupay _just as_ he is about to be stabbed from behind—and -last of all, the assassin de Cajore is killed off at the end, _in the -very nick of time_, and when all the actors are conveniently assembled -to look on, at a nice little tea-party in the forest. Nothing, indeed, -is done naturally: everything is brought about by luck. - -In the second place, the characters of the Ancient Régime are only new -editions—by no means improved ones—of the _dramatis personæ_ of James’ -former novels. Some wicked wag said that the old dramatists wanted only -a king, a fool, a woman, and a villain, to make a tragedy, and Mr. James -seems to have taken up the joke as serious. He is like a wax-work -keeper: he has one figure, which, by dint of changing the dress, passes -for everything under the sun. His heroes and heroines are never -dissimilar: he has always one noble and one poorer rogue: he never -forgets to bring in a king or a queen, or both; and he fills up the -by-play with a few supernumeraries, who talk a great deal and do a very -little. If you read one of his novels, you read, in fact, all. Then -there are perils, rescues, a duel or two, generally a trial, and now and -then a sprinkling of battles, ambuscades, and the like. Sometimes the -hobby is one thing and sometimes another, but he never mixes the draught -without putting in a little of all the ingredients. In his last novel -his fancy ran on battles—in this one, trials appear to rule the roost. -To sum up this head, Mr. James seems to be like a horse in a mill, who, -though every time he goes his rounds, may kick up his heels after a new -variety, never gets out of the same beaten track, or rises above the -same humdrum pace. - -In the third place, there is no ingenuity in the plot of the Ancient -Régime. You see, at once, not only how all is to end, but you penetrate -into every detail of the plot. By the time you have read thirty pages, -you know that Annette is not Pierre Morin’s daughter—that the Abbé is -the unknown companion of the murderers—that Pierre Morin is the person -who warns Castelneau to leave Paris—and that the sign which induces the -Abbé to obey, is the discovery of his own seal, which had been lost at -the door of Fiteau’s shop, impressed on the letter of warning. A plot, -so loosely contrived, wants interest; and if you go through the book at -all, it is with labor. - -But even that very respectable gentleman, who unfortunately is provided -with a tail, is not, according to the popular rumour, without his good -qualities; and Mr. James, despite all we have said, is yet a writer of -talent—talent running a muck, we contend—but still talent. More than -this—he is a historian; not a mere chronicler, but a historian. He -knows the manners, costume, and general spirit of the ages of which he -writes, and his novels may, so far forth as they embody this knowledge, -be read with interest. This, too, is the secret of his continued success -in despite of his many faults. This, too, is why he is called the great -historical novelist of the age, though in painting accurately the -characters of his leading personages, such as Richelieu, Philip -Augustus, &c., he is far beneath Grattan—a writer, by the bye, less -known in this country than he deserves to be. In another thing James is -deficient as a writer of historical romance—he does not enter, as fully -as he ought, into _the spirit of the age_. Here Bulwer, in his Rienzi, -has shown himself superior to the author of Richelieu; to say nothing of -Scott, who, whatever license he took with particular personages, always -depicted vividly the spirit of the age of which he wrote. - -We take leave of this novel with a brief prophesy respecting its author: -he will, in fifty years, be of no more note than any one of the thousand -and one _imitators_ of whose class he is the head. - - * * * * * - - _America, Historical, Statistical and Descriptive: with numerous - engravings. By_ J. Silk Buckingham. _2 vols. Harper and - Brothers._ - -If ever there was an inane author—if ever there was an arrant -egotist—if ever there was a traveller ignorant of his subject, that -author, egotist, and traveller, is J. Silk Buckingham, late missionary -in the cause of morals, to the world in general and to this land in -particular, and now the author of a romance which he entitles “America, -historical, statistical, and descriptive.” How could a man suffer -himself to be so egregiously gulled, as Mr. Buckingham has proved -himself to have been, in these volumes? If his lectures on the Holy Land -contained a tithe of the exaggeration of this journal, what a precious -mess of stuff his audiences must have swallowed! - -Mr. Buckingham opens with a sweeping condemnation of all former writers -on America, and then adroitly insinuates that his work is the “_ne plus -ultra_” of all works. No one who heard him lecture can doubt his egotism -or vanity. We were not, therefore, much surprised at this exordium. The -text, however, keeps up the farce, and whether describing the emoluments -of the bar, the genius and productions of our poets, the statistics of -the States or Union, the conduct of political parties, or the advance of -taste, morals, or religion, he is sure to drag in something respecting -himself, and to misrepresent, more or less, the subject under -discussion. Did the book merit the time and space, we would quote some -of its remarks to shew what an arrant block-head, or else what a wilful -libeller, this J. Silk Buckingham is. - -This want of truth in Mr. Buckingham is unpardonable. While here, he was -feasted, huzzaed, followed by crowds, in short made a lion of,—and, as -he himself says, he had every opportunity to gain correct information. -But he seems to have slighted them all. His exaggerations out-romance -Amadis de Gaul. He is beside painfully dull, prosing away, page after -page, just as he used to dilute his twaddle, when retailing it, by the -hour, at a shilling a head. His work scarcely lays claim to mediocrity. -Although ushered in by a flourish of trumpets from presses on both sides -of the Atlantic, and attended by a pompous dedication to His Royal -Highness Prince Albert, the volumes are inferior in every respect to the -unpretending work, on this country, lately published by Mr. Combe. As -Brougham said of Sheridan’s statesmanship, “it is neither a bad book, -nor a good book, nor an indifferent book—the fact is, it is no book at -all.” - - * * * * * - - _Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and Modern: from - the German of Frederick Schlegel: 1 vol. J. and H. G. Langley: - New York, 1841._ - -This work is already extensively known, through the medium of foreign -editions; but the present imprint of it will be none the less welcome on -that account. We rejoice to see our publishers begin to make head -against the reprint of worthless novels, by issuing, instead of such -trash, works of a standard character like this. Let the press second -them in so noble an effort. - -The object of Schlegel, in this volume, has been to give a general view -of the development and spirit of literature, and to show its influence -on the character of successive ages, from ancient to modern times. We -cannot appreciate, and cannot therefore be expected to praise, the -German fondness for reducing everything to a theory, and we must -consequently protest against the attempt made by our author to give his -subject such a character. Nevertheless the book is full of profound -reflections, and displays great research. It is the result of a full -mind, and not the idle rhapsody of a visionary. - -The present edition is a reprint from the last Edinburgh one. The -translation is attributed to J. G. Lockhart, whose scholarship is a -guarantee for excellence and fidelity. - - * * * * * - - _The Secretary of Machiavelli, or the Siege of Florence. By_ D. - M’Carthy. _2 vols. Lea and Blanchard._ - -A very common-place book, too bad to praise, yet too good absolutely to -condemn. It will find its place on the shelves of circulating libraries. - - * * * * * - - _The Secret Foe. By_ Ellen Pickering, _2 vols. Carey and Hart._ - -This is scarcely equal to Miss Pickering’s earlier production, “Nan -Darrell.” Indeed, the present novel is, by no means, a work which will -increase her reputation. Portions of it are written well, we admit; but -the character of the book, considered as a whole, is but little above a -desperate mediocrity. There is no individuality in the actors—no -novelty in the plot—many incidents extravagant and unnatural; and a -forced interest, if we may so speak, in the whole of the second volume. -It is true, many of the scenes are drawn vividly, but they do not -suffice to redeem the work. Worse than all, the introduction of the -fugitive, Charles the Second, together with the whole conception of the -character of the boy Jackson, is a plagiarism from Woodstock of the -worst kind, because one where the spirit and not the language is stolen. -We cannot forgive the author, even though a woman, for such an act. - - * * * * * - - _The Deerslayer, or, the First War-Path: A Tale: By_ J. F. - Cooper. _2 vols. Lea and Blanchard._ - -Little can be said of this tale which has not been said of the former -novels, by Mr. Cooper, in which “Leather Stocking” appears. The story is -one of thrilling interest, full of perils and of hair-breadth escapes. -The reader, unable to lay down the book, peruses it with painful and -breathless eagerness; but, with the exception of Natty Bumpo, there is -no character worthy of the name. Here is the great difference betwixt -Cooper and Scott. No one will deny, that the former is nearly, if not -quite, as successful as the latter in the interest his story awakens in -the reader’s mind, yet we look back in vain, through the whole series of -the Red Rover tales, for such inimitable characters as those of Balfour -of Burley, and the other actors in the Waverley Novels. Mr. Cooper -paints only the outside, he cannot reach into the soul. Yet, as an -author, skilful in the management of incident, or capable of whirling -away the reader in the breathless interest of a story, no writer of the -day, at least no American, can, at all, compare with Mr. Cooper. - -In the present tale there is an unusual unity of person, place and time. -The whole action is confined to three days; the principal characters are -not more than six; and the scene is the lake at Cooperstown, with its -surrounding shores. The story is placed as far back as the early French -war, and is one of Indian siege and ambuscade. Some of the night scenes, -where the beleagured whites, uncertain of the time or mode of the -enemy’s attack, wander up and down the lake in the ark, listening for -the dip of a paddle or the crackling of a twig, to announce the approach -of the foe, are unsurpassed even by the earliest efforts of Mr. Cooper. -The rescue of Hist from the hostile camp is a scene of great power—so -is the surprise of the whites at the castle—and so is the death of the -Panther from Deerslayer’s hands, and the latter’s temporary escape from -the savages. The closing scene, however, in which the torture of -Deerslayer is going on, seems to us not only painfully, but unnaturally -protracted—so that, long before the _dénouement_, we begin to lose our -interest in the finale, under the feeling that the author has overworked -his scene. - -We are not captious in these few objections, for they are but specks on -a sunny sky. No one can question Mr. Cooper’s powers as a novelist of -his particular school. We dismiss his work with high praise, hoping that -he may long live to adorn the literature of his country, and that he may -never write a worse story than the Deerslayer. - -The Leather Stocking tales are now complete in ten volumes, by Messrs. -Lea and Blanchard. - - * * * * * - - _A Practical Description of Herron’s Patent Trellis Railway - Structure, etc., etc. By_ James Herron, _Civil Engineer. 1 vol. - Carey and Hart, and J. Dobson, Philadelphia, 1841._ - -This is an able treatise. The main object of the author is to explain -his Patent Trellis Railway Structure—an invention which is peculiarly -adapted to the frosty climates of the middle and northern states; but, -as collateral to this, he has discussed the subject of mineralizing -wood, of an improved method of joining the ends of railway bars, and of -the defective nature of railway structures in use. - -The length to which we have extended some of the preceding reviews, -forbids us to go at large into the contents of this volume; but we -recommend it to the attention of the public, and to that of rail-road -companies in particular. The volume is accompanied by four large plates -of working plans to illustrate the author’s remarks. The invention of -Mr. Herron has received the sanction of the very highest authorities, -and will, in our opinion, supercede all other modes of railway -structure. - -Mr. Strickland, so well known as an architect and engineer, speaks of it -as follows: - - “Among the various methods now used for the super-structure of - railways in this country and in Europe, I know of none to - compare with Mr. Herron’s patent horizontal truss, or diagonal - braced floor. It has the great advantages of surface-bearing - lateral connection, and longitudinal combination of strength, - and evenness of level. It is calculated to rest secure in all - the various characters of soil . . . . will be found to resist - with the utmost degree of permanency all the vicissitudes of the - caved and washed embankments which undermine the present - mud-sills and cross-ties of the road-beds now in use.” - -The Franklin Institute says of it: - - “Mr. Herron has fully understood and appreciated the evils - inseparably connected with the plans of railway super-structure - so much in use here and in Europe, in which the rails are - supported upon isolated blocks of stone or sleepers of timber - . . . . His object has been to devise a plan in which all the - parts forming the structure shall be adequately supported; - while, at the same time, they shall be so connected that no - portion will be liable to independent displacement, either - laterally or vertically.” - - * * * * * - - _Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home. By the author of “The - Linwoods,” etc. 2 vols. Harper and Brothers: New York, 1841._ - -Miss Sedgwick has given us, in these volumes, her notes of travel -through England, Italy, and other parts of Europe. The book is written -in an easy, almost conversational style; it abounds in anecdote and what -we should call allowable gossip; and, if it were only a little racier, -would be a model for tourists. We like particularly the little details -of persons and manners, in which our author has indulged—one gets, in -perusing them, an excellent idea of the society in other countries. This -is what we want, and where the author does not intrude on privacy, we -cannot see that he or she is to be condemned. Miss Sedgwick’s choice of -words might—to our minds—be purer: her style is often disfigured by -provincial phrases of the worst kind. - - * * * * * - - _The Life and Adventures of Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. - By_ H. Cockton. _With numerous illustrations, by Phiz. 1 vol. - Carey and Hart._ - -This is a work of considerable humor—one of that class, which, without -much originality, manages to become popular, as much from the fun it -contains, as from the style in which the story is told. The -illustrations are not as happy as those of Phiz in general. The book is -neatly printed, in the style of the Nickleby series. - - * * * * * - - - - - SECRET WRITING. - - -On the tenth of August, a letter addressed to us by some gentleman who -had assumed the _nom de guerre_ of Timotheus Whackemwell, was received -at this office, from Baltimore. It enclosed a cypher, and says, “if you -succeed with it I will set you down as perfect in the art.” Thinking -that in the chirography we recognized the hand of our friend, Mr. J. N. -McJilton, of Baltimore, we addressed _him_ by return of mail, with the -solution desired. Mr. McJilton, it appears, however, was not the -correspondent. The solution ran thus— - -“This specimen of secret writing is sent you for explanation. If you -succeed in divining its meaning, I will believe that you are some kin to -Old Nick.” - -Mr. Whackemwell, whoever or wherever he is, will acknowledge this -reading to be correct. - -The cypher submitted through Mr. F. W. Thomas, by Dr. Frailey, of -Washington, and decyphered by us, also in return of mail, as stated in -our August number, has not yet been read by any of our innumerable -readers. We now append its solution, together with the whole of that -letter of the Doctor’s, of which we gave only a portion in the August -number. - - - SOLUTION. - -In one of those peripatetic circumrotations I obviated a rustic whom I -subjected to catachetical interrogation respecting the nosocomical -characteristics of the edifice to which I was approximate. With a -volubility uncongealed by the frigorific powers of villatic bashfulness, -he ejaculated a voluminous replication from the universal tenor of whose -contents I deduce the subsequent amalgamation of heterogeneous facts. -Without dubiety incipient pretension is apt to terminate in final -vulgarity, as parturient mountains have been fabulated to produce -muscupular abortions. The institution the subject of my remarks, has not -been without cause the theme of the ephemeral columns of quotidian -journals, and enthusiastic encomiations in conversational intercourse. - -The key to this cipher is as follows—_But find this out and I give it -up_. - -The appended letter, however, from Dr. Frailey, will show the means used -by him to embarrass the reading. Arbitrary characters were made to stand -for _whole words_. When we take this circumstance into consideration, -with other facts mentioned in the letter, and regard also the -nonsensical character of the phraseology employed, we shall be the -better enabled to appreciate the extreme difficulty of the puzzle. - - Washington, July 6, 1841. - - Dear Sir, - - It gives me pleasure to state, that the reading by Mr. Poe, of - the cryptograph which I gave you a few days since for - transmission to him, is correct. - - I am the more astonished at this, since for various words of - two, three and four letters, a distinct character was used for - each, in order to prevent the discovery of some of those words, - by their frequent repetition in a cryptograph of any length and - applying them to other words. I also used a distinct character - for the terminations _tion_ and _sion_, and substituted in every - word where it was possible, some of the characters above alluded - to. Where the same word of two of those letters occurred - frequently, the letters of the key phrase and the characters - were alternately used, to increase the difficulty. - - As ever, yours, &c. - CHAS. S. FRAILEY. - - To F. W. Thomas, Esq. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: LATEST FASHIONS, OCTOBER, 1841. FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Available scans -of the fashion plate were missing a caption so caption was added in the -style of the fashion plates of the previous issues of this volume. -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected without note. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. 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margin-bottom: 0; text-indent: 0em; padding-left: 2.4em } - .dramaline-cont { margin-top: .8em; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent: 0em; padding-left: 2.4em } - .dramastart { min-height: 1px; } - .verse-align { visibility:hidden; } - .verse-align-inline { position:absolute; text-indent:0; } - .verse-align-noindent { visibility:hidden; margin-left:1.2em; } - .literal-container { text-align:center; margin:0 0; } - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} - .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} - .poetry-container { margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841, by Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: George R. Graham</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 29, 2021 [eBook #65148]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images generously made available by the Internet Archive (https://archive.org)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XIX, NO. 4, OCTOBER 1841 ***</div> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XIX.</span> October, 1841. No. 4.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Contents</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bro'>Brother and Sister</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#kate'>Kate Beverly</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#lame'>Lame for Life, Or Leslie Pierpoint</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rows'>The Rowsevillers.—<span class='sc'>No.</span> I.</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#waw'>Wawhillowa</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#shak'>Shakspeare.—No. II.</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rom'>The Roman Bride</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#vag'>The Vagrant</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#reef'>The Reefer of ’76</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#spor'>Sports and Pastimes.—The Fowling-Piece</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sec'>Secret Writing</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'>Poetry, Music and Fashion</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#boys'>We Were Boys Together</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fut'>The Christian’s Dream of the Future</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#for'>A Forest Scene</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ball'>Ballad</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#nia'>Niagara</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bap'>The Baptism of Pocahontas</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#isra'>Israfel</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bye'>Bye-Gone Hours</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Latest Fashions, October, 1841</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='A young brother and sister sit under a tree with their dog' id='iid-0001' style='width:90%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Painted by Vinterhalter.</span> <span class='it'>Engraved by J. Sartain.</span></span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>Brother & Sister</span> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i002.jpg' alt='people on a hillside overlooking a valley' id='iid-0002' style='width:95%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>W. H. Bartlett. A. L. Dick.</span><br/></p> <br/>THE DESCENT INTO THE VALLEY OF WYOMING<br/> <p class='caption'>(Pennsylvania)<br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XIX.</span> PHILADELPHIA: OCTOBER, 1841. <span class='sc'>No. 4.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='bro'></a>BROTHER AND SISTER.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>What</span> is so beautiful as childhood? Where can -we find such purity and frankness, such an absence of -all selfishness, as in the love of children? And -where does that love exist, deeper or sweeter or more -like that of heaven than when between a brother and -a sister?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Brother and sister! what a spell in the very words! -How they bring up to our mind visions of days long -past, and such, alas! as we shall never see again; -when, with that dear one who is now in heaven, singing -among the white-robed choir around the throne of -God, we wandered over hill and dale, through fields -of waving corn and meadows of the freshest grass—and -all the while drinking into our souls sensations -we could not then understand, but which we now -know sprung from that sympathy which exists between -us and every beautiful thing in nature, and -which, beginning at the humblest flower, links together -all inanimate and animate creation, ascending -step by step from tree to breathing thing, from -breathing thing to man, from man to the angels, and -so through cherubim and seraphim and archangel, up -to the highest intelligence who veils his face before -the effulgence of the great <span class='sc'>I am</span>. We little knew -the reason then, but we felt how sweet it was to wander -thus—often from morning until night—threading -the old wood, or gathering flowers on the lea, or -playing merrily beneath some shady grove, or loitering -perchance at noon-day beside the stream, to gaze -at the silvery trout glancing far down in the cool -depths, or hanging like a motionless statue close -under the mossy rocky caves that skirted the banks. -Oh! those were delicious hours. Arm in arm would -we sit, scarce speaking a word for hours, but with a -thousand sweet though indescribable emotions at our -hearts, until a dreamy quiet would creep over our -souls like that which lapped the poet into Elysium. -The very soughing of the wind among the trees -would become lower and softer, until it died away -with a tone as mellow as that of a flute at midnight. -The current would sweep noiselessly at our feet, save -when it whirled by some projecting rock, or babbled -over a pebbly bar on the bosom of the stream. Now -the whirr of a woodcock might be heard, and now the -whistle of a wild pigeon broke clear and silvery on -the silence. Often the long tresses of the overhanging -willows drooped down around us until they slept -upon the waters, while ever and anon the noon-tide -breeze would rustle the neighboring trees, and a -sound would go up like the whispers of a company -of angels. How often have we thought that in these -low mysterious tones might exist a meaning of which -we little dream, a language as full of adoration as it -is of harmony. But be that as it may, is not all -nature an instrument from which the fingers of God -are drawing perpetual music? The roar of the surf, -the whisper of the zephyr, the rustling of the forest, -the gurgling of the stream, the song of the bird, the -low of the kine, the rain gently pattering among the -forest leaves, and the thunder wheeling and rattling -among the hills, are all notes in that great anthem -of praise which continually goes up from earth—an -anthem which is swelled by the music of satellites -and worlds, aye! of a revolving universe, sweeping -sphere on sphere beyond the ken of man. All creation -is but one vast whole, engaged day and night in -hymning Jehovah’s praise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Brother and sister! Alas! we are alone. Manhood -has left us of that happy time only these emotions—first -felt in the companionship of that now sainted -being. But never shall we forget those days. -They are linked in with our very being. How many -sweet emotions, how many lasting impressions, how -many glimpses of the beautiful and true were drawn -into our souls in that joyous time of innocence and -youth. And how all seem the sweeter, and holier, -and more enduring from the associations connected -with them. Oh! tell us not of other’s love, it cannot -surpass that of a sister. What can be purer -than her little caresses, what can be more heavenly -than her smile? Years have passed since the days -when we thus wandered together, and the cares of -the world have eaten like a canker into our heart, -but the memory of that sister’s kindness and the -consciousness of her affection, have been a balm to -our hearts in every ill. They have cheered us in -sickness, and sorrow, and absence; they have been -to us beacons of hope and happiness. And they will -continue with us, thank God! until we too shall -have done with the toils of life.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>J. S.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='kate'></a>KATE BEVERLY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A STORY OF THE VALLEY OF WYOMING.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PERCIE H. SELTON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Do</span> you see that landscape?” said the old man to -me, as we paused on the edge of the mountain road, -and looked down into the valley of Wyoming beneath -us. “Well, that spot, calm and beautiful as it now -is, was once the scene of massacre. God help me! -the agonies of that day almost wring my heart to -think of them, even after the lapse of fifty years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have heard it was a fearful time, and you have -often promised to tell me the tale of your own connection -with it. Yet, if the subject be so painful to -you, I dare scarcely make the request.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, boy, no,” said the old man, sadly, “I will -tell it, for the promise is of long standing, and I feel -to-day as if I could narrate that tragedy with less -emotion than usual. Sit down on this rock, and give -me a moment to rest; I will then commence my -story.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While the old man wiped the perspiration from his -brow, and sat fanning himself with his broad-rimmed -summer hat, I took the place pointed out by him -near his side, and spent the moments that elapsed -before he began his narration in gazing at the landscape -before me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sitting on a huge boulder, at the edge of the mountain, -just where the hill began to slope down into -the valley, we commanded a view of one of the most -unrivalled landscapes in the world. To our left rose -up the mountain, bold, rugged and barren, like the -back of some vast monster reared against the sky—but -on the right nothing interposed to destroy the -view: whose loveliness so far exceeded even my -expectations, that for some minutes I gazed on the -scene in mute admiration. Beneath me stretched -the valley, diversified with gently sloping elevations, -and sprinkled with fields of waving golden -grain; while here and there a patch of woodland, -with its dark green hue, lay slumbering on the -landscape—the surface of the forest ever and anon -varying to a lighter tint as the wind swept over -the tree-tops. Right through the centre of the valley -meandered the river, now rolling betwixt bluff banks, -and now stealing gently among the rich meadow -lands in the distance, until at length it turned to the -left, and, skirting the foot of the far off hills, was lost -behind the profile of the mountain before us. In the -centre of the vale was the village, with its white -houses and airy church steeple, smiling over the scene. -Far away on the horizon stretched a line of hills, -their dark blue summits, half hid by the clouds, which -wrapped them as in a veil of gauze. No sound came -up from the valley. Occasionally the twitter of -a bird would be heard from the surrounding trees—while -the low tinkle of a tiny waterfall on our left -kept monotonously sounding in our ears. The morning -rays of a summer’s sun poured down upon the -landscape, and every thing around was bright, and -gay, and beautiful. I was still lost in admiration at -the loveliness of the scene, when the old man signified -his readiness to commence his tale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is now fifty years ago,” he began, “since I -came to this valley a young frontier-man, with a -hardy constitution, a love of adventure, and the reputation -of being the best shot on the border: the place -was, at that time, settled principally by families -from Connecticut, and even then bore traces of its -present luxuriant cultivation. Many of the families -were in good circumstances, others had seen better -days—and altogether the society was more refined -than was usual on the frontier. Among all the families, -however, in the valley, none pleased me so much -as that of Mr. Beverly—and, of his fireside circle -his second daughter, Kate, was, in my eyes, the gem. -How shall I describe her beauty? Lovely, without -being beautiful, with a sylph-like form, a laugh as -joyous as the carol of a bird, a step lighter than that -of a young fawn in sportive play, and a disposition so -amiable as to win, irresistibly, the love of all who -met her. Kate Beverly was scarcely seventeen before -she had a host of admirers, and might have won any -youth in the valley. Why it was that she preferred -me over all the rest, I cannot say: perhaps it was -the consciousness of some mysterious sympathy -linking us together, or perhaps it was that we both -came from the same town in Connecticut, and had -been school-mates in childhood—so it was, however. -It soon began to be known throughout the valley that -before another season should elapse, Kate Beverly -would become my wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! how happy were those days—too happy, -indeed, to last. I will not dwell upon them, for they -fill my soul with agony. Suffice it to say, that while -dreaming of bliss such as mortal never before experienced, -the war of the revolution broke out—and, -after a hard struggle between my passion and my -duty, the latter conquered, and I joined the army. -Kate did not attempt to dissuade me from the act—she -rather loved me the more for it. Though her -woman nature caused her to shed tears at my departure, -her reason told her I was right, and she bid me -God speed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Heaven bless you, Harry,’ she said, ‘and bring -this unnatural war to a conclusion. I cannot bid you -stay, but I pray that the necessity for your absence -may soon cease.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Time rolled by—the American cause was still -doubtful, and the war bid fair to be protracted into -years. I had risen to be a captain in the —— regiment, -when I received information that the tories -and Indians intended making a descent on the valley -of the Wyoming. I knew the unprotected situation -of my adopted district, and I trembled for the lives -of those I held most dear. At first I discredited the -rumor—chance, however, threw in my way an opportunity -of ascertaining the reality of the reported -descent, and I became convinced that not a moment -was to be lost if I would save the lives of those I -loved at home. My determination was at once -taken—I solicited for leave of absence—it was refused: -I then resigned my commission, and set forth -to Wyoming.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never shall forget my emotions when I drew -near that ill-fated place; it was on the very day of -the massacre—and the first intimation I had of the -calamity was the mangled body of one of the inhabitants, -whom I had known, floating down the stream. -A cold shiver ran through every vein as I gazed on -the terrible sight, and a thousand fears agitated my -bosom; but my worst surmises fell far short of the -truth. When, hours after, I met some of the fugitives, -and they rehearsed to me that tale of horror, -I stood for a moment thunderstruck, refusing to -believe that beings in human form could perpetrate -such deeds—but it was all too true.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Almost my first inquiry was for Kate. No one -knew, alas! what had become of her. One of those -who had escaped the fight, told me that her father -had been killed at the beginning of the conflict—and -that, deprived of a protector, she had probably fallen -a victim to the infuriate savages, while the other inhabitants -were severally engaged in protecting themselves. -How I cursed them for this selfishness! And -yet could I expect aught else of human nature, than -that each one should protect those dearest to them, -even to the desertion of others?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But my mind was soon made up. I resolved, -come what might, to ascertain clearly the fate of -Kate—so that if dead I might revenge her, and if, -living, I might rescue her. Bidding farewell to the -flying group, I shouldered my rifle and struck boldly -into the forest, trusting in the guidance of that God -who never deserts us in our extremities.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will not tire you with a protracted narrative; I -will only say that, after numerous inquiries from the -fugitives I met, I learned that Kate had been last -seen in the hands of a party of savages,—this was -sufficient for a clue,—I once more began to hope. -I waited until night-fall, when I sought the spot which -had been described to me as the one where Kate had -been last seen—and, never shall I forget my feelings -of almost rapturous pleasure, when I found in the -neighboring forest a fragment of her dress sticking on -a bush, by which it had, doubtless, been torn from her -in passing. I was now satisfied that Kate had been -carried off captive. Fortunately I had met, in the -group of fugitives, a hunter who had been under some -obligations to her family, and he was easily persuaded -to join me in my search. Together we now -began a pursuit of the savages. He was an adept in -forest warfare—could follow a trail as a hound the -chase—knew the course which would be most likely -to be chosen by a flying party of Indians, and withal, -was one of the keenest shots who had carried a rifle -on the border.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s my opinion,’ said he, ‘that these varmint -did not belong to the regular body of Indians who -followed Butler, though even they were bad enough. -I think, however, he wouldn’t suffer a deed like this. -These villains seem to have acted on their own behalf—and, -if so, they would fly to the back country -as soon as possible. You may depend upon it we -shall overtake them if we pursue that way.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I felt the truth of these remarks, and assented to -them at once. In less than a quarter of an hour after -first discovering the trail, we were threading the -forest in pursuit of the savages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me hasten to the close. Hour after hour, -all through the livelong day, we pursued the flying -Indians—crossing swamps, clambering over rocks, -fording streams, and picking our way through the -labyrinthine woods, until, towards night-fall, we -reached the edge of an open space—or, as it were, a -meadow, shut in by gently sloping hills.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hist,’ said my companion, ‘we are upon them. -Do you not see that thin thread of smoke curling upward -over the top of yonder aged hemlock?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ay—it must be them—let us on.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Softly, or we lose all. We know not, certainly, -that this is the party we seek; let us reconnoitre.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Slowly and stealthily, trembling lest even a twig -should crackle under our feet, we crept up towards -the edge of the meadow—and peeping cautiously -through the underwood, beheld the objects of our -search in six tall swarthy savages, sitting smoking -around the remains of a fire. At a little distance -knelt, with her hands bound, but her eyes upraised -to heaven, my own Kate. Oh! how my heart leaped -at the sight. I raised my rifle convulsively, and was -about to fire, when my companion caught my hand, -and said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Softly, or you spoil all. Let us get the varmint -in range, and then we shall fire with some effect. -Hist!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This last exclamation was occasioned by the sudden -rising of one of the savages. He gazed a moment -cautiously around, and then advanced towards the -thicket where we lay concealed. I drew my breath -in, and trembled at the beating of my own heart. -The savage still approached. My companion laid his -hand on my arm, and pointed from my rifle to one of -the Indians. I understood him. At this juncture the -advancing savage, warned of our presence by the -crackling of an unlucky twig beneath my companion’s -foot, sprang back, with a loud yell, towards the -fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ said my companion, sternly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Quick as lightning I raised my piece and fired. -My companion did the same. The retreating savage -and one of his companions fell dead on the ground: -each of us then sprang to a tree, loading as we ran. -It was well we did it, for in an instant the enemy -was on us. Shall I describe that dreadful fight? My -emotion forbids it. A few minutes decided it. Fighting -from tree to tree—dodging, loading, and endeavoring -to get sight on a foe, we kept up the conflict -for nearly five minutes—at the end of which time I -found myself wounded, while four out of the six savages -lay prostrate on the ground. The other two, finding -their companions dead, and despairing of being -able to carry off their prisoner, suddenly rushed on -her, and before we could interpose, had seized their -hapless victim. I had only been prevented, hitherto, -from rescuing Kate by the knowledge that an attempt -of the kind, while the savages were still numerically -superior to us, would end in the certain ruin of us -both,—but now, worlds could not have restrained -me, and, clubbing my rifle, for the piece was unloaded, -I dashed out from my covert, shouting to my -companion—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘On—on, in God’s name, on.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Take care of the taller varmint,’ thundered my -companion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The warning was too late. In the tumult of my -feelings I had not observed that the savage furthest -from me had his piece loaded, and before I could -avail myself of my companion’s cooler observation, -I received the ball in my right arm, and my rifle -dropped powerless by my side; had I not sprung involuntarily -aside at my companion’s cry, I should -have been shot through the heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘On—on,’ I groaned in agony, as I seized my -tomahawk in my almost useless left hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Stoop,’ said my companion, ‘stoop lower;’ and -as I did so, his rifle cracked on the still air, and the -Indian fell dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All this had not occupied an instant. I was now -within a few feet of her I loved, who was struggling -in the grasp of the other Indian. He had already -entwined his hands in her long hair—his tomahawk -was already gleaming in the setting sun. Never shall -I forget the look of demoniac fury with which the -wretch glared on his victim. A second only was left -for hope. My companion was far behind, with his -rifle unloaded. I made a desperate spring forward, -and hurled my tomahawk at the savage’s head. God -of my fathers! the weapon whizzed harmlessly by -the wretch, and buried itself, quivering, in the trunk -of a neighboring tree. I groaned aloud in agony,—there -was a yell of triumph on the air—a sudden -flashing in the sun, like a glancing knife, and—but I -cannot go on. She I loved as my own life; she who -was the purest and loveliest of her sex; she with -whom I had promised myself a long life of happiness—oh! -must I say it—<span class='it'>she</span> lay a mangled corpse -at my feet! But her murderer, aye!—<span class='it'>he</span> was cloven -to the breast by a blow from his own tomahawk, -which I had wrenched from him with the strength of -a dozen men.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man ceased,—big tears rolled down his -furrowed face, and his frame shook with emotion. I -saw the remembrance of the past was too much for -him, and I sat by his side in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I subsequently heard his sad tale from others, and -then learned the manner in which Kate had been carried -off. The old man’s companion was right—she -had been made a prisoner by a predatory band of -Indians, who had followed Butler, and deserted him -directly after the massacre.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Beautiful as the Valley of the Wyoming is, I never -have seen it, from that day to this, without thinking -of the sad fate of <span class='sc'>Kate Beverly</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='boys'></a>WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>We</span> were boys together,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And never can forget,</p> -<p class='line0'>The school-house on the heather,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In childhood where we met:</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor the green home to memory dear,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its sorrows or its joys,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which called the transient smile or tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When you and I were boys.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We were youths together,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And castles built in air!</p> -<p class='line0'>Your heart was like a feather,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While mine was dash’d with care!</p> -<p class='line0'>To you came wealth with manhood’s prime,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To me it brought alloys</p> -<p class='line0'>Ne’er dreamed of in the primrose time</p> -<p class='line0'>  When you and I were boys.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We’re old men together—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The friends we loved of yore,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like leaves of autumn weather,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are gone for evermore!—</p> -<p class='line0'>How blest to age the impulse given,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The hope time ne’er destroys,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When you and I were boys.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='lame'></a>LAME FOR LIFE, OR LESLIE PIERPOINT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A TALE, IN TWO PARTS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PROFESSOR J. H. INGRAHAM, AUTHOR OF “LAFITTE,” “KYD,” “THE QUADROONE,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>PART II.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“Love knows no rank—beauty</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Is aristocracy—birth, lineage and blood.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“Love ne’er broke a heart, love ne’er could mend.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was on a cold, bleak evening in autumn, that -Leslie Pierpoint, as described in Part First of our -tale, sat in his arm-chair in his comfortable library, -with his feet buried in a thick rug of Angola fleece; -a cheerful fire glowing in the grate; a round stand -with the tea-tray at his left elbow; and a large table -covered with magazines, papers, books, &c. &c., on -his right hand. He was alone. The rich, crimson -curtains drawn closely across the deep windows with -the comfortable air of the whole room, gave indication -that the occupant loved his ease, and was that -evening disposed to enjoy it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Twenty years had passed since Leslie’s <span class='it'>affaire du -cœur</span> with Clara Clayton. With her treachery expired -his confidence in the sex. In vain had the -lovely, gay and fashionable women thrown their -gilded nets. In every one of the fair fishers he but -saw a cousin german to Clara, and warily shunned -the danger. Thus had he reached forty-one years of -age with the full consent of all his friends, male and -female, that he should remain a bachelor for life. -And to all appearances such seemed to be the settled -destiny of Leslie Pierpoint. He himself had no more -thoughts of committing matrimony than suicide. He -never spake to any woman save his washerwoman -and linen sempstress. His mother had been several -years dead, and he lived alone—a bachelor! the -victim of a heartless woman’s treachery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He now sat gazing into the fire with a cup of tea -in his hand, and which he seemed to have forgotten -that he held. The state house clock tolled seven -and he started, laid down his cup and saucer, and -rang the bell. It was immediately answered by a -very gentlemanly African servant in grey clothes -with bright steel buttons, red cravat, and shoes with -old fashioned paste buckles in them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cato.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sar, massa?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have my new linens come home yet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, massa, not yit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They were to be here at six. Go and see that -they are sent in time to pack into my trunks to-night, -for we must start for New York early.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, massa,” said Cato, with a graceful bow, -and was in the act of leaving the room to obey his -master’s orders, when a ringing at the street door -bell arrested him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I guess dem is de sharts now, massa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go and see, and show the woman up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cato left the room, while Leslie took up the evening -paper. Directly the servant reappeared, ushering -in a very modest young girl, coarse in her dress, -but of extraordinary beauty. She was scarcely -seventeen, yet the womanly outline and youthful -roundness of her sylph-like figure were perfect. Her -complexion was very brilliant; her cheeks blushed -with diffidence and beauty; her eyes were large, -blue, and melting in their own cerulean heaven; her -lips ripe and full, and her chin voluptuously rounded, -yet most exquisitely turned. Native grace was in -every movement she made. Her dress was of very -plain calico, and she wore a common straw hat with -a long green veil. In her hands she carried two -bundles, very neatly done up in white paper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“De sharts come,” said Cato, making a low bow -to Leslie’s back. “Here de young woman wid ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well, Cato; remove the tea-tray. I will -ring for you to show the woman out soon as I have -settled with her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, massa;” and the black, taking the tray in -his hands, cast a glance, first at the beautiful face of -the young girl, then over his shoulder at his master, -and, gravely shaking his grey pate, left the library. -Leslie completed the paragraph he was reading, and -then, lifting his face and looking into the fire, but -without turning round, said in the low, pleasant tone -natural to him:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, my good woman, you have brought the shirts. -They have come an hour later than you promised -them, but I suppose you are very much hurried with -work. They are in plenty time, however. Be so -kind as to undo the package and let me see one of -them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a few moments there was no sound in the -room but the snapping of strings, as they were untied -by the busy fingers of the linen-draper’s maid, and -the rattling of the strong paper covering the linens. -At length a shirt, white as the drifted snow and -beautifully done up, was hesitatingly advanced over -his shoulder, so as to intercept his vision.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He took it, and after carefully examining it (old -bachelors are very particular in this matter) with an -appearance of satisfaction, admiring the stitching of -the wristbands, the French style of the sleeves, and -the neatness of the bosom folds, he laid it down beside -him where the tea tray had stood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, my good woman, I am very much pleased -with them. They are very neatly made. Please let -me see your bill.” And he turned his head slightly -back to receive it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young girl, embarrassed by his mode of addressing -her, and abashed at his presence, timidly -stretched forth her hand containing the bill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nearer, woman, nearer. I cannot reach it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Agitated by his voice, she thrust her arm forward -so quickly that he received in his grasp her hand as -well as her bill. The sight and touch of the soft, -white member, thrilled through him. He started, -blushed, rose from his chair, and to his surprise discovered -that he had been all the while talking to one -of the loveliest girls of seventeen he had ever seen, -instead of an old woman, whom he supposed was the -bearer of his linens.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pardon me, miss—I beg pardon,” said the Major -embarrassed, “I thought you were your mother.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have no mother, sir,” answered the pretty -maiden, with a drooping eyelid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I beg pardon! Sit down! No, you may stand! -Upon my word you are very beautiful.” The Major -hardly knew what he said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir, the bill if you please,” said the maiden confused, -her bright intelligent face suffused with crimson.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, ah! sit down if you please! no—stand up; -no, no, no! <span class='it'>sit down!</span>” Poor Major Pierpoint!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I thank you, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a sweet voice,” soliloquized the Major to -himself. “No mother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir,” with a musical sadness in her voice, -touching as it was natural.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No father?” asked the Major with as much delicacy -as he could put the question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No brothers, neither, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor sisters, either?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ho! hah, hem!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the Major, having finished catechising her, -put his hands behind his back and looked steadily in -the grate for full a minute, his lips compressed, his -brow set and thoughtful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you please, sir, the bill is waiting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major started at the sound of the sweet voice -as if he had been clapped on the shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, ah! I beg your pardon. Let me see—six -linen shirts—five dollars each—thirty dollars—all -right.” And the Major looked up from the bill into -her face. He felt a delight he could not account for -in gazing upon its sweet beauty. She was confused -by his ardent look, and became still more beautiful -from her sweet confusion. With instinctive delicacy -he withdrew his gaze, and a sigh, the first he had -felt for twenty years, escaped him. A gentle sadness -at the same time overspread his fine features. -Again he looked into her face, but with an expression -that she did not shrink from, and said kindly, touchingly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So then, sweet child, you are an orphan.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your name?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mary Lee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A pretty name.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir, I have another errand to go—if you will -please pay the bill for my mistress.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, ah! yes, the bill. Thirty dollars. Here is -a check for the amount.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thank you, sir,” said Mary, curtseying with a -grace that charmed him, and turning to leave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stay, Mary—that is, Miss Lee,” said Leslie, -following her a step and speaking with amusing hesitation. -The linen-draper maiden had, however, -reached the door and placed her hand upon the lock. -She was evidently alarmed and surprised, and seemed -uncertain whether to take the gentleman’s manner -as rudeness or as an uncommon degree of civility. -She appeared to be a sensible, good natured girl, -however, with all her charms, and probably with -woman’s ready tact divined the true cause of his -singular conduct. Yet with all a woman’s tact she -pretended to be blind to the impression her beauty -had made upon him. She could not help thinking -that he was a very handsome man, if he was an old -bachelor, and she felt pleased rather than offended -at this evidence of the triumph of beauty. For Mary -Lee well knew she had beauty, and what pretty miss -of seventeen is ignorant of this possession?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stay, if you please, one moment, Miss Lee,” -said Leslie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed, sir, it is late.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But one moment. Are you an apprentice with -Miss Phelps, the linen-draper?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir;” and Mary turned the lock of the -door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major laid his hand lightly upon her wrist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Excuse me, Miss Lee! One more question!” -But the maiden, with a pleasant laugh, threw off his -hand and bounded through the open door into the -hall. Cato was in waiting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Cato,” said the Major, with as much coolness -as he could summon at this crisis, “you save -me the trouble of ringing. Show this young woman -out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sar,” said Cato.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Major Pierpoint lingered an instant in his door to -follow with his eye the receding form of the maiden, -as with a light, graceful trip she followed the dignified -Cato to the street door. He then re-entered his -library, and after pacing his room two or three times -as if his thoughts were in a tumult, he suddenly -stopped before his mirror and looked at himself. -After a brief and satisfied survey of his fine face and -person he walked to the fire, folded his hands behind -his back, and stood and looked into the grate with a -very thoughtful brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Leslie Pierpoint, after remaining bachelor -twenty years, thou art made captive by a linen-draper’s -’prentice! ’Tis true, and pity ’tis, ’tis true! -Leslie Pierpoint, thou art false to thyself! But what -a soft, sweet hand! How could I help taking it if she -would thrust it into mine? But, poor child, I suppose -I had frightened her by calling her an old woman, -and she scarcely knew what she was about! Old -woman? A youthful divinity! What heavenly blue -eyes! What a sweet round bust! What an exquisite -waist, the charms of which even her coarse dress -could not conceal! And her foot, so petite and delicately -turned! How rich were the tones of her -voice! How enchanting her smile! Ah, Leslie Pierpoint, -thou art in love with a ’prentice maiden! At -forty years thou art become a fool! Yes, I am a -fool! What have I to do with the sex? Have I not -a lasting feud with it? Ah, let me not forget Clara -Clayton! Remember her, and so forget this pretty -maiden, for she belongs to the same false hearted -sex!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus soliloquized Major Pierpoint, and, turning -from the fire, he walked his room some time with a -thoughtful brow. All at once he stopped and pulled -his bell with an emphasis. Cato made his instant -appearance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sar, massa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bring me my boots.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What massa say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bring me my boots,” repeated Leslie, more decidedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The black left the room with an inquiring look, as -much as to ask what could take his master out in -such an evening.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I will do it. I will learn all about her! -Such beautiful teeth! Such a bright, intelligent, -sensible face! Such innate high breeding!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cato brought the boots, and in a few minutes afterwards -the Major had exchanged his evening home -costume for boots, overcoat and hat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My stick, Cato.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sar,” answered the black with dilating -eyes, as he handed the gold headed Indian cane.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall return in an hour, Cato,” he said, as his -wondering servant showed him out of the street door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sar,” and Cato closed the door on his master.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, if massa Peerpount hant a loss his sebenteen -senses, den heabenly marcy nebber gave Cato -any. De firs’ time I ebber know him go out after -him once take his boot off! Someting ’ticklar be -goin’ to happ’n for sartain! No disordinary circumcasion -take massa Peerpoun’ out dis col’ ebening. I -mus’ feel werry pertickler distress if as how any ting -surreptitious occur.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus commented honest Cato upon this unusual -step of his master’s, whose general habits were so -regular that each day he went through the same routine -of eating, sleeping, smoking, reading, and walking -or riding. He had never gone out in an evening -before. Cato had cause, therefore, for marvel; and -leaving him to his conjectures on the motive for this -strange movement on the part of his master, we will -follow him on his expedition. The evening was clear -but cold and windy, and he wrapped his coat closer -about his person as he entered Chesnut street from -Sixth, and took his way past the hotel and theatre -which were brilliant with lamps, and gay and lively -with the moving things about their doors. Heedless -of these, he kept on until he came to Third street, -which he followed north for a few doors, where he -stopped beneath a lamp and turned back the cape of -his surtout, arranged his slightly awry cravat, and -made such other little toilet reparations as young -gentlemen are accustomed to do before going into a -house to pay a visit to ladies. Having <span class='it'>fixed</span> himself -to his satisfaction, though without a mirror, (men of -taste are a glass to themselves!) he walked more -deliberately onward and entered a door over which -hung a sign reading “<span class='sc'>Mrs. Phelps’ Gentlemen’s -Linen Store</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A very pleasant looking widow-like person presided -in the brilliantly lighted shop behind the counter, -while there were glimpses of two or three girls at -their work in the rear room, and a little old woman -in spectacles tying up bundles—doubtless the identical -“old woman” whom the Major had imagined -he was talking to as the bearer of his package.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good evening, Mrs. Phelps,” said the Major -politely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Major Pierpoint, good evening, sir,” said -Mrs. Phelps with very great respect, for the Major -was a monied customer and never disputed bills! -“Lord me! I hope you haven’t come after the -shirts!” she said with apologetic volubility; “they -have been gone this half hour! I was so hurried, -Major, I couldn’t get them done at the precise hour -you ordered them, though I know you are so very -particular. But soon as they came into the shop, -lest you should get impatient, as your black man -said you were going out of town early in the morning, -I despatched one of my apprentices right off with -’em, knowing she would go quicker than aunt Dolly -here, who is always mighty slow in cold weather. -If you come right from home you ought to had ’em -there! If Mary has taken that bundle of hemmed -handkerchiefs to Miss Clayton’s first, I shall give -her a good scolding; for I told her, Major, pertickerlaly, -to go and leave your package first.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never mind all this, my good woman,” exclaimed -the Major as soon as he could find an opening in -her speech; “I have received the shirts, and am -very well satisfied with them! They do you credit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I am glad to hear it. I thought the child -wouldn’t disobey me, for she is always so correct! -Here she comes in now! Ah, Mary,” said Mrs. -Phelps with a good natured smile, “you like to have -had a scolding. So you took Major Pierpoint’s -linens home safe?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, aunt,” answered Mary, blushing and stammering -at seeing Major Pierpoint in the shop, while -the Major himself, taken by surprise at her sudden -appearance, colored like a school-boy; and scarce -conscious of what he did, respectfully lifted his hat, -as with downcast eyes she tripped past him to the -rear of the shop. She had let her bonnet fall carelessly -back from her head as she entered the shop, -and the bright light of the gas-burners flashing upon -her forehead, revealed more clearly the radiant -beauty of her complexion, and the exquisite loveliness -of her features. Her hair, which was the richest -shade of dark brown, was parted upon her smooth -forehead and lay on either cheek, after the fashion -of young maidens of her age; behind, it was gathered -by her tasteful fingers into a neat braid, the number -of whose silken folds showed the opulence and -great length of this glorious ornament of woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She bent her head and blushed between pleasure -and shame at this distinguished notice from Major -Pierpoint, while Mrs. Phelps looked from one to the -other, with a face on which wonder, curiosity and -suspicion were as plainly written as they ever were -on the face of woman. Leslie saw instantly the -position in which he had placed himself, and with -great presence of mind said, as if to excuse himself, -while he pursued at the same time the main object -he had in view—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is, I am told, an orphan, Mrs. Phelps. I feel -deep sympathy for orphans, particularly for young -unprotected females.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Phelps’ face immediately parted with its -combined expression, which was replaced by that -peculiar one which talkative women always put on -when they have an opportunity of indulging their -propensity. “Ah, yes,” she sighed, “ah, dear yes, -Major Pierpoint, she is indeed an orphan. She is a -good child, and has a face that will be either the -making or the breaking of her. I feel towards her -just as if she was my own flesh and blood; though, -between you and I, Major, I am neither kith nor kin -to her or hers, though I lets her call me aunt for -affection-like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who were her parents?” asked Major Pierpoint, -becoming deeply interested.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, me, it is a sad story! I never tell it but it -makes me cry like a child;” and here Mrs. Phelps, -in anticipation, applied the corner of her apron to her -dry eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be so kind as to relate it, madam, if you please. -I shall listen to it with great interest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you must know when I was younger than -I am now, and before dear Fritz, my husband, died, -we were living in Boston, in quite respectable society, -Fritz keeping a thriving store, and I living a lady, as -it were, at home. But times is changed since then; -ah, me! Major Pierpoint. Well, don’t you think, as -I was waiting tea one winter’s night for Fritz, the -bell rung, and, instead of my husband, a man left a -basket of champaigne, as he said, telling the girl it -was a present for our wedding day, which was to be -on Saturday of the next week, sure enough, Major; -we having then been married seven years. Well, I -told her to set the champaigne basket down in the tea -room, and soon afterwards Fritz came in. He was -delighted when I showed him the present, and we -both puzzled our heads to guess what friend it came -from; but we sat down to the table intending to open -it after we had finished tea. Mr. Phelps was taking -his second cup when we both thought we heard a -child cry right in the room. We started, and both -asked ‘what is that?’ ‘It must be the cat,’ said -Fritz, and so we sat down again. We had not taken -two bites of toast before we were startled by the loud -shrill scream of an infant. ‘The champaigne basket,’ -exclaimed Fritz: ‘it is in the champaigne basket,’ I -cried. ‘It is a baby in the champaigne basket,’ -yelled the girl, letting fall the tea-kettle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fritz sprung to the basket and cut the cord with -the table-knife, and sure enough, Major Pierpoint, -there lay in the bottom the beautifullest little female -baby eyes ever looked upon—the very same Mary -Lee you just now took off your hat to! Well, to cut -the story short, Fritz and I concluded, after making -all inquiries, and advertising it in vain, to adopt it, -seeing as how Providence had never blessed us with -any children, neither before nor since. So we took -the dear infant as our own, and to this day I have -been as its own mother to it, and she has been as an -own child to me. Ah me! the cruel parents that could -desert such a sweet cherub. I have never been sorry -to this hour we took the dear child. Oh, she has been -a blessing to me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She would be a blessing to any body,” said the -Major warmly, his heart overrunning with emotion at -her narration; and his eyes unconsciously wandered -to the rear of the shop, where Mary sat quietly sewing. -He sighed, and then turning to Mrs. Phelps, -thanked her for her trouble in narrating Mary’s story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not the least, Major, not the least! I could tell -it fifty times a day if I had such a listener as -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You may send me half a dozen pairs of gloves, -handkerchiefs, and—and—” Leslie hesitated, and -then hastily added, “any thing else in your shop you -think I would like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you are such a good customer, Major Pierpoint,” -said the pleased landlady; “I have just got -in some new style India cravats which I think will -suit you. Shall I send them to-night?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, to-morrow at twelve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you leave town to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, true—true, I had forgotten. But never mind, -madam, send them up, I think I shall be at home—yes, -I am sure, quite sure I shall be at home! I have -postponed my departure till the next day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will certainly send them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major lingered an instant over the glass case, -and then buttoning up his overcoat, prepared to go.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good evening, Mrs. Phelps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good evening, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will be sure and send them?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall not be disappointed, Major.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Major Pierpoint took three decided steps towards -the door and then turned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Twelve o’clock, Mrs. Phelps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes sir, they shall be there precisely.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major still did not move. There was evidently -something he wished to say more, but was at a loss -how to say it. All at once he turned back to the -counter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By-the-bye, Mrs. Phelps, you may, if you please, -let the same young person bring them that took the -linens. That old woman, the last time she came, -like to have broke her neck by catching her foot in -the brass stair band. Besides, she is deaf as a post.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will send Mary, then,” said Mrs. Phelps, smiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are very obliging, my dear madam. Good -evening.” And Major Pierpoint walked out of the -shop with a free, light step, and a bland smile illumining -his handsome features.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Phelps followed him with her eyes, and then -put on a very thoughtful look, and for a few moments -seemed to be communing with her own mind. Suddenly -she laid one fore-finger down upon the other -with emphasis.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, ’tis clear as that gas-light! I can see as -deep as some folks can. He is not above forty, rich, -respectable, and kind and pleasant-hearted as a child, -and Mary’s beauty has evidently made an impression -upon him. He is a bachelor, and old bachelors often -fall in love with young girls! I do believe, now I -think it all over, he is in love with her. But then, -he is so rich and respectable! But Mary isn’t my -daughter; how does he or any body know but she is -respectable as he is himself? Plainly, there is something -at the bottom of all this. Major Pierpoint is -too honorable and moral for me to apprehend any -evil coming out of it. Mary shall go up to-morrow, -looking her best. Who knows what may happen? -The poor child is not mine, but then I wish her to do -as well as she can. I wonder what he said to her -this evening. Mary, dear, come here child.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary came forward with a half finished linen collar -in her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, dear, what did Miss Clayton say to the -handkerchiefs you took to her?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She said they were very neatly done, but that the -price was too high—and told me she could not pay -the bill unless you took off the ‘nineteen cents!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How close some people are, especially rich old -maids that have once been beauties! They have no -children or husband to pick or peck at, and so they -must pick and peck on those that have to do work for -um. She don’t care about the nineteen cents—its -only to have something to find fault with. To-morrow, -at half past eleven, you call there for the seventeen -dollars, and let her have the nineteen cents, if it -will do her temper any good. Did Major Pierpoint -appear displeased because I didn’t get the shirts there -by six o’clock?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary blushed, she knew not why, at this common-place -question, and looking up and seeing her ‘aunt’s’ -eyes fixed inquiringly upon her face, she became too -confused to speak in reply—and, after one or two -attempts to answer, dropped her head over the collar -in her hand, as if sewing it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is the matter with the child? What did -Major Pierpoint say to you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, m’m, here is the check he gave me.” Mrs. -Phelps glanced at it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s all right! Prompt pay—no nineteen cents -to be cut off. But didn’t he say any thing to you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary appeared still more confused. Her adopted -mother looked at her steadily though without displeasure -for a few seconds, then shook her head affirmatively, -with a slight smile of self-satisfaction. -“Humph,” she said to herself, “I see how it is! It -has gone further than I thought. He came here to-night -for nothing else in the world! Well, Mary, -to-morrow, at twelve precisely, you must be at Major -Pierpoint’s with them gloves, and handkerchiefs, and -silk stockings. You must start at half past eleven, -so as to call on the way on Miss Clayton for the -money for her bill. Why do you blush so—are you -afraid of Miss Clayton?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, aunt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you afraid of Major Pierpoint?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, aunt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well, child, go to your sewing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary bounded away lightly, and Mrs. Phelps -looked after her with a prideful glance; “yes, if -she is not foolish she has her fortune made. I will -say nothing to her of my suspicions, but let her have -her own way. To talk to young girls on such a subject -and try to guide and advise them, only makes -puppets of them, and destroys the natural character. -Leave Mary to her own native good sense and unbiassed -feelings and she will be more likely to please -such a man as Major Pierpoint than if she practised -the most consummate artifices.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With these sensible reflections, Mrs. Phelps dropped -the subject for that night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At a few minutes before half past eleven, Mary -Lee made her appearance in the shop from her little -chamber over it, arrayed in a neat black silk dress, -with a pretty straw cottage, trimmed with delicate -blue ribbon, and her beautiful brown hair arranged -with elegant simplicity. It had not been ten minutes -since she left the shop to make this change in her -appearance. Yet it was as complete as if five hours -had been wasted before her little mirror. Can any -female reader tell me <span class='it'>why</span> Mary paid such attention -to her appearance? Mrs. Phelps on seeing her, -lifted up both hands, and an exclamation of surprise -and displeasure was on the tip of her tongue! But -some sudden reflection checked it on the verge of -utterance, and dropping her hands, she said quietly -and as if not noticing it—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, Mary, you are ready. Take the bundle and -stop on the way at Miss Clayton’s. Be sure you -are at Major Pierpoint’s when the clock strikes -twelve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, aunt,” said Mary, hastening from the shop -on her two-fold errand. As she passed up Chesnut -street with her little bundle, the sparkling beauty of -her face, her buoyant step and graceful motion, drew -after her many admiring eyes. It so chanced that -Leslie was returning from the Exchange reading-room, -whither he walked every morning, and was -standing on the corner of Sixth and Chesnut, conversing -with several bachelor gentlemen, when Mary -passed. She looked up, and seeing him, coloured and -dropped her head. Leslie did the same.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A lovely creature,” said one of the gentlemen; -“I seldom have seen a sweeter face or figure. You -know her, Major, by your mutual blushes,” added he, -smiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I, gentlemen? oh, no,” said the Major, confused.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is certainly extremely beautiful. See how -free and light her step is!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Some pretty milliner, I dare say,” said the -Major, laughing. “Good morning, gentlemen;” and -Leslie took his way home more than ever enchanted, -deeper than ever in love! The quick, bright, eloquent, -yet unintended glance he had received from -her as she passed, kindled an imperishable flame in -his bosom. He hastened homeward with anticipations -of the delightful visit he was to receive at -twelve o’clock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Was Leslie Pierpoint really in love? did he resolve -to pay his addresses to this beautiful girl? did -he intend to ask her hand in marriage? did she fill -the place in his heart which Clara Clayton had left -void?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary soon reached Miss Clayton’s door in the -upper part of Chesnut street, near Ninth. It was -one of the most imposing mansions in the street. -Miss Clayton lived there with her old father—the -two alone! For several years after freeing herself -from Leslie, she lived in hopes of marriage, but in -vain. The men were afraid of her. Her mortification -when she found Leslie restored to perfect health, -knew no bounds. She had a secret hope that he -would yet re-address her; but from that period she -never received more than a cold and civil bow from -him. She could have poisoned herself with vexation. -But as years passed away, and she saw that he still -remained unmarried, she consoled herself with the -idea that she was the cause—and that he could -never love any one as he had loved her. This devoted -bachelorism was Clara’s only and greatest -consolation. It was a healing balm to her wounded -spirit. So he married not, she felt she could forgive -herself for her folly in not marrying him. It is true, -she watched his course to forty with some anxiety, -lest he might yet marry; but when he had passed -that climax, she gave herself no farther uneasiness, -and rested in the conscious assurance of his eternal -celibacy. This idea was the rainbow that spanned -her darkened skies—the sweet in her bitter cup of -life. But, alas! she was soon to see the rainbow -disappear, and her horizon become dark with storms! -Alas! she was to drink the remainder of the cup -with additional bitterness mingled with its dregs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was seated in her usual sitting room when -Mary arrived. Her hair was drawn back above her -ears and tied untidily with a dirty yellow ribbon; -she wore a loose wrapper, and her stocking feet -were thrust into red slippers. Her fingers were -loaded with rings, and ear drops hung from her ears. -Her complexion was something coarser for the wear -and tear of time, and had very plain traces of being -now indebted to white paint and rouge, for whatever -pretensions it claimed. Her forehead was crossed -by horizontal impatient wrinkles, and a deep frown -was cut between her eyebrows. She was thin about -the breast and shoulders, and very slender in the -waist, more so than in her youthful prime. The -general expression of her face was querulous and -sour—precisely such an expression as she might -have been expected to wear. As Mary was shown -in she looked up with a sharp, impatient gesture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, Miss, you have come for the amount of your -bill!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, m’m, if you please.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t <span class='it'>mem</span> me as if I was fifty, Miss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, m’m.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did I not forbid your saying <span class='it'>marm</span> to me—what -is the amount of the bill?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have it, m’—— I mean Miss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is better. Ah, yes, here it is, $17 19, -What did your mistress say about the 19 cents?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That she would take it off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well; here is seventeen dollars. Receipt -it.” Mary took a pen from an inkstand on the table -and acknowledged the payment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph, you write too pretty a hand for an -apprentice girl,” said Miss Clayton, glancing contemptuously -at Mary’s beautiful chirography. “I -dare say you can dance too?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss,” said Mary slightly smiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And sing and play,” more contemptuously still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph. Read Byron, Moore, Scott, doubtless, -and perhaps the French poets?” she continued with -a contemptuous smile of incredulity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss. I suppose if I should ask you if -you read French and sung Italian, you would reply -with your parrot phrase, ‘yes, Miss.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Upon my word! Ha, ha, ha! here’s a linen-draper’s -apprentice for you! I suppose you look to -marry some nobleman at the least, with all them -accomplishments, if you can! What package is -that beneath your arm, my pretty minx,” for Miss -Clayton had conceived a sudden and unaccountable -(save that her youth and beauty were the cause,) -dislike for Mary. And without waiting for a reply -she snatched it from her.</p> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>“<span class='it'>For</span> Major Leslie Pierpoint,</p> -<p class='line'>                   No. 27, South Sixth St.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are sent with this to Major Pierpoint’s, are -you?” she asked sharply and with a suspicious look -at the young and guileless girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes m’m,” answered Mary quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Clayton let her eyes rest on the superscription -for a few moments, and then lifted them steadily -to the face of the maiden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You had best return directly to your shop with -the amount of your mistress’ bill, lest you lose it on -the way. I will dispatch my footman with this -package to his lodgings.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thank you, but I am ordered to take it there -myself,” said Mary firmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed; but it would not be prudent for so young -a person as you to go to a bachelor’s rooms alone. I -will send it for you. Do you know Major Pierpoint?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, m’m,” answered Mary with embarrassment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you never seen him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was in the shop last evening,” answered Mary -evasively.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did he speak to you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you please I will take the package and go,” -said Mary, half angry at this singular inquisition -upon her affairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take it, trollop,” said Miss Clayton, flinging it -towards her, “and tell your mistress when she has -occasion to send any one to me again, she will -oblige me by sending some civil person.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary stared with surprise, at a loss to account for -the lady’s humor, and gladly took her departure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The heavy tocsin of the State House had struck -the last stroke of twelve, as Mary timidly pulled the -bell at Major Pierpoint’s handsome residence. It -was opened by Cato.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Massa says de young woman will please walk -up and wait,” said Cato, as Mary offered to leave -the bundle in his hand. Mary hesitated an instant, -and then, trembling, (she could not tell why,) she -followed him to the library. The door was opened, -and Cato ushered her in with one of his best bows. -Leslie pretended to be very busily engaged in a book -as she entered, though he had been walking his room, -or watching through the blinds with ill-concealed -impatience till he heard the street door bell. He -permitted Cato to leave the room, and Mary to advance -half way to the table, before he gave signs of -her presence. He then suddenly rose up and turned -round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Miss Lee,” he said, with tender respect, -“you have brought the gloves.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir,” said Mary, without lifting her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sit down, if you please, while I examine the -package.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary quietly took a seat, and Major Pierpoint -began to look over the parcels. But evidently his -thoughts were not with this pursuit. His fingers -trembled—he shockingly rent several pairs of -gloves; put six of the handkerchiefs, one after another, -into his pocket; blew his nose on a pair of -silk hose, and at length sprung from the table in the -most admirable confusion of mind in which a bachelor, -at such a moment, could well be. After thrice -striding the room to gather courage, he approached -the surprised, embarrassed, yet not <span class='it'>unexpecting</span> -Mary. No woman of any sense, or feeling, or mind, -could be blind at such a time. He approached and -seated himself beside her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Lee——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary trembled and remained silent. The Major -gazed upon her tell-tale face, and then furtively sought -her hand. She withdrew it instinctively, and half -rose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, my dear Miss Lee! pardon me! I meant -no injury to your delicacy. Pray be seated!” and -he took her hand and gently drew her to the chair -which she had left. “I beg you to listen to me one -moment. I have conceived for you a deep and respectful -passion. Your beauty, grace and intelligence -have made an impression upon my heart no time can -ever efface. It is true you are young and full of life -and beauty—I have passed half the allotted life of -man. But the disparity is in years only. My heart -is as young as your own, my feelings as buoyant, my -hopes as bright. I have sought to meet you to-day -to make a confession of the sentiments with which -you have inspired me, to tell you how intimately my -happiness is involved in your existence, to throw -myself upon your generosity. You are an orphan, -alas! and a cold, unpitying world is before you! -Your loveliness and helplessness claim protection. -Permit me to fill that delightful position near you -while life lasts. I offer you my heart, my hand, my -fortune, and promise to devote my life to the promotion -of your happiness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major, after ending his eloquent appeal, gazed -upon her downcast face several moments in silence. -She made no reply! He still continued to hold her -hand. Slowly he lifted it to his lips. There was no -resistance. He again sought her eyes. Tears were -silently gushing from them, and rolling in sparkling -globules down her lovely cheeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God, Miss Lee, have I offended you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir,” said Mary, lifting her eyes, the lashes -dewy with tears, and sweetly smiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why these tears, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not know, indeed, unless it be that they -flow from gratitude,” she answered, looking into his -face with a radiant smile, like sunshine in an April -shower.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Major’s eyes filled also, and the next moment -he pressed the happy girl to his heart.</p> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Yes, Mary Lee became Major Leslie’s wife through -<span class='it'>gratitude</span>. They were married, for he well knew -gratitude would grow to love, and a brief time proved -that he judged rightly. One month from the day on -which he confessed his passion he led to the altar -his charming bride. They were married publicly in -church.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Major, so you—don’t know her—some milliner’s -apprentice, eh?” laughingly said a gentleman -present, after the ceremony was over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Clara Clayton, hearing that Leslie Pierpoint was -to be married, went to the church, disguised in a -strange bonnet and long green veil—but Leslie recognised -her by her taper waist, and felt that his -triumph and (if such a feeling really existed in his -breast) his revenge were complete. Yes, Clara Clayton -witnessed the ceremony, and when she saw it -and recognised the bride’s face as she turned from -the altar, she could scarcely suppress a shriek of -mingled anger and disappointed malice. She went -home and died the same year, the victim of her own -selfishness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Leslie Pierpoint and his beautiful lady are now -travelling in Europe. Mary makes him an excellent -wife, proving to be as good as she is beautiful.</p> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='fut'></a>THE CHRISTIAN’S DREAM OF THE FUTURE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ROBERT MORRIS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='dramastart'><!----></div> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>How brief our earthly span! Youth, Manhood, Age—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>We creep—we walk—we totter off life’s stage,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>A thin, weak voice—a fuller, stronger tone,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>A peevish, child-like cry, and then a groan!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How quick yon star shoots down the illumined sky—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>’Tis gone! And yet we see not where on high,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Its bright lamp shone! ’Tis thus with feeble man—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>He twinkles here a moment, and, is gone!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>On rolls the world! Each evanescent year</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Bears on its current to some distant sphere,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Myriads of mortal forms—vain things of time,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Youth in its hour of hope—and Manhood’s prime—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Beauty, and all its fading hues of clay,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The tints that <span class='it'>are</span> not, but were yesterday!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The eyes whose light enkindled many a flame—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The lips that breathed in love some cherished name—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The fair slight hand—the cheek so like the rose,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The form where Grace herself had sought repose—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The music voice—the shadowy locks and all</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That touched the heart—or glittered in the ball;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>These all have been—but Death has claimed them now—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The look of scorn—the proud and lofty brow—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Vice, with its heartless sneer, and Wealth and Pride,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Lifeless and still, now slumber side by side!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>And is there then no grace to mortals given,—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No hope to brighten here and lead to Heaven?</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No faith to lift the soul from worldly ties,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And point the way to Joy and Paradise!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Look to thy heart, vain mortal, question there,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of life and death—of glory and despair—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Ask, if within a spirit may not dwell—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>A viewless tenant of thy bosom’s cell—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Whose thin small voice, in accents soft and sweet,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>May oft be heard to warn thy erring feet—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>“Beware—avoid—beyond is Heaven’s high road,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where knees are bent, and souls commune with God—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>There, where the meek of heart, the pure and mild,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Walk hand in hand with Virtue’s dove-eyed child—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>There, where the widow gives her liberal mite,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And points the orphan in the way aright—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>There, where soft Feeling sheds the heart-wrung tear,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And bends in sorrow o’er the sinner’s bier—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where patient Grief leans on her thin white hand,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And smiling, dreams of the unshadowed land—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Look—mortal look—the pathway is not bright—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>But mark, it closes in a world of light—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The clouds that hang above its troubled way,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Melt in the distance into perfect day!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Such is the Christian’s Future! There are seen</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Eternal sunshine—vales of softest green,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Grottos, savannahs, deep and flowery glades,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Clear sparkling streams and rainbow-lit cascades,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Thick shadowy woods, where many a voice of song</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Gladdens the hours, as fast they flit along;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No care to mar their brightness, and no gloom</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To whisper “onward, onward to the tomb”—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Bright Youth and Hope, by Grace and Beauty’s side,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No look of scorn—no air of worm-like pride,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No voice of woe, to pain the spirit ear—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No orphan’s cry—no widow’s heart-wrung tear—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No secret fear, to chill the hour of bliss,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No hollow heart—no false or Judas kiss—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>No wan Disease, to steal the rose away!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And write at Beauty’s door, “Decay, Decay”—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Oh! no—the Future, Virtue’s happy clime—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The land beyond the grave, untouched by time,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where the worn soul throws off its mortal clay—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And, god-like, springs to Heaven’s eternal day—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The realm of bliss—where, with a joy half wild,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The mother clasps and cherishes her child—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The widow claims her long lost son—the maid</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Her plighted lover, years to her a shade—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where friends embrace, and souls again unite,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Fond faces greet, and gladden on the sight—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The buried sire once more his idol boy</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Clasps to his breast with more than human joy—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And well remembered voices—looks of love—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Kind words that sweeten every lip above;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where, as we downward gaze, and distant far,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The world appears a faint and feeble star,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where Life and Bliss their arms together twine,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And Nature’s charms are added, Heaven, to thine—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where “moth nor rust,” nor chance nor change may come,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Forever wandering and forever home;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Joys brightening in our footsteps as we pass,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And Hope before us with his magic glass—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Each sound and song, each object, every thought,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>With some new pleasure, some fresh feeling fraught—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where one pure Spirit animates the whole,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>One thrill excites the universal soul!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>’Tis these, and joys like these, the Future brings,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>When ’midst her depths we soar on Virtue’s wings—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>When from the Past the light of hope we borrow,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And throw its brightness o’er the coming morrow,—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>When, as we wander through life’s devious way,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The realm beyond this mere domain of clay</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Shall, like some beacon on a rocky strand,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Win the strained gaze and nerve the feeble hand—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Shall point where danger lies, and where at last</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Our bark may ride in safety from the blast!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Such is the Christian’s dream of time to come,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The land of light and love—the happy home—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where the worn spirit, freed from earthly ties,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Above the things of dust and time shall rise,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And mount on angel pinions to the skies!</p> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rows'></a>THE ROWSEVILLERS.—<span class='sc'>No.</span> I.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>O’DONNELL’S PRIZE.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“To be plain with you,” said the barber, shaking his head, “I can scarce believe what you say.” <span class='it'>Gil Blas.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>When</span> I was in the dragoons, we were quartered, -for a while, not far from Rowseville, and it was my -lot to receive a general invitation to the dinners of -the club. A jollier set of fellows never drew cork or -emptied a decanter—heaven be merciful to them for -their sins! They always had the best a-going; -could tell north from south side Madeira,—and -tossed off their bumpers, hour in and hour out, as -easily as an old spinster drinks her tea. As for their -president, Captain Humphreys, he was a paragon of -a good fellow. Short, square, deep chested, and -muscular as Hercules, he was just the man to keep a -set of such spirits in order; and, I verily believe, if -any of the youngsters had ventured to dispute his -will, he would have tossed them over the marquee as -easily as I could hurl a racket ball. He had spent -most of his life at sea, having seen service in every -latitude. He could tell a good story, and danced a -jig to perfection. He was, moreover, something of a -<span class='it'>gourmand</span>; always presided over our culinary rites; -and made the best chowder of any man in the States, -or, for that matter, as the old cook said, “in the -’varsal world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is nothing like fishing, and a table on the -green sward, to give one an appetite; and it would -have done your heart good to have seen us on the day -I first dined with the club—but especially to have -beheld Humphrey’s jovial face, when he announced -the opening toast. And then such a time as followed. -Sherry, Port, Madeira, Jamaica and Cogniac!—why -they chased each other from the table faster than the -witches did old Tam O’Shanter, in the road by Ayr. -Some of the youngsters soon began to grow noisy; -and even one or two of their seniors winked a good -deal unnecessarily; but Humphreys, and a set of the -older stagers at the head of the table, kept it up, -without drawing a rein, until I began to think they -could fag down even Bacchus himself. And all this -time their jests would have made a hermit die -with laughter! Yet Humphreys never suffered his -youngsters to indulge beyond a certain point, and he -had a story to account for this circumspection which -made my ribs sore for a week after hearing it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Silence, you addle-heads,” he thundered, as soon -as he saw they were getting beyond their depths—“can’t -one of you sing at a time, without keeping up -such an infernal clatter of Dutch, French, English and -Congo songs? You remind me of a set of chaps I -had the honor to dine with in Boston—no, not the -honor, for they all drank to excess—and a man in -that state” (and here the worthy speaker, by way -of corollary, tossed off a bumper) “is a shock to my -moral feelings. Keep in soundings if you can’t sail -safely out of them; but, for heaven’s sake, don’t disgrace -our table with a set of indecent inebriates.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, to come back to my story—you must know -that the Governor’s Guards, in Boston, are a gay set -of youngsters, and, at their annual dinner at the State -House, they make the corks fly as I’ve seen only -grape shot showering from a battery. Well—no disrespect -to the cloth—their dinner is always opened -and closed by a parson; and a good rule it is; for -when the governor sees that his youngsters are getting -heady, he has but to give a nod—the benediction -is pronounced, and they are forced to break up. -When I was there, however, his excellency postponed -the dismissal rather too long, so that when he gave -the signal to the parson, there wasn’t a chap, at the -lower end of the table, who could carry his wine -to his mouth without spilling half of the liquid. A -blessed sight it was to see them then—as proper a -set of youngsters, in general, as you’d wish to look -upon—shouting, laughing, singing, standing in -chairs, waving their glasses on high, and altogether -cutting a figure not the most pleasant for a moral -man like me to behold. They saw the parson get up -and they heard him begin to speak, but they were too -far gone to distinguish either his person or his words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hilloo, Bill,’ said one to his neighbor, ‘is that -a new toast? What does he say?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Can’t—make—it out,’ hiccuped Bill, with -drunken gravity, ‘but I guess—it’s—it’s—something -con—found—ed fine. Let’s give the old cock three -cheers,’ and the whole set sprang to their feet and -huzzaed ’til the very roof above us seemed to tremble -with the din. The poor parson hesitated, stopped, -and looked in bewilderment at his excellency—who -could only keep himself from laughing, so inexpressibly -ludicrous was the whole scene, by hanging his -head down and cramming his handkerchief into his -mouth. As for the rest of us, there was no resisting -it—we laid back in our chairs and laughed until -the tears ran out of our eyes,—while the ladies in -the gallery, the dear creatures, almost burst their -boddice strings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His excellency explained all to the parson the -next day, and made a thousand apologies—but the -good man never could be got again to ask a benediction -over the Governor’s Guards.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you tell that for the morals of your -table, eh!” said one of the party.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Exactly,” answered the president, laughing, “and -I never saw one yet whom it didn’t cure of excess at -table, except a fellow who used to say it was hereditary -in him, by the mother’s side, to have the cholic, -and that brandy was the only cure. That chap was -a character: I’ve a story I’ll tell you about him some -of these days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not now?” asked a dozen in a breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I suppose if I must I must,—but first pass -us the bottle, and let us drink to his memory—he -died, poor fellow, in Florida, where many a brave -man has laid his bones. Here’s to Tim O’Donnell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A silence of a few moments having elapsed, during -which all eyes were turned on the president, that personage, -after hemming twice, thus began.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never was a handsomer fellow than Tim O’Donnell, -lieutenant in the ——. Tall, well shaped, with -the eye of a young eagle, and a pair of jet black -whiskers, that were worth, to a fortune-hunter, fifty -thousand dollars, Tim was the perfect picture of a -soldier—and, to use his own phrase, ‘a divil of a -chap among the girls.’ He made more conquests in -a week than I would in a year; and, as you may see,” -and here he stroked his chin complacently, “there -are few fellows as good looking as I am. But Tim -was after money, and used to flirt with the dear creatures -only to keep his hand in for an heiress, when -one should present. At length he was introduced to -a lovely creature at a ball,—blue eyes, auburn hair, -the shape of a goddess, and lips that would make -your mouth water, even if you were as dry as old -mahogany—and, for a while, he scarcely knew -whether he was standing on his head or on his feet. -He even paid court, so much was he smitten, to a -long, scraggy, hatchet-shouldered spinster of an aunt, -who attended his charmer as a sort of <span class='it'>chaperon</span>. The -next day he was somewhat cooled down—at least he -determined to check his raptures until he inquired -after the fortunes of Miss Wheeler, for so his charmer -was called. He left me for this purpose about noon, -and in an hour rushed into my room perfectly insane -with joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Och—give me your hand—shower the blessings -on my head,’ he exclaimed, dancing round the room, -‘sure and I’m in heaven the day—ouch, ullabaloo, -was there iver such luck?—ten thousand acres, the -dear sowl, and a rint roll as long as a rigiment’s line: -I’m a made man—hurrah!’ and throwing his cap up -he caught it again, and then capered around the room, -even carrying his antics so far as to leap over sundry -chairs. I was nearly dying with laughter—and as -yet I was totally ignorant of the cause of this joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What do you mean?’ said I, ‘you haven’t told -me what all this congratulation is to be about.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never did I see a fellow look more astonished -than Tim. He stopped still, stared at me incredulously, -and then gave vent to his wonder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Blood and ages, and is the man drunk? Don’t -ye know it’s all about Miss Araminta Wheeler, and -the immense fortune she’s to bring me? The only -living child—all the rest dead of scarlet fever, praise -to the saints! and her owld father expected to kick -the bucket everyday. Ouch, ullaloo-o-o, ain’t I the -happy man? It’s marry the girl I will, this blessed -week.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But will the ‘owld father’ consent—eh! -Tim?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Divil a bit do I care whether he consents or not, -if the daughter says ‘yes’—oh! such a jewel of a -woman,—and what an iligant pattern the young -O’Donnells will be!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Suppose the father guards her too well to permit -an elopement? That dragon of an aunt looks as if -she was kept to play the duenna.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Arrah, my lad,’ said Tim, with a knowing wink, -‘I’ll soon fix that, or my name isn’t Timothy O’Donnell, -of Ballywhangle, of the county of Clare, standing -six feet two in my stockings. Can’t I pretend to -make love to the owld hag when the niece isn’t -by? Oh! trust me for <span class='it'>brushing the dew</span> into her -eyes.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw no more of Tim for nearly a week, except -occasional glimpses caught of him at balls and concerts, -where he was in attendance on his charmer -and a spectral looking spinster, whom I recognised -as the aunt. As I wanted to give him a fair field—keep -the bottle lively—I did not approach them; -so I had no opportunity of judging his success, until -one morning he burst into my room vociferating that -he had got a note from his charmer, in answer to one -he had sent the day before, in which she consented to -elope with him that very night. He called on me to -ask me to get a post-chaise; for, in order to avoid the -publication of banns, they would have to be united in -another state. Tim was in such raptures that he -couldn’t attend to any matter-o’-fact business, so I -promised all he asked, and he left me, singing as he -went, ‘Come, haste to the wedding,’ and cutting all -sorts of extravagant antics.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Midnight was the hour fixed on for the <span class='it'>affaire</span>, -and, punctual to the minute, Tim’s post-chaise drew -up a few rods from his charmer’s door, while the -gallant lieutenant himself, springing out, made all -haste to the rendezvous. The night was black as -pitch—you could have cut the darkness out in -slices—and a wild wind blew over the fields, roaring -away down in the woods, like a gale in the rigging of -a line-of-battle ship. Tim could scarcely pick his -way along through the garden, but at length, after -sundry tacks, he gained the front of the house,—yet -not a sign of a living being could he see. He began -to fear that his charmer’s heart had failed her, but at -that instant he perceived a dark moving object just -ahead of him, and hurrying forward, he soon recognised -his future bride, muffled and cloaked for the -journey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Shure, and ye’re as welcome as the birds in -spring,’ said Tim, catching her in his arms, ‘and it’s -mighty proud I am to see ye, my darlin.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The trembling bride clung closer to Tim as he -spoke, and murmured something in reply, but what -it was, the whistle of the wind prevented him from -hearing distinctly. Tim knew there was no time -to lose, however, so, without waiting for a repetition -of the words, he bore his prize off, and never -stopped till he had placed her in the chaise, stowed -her maid opposite, and was himself seated by her -side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And now,’ said he, as the post-boy put up the -steps, ‘don’t spare the horse-flesh—do ye hear, ye -blackguard?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The boy nodded, and, the next instant, they were -thrashing along as fast as four posters could carry -them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If Tim had been in raptures before, he was now -fairly mad with his success. Up to the last moment, -he had been tormented with a fear lest something -should occur by which this rich prize should slip -through his fingers; but now his charmer was actually -beside him, and they were being whirled over the -ground at a rate which would soon defy pursuit. -‘Was ever fellow in such good luck?’ thought Tim. -Thousands of acres, an only daughter, and she as -clean in her run as a Baltimore clipper. How he -cursed the presence of the maid, which prevented -him from being as tender as he thought the occasion -demanded. However, he could take his charmer’s -hand, without shocking her modesty, and he went -through pretty quick, all the variations of which -squeezing is liable. He would have stolen his arm -around the bride’s waist, but the envious cloak prevented -this. Tim could scarcely endure the probation. -On they rattled, all this while, with the tempest -roaring at their heels, and, as the night without -grew stormier, the agitation of the bride increased, -she almost sobbed, and clung closer and closer every -minute to Tim. It made his heart, as he said, ‘leap -into his mouth intirely,’ to feel her arms around his -neck in the extremity of her fright.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Whist, darlin,’ he said, ‘don’t be alarmed—it’s -only a little bit of a storm, to keep our bloody pursuers -from hearing us. Before mornin we’ll be in -York, and then the praist will make you my own. -Speak, and tell me, ye’re not frightened? Shure, -and ain’t I by your side, mavourneen?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The answer of the bride was delivered in such a -low and tremulous voice, and interrupted by so many -sobbings, that Tim, though he listened his best, -couldn’t for the life of him make out more than a -word here and there. However, he thought he distinguished -enough to fill him with more rapture than -ever, and, forgetting all about the maid, he drew his -bride still closer to his bosom, and, nestling her head -on his shoulder, poured forth his vows in torrents of -eloquence. The Lord only knows what he said—Irishmen -are proverbial for hyperbole.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And is it that I wont love ye intirely, my princess?’ -said Tim, by way of a grand wind up. ‘Shure, -and I’ll worship ye as the heathens do the sun, and -so will my five brothers, and the tenantry on my estate—though -it’s more than I know,’ muttered Tim -to himself, ‘where to find them—and won’t I be -proud to shew ye off to my friends as the handsomest -and sweetest woman in the rigiment? There, now, -be aisy, my jewel—your father won’t catch us. Oh! -isn’t it iligantly I’ve outwitted him, and that owld -hag of an aunt, your namesake?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Old hag of an aunt,’ screamed the bride, starting -back from Tim’s shoulder as if an adder had stung -her, ‘why—who—do you take <span class='it'>me</span> for?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘For Miss Araminta Wheeler, and divil a one -else—shure, and I have not offended ye, my darlin, -by that same thrifle of a remark?’ and he drew his -bride again toward him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Murder—off—help—oh! you vile, deceiving, -wicked monster,’ shrieked the bride, pushing away -Tim with both her hands, ‘you’ve ruined me forever. -And to call me a hag—oh! oh!’ and she went off -almost into hysterics.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Blood and ages—who have we here indeed?’ -thundered Tim, all at once recognizing the now shrill -tones of his companion, and kicking open the coach -door, he saw, for the first time, by the faint light of -the chaise-lamps, the face of the speaker, ‘it’s the -aunt herself—the owld serpent take her! A pretty -mess I’m in, running off with ye, ye apology for a -skeleton, instead of with the niece. Pray, madam,’ -and he bowed sarcastically, ‘was it ye I honored with -my proposal?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Didn’t you send me a note—a—asking me to -elope?’ hysterically sobbed the aunt. ‘Oh! you vile -wretch.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ou—u—h! I see it all,’ whistled Tim. ‘The -dumb baste of a messenger gave it to ye instead of to -the other.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You said before, too,’ sobbed the aunt, ‘that you -a—a—dored me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The Lord forgive my sins,’ muttered Tim betwixt -his teeth. ‘But may-be,’ he said coaxingly, as -a new thought struck him, ‘ye’re the heiress after -all.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tim got no answer but a new burst of hysteric -tears, mingled with ejaculations, among which he -could distinguish a whole dictionary of reproaches.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m thinking,’ said Tim, after awhile, ‘ye’d -better be getting home as soon as convanient. This -is a bit of a mistake,’ and then, in an under tone he -groaned, ‘oh! but it’s ruined I am with the chaise -hire intirely.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The horses’ heads were soon turned, and just as -morning dawned, the runaways drove up to the lane -leading to Mr. Wheeler’s residence, where the bride -expectant alighted, and Tim, cursing his blunder, -kept on to his quarters. What became of the aunt, -I never cared to inquire. As for Tim, he had sense -enough to know that the game was up for him in that -quarter. Though he strove to keep his elopement a -secret, the joke soon leaked out, and he was the banter -of the whole regiment. An order to repair to -Florida was hailed as a God-send, as it saved him -from the quizzing of his mess, which to this day has -for a standing toast, <span class='sc'>O’Donnell’s Prize</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many a burst of laughter interrupted the President -during the recital of this story, which loses half of its -effect when deprived of his inimitable mimicry of -the conversations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We adjourned, at a late hour, for the stars were -already twinkling in the sky when we turned our -horses’ heads homewards. The cool evening breeze, -and the exhilaration of a rapid pace, kept up the flow -of our spirits until we parted for the night—though -we did not separate until we had drunk a parting cup -at the house of that most hospitable of hosts, Deacon -Green.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next meeting of the club found me again -amongst them. But the incidents of the second dinner -must be reserved for another paper.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>H. P.</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='for'></a>A FOREST SCENE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>I wandered</span> out in summer time,</p> -<p class='line0'>  One pleasant afternoon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the green and cooling woods—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The leafy woods of June;</p> -<p class='line0'>As through its temple’s shadowy aisles</p> -<p class='line0'>  In mournfulness I walked,</p> -<p class='line0'>I listened to the breezy trees</p> -<p class='line0'>  As friend with friend they talked!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And gazing upwards in my face,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Each meek wood-flower drew back,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor did a single blade of grass</p> -<p class='line0'>  Impede my onward track;</p> -<p class='line0'>And ever on my listening ear</p> -<p class='line0'>  There came a lulling sound,</p> -<p class='line0'>As of a multitude in prayer—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Methought ’twas holy ground!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I rested on a mossy bank,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And cast my eyes above;</p> -<p class='line0'>The lithe green branches arch’d o’erhead,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And twined their arms in love;</p> -<p class='line0'>And nought was seen of the blue sky</p> -<p class='line0'>  Save islets here and there,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which seemed like some fair summer lakes</p> -<p class='line0'>  That smiled in upper air!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A twilight, rich and tender light,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Came stealing from the skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, oh! ’twas like the light that rests</p> -<p class='line0'>  In a young mother’s eyes!</p> -<p class='line0'>I saw the gentle flowrets wave</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their urns, still filled with dew,</p> -<p class='line0'>And by my side the dark-fringed fir—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The “tree of Heaven,” grew!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! all was fair and beautiful,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In these bright forest bowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>A region of perpetual green—</p> -<p class='line0'>  A paradise of flowers!</p> -<p class='line0'>Though all was very beautiful,</p> -<p class='line0'>  So free from woe and sin,</p> -<p class='line0'>I turned from the bright world without,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To darker worlds within:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I closed my eyes, and pressed my hand</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon my burning brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>And many were the busy thoughts</p> -<p class='line0'>  That crowded round me now!</p> -<p class='line0'>For, oh! the memories of years,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With all their clouds o’ercast,</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose up from that vast charnel-house,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The dim, sepulchral past!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And like a train of spectres wan</p> -<p class='line0'>  They passed in my review,</p> -<p class='line0'>And each faint shadow as it came,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Still pale and paler grew!</p> -<p class='line0'>On, onward yet, they came—a throng</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of white and ghastly things,</p> -<p class='line0'>As if stern Memory had stirred</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oblivion’s darkest springs!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And still the tears fell thick and fast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For nought could then control</p> -<p class='line0'>The passion and the agony</p> -<p class='line0'>  That swept across my soul!</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! many light and careless words</p> -<p class='line0'>  Were ringing on the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thoughtless things I said or did—</p> -<p class='line0'>  All seemed embodied there!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And mingling with accusing sins,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Faint-shadowed forms swept by,</p> -<p class='line0'>And glanced upon me as they passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With mild, yet grieving eye!</p> -<p class='line0'>At length a sweet, reproachful face</p> -<p class='line0'>  Looked in upon my dream,</p> -<p class='line0'>It spake—and, oh! the tones were those</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of some sweet, mournful stream!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And words came flowing from its lips,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That bade me cease to weep,</p> -<p class='line0'>So that the dead within their graves</p> -<p class='line0'>  In peacefulness might sleep!</p> -<p class='line0'>I started from this heavy trance,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The breeze came sweeping by,</p> -<p class='line0'>It had no knowledge of my grief,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yet gave me sigh for sigh;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And there where I had madly wept,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unheeding sky and earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>With all their light and loveliness—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their gladness and their mirth,</p> -<p class='line0'>I knelt me down and humbly asked</p> -<p class='line0'>  My sins might be forgiven,</p> -<p class='line0'>And that the incense of my heart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Might float with peace to heaven!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'> • • • • • • •</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I turned me from that forest scene,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And Hope her radiance shed</p> -<p class='line0'>About a heart that ceased to mourn</p> -<p class='line0'>  The pale, rejoicing dead!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='waw'></a>WAWHILLOWA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A LEGEND OF THE QUONNECTICUT.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY D. M. ELWOOD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Whoever</span> has once stood upon the summit of -Mount Holyoke, will never forget the rich scene -spread out before him. For miles—as far as the -eye can reach on every side—may be seen Nature -in her most imposing forms. Vales clad in their rich -vesture of green, watered by the limpid streams, -cool, pure, and refreshing; gently sloping hills, -crowned with fields of waving grain, and spotted -here and there with the fleecy herds; and yet farther -on, rising peak upon peak, and summit upon summit, -the “huge pillars” which “prop the heavens” rear -their craggy heads on high, bidding defiance to storm -and tempest, and scarcely trembling even at the peals -of “living thunder” which “leap” from crag to -crag. Occasionally, peering above the tall trees that -surround them, the spires of numerous churches -point out the villages, and form agreeable pictures -on which the delighted eye may rest. Sweeping the -very base of Holyoke the broad Connecticut rolls its -calm tide along, and winding away into the distance -far to the south, may be traced on a clear day, circling -its way through the verdant meadows almost -to its very mouth. Directly across the river from -Holyoke, Mount Tom rises in sullen majesty, as if -disdaining to hold fellowship with the humble yet -beautiful objects around. Northampton—with its -snow-white dwellings, its spires and turrets, its hill—the -sides of which are occupied with delightful -mansions—and its top surmounted with a lovely -grove, forms a panorama, the beauty of which must -be seen to be realized. Between it and the river is a -broad valley, chequered with fields of various colors, -spotted with trees, and giving rich promise of the -harvest. Nearly at the foot of the mountain—a -little to the northward, rising not far above the surface -of the river—is a small and fertile island, of a -diamond form, like an emerald set in silver. This -island we will call Hockanum, a name given to it -years and years ago. Still further north, on a broad -peninsula formed by a bend of the river, stands the -town of Hadley, with the history of which is associated -many a thrilling tradition. One of these it -will be our object now to present to the reader.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The town of Hadley was settled in the year 1659, -by emigrants from the Colony of Connecticut, who -removed on account of differences in religious opinions. -The principal man of these emigrants was -Mr. John Webster, accompanied by the Rev. John -Russell, formerly minister of Wethersfield. Although -Whites and Indians were mingled in close contact -here, it is believed that there was no disturbance of -any kind until after the breaking out of King Philip’s -war in 1675. A perfectly amicable disposition was -manifested on either side, and danger and fear of the -aborigines were scarcely entertained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the southern extremity of the beautiful street -on which the town is principally built, close upon -the bank of the majestic Connecticut, or as it was -formerly, and perhaps more properly called, the -<span class='it'>Quonnecticut</span>, stood, at the period of our tale, the -residence of the Rev. John Russell—mentioned -above as one of the first settlers of the town. A few -rods lower down, and on the opposite side of the -street, lived Mr. Webster, his friend and companion -in emigration. William, the oldest son of Mr. Russell, -was a young man about twenty-three years of -age, of a bold and fearless disposition, with a heart -generally open and confiding. Yet there was enough -of cautiousness in his disposition, to render him capable -of keeping secret his designs, and of acting -silently yet effectually. He was finely formed, and -remarkably well gifted by nature. There was, indeed, -but one trait that marred the general harmony -of his natural constitution, and that was, at times, a -slight want of amiability, a haughtiness of spirit that -could not brook restraint or opposition. As it was, -he was the pride of his father’s family, and the -object of admiration to the blooming maidens round. -But there was one whom he esteemed far above all -others—the daughter of his father’s friend. Eliza -Webster was one of those beings whom one would -love without exactly knowing why. Not really -beautiful—indeed, rather ordinary looking than -otherwise—it was impossible for any sensible young -man to enjoy her society for any length of time, -without finding himself fast yielding to the impression -which he could not prevent her from making on -his heart. Always lively and cheerful, with a rich -fund of humor, and a shrewd and penetrating mind, -she determined to enjoy, and to make the most of life, -and to render all about her as happy as herself. She -was the simple and unaffected, the true child of -nature, and yet nature’s adorer. Never was she -happier than when rambling along the course of the -river on whose banks she had always lived, or climbing -the craggy heights which towered at a short distance -below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the little island of Hockanum lived an old man -who had formerly been a chief at Nonotuck, now -Northampton. His name was Shaomet. He subsisted -on the fish he drew from the clear waters, and -the deer and other game which he found in the fastnesses -of Holyoke. The solace of his declining years -was his daughter, Tahattawa, a sprightly lass of -eighteen summers. Her step was light as that of the -young fawn, and her merry laugh rang out upon the -clear air, and danced like music over the broad -bosom of the river.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With this girl, Eliza Webster had formed an intimate -attachment. Often had Tahattawa paddled her -across in her light canoe to the little island on which -was her home. For hours had they sat under the -shade of its green trees, and laughed and conversed -together, instructing each other the while in many -of the little arts with which each was familiar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, Tahattawa had a lover—a young warrior -belonging to the fort which the whites had allowed -the natives to build within a few rods of the most -populous street of Nonotuck. Eliza had often met -him at the tent of Shaomet, and frequently accompanied -him and Tahattawa in his fishing excursions -down the river. The thought of danger to herself -never entered her mind; she reposed perfect confidence -in the integrity of her friends—even though -their skins were tawny; and the youth appeared to -be almost as fond of the society of his pale-faced -friend as he was of that of Tahattawa herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One fine morning in the month of May, 1676, a deer -was seen swimming swiftly down the Quonnecticut. -William Russell snatched his rifle, and, springing -into a light canoe, started in pursuit. At length, as -they neared the little island of Hockanum, the huntsman -had gained so far on his game that he was just -raising his gun to his shoulder to fire upon him, when -suddenly the deer sprang more than a foot clear of -the water—and the sharp crack of a rifle came -ringing on the ear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A canoe immediately shot out from a small cove -on the shore of the island, and a young Indian, paddling -up to the deer, seized him by the horns and -lifted him into the boat. By this time William had -come up. Whether the Indian had seen him in chase -of the deer before he fired or not, he certainly laid -claim to it as his own. The other was no less strenuous -in asserting his own right to the game; and, -drawing up his canoe along side of the Indian, was -about to place it in his own boat. The other also -seized it, and declared he would not surrender it but -with life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fiery spirit of young Russell now began to -chafe, and the flash of his eyes told plainly that he -would not tamely brook such a wrong. The blood -rose to his face, and his heart beat quick and violently -with anger. He stood for a moment hesitating -what course to pursue. Give up the deer he would -not—yet he shuddered at what might be the consequences -of an open rupture, at a time when Philip -was in arms, and the name of that mighty chieftain -was inspiring many of the Indians with courage, and -striking terror to the hearts of the whites.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wawhillowa—for it was he, the lover of Tahattawa—with -an air which seemed to challenge his antagonist -to its removal, placed his foot on the game, -and rising to his full height regarded the other with -a look of calm defiance. Not a muscle moved, but -his teeth were firmly clenched, and the heavy frown -that slowly settled on his brow, told of the storm that -was gathering within his breast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We know not what might have been the result of -this controversy—for there was equal resolution and -courage, and perhaps strength on both sides—had it -not been for a third person. At the instant that William -grasped his rifle, and the other his tomahawk, -Shaomet, the old man of the island, sprang between -them and called on both to desist from their useless -strife. He had watched the whole proceeding from -the door of his tent, and, fearful of a dispute, had -launched his canoe and approached them without -their perceiving him, so absorbed were both the -young men in the feelings of the moment. They -seemed at first somewhat angry at his interference; -but when Wawhillowa remembered that Shaomet was -the father of his intended bride; and William, that -he had often manifested his friendship for Eliza, -their resentment towards the old man instantly -began to cool.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their animosity towards each other, however, was -not at all diminished. They stood over the game -like two young lions; and each of them, perhaps, -exercising about as much reason. The old man quietly -proceeded to skin the deer, and to cut it into -equal parts. This was quickly done. He then tried -to induce them to accept each a part. It would have -been, perhaps, a difficult matter to decide which was -the rightful owner of the game—but each of the -two opponents was resolved to have it all or none—William -threw into the river the half which Shaomet -had placed in his canoe, while the young Indian -dropped his tomahawk and hastily paddled towards -the island. The old chief having secured the game -in his own boat, slowly followed him, and the -Englishman sullenly worked his way up the current, -muttering revenge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the morning of the 12th of June, 1676. Day -had hardly dawned. The bright star of morning had -not yet melted away; but the dark clouds that had -obscured the sky broke in pieces, and rolled away -in huge masses far into the distance, disclosing the -bright full moon—her radiance not yet dimmed by -the presence of the king of brightness. Under cover -of the night a powerful body of Indians had advanced -near to the town of Hadley, and at the southern extremity -of the street on which it was—and still is—principally -built, had proceeded to dispose among -the thick trees and underwood, a strong band of -faithful warriors as an ambuscade. There they lay, -still and motionless as the trees that concealed them. -There was many a stout heart beating eagerly for -the fray that would soon cease to beat for ever. -Many a strong arm firmly grasped the rifle or the -tomahawk, soon itself to be in the grasp of an all-powerful -foe. Many a fiery eye rolled round in its -socket which was soon to be covered with the film -of death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How calmly and soundly slept the inhabitants of -that village, even whilst the chafed savage was -prowling for his prey. All, unsuspecting, their -slumbers were deep and unbroken, while the hungry -lions about them were awaiting, impatiently, the -moment of attack. How often while we sleep are -our destinies decided for us! Wealth—fame—happiness—the -rewards of toil—the requiters of -virtue—good and evil—little circumstances and -great—are all hovering above and about us, while -we are unconscious of their presence. Life and -death may hang upon a single hair, while we cannot -raise a hand or bend a thought to avert or secure -either.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eastern sky had just begun to be tinged with -red, and a few straggling rays of the sun, still far -below the horizon, were dancing in fairy shapes -towards the zenith, when the work of death and -of cruelty began. Stealthily and silently the savages -crept on. Yet let us not call them <span class='it'>savages</span>: they -were but redressing their wrongs—but avenging -the life blood of their race; and though blood was -that morning poured out like water; and though the -tomahawk and scalping knife were the instruments -of death, and the sleeping and the helpless were the -victims;—yet their destroyers were but doing with -their enemies as they did with each other: they -were not doing violence to their own natures: they -were even exercising far more <span class='it'>humanity</span> than those -who, with the Gospel of Peace in their hand, and -the light of civilization around them, had sapped -the very foundations of the Red Man’s race. Swiftly -the work went on. A stifled groan—a scream of -anguish occasionally broke the stillness of the hour. -Save that, all was wrapped in deep, dread, ominous -silence. At length, by accident, a rifle was discharged. -On that little circumstance hung the life -of hundreds. The sound echoes through the long -street—a window is raised—a door is opened—the -alarm is given—and armed men pour forth, and prepare -to resist the foe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All was confusion and dismay. Rifles were fired—loaded, -and discharged again. Tomahawks gleamed—swords -flashed—occasionally a small piece of -ordnance rolled its infant thunder over the plain, and -the smoke and din of the contest rose up together to -the heavens. Men ran hither and thither. Some -commanded, and none obeyed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly, “a man of venerable aspect” appeared -among the scattered and nearly discomfited inhabitants. -He collected them in a body, and, assuming -the command, arrayed them in the best manner for -defence. He seemed experienced and skilful in the -art of war. And now the tide was changed; the -Indians in their turn were routed and fled in confusion. -In vain the chiefs attempted to rally them. A -sudden panic seized the savages; and they, precipitately, -fled. After the danger was over, all eyes -were looking for the man who had so wonderfully -assisted them, but in vain—he had gone, none knew -whither. Many conjectures were formed as to who -the stranger could be; some supposed it was the -guardian angel of the town—but no; it was <span class='sc'>Goffe</span>, -<span class='it'>the Regicide</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His seemingly miraculous appearance at that time -may be easily accounted for. Goffe and Whalley, -two of the Judges of Charles the First, were then -both secreted in the house of the Rev. Mr. Russell. -Seeing the inhabitants in danger, Goffe determined -to hazard his life for those who had so generously -afforded him refuge at the risk of their own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amongst those of the Indians who had lain in ambush, -the most eager of all was Wawhillowa, the -young chief of Nonotuck. With a disposition naturally -fierce, his intercourse with the whites had done -little to soften it, or to influence him in their favor; -and since the dispute with William Russell, over the -carcass of the deer, he had been burning with indignation -and resentment. He had joined the expedition -against Hadley with his warriors, partly in the hope -of meeting Russell in the fray, and thus gratifying -his revenge; and partly because his spirit could not -bear to be inactive, whilst the name of Philip was -spreading terror through New England. Emulous of -the rising fame and fortunes of the Narragansett -King, he hoped, ere long, to raise for himself a name -among the tribes that should eclipse the reputation of -all before him. The English, he thought, were fit -objects on which to exercise his ambition; and, having -lately conceived a strong aversion to the whole -race, he had determined to embrace the present opportunity -of signalizing himself, and venting on his -enemies his hearty dislike.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The ambuscade laid for the purpose of cutting off -the expected retreat of the English, of course, utterly -failed of its object; and when those who formed it -saw the ill success of their coadjutors, they began to -seek safety—each for himself as best he might. -Wawhillowa disdained to leave the field without -some trophy of his valor; and, while his associates -were fleeing in every direction, he was bent on executing -a plan which would at once satisfy his animosity, -and establish his celebrity among the warriors -of his tribe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just back of the house in which Mr. Webster -resided was a small eminence, from the top of which -could be obtained a fine view of the whole plain of -Hadley. The sides of this little hill were thickly -covered with bushes, through which a narrow foot -path led from the house to its summit. To this hill -had Eliza Webster repaired to witness the contest -that was raging on the plain. Wawhillowa having -cautiously approached the house, at length caught -the flutter of Eliza’s white garments through the -bushes, and hastily but silently approached her. -Suddenly she was grasped by a strong and unseen -hand, and her handkerchief being pressed into her -mouth effectually prevented her screaming. The -strength of the young chief was that of a giant, and -scarcely hindered by the slender form of the fair girl -he bore, he bounded like a tiger after his comrades.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Swiftly they fled, nor paused till the sun was within -an hour or two of high noon. And still Wawhillowa -pressed on, bearing his fair charge, not left far behind -even by his unencumbered associates. When he -considered that there was no longer danger of pursuit, -he set the poor girl on her feet, and, removing -the handkerchief from her mouth, ordered her to -walk on before him. In vain she asked him why -he treated her thus—why he had torn her from her -friends and was bringing her to a cruel death—or to -a captivity worse than death. In vain she pleaded -her friendship with Tahattawa—her former intimacy -even with himself; he walked on in stern -silence, and now and then by an impatient gesture, -gave her to understand that he wished her to be as -taciturn as himself. With the eye of one accustomed -to the forest, the chief bent his course directly towards -the place of their encampment. Bushes and -thorns often obstructed their way; and although -Eliza was wearied and sadly torn by the briars, she -even dared to threaten her foe. Not aware of the -difficulty that existed between them, and which had -been the cause of her own seizure, she warned Wawhillowa -to beware of the vengeance of her lover.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the mention of the name of his deadly foe, the -fiery savage sprang to the side of his victim and was -about to plunge his knife to her heart, but calming -the transport of his passion he spared her for a more -perfect revenge. His eye glared fiercely on her, and -triumph shone in every lineament of his features as -he replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hate him! I will have his blood; his scalp -shall hang up and dry in the smoke of Wawhillowa’s -wigwam. The fair Flower that loves him shall never -again see his face except it be in death. She shall -never be his wife; she shall be the Red Man’s slave—aye, -a captive to the Red Man’s bride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the mean time, all was consternation at the -house of Mr. Webster. No one had seen Eliza when -she left the house, and her absence could be accounted -for only by the supposition that she had been -slain, or carried away captive by the Indians. The -alarm spread from house to house. The whole village -was ready to pursue the enemy, and to recover the -lost one, or to revenge her death. Ah! revenge! as -if the lives of ten or of fifty of the foe could bring -back one spirit that had gone!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A small but ardent band was soon organized, and -ready for pursuit, with Young Russell at its head. -They struck at once upon the trail of the Indians, -and kept it without difficulty till they came to the -bank of the river at the foot of Mount Holyoke. -Here all traces of their course vanished. They had -evidently entered the river; but whether they had -crossed it, or only proceeded along its margin and -left it again on the same side at a distance below -could not be determined. The company here separated, -and one party crossed the river to search for -the trail on the other side, while the remaining party -scoured the eastern shores, but all in vain—no traces -of the enemy could be discovered. It was finally -conjectured that they had concealed their canoes in -the bushes and trees on the side and at the foot of -the mountain—and that after their defeat they had -hastened thither and embarked on the river, and -were by this time at such a distance as to defy pursuit -or discovery. Hour after hour did that little -band search the country round. Some climbed to the -summit of the mountain—some went far down the -broad river—here—there—and everywhere the -closest search was made—but still without success. -William now began to despair of the safety or rescue -of his betrothed. His heart grew sick—his cheek -paled—and he felt that it would be a boon to sit -down and die, if he could but be buried by the side of -his lost bride. And then, as he remembered the dispute -with Wawhillowa, and the truth flashed upon -him, his face flushed with anger, his teeth became -firmly set, and his breathing hard and laborious. -Again he started on—retraced the steps he had -taken, and hurried towards the island on which stood -Shaomet’s tent. When he arrived opposite the spot, -not seeing a canoe at hand, he threw himself into -the river, and soon found himself, breathless and exhausted, -at the door of the old man’s wigwam. He -entered abruptly—Shaomet sat alone, quietly smoking -his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your daughter—where is she? Where is Tahattawa?” -cried William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know not,” answered the old chief; “when I -awoke this morning, roused by the firing on the -plain, she had already left the wigwam, and I have -not seen her since.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where is Wawhillowa, the Nonotuck prince?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have not seen him these many days; and yet I -think he has been about here, for Tahattawa has -seen him and had a long talk with him not longer -ago than yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you heard that the Fair Flower, who used -so often to visit your tent, is lost?” asked William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—some of your people came here to search -for her,” replied the Chief, shrugging his shoulders, -“but they might have known better than that. Shaomet -is old now—his hair has turned white—his -step is no longer light and swift, or he would help -you to find your poor lost one. She was a beautiful -Flower, and she and Tahattawa were the delight of -Shaomet’s old heart; but she is stolen now, and love -has proved stronger too in Tahattawa’s heart, than -her affection for her poor old father. She has left -me, I fear, to follow the young chief. But he is a -brave warrior, and worthy of her love. Many of his -enemies shall fall before his eye. He has a strong -arm and a steady hand, and—but here is Tahattawa! -She has not forsaken me”—and a flash of joy for a -moment kindled his sunken eye, as the light form of -his daughter bounded into the tent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood for a moment panting from the effect of -recent and violent exercise. Oh! she was beautiful! -The rich, red blood could clearly be seen through the -dark skin,—her eye beamed, and her swelling breast -heaved with the excitement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you seen Eliza?” eagerly asked Russell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, she is a captive to the Nonotuck chief. I -saw him seize her, and bear her away in his arms. -How bravely it was done! But she was my sister. -I would not have her die. I followed them—my -step was light—he saw me not—heard me not; I -followed them to the encampment, and now I am -come to tell you where you may find her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why did you not give the alarm when you -saw him seize her?” impatiently demanded William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl turned her rich dark eye full upon the -speaker, as she said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wawhillowa is the betrothed of Tahattawa, and -should she betray the life of her lover? No! my -sister shall be safe, but the brave chief must not die! -And now promise me that you will not seek his life, -and I will lead you to your bride.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I promise you,” said William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, but the promise of a <span class='it'>pale-face</span> is easily -broken; you must swear it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>William did as he was required, and the two immediately -started to recover the captive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us return to Wawhillowa and his companions. -Some six or eight miles down the river from Hockanum -island, on the east side of the range of hills -abruptly terminated by Mount Tom, and renewed -again on the other side of the Quonnecticut by Holyoke -and the peaks with which it is connected, is a -sort of natural amphitheatre, enclosed on three sides -by steep and precipitous hills, and on the other, towards -the river, closely shut in by a belt of dense -forest. This was the spot selected by the Indians as -a place of retreat should retreat be necessary; and -thither they had fled after the defeat at Hadley. The -spot was admirably calculated for the purpose of -concealment and security. The huge grey rocks -lifting their shaggy crests far above the little plain -at their base, seemed to bid defiance to all the world -around. The only way of access to the Indian encampment -was by striking through the forest that -separated it from the river.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun had already gone down behind those rough -peaks, and the twinkling stars, one by one appearing -in the blue vault above, told that the night had come. -The pale moon was not looking on—yet it was a -bright and lovely night; too bright—oh! far too -beautiful for the many scenes of wickedness and -crime that were, all over the earth, about to be transacted -under its shades!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the amphitheatre which we have described sat -the chiefs, who had that day been in the action, in -grave and solemn council. The causes of their defeat -were discussed, and it was determined that a -conciliatory offering must be made to the Great -Spirit, and that the captive maid must be the sacrifice. -Wawhillowa arose, and long, and earnestly, -and even eloquently pleaded for her life. He claimed -her as his own; he wished not for her death, but -chose to keep her for his slave. His suit was unsuccessful; -and when he sat down, a murmur of disapprobation -was all that he heard. The voice was -unanimous against him, and he was at last obliged -to acquiesce.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>New fagots were thrown upon the council fire. The -dance began with slow and measured tread. The -fires blazed, and glared on the painted and hideous -countenances of the revellers, giving them an unearthly -and demon-like appearance. The march -quickened, and the wild song rose up in deep and -deadly tones, and was echoed back from those high -rocky hills. The stake was driven, and Wawhillowa -ordered the guard to bring forth the victim. The -man stirred not—answered not; and the chief himself -flew to the spot, burning with rage. He soon -came back with inflamed countenance, and muttering -curses deep and loud. The prisoner had fled—the -savage that had been left to guard her lay weltering -in his own gore! A wild, unearthly shout of fury -rent the air as the maddened savages learned their -disappointment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We left William Russell and the Indian maid, Tahattawa, -just leaving the wigwam of her father for -the rescue of Eliza Webster. They entered a light -canoe and glided swiftly down with the current of the -river. As they approached the place where the Indians -were encamped, the two travellers kept close -under the western bank, to be more secure against -the observation of any one who might have been stationed -as a look-out. By six o’clock they were -within a mile of the encampment, and here, by the -advice of the girl, Russell moored the canoe, and -they struck into the woods. Tahattawa, taking the -lead, glided through the dense bushes with surprising -facility—so swiftly indeed, that her companion -found some difficulty in keeping her in sight, although -his heart was continually prompting him to put forth -every effort. At length, just as the shades of night -began to appear, they caught a glimpse of the council -fire. They now proceeded with the utmost caution -till they came in sight of the wigwam in which the -prisoner was bound. Fortunately, it was placed on -that side of the opening which was nearest them, just -in the edge of the forest. Tahattawa crept along—keeping -the tent between herself and the Indians, till -she could look through a small hole in the rear. She -now motioned Russell to approach. He did so, and -looking through the opening, he saw, sitting, his lost -bride, her face buried in her hands. At the door of -the tent sat a brawny Indian, who, confident of the -security of his prisoner, was gazing towards the fire -and quietly smoking his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Tahattawa quickly drew William’s knife from his -belt, and, without the least noise, cut a large piece -from the thin bark-covering of the hut; then placing -the knife in Russell’s hand, she directed him by -signs, to enter, and despatch the savage. As he was -passing Eliza, she raised her head, and would have -screamed, had not Tahattawa been already at her -side, and covered her mouth with her hand. At that -moment the Indian turned his head; he grasped his -tomahawk, but before he could give a blow the hot -blood spurted from his heart, and he fell back and -died without a groan.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fugitives now began, as rapidly as possible, to -retrace their steps towards the canoe, which had -been left concealed about a mile up the river. Their -progress, however, was slow, and the underwood -was very thick, and all three of the party were already -wearied with the toils of the day. Still they -struggled on, and, at length, succeeded in reaching -the spot where the canoe had been left, before the -hideous yell that came sweeping up the river warned -them but too surely that the escape of the prisoner, -and the death of the Indian in the wigwam, had been -discovered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Notwithstanding the fatigue of its occupants, the -light bark swiftly stemmed the broad current, its -sharp prow gracefully cutting the tiny waves as it -darted on, curling the water from its path as if it -disdained to touch them. And well might it be! for -that light craft held a bold heart and a strong arm—and -one too, that, had it not already been worn out by -exercise, would have laughed at pursuit. About one -half the distance between Hockanum Island, and the -place from which they started, had been gained, -when they heard anew the shouts of the Indians, and -looking round they saw two canoes about a quarter -of a mile below them in active pursuit. This was -but an incentive to fresh effort, for they well knew -that if they should be overtaken, instant death or -cruel tortures would be the fate awaiting two at least, -perhaps all three of the party. The Indian girl seized -a paddle and applied her strength in assisting the -young man, whose own was well nigh exhausted. -This aid was not inconsiderable, for though the girl -was not near as muscular as her companion, yet her -skill in managing the canoe was but little inferior to -his. They were now enabled to keep on without -losing ground, though safety was far from certain, as -several miles yet remained to be passed over, before -they could hope to find assistance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Directly in the gorge between Mount Holyoke and -Mount Tom is a short bend in the river, forming a -peninsula, now familiarly called “The Bellows,” -from its supposed resemblance to that article. The -distance around this peninsula is perhaps two or three -miles, while the direct course of the river is only -about fifty rods. The isthmus, connecting the bellows -with the main land, does not now exist as it did -then; for, a year or two since, the ice collecting in -the river just below, the water swept over the narrow -barrier, and washing away the earth, formed for -itself a new channel many feet in depth. When the -fugitives reached this isthmus they turned the canoe -towards the shore, and William, springing out, directed -the two girls to walk across the narrow strip -of land, while he should drag the light boat over to -the other bank. This was but an easy task, compared -with that of impelling it against the current, -for two or three miles—while the whole distance -was as effectually gained as if they had kept the -river. Fortunate was it for them that they adopted -this stratagem, and fortunate, too, that there was no -moon, and that the bushes from the foot of Holyoke -here swept to the very shore; for they had hardly -crossed half way over the isthmus before their pursuers -were opposite to them, close under the western -shore. As it was they were not discovered, and the -canoes in chase went sweeping round the whole -length of the stream.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again the little party embarked, and hope began -to beat strong in their breasts. They pushed on with -renewed energy, and at length their eyes rested on -the little island of Hockanum. It is always a sweet -spot to look upon, but never did it appear so beautiful -to any eye as it did to them on that night when they -could just discern its dim outline.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are safe, Eliza, you are safe!” cried William.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the savages below, growing fearful of being -baffled in their pursuit, were pressing on with all -their strength; and the furious Wawhillowa, in the -foremost canoe, was continually urging on his men, -while he stood in the prow with his eyes eagerly -strained into the dim distance beyond.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are safe!” cried William; but at the moment -a bullet whistled close by his head and gave the -lie to his exclamation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as the canoe touched the southern extremity -of the island, William sprang on shore, and -hurrying out the females, all three hastened to the -tent of Shaomet. The old man had been in waiting -for them, and, as soon as they entered, pointed to a -corner of the wigwam, where lay a heap of fagots -and a number of skins which he had prepared as a -means of concealment should concealment become -necessary. William quickly led Eliza to the spot, -and placing her behind the fagots threw the skins -over the top. While he was doing this, the yells of -the Indians grew louder and more terrific, for they -had now gained the island, and were certain of their -prey. William had scarcely turned away from the -corner where Eliza was concealed, when the door -was thrown violently open, and the savage features -of the Nonotuck chief glared full upon his face. -Quick as thought the rifle of Shaomet was in Russell’s -hand and levelled full at the Indian’s breast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hold, hold!” cried Tahattawa, “your promise—your -oath!” and she snatched at the rifle. It was -too late. William had already fired, and the tall -form of Wawhillowa fell heavily to the ground. -The poor girl turned mournfully away, and, covering -her face with her hands, burst into a flood of tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time the other canoe had come up, and six -or eight stout Indians were surrounding the wigwam. -They immediately drew away the body of their -chief; and, as it fell outwards, those within were uncertain -whether or not the wound was mortal. A -council was now held by the besiegers as to what -mode of action should be adopted. Some proposed -to fire through the sides of the hut; others to burn -it; but both of these plans were rejected, as it would -endanger the lives of Shaomet and his daughter, -which was far from being their object; for Shaomet -had been a bold and renowned chief, and still possessed -much influence among the neighboring tribes; -while the beauty of the girl obtained for her an influence -and celebrity, but little less extensive than -her father’s, though of an entirely different kind. At -last it was decided to burst into the wigwam, and secure -the fugitives, doing no harm to the old man or -his daughter, even though they had endeavored to -give protection to their enemy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whilst they were hesitating what course to pursue, -William reloaded the rifle, together with an old -musket which he found hanging in the tent. As soon -as the door opened, and an Indian appeared, he fired. -The shot was effectual, but still the odds were fearful. -Another and another savage entered, and the -foremost had already levelled his rifle at William’s -heart. The musket was in Shaomet’s hand; with -the quickness of his youth he brought the piece to -his shoulder. It missed fire. In another instant William -Russell lay a bleeding corpse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They immediately advanced to secure his scalp, -but the old man would not permit them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have killed my friend,” said he, “in my -own wigwam, and now I will protect his body while -I live. Shaomet is old now—he will soon be buried -with his fathers; you may shoot me if you will, but -never shall you take his scalp.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this time Tahattawa sat upon the bundle of -fagots in the corner of the tent. She spoke not—moved -not. For the sake of her friend—her <span class='it'>sister</span> -as she familiarly called her—she had perilled her -own life; nay, what was far more, the life of her -betrothed. She had seen her “<span class='it'>sister’s</span>” lover shot -down—she had seen her own young chief fall, and -of course supposed him dead. Poor girl! A victim -to her own benevolence and to the evil passions of -others!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The savages, casting a glance round the apartment, -and perceiving no other inmate besides Shaomet and -his daughter, immediately left the wigwam, and, -taking their canoes, went silently down the river.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the afternoon following the events above related, -the little island of Hockanum looked as bright -and as beautiful as ever. It was as lovely as if it -had not witnessed the tragic scenes of the preceding -night. The bright sun shone gaily upon it; the birds -warbled their sweet notes; the soft breeze played -among the bright green leaves; and the whole spot -looked like a little paradise;—a sad contrast to two -hearts that were even then in its bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The friends of William Russell had already assembled -to perform the last sad duties to his remains. -He was to be interred here, in accordance with the -request of her who was to have been his bride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here,” said she, “here on this little island he -was slain, and here let him be buried. Here I will -spend many of my hours; I will plant flowers around -his grave. Here I can come and weep, away from -all eyes but the eye of Him who has seen fit to afflict -me thus.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The ceremony had just been performed and they -were just turning away from the grave, when all eyes -were directed to a canoe which was slowly moving -up the river. It had two occupants. One sat motionless -in the stern—the other was gently using the -paddle. As it approached the island, Tahattawa regarded -it with a fixed and earnest gaze. As she did -so her heart beat quick and her eyes darted with joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is—it is <span class='it'>he</span>,” cried she, “Wawhillowa;” and -away she bounded to the shore. As the canoe -touched the bank, the Indian, who sat in the stern, -stepped on shore. The next instant his companion -pushed off, turned down the stream, and quickly disappeared -from view.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wawhillowa—for it was he—advanced with a -few staggering, uncertain steps towards the girl, but -before they met, he fell headlong on the ground. -Those who had been standing around the grave now -approached. The girl sat holding his head, and -chafing his temples with her hands. He had fainted. -The blood was slowly oozing from a wound by a rifle -ball in the right breast. It appeared to have bled -considerably, for it had run down even to his ankle, -and the right leggin was deeply stained. Tahattawa -looked the very image of despair. Hope had been -kindled in her breast only to be destroyed, and her -poor heart could hardly contain its grief.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Shaomet ran to his tent, and brought a calabash -full of water from the river, and some being sprinkled -on the face of the young warrior, he slowly revived. -Turning a melancholy glance on those around them, -his eye brightened for a moment, and the sternness -of his features relaxed as his look rested on the face -of his betrothed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tahattawa,” said he, in a feeble voice, “I am -dying. Bury me—here—on the island. I am -going—to the—happy—hunting grounds. See!—the -spirit—of my father—calls me.—Ha! It -grows dark—Tahattawa!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poor girl bent over him till her face rested on -his bosom. When she again raised her eyes, the -spirit of the Nonotuck chief had departed, and she -looked on the cold, fixed features of the dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Another grave was dug close by the side of the one -which had just been filled. Some of the friends of -the “pale-face” objected to the burial of an Indian -so near the body of their own kindred, but the sisters -wished it, and their feelings were regarded. He was -buried, after the manner of his people—his face towards -the rising sun. His hunting weapons were -buried with him. There they lay—two fierce and -haughty spirits. They would not hold fellowship in -life, but in <span class='it'>death</span> they sleep side by side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From that hour the hearts of the two survivors -were as one. Theirs had been a sad and mournful -fate. Their destinies were similar. They lived—lived -long—and as happily as two could live whose -first dream of bliss had been thus cruelly broken. -They lived to atone for the faults of those whom -they had loved. They were never separated during -their lives, and nearly at the same time the summons -came to both to go and meet their Judge. They -have long since passed away. Their clay has “returned -to earth as it was, and their spirits have gone -to the God who gave them.”</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='sc'>Unionville</span>, Mass.</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='shak'></a>SHAKSPEARE.—No. II.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THEODORE S. FAY, AUTHOR OF “NORMAN LESLIE,” “THE COUNTESS IDA,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>HAMLET.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>None</span> of Shakspeare’s characters are insignificant. -If I had been Garrick or Mrs. Siddons, I should have -tried sometimes, as an experiment, the most apparently -trifling of his personages. I believe they would -give room for striking development, only there is this -objection—neither Siddons nor Garrick, nor any other -of the great actors <span class='it'>could</span> take parts promiscuously -from the crowd. They are too unlike each other. -They are too essentially different identities to permit -of being represented by one. Garrick might -take Macbeth in the play—and <span class='it'>Scrub</span> in the after-piece, -and do them both well; but he could not play -equally well with two such opposite characters by -Shakspeare. No actor has appeared <span class='it'>capable</span> of playing -all his principal tragic <span class='it'>rôles</span> well. It is sufficient -honor to attain to the height of illustrating one or -two. Kean, for example, was very great in Lear and -Richard. He was fine, by starts, in Othello, but not -equally so. He wanted sustained simplicity and calm -grandeur. Othello was a hero of nature: he had the -quiet self respect of a long successful soldier. Kean -did not satisfy me, as a whole, in Othello. I like -Forrest, in many respects, better. I saw Forrest play -the part at Drury Lane one night far beyond what I -had ever seen before; particularly the first half of the -play was perfect; the last I thought wanted, although -in a slight degree, that mellowing and chastening -which time gives to a painting, and will, doubtless, -perhaps <span class='it'>has</span> given, to this part of that dignified and -impressive portraiture. He carried with him a -crowded and intellectual audience—and, at certain -points, profound and unbreathing silence—the highest -applause—indicated the grasp this distinguished tragedian -had on the minds of the people who have beheld -the character so often and so grandly given—and so -often and ably criticised. Cassio’s drunken scene was -full of the thrilling strokes of a master.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the characters in these plays we may always -speak as of historical characters—as if they had -lived—just as the poet drew them. Men always do -speak of them so. The <span class='it'>opinions</span>, even of these Shakspearian -men and women, have authority in the senate -and the field—at the bar and in the pulpit. Many a -statesman—many an editor has struck at his antagonist -with a citation, not from <span class='it'>Shakspeare</span>, but from -his men and women. By a common consent of two -centuries, Othello and Macbeth, Lear and Coriolanus, -have <span class='it'>lived</span>—they have been substantial beings—their -real historical individuality has passed into their -dramatic being—and they appeal to our minds from -the scenes where Shakspeare left them. So with all -his vast crowd of people. A young man who has -made himself really acquainted with this assemblage, -will have formed valuable friends and advisers; and -should he select properly the persons whose opinions -he means to act on, he will live a happier and a wiser -life than he could without them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said there is no insignificant character in -Shakspeare; so I may say there is scarcely one which -would not make the subject of an interesting volume. -As classes of men, scores of volumes might yet be -written on the kings, the queens, the generals, the -rebels, the usurpers—on the mothers, the children, -the self-murderers, the assassins—on the poor and -the rich, the innocent and the guilty—on the supernatural -characters—on the noblemen and the peasants—on -the fools and drunkards—on the spirits—on -justices and physicians, landlords and servants—on -sea captains, lawyers and executioners—on mobs -and fairies—on Spaniards, Italians, English and -Frenchmen—on Romans, Jews, shepherds, shepherdesses -and wenches, courtiers, pages, etc., etc., -etc. Indeed, there is scarcely an end to the various -relations in which his characters may be considered; -each one may be performed with effect. Nature has -made, or will make, some particular mortals gifted -with a distinct capacity to represent one of each of -them—as Mrs. Siddons was for Lady Macbeth, and -Kean for Lear. The greatest actors seem but prophets -fitted to illustrate one or two of his creations. Some -of them have never yet been represented as they may -be. Probably Lady Macbeth, and Queen Catharine, -in Henry VIII. will never be better given—as also -Richard, Lear, and several others; but I suspect -many of the subordinate <span class='it'>rôles</span> are yet to be filled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There really are many indications which bear out -the praise of the commentators, that this world was -not <span class='it'>large</span> enough for his genius. His spirits, magicians, -monsters, and ghosts, are evidences of it. -Other writers have resorted to these materials before -him, but only as a mode of acting on human feelings. -It was reserved for Shakspeare to make us as well -acquainted with the secret heart of a <span class='it'>ghost</span> as of a -mortal. Hamlet’s spectre not only frightens and -startles us—he touches our feelings. We see into -that unearthly mind—that solitary, disembodied -being—revisiting the scene of its mortal life, but indicating, -fearfully, by its stealthy dim night walks—the -solemn march with which it goes slow and -stately by—its allusions to things too frightful for -human ears—its guilty starting at the crowing of -the cock, and its hurrying back to its nameless and -awful task—its anguish-stricken bewailings over the -earthly state of peace and happiness from which it -was so ruthlessly hurled—indicating by all these -and many more expressive tokens, the dark and sublime -load of woe it bears, and appealing to our -sympathy with terrible power. Ulrici may have -found, in this scene, grounds for his theory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The character of the unhappy exile from earth to -the secret and impenetrable abode of spirits, is drawn -with as much reality as that of Hamlet or the grave -digger. There are two or three touches of individuality -which invest it with a singular attraction. It is -not only a ghost; it is <span class='it'>the</span> ghost of a particular individual—of -a majestic, noble, benevolent, affectionate -king, overwhelmed by a mighty calamity: the victim -of the most shameful lewdness—the blackest treachery -that ever was seen—and deploring, “in fire,” -the “foul crimes” done in his “days of nature.” We -are not to presume he had been a peculiarly wicked -man, but he was <span class='it'>suddenly</span> called to his account before -he could <span class='it'>prepare himself to die</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What a sublime hint of Christianity is this, and -how fraught with a tremendous lesson to all mankind. -Death itself is not the misfortune; it is death -to an unprepared spirit. That he was</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Sleeping, by a brother’s hand</p> -<p class='line0'>Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched,”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>is not so terrible as that he was cut off even in <span class='it'>the -blossoms of his sins</span>—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Unhousel’d, disappointed, unaneal’d:</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>No reckoning made</span>, but sent to my account</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>With all my imperfections on my head</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>I have always thought this one of the sublimest and -most terrible reaches of our author’s genius. All -earthly misfortunes, regarded in their temporary -consequences are, of course, unworthy to be placed -in comparison with the misfortune of the immortal -disembodied soul. The wreck of old Lear’s mind, -the agonizing fall of Othello from bliss, the banishment -and murder of Coriolanus, the stern fate of the -sweet Juliet and her tender Romeo—all fall short of -the horror of this spectral lamentation, coming up -from the central caves of the earth, or the yet more -unimaginable caverns of hell itself, and deploring in -the “dead waste and middle of the night,” the vast, -dire and unnameable wo it suffers from its unreflecting -manner of living while yet a mortal tenant of the -globe, and when the means of <span class='it'>making its reckoning</span> -were yet within its power, and had been so unwisely -neglected. Had this unhappy creature been a thinking -and pious person, the sudden blow would not have -found it unprepared. It would not have been wasting -the precious hours of age in the <span class='it'>blossoms of its sin</span>. -It would not have deferred the imperative duty of -making its peace with the creator, and of endeavoring, -(<span class='it'>before</span> the condemnation “to fast in fire”) to -purify itself from earthliness—from the enervating -and selfish tendencies of luxury and royal power, and -from the soils and weaknesses of youthful passions, -uncurbed, and the follies—perhaps we may also with -justice term them “foul crimes”—which all mortals -commit in a greater or less degree.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In these few words is a grave lesson to the men of -the present living world. Many of the most prominent -characters in history have felt, in time, the importance -of the mighty truth which this “poor ghost” -had neglected—and, by withdrawing from active -life, as old age came on, and devoting themselves to -reflection, to self-examination and self-purification, -to thoughts of death and communion with their -Maker, have endeavored to prepare themselves for -the closing scene. Men require this process. We -are all heated with the cares and passions of life, and -cherish in our breasts flames which ought to be extinguished -before we enter the presence of our Maker. -Some abandon themselves to such unworthy wishes, -to such mean, selfish and ridiculous opinions and -determinations, that the years of ordinary old age -cannot be too long to enable us to regain our balance, -and to recover (or if we have never had it, to acquire) -the dignity of a moral being. What a picture is presented -to the imagination by the thought of a <span class='it'>miser</span> -standing before the throne of God. How would a -<span class='it'>profligate</span> feel, restored, as he will be by death, to a -true estimation of himself, on being thrust suddenly -before the dread tribunal; or, what would be the sensations -of an arrogant, presumptuous man, going -through life with no thought but himself and his own -greatness, on being, like the ghost of Hamlet, “cut -off” even in the blossoms of his sins, <span class='it'>no reckoning -made</span>, “but sent to his account” with all his imperfections -on his head? What would be the feelings of -any mere worldly man—one who had been a cruel -persecutor and oppressor—who had taken the bread -from the widow and orphan?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All men have not sinned equally, but all men have -sinned. It is not likely any one has gone through -the world without having an opportunity of feeling, -with a most bitter humiliation, the innate depravity -and woful weakness of human nature, unless <span class='it'>sustained</span> -by the creating hand. Trusted to themselves the -stoutest will faint, the purest will be soiled. The -events of life act upon the heart with a kind of -chemical power, extracting from it baseness and -weakness, as poison may be extracted from flowers. -Perhaps this is capable of being turned to good, if -read aright. For the heart which has looked in upon -itself, with distrust and shame, is wiser and purer -than any other: it is stronger also. To come to the -feet of the Creator with a <span class='it'>true</span> trust in him, is almost -impossible, till we have seen the shipwreck of self -confidence, and felt that by ourselves we are less than -nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a life, then, of action, and of temptation, of -false hopes, ill placed affections, frivolous desires -and enjoyments, and perhaps impious and guilty -occupations, how happy he who has the wisdom to -break away from them <span class='it'>himself</span>, before inexorable -fate calls him, and who cleanses and prepares his -spirit for the great change it is destined to undergo. -I will not enter here upon the graver tenets of religion, -but surely we may believe that he who sees -in time the nature of sin, and disentangles himself -from its snares—who spends the latter years of his -life in a sincere endeavor to become what he ought to -be, and to release his spirit from the world before his -body is called away, if he cannot wholly efface the -traces of sin, may soften them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For my part, although not an old man, I begin -already to look upon human life more as a spectator -than an actor, and to feel myself within the sublime -and mysterious attraction of another world. I distrust -the effect upon me of the collisions, temptations -and pleasures which I may yet have to encounter—and -I feel a hesitation even in wishing for -wealth or worldly honors. The idea of a hereafter—of -the actual visible presence of my Maker—is becoming -every day less remote and more familiar to -me. It hushes the voice of indignation, and checks -the impulse of contempt—which, when I keep my -eyes on this world alone, I cannot always master. -It teaches me that my mortal part, as far as related -to earthly things, is a brief, passing shadow—that -the world is but the reflection of one point in the -career of the soul—that human vice and folly are -but mysteries of nature, and that human passions -were given us as our slaves—not our masters. -No medicine—no magnetism can have a more -striking influence than this thought, upon the physical -as well as the moral part of me; and when I -enter the chamber where a dead man is lying, I feel -all that is <span class='it'>bad</span> within me so rebuked, silenced and -destroyed—and all that is good so awakened, so -pure, sustaining and holy, that I have little enthusiasm -to search after the vain phantoms of mere earthly -philosophy, or earthly happiness. I see only the form -of religion, ever calm, ever young, standing above the -wreck of the mortal universe, and pointing to another -and a better one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What a powerful stroke of dramatic art is it then -in our great poet to throw this idea, not into the voice -of a sage or a preacher, but to announce it to startled -generations from the dim faded lips of a suffering -spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It has been a custom with many great characters, -both of ancient and modern times, to devote the latter -part of their lives to this moral preparation. It seems -as if a kind Providence had conceived old age on purpose -for this process. If we have lived properly, our -minds will then have become cultivated in proportion -as the body, that great tempter, has been weakened; -and we are called upon to retire from the active -world just when we are become unfit for it. Yet how -many old men do we see clinging to its gilded toys, -empty hopes, and frivolous amusements, without a -thought of any thing beyond; or, how many a grey -head is at this moment working schemes which might -better become the imagination of the thoughtless -school-boy, or the grovelling nature of the brute. In -how many a heart, which should be the altar only for -the pure, silent, undying flame of piety, do we see -the unholy passions of earth burning beneath a hand -which ever feeds with the impurest food their vain -fires. How few are there among aged men who have -thought of letting loose their hold on earth, of slackening -their pursuit after wealth or vain distinctions, -of turning their minds to the period (which to-morrow -may bring) when all things not connected -with their future career shall seem to them like infant -toys.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I often think of that poor ghost’s touching lament, -and hope that death may not find me thus unprepared. -I take a profound lesson from this profoundest of -mortal teachers, and learn to go through the earth -like a passing traveller, paying but a brief visit of -curiosity and instruction to its beautiful wonders, but -who does not mean to build, even in the fairest of its -bowers, or by the most tempting of its streams—because -his home is in another country, to which all -that he has and all that he loves is either gone or -going.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How deeply Shakspeare—even the laughter-loving, -etherial, sunshiny Shakspeare, was impressed with -the same thought, you may gather from his works. -It is not the night-walking spirit alone who utters to -mankind this sublime truth, but the most high climbing -and successful of his living personages also proclaim -it. <span class='it'>Prospero</span>, among others, in a solemn and -touching remark, betrays how full he is of the -nothingness of mere human life. After having given -utterance to that most magnificent of all the sublime -breathings of a thoughtful mind—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And like the baseless fabric of this vision,</p> -<p class='line0'>The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,</p> -<p class='line0'>The solemn temples, the great globe itself,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded,</p> -<p class='line0'>Leave not a rack behind.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>He invites his companions to his cell:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        “Where you shall take your rest</p> -<p class='line0'>For this one night; which (part of it) I’ll waste</p> -<p class='line0'>With such discourse, as I no doubt, shall make it</p> -<p class='line0'>Go quick away: the story of my life,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the particular accidents gone by,</p> -<p class='line0'>Since I came to this isle: and in the morn</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where I have hope to see the nuptial</p> -<p class='line0'>Of these, our dear belov’d, solemnized;</p> -<p class='line0'>And thence, <span class='it'>retire me to my Milan, where</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Every third thought shall be my grave</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>It is true this man has made himself a <span class='it'>magician</span> for -the purposes of the poem; yet the reflection is that -of a Christian turning away from the most splendid -paths of this world to prepare himself for the next. -Of the <span class='it'>Tempest</span> it may be said, in passing, that over -it hangs a beautiful mystery which has not, that I -am aware of, yet been explained. There is some -deeper meaning in the extraordinary contrast of -characters, in the delicate and harshly used Ariel—in -the brutish and diabolical Caliban,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Which any print of goodness will not take,</p> -<p class='line0'>Being capable of all ill;”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>and yet, by a mysterious exercise of power, obliged -to obey an art sufficiently strong to control his -“dam’s god Setebos.” I am so accustomed, in the -works of Shakspeare, as in those of nature, to look -for meaning where all seems most capricious, that I -dwell with a kind of delightful curiosity over the -grand and not yet all explained lessons of this fascinating -creation. What a delightful amusement for -an old age of leisure to relieve its graver moments by -a habitual study of Shakspeare!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To return a moment to the spirit of Hamlet. The -<span class='it'>human traces</span> found in this pale spectre are great -heighteners of our interest in it, and of the probabilities -of its existence. The return to Elsinore, and to -the platform before the castle, in the night, when the -sentinels are on guard—its appearance first to the -soldiers on the watch—then to Horatio, who has -been induced to watch by the report of it—its sudden -appearance, and equally abrupt disappearance—giving -an idea of capricious impulses and laws not -within the reach of mortal conjecture—its seeking -out <span class='it'>its son</span> as the confidant of the amazing secret, -are all ghost-like, and yet show the shadow of mortality. -Its dismal, half-breathed, mysterious revelations -of what it is undergoing in its new abode, are -spectral to the last degree; but there is nothing which -elevates it to a higher and nobler place in our commiseration, -than the exquisitely tender allusion to -the guilty queen. This is the mortal, always majestic, -superior, merciful and refined—but now enlightened -and subdued by the influences of its new -state.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    “But, how-so-ever thou pursu’st this act,</p> -<p class='line0'>Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive</p> -<p class='line0'>Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge</p> -<p class='line0'>To prick and sting her.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>And then the startled, reluctant, yet abrupt and compelled -return.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            “Fare thee well <span class='it'>at once</span>!</p> -<p class='line0'>The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,</p> -<p class='line0'>And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire;</p> -<p class='line0'>Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Again, in the scene where Hamlet kills Polonius, -and reveals to his mother his full knowledge of her -crime, the spirit wo-stricken, and bringing with it -always the terrible cold breath of the other world—yet -still, with the fingerings of human affection, is -touched with pity at the terror and suffering of her -whom it had once loved:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“But, look! amazement on thy mother sits:</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, step between her and her fighting soul;</p> -<p class='line0'>Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.</p> -<p class='line0'>Speak to her Hamlet.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='ball'></a>BALLAD.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. R. LOWELL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Gloomily the river floweth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Close by her bower door,</p> -<p class='line0'>And drearily the nightwind bloweth</p> -<p class='line0'>  Across the barren moor.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It rustles through the withered leaves</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon the poplars tall,</p> -<p class='line0'>And mutters wildly ’neath the eaves</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the unlighted hall.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The waning moon above the hill</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is rising strange and red,</p> -<p class='line0'>And fills her soul, against her will,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With fancies lone and dread.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The stream all night will flow as drearful,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The wind will shriek forlorn,</p> -<p class='line0'>She fears—she knows that something fearful</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is coming ere the morn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The curtains in that lonely place</p> -<p class='line0'>  Wave like a heavy pall,</p> -<p class='line0'>And her dead mother’s pale, pale face</p> -<p class='line0'>  Doth flicker on the wall.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And all the rising moon about</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her fear did shape the clouds,</p> -<p class='line0'>And saw dead faces staring out</p> -<p class='line0'>  From coffins and from shrouds.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A screech-owl now, for three nights past,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Housed in some hollow tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sends struggling up against the blast</p> -<p class='line0'>  His long shriek fearfully.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Strange shadows waver to and fro,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the uncertain light,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the scared dog hath howled below</p> -<p class='line0'>  All through the weary night.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>She only feels that she is weak</p> -<p class='line0'>  And fears some ill unknown,</p> -<p class='line0'>She longs, and yet she dreads to shriek</p> -<p class='line0'>  It is so very lone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Her eyeballs in their sockets strain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till the nerves seem to snap,</p> -<p class='line0'>When blasts against the window-pane</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like lean, dead fingers tap.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And still the river floweth by</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the same lonely sound,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the gusts seem to sob and sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And wring their hands around.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Is that a footstep on the stair,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And on the entry-floor?</p> -<p class='line0'>What sound is that, like breathing, there?</p> -<p class='line0'>  There, close beside the door!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hush! hark! that was a dreadful sigh!</p> -<p class='line0'>  So full of woe, so near!</p> -<p class='line0'>It were an easier thing to die</p> -<p class='line0'>  Than feel this deadly fear.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>One of her ancestors she knew</p> -<p class='line0'>  A bloody man had been,</p> -<p class='line0'>They found him here, stabb’d through and through,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Murdered in all his sin.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The nurse had often silenced her,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With fearful tales of him—</p> -<p class='line0'>God shield her! did not something stir</p> -<p class='line0'>  Within that corner dim?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A gleam across the chamber floor—</p> -<p class='line0'>  A white thing in the river—</p> -<p class='line0'>One long, shrill, shivering scream, no more,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all is still forever!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rom'></a>THE ROMAN BRIDE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A TALE OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> might and glory which had of yore reared -the imperial city to its throne of universal domination, -had long ago departed from the degenerate and -weak posterity of the world’s conquerors! The -name of Roman was but the lucid meteor of the -charnel imparting a faint lustre to corruption and -decay! The bold hordes of the hardy north had -oftentimes already avenged the wrongs done by the -elder Cæsar, while the frail silken puppets, who had -succeeded to his style and station, trembled in the -unguarded capital at every rumor from beyond the -Danube. For, to the limits of that mighty river had -they extended, years before the time of which we -write, their arms, their arts, their sciences, and their -religion—the pure and holy doctrines of the crucified -Redeemer. All the Dalmatian coast of the bright -gulf of Venice, now little more known than the -wilds of central Asia, was studded with fair towns, -and gorgeous palaces, and gay suburban villas; and -all the wide spread plains of Thrace and Thessaly, -now forest-clad and pathless, save to the untamed -klepht or barbarous tartar, waved white with crops -of grain, and blushed with teeming vineyards, and -nurtured a dense happy population. At times indeed -the overwhelming deluge of barbarian warfare had -burst upon those fertile regions; and, wheresoever -it burst,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                      “With sweepy sway</p> -<p class='line0'>Their arms, their arts, their gods were whirled away—”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>yet ever, when the refluent billows ebbed, the grass -had sprung up green and copious even in the horse -tramps of the innumerable cavalry that swelled the -armies of the north, and the succeeding summer had -smiled on meads and vineyards abundant as before, -and on a population careless and free and jocund.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But now a mightier name was on the wind—a -wilder terror was abroad—Attila!—Attila—the -dread Hun! Still all as yet was peace; and, although -rumors were abroad of meetings beyond the Danube; -of the bent bow—emblem of instant warfare—sent -with the speed of horse o’er moor, morass, and -mountain—although the tribute, paid yearly by the -degenerate Cæsars, had been refused indignantly by -the bold Marcian—bold, and wise, and worthy the -best days of the republic!—although from all these -tokens prudent men had foreseen the wrath to come, -and brave men armed to meet it, and cowards fled -before it; still careless and improvident the crowd -maintained their usual demeanor, and toiled, and -laughed, and bought, and sold, and feasted, and -slept sound o’ nights, as though there were no such -things on earth as rapine, and revenge, and merciless -unmitigated war.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was as sweet and beautiful an evening in the -early autumn as ever looked down with bright and -cheerful smile from the calm heavens upon man’s -hour of rest, what time the labor and the burthen of -the day all past and over, he gathers round him his -blythe household, and no more dreaming of anxiety -or toil or sorrow, looks confidently forward to a -secure night and happy morrow. And never did the -eye of day, rising or sitting, look down from his -height upon a brighter or a happier assemblage than -was gathered on that evening in a sweet rural villa, -scarce a mile distant from the gates of Singidurum -one of the frontier towns of Masia on the Danube.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a wedding eve—the wedding of two beings -both young and beautiful and loving. Julia, the -fairest of the province, the bright and noble daughter -of its grave proconsul, famed for her charms, her -arts, her wit and elegance, even in the great Rome -itself before her father had taken on himself—alas! -in an evil hour—the duties and the honors of that -remote provincial government—and brave Aurelius, -the patrician—Aurelius, who, though not yet had he -reached his thirtieth summer, had fought in nine -pitched battles, besides affairs of posts and skirmishes -past counting—won no less than five civic crowns, -for the lives saved of Romans on the field, and -collars, and horse trappings, and gold bracelets, as -numerous as were awarded to the deeds of Marius, -when valor was a common virtue in Rome’s martial -offspring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were a noble pair, and beautiful, as noble—well-matched—she, -light as the summer cloud and -airy as its zephyr and graceful as the vine that waves -at every breath—he vigorous and tall as the young -oak before the blight of eld has gnarled one giant -limb or scathed one wreath of its dark foliage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Delicate, fair, and slender and tall beyond the -middle height of woman with a waist ‘shaped to -love’s wish’ and every graceful outline full of rich -rounded symmetry, young Julia was a thing to dream -of as the inhabitant of some far bright Elysian, -rather than to behold as an inmate of the rude heartless -world. It seemed as though it were a sin that -the sun’s ardent kiss should visit her transparent -cheek too warmly, that any breath but that of the -softest summer gale should wanton in the luxuriant -ringlets of her long silky auburn hair—her eyes -were blue and clear as the bosom of some pure -moonlit fountain, and there was in them a wild, yet -not unquiet gaze, half languor and half tenderness. -She was indeed a creature but little fitted to battle -with the cares and sorrows of this pilgrimage, and -as she leaned on the stalwart arm of her warrior -lover, hanging upon him as if confident in his vast -strength and relying absolutely on his protection, -and fixing the soft yearning gaze of those blue eyes -full on his broad brow and expressive lineaments, no -one could doubt that she had chosen well the partner -who should support and guide her through this vale of -tears and sin and sorrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But who thought then of tears—who ever dreamed -of sorrow? The day had been passed happily—alas! -how happily!—in innocent and pure festivity—the -blythe dance on the velvet greensward, the joyous -ramble amid the trelliced vines, the shadowy cypresses, -the laurelled mazes of the garden; with lyre and -lute and song, and rich peals of the mellow flute -and melancholy horn blent with the livelier clashing -of the cymbals, waking at intervals the far and -slumbering echoes of the dark wilderness beyond the -Danube. Oh! had they but known what ears were -listening to their mirthful music, what eyes were -gloating with the fierce lust of barbarous anticipation -on their fair forms and radiant faces, what hearts -were panting amid the dense and tangled forests for -the approaching nightfall—how would their careless -mirth have been converted into despair and dread -and anguish, their languishing and graceful gait into -precipitate and breathless flight—those blythe light -hearted beings!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun set glowing in the west—glowing with -the bright promise of a lovely morrow—and many -an eye dwelt on his waning glories, and drew bright -augeries from the rich flood of lustre, which streamed -in hues of varying rose and gold up to the purpled -zenith; while on the opposite verge of heaven, the -full orbed moon had hung already her broad shield of -virgin silver, with Lucifer the star of love kindling -his diamond lamp beside her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Farewell, great sun—and blessings be upon thy -course”—whispered Aurelius to his lovely bride, as -hanging fondly on his arm, she watched from the Ionic -porticoes of spotless Parian marble, the last sun of -her maiden days—“that thou hast set so calm and -bright, and with such promise of a glorious future—Hail, -Julia, Hail with me the happy omen!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-morrow”—she replied in tones of eloquent -music, half blushing as she spoke even at the intensity -of her own feelings—“To-morrow, my Aurelius, -I shall be thine, all thine!”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And art thou not all mine, even now, beloved—By -the bright heavens above us—for long—long -years!—my heart with all its hopes and fears and -aspirations, my life with its whole crime and purpose—my -soul with its very essence and existence -have been thine—all! all thine—my Julia—and -art not thou mine, now!—why what save death -should sever us?—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Talk not of death!”—she answered with a -slight shiver running through all her frame—“Talk -not of death, Aurelius—I feel even now as if his -icy breath was blowing on my spirit, his dim and -awful shadow reflecting darkness on my every -thought—dost thou believe, Aurelius, that passing -shades like these, which will at times sadden and -chill the soul, are true presentiments of coming evil?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That do I not—sweet love”—he answered—“that -do I not believe; when by chance or some -strain of highly wrought and thrilling sentiment the -heart-strings of us mortals are attuned too high -beyond their wont, like harp chords, they will harmonize -to any sound or sentiment that accords to -their own spirit pitch; and, neither sad nor joyous in -themselves, will respond readily to either grief or -sorrow: that, feeling no cause for mirth or gloom, -we fancy them prophetic feelings, when they are -but reflected tones, and so disquiet ourselves often -with a vain shadow!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,”—she replied, still sadly—“I wish it may -be so, as I suppose it is. Yet—yet—I would it -were to-morrow!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, come! I must not have thee thus sad on -an eve like this, my Julia—lo! they have lighted -up the hall—and the banquet is spread, and the -wine poured—the queen of the feast must not be -absent!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And shaking off the gloom which had, she knew -not why, oppressed her, she turned with one long -lingering last glance to the sun as he disappeared -behind the dark tree tops which seemed to swallow -him up in an unnatural gloom, and entered the vast -hall which, hung with tapestries of silk and gold, -and garlanded with wreaths of choice flowers, and -reeking with unnumbered perfumes, lighted with -lamps of gold pouring their soft illumination over the -gorgeous boards, shewed like a very palace of the -senses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bridal strains burst forth harmonious at the first, -and slow and solemn, but quickening and thrilling -as they rose, till every ear that heard them responded -to their enlivening impulse, and every bosom glowed -and panted to their expressive cadences. The wine -went round, and laughter circled with it, and many a -tender glance was interchanged, and many a whisper -that called up burning blushes, and many a pressure -of young hands betwixt those, who hoped that as -this night to Julia and Aurelius, so should one be for -them at no far distant!—and many prayed that -such might be their lot—and many envied them!—Oh -God, what blinded worms we be—when left to -our own guidance!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bridal feast was over—the bridal hymns -were hushed—the banquet hall was left deserted—for -in an inner chamber all hung with spotless white -at a small altar placed beneath a cross gorgeous with -gold and jewels stood Julia and Aurelius—the -tender and solicitous mother and the gray headed -noble father at her side—the priest of God before -them, and all the joyous company hushed in mute -awe, that arose not from fear—and the faith of that -bright pair was plighted, and the gold ring set on the -slender finger, and the last blessing was pronounced, -and they two were made one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just in that breathless pause as the words of the -priest ceased to sound, although their cadences were -still ringing in the ears of all who heard them—there -was a sudden rustle heard without, and a dread cry. -“The city!—the city!—Singidurum!” So piercing -was the cry, that not one of all those who heard it, -but felt that something dreadful was in progress—in -an instant the whole company rushed out into the -portico—and lo! one flood of crimson flame was -soaring up the sky from what an hour before had been -a beauteous and a happy town—and a confused din -of roars and howls burst with the shrill yells of -despairing women, the clash of arms, and the thundering -downfall of towns, palaces, and temples, -filled the whole atmosphere with fiendish uproar. -Scarce had they time to mark, or comprehend what -they beheld, before, about them, and around, on every -side came the thick beating hoofs—and in another -moment they might see the myriads of the Hunish -horsemen circling them in on every side, and cutting -off all hope of flight or rescue with a dark living -rampart. “Romans,” Aurelius shouted—“Romans -to arms—for life, and liberty, and vengeance!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His words were obeyed instantly, for all perceived -their truth—but what availed it? To hew down a -dozen trees and batter down the village gates was -but a moment’s work for the blood-thirsty hordes -who swarmed around the building. The outer gate -was shattered in a moment—the inner, frailer yet, -gave at the first assault, and now no bulwark was -left any longer to the Romans save in their own good -swords and stalwart sinews! Bravely they fought—aye, -desperately—heaping the marble floors with -mangled carcasses, and dying, each man where he -stood, where the sword smote or javelin pierced him, -dauntless and undismayed. Long they fought, for -each Roman slain cutting down ten barbarians—but -by degrees they were borne back—back at the -sword’s point, foot by foot—and marking every step -by their own streaming gore. At the hour’s end but -five were left—five, and all wounded, and one old: -the father of the wretched Julia, Aurelius and his -brother, and two young nobles of the province. Retreating, -step by step, they were at last driven back -into the bridal chamber—the altar stood there yet, -and the great cross above it, and the priest clinging -to the cross, and at his feet the bride, with her fair -tresses all dishevelled and all her lovely comrades -prostrate upon the ground around her. The door -was barred within—brief respite, no defence—and -the strong men leaned upon their weapons in despair -and gazed on one another, and then from one another -to the women. It was a sad and awful scene. A -rush of heavy feet was heard without—a halt, and -then a rustling sound, with now a clang of steel and -now the clatter of a grounded spear, as if the multitude -was getting silently into array and order—a -pause, and a loud cry!—“Attila!—Attila!—the -king!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then came a slow and measured footstep striding -up to the door—one short and heavy blow upon the -pannel, as with a sword’s hilt—and a stern, grave -voice exclaimed “Open!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will,” answered Aurelius, “they would destroy -it in an instant—it is but one chance in a myriad, -but best trust to his mercy.” With the words he -drew back bar after bar, and threw the door wide -open—and there! there on the very threshold, with -his swart cicatrized features, and short, square, athletic -form, sheathed in scale armor of a strange device, -with the hideous Charntean head gleaming out -grim and awful from his breastplate, and the strange -sword—all iron, hilt and blade, and guard and scabbard—his -weapon and his God, firmly grasped in -his right hand, but as yet bloodless—there stood -the dreadful Hun!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Death,” he exclaimed—“Death to all who resist,” -in tones singularly deep and stern and solemn—“Mercy -to those who yield them!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do with <span class='it'>us</span> as thou wilt, great king,” returned -Aurelius steadily, lowering as he spoke his sword’s -point—“but spare our women’s honour!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Down with thy weapon, or die, Roman!” thundered -the monarch, striding forward as he spoke and -raising his sword high.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The terms, great Attila?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Death for resistance!—Mercy for surrender!—A -king’s love for fair women!” shouted the Hun, -enraged at finding opposition where he dreamed not -of meeting any, and his blood fired almost beyond -endurance by the exquisite charms of the women, -whom he could clearly see beyond their few defenders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then die, Aurelius! die as becomes a Roman—and -by the Heavens above us both, I will die with -you,” exclaimed Julia, nerved by despair to courage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! wilt thou?” exclaimed Attila; “Onegisus, -reserve that girl who spoke so boldly, and that black-haired -maid with the jewelled collar, for the king’s -pleasure! Make in, Huns,” he added in an appalling -shout—“kill, win, enjoy—but leave this dog to -me!” and with the word he assailed, sword in hand, -the new-made husband. One deadly close charge, -and the four defenders were hewn down—yea! hewn -limb from limb, by a hundred weapons—and then -what followed was too terrible for words—enough! -all that war has most horrible—murder and agony -and violation, in their worst, most accursed shapes, -reigned there and revelled fiends incarnate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Onegisus had seized the bride and the other wretched -girl indicated by the king, and they were for the -moment safe among the tumult—and still Aurelius -and Attila fought hand to hand, unwounded, and -well paired, a perilous and deadly duel. And ever -as she stood there, unconscious of the hellish deeds -that were in progress round her, she gazed with a -calm, fearless eye upon her bridegroom. Onegisus -had her grasped firmly by the left arm, and as she -neither strove, nor shrieked, nor struggled, but stood -still as a marble statue, he thought no more about -it, but gazed himself with all his eyes upon the combat. -At last, as if by mutual consent, the champions -paused for breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou art brave, Roman,” said the Hun, in his -deep, stern, low tones, not seeming in the least degree -disturbed or out of wind—“Attila loves the -brave!—Live and be free!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Her honour, mighty Attila—my young bride’s -honour—be merciful and generous as thou art brave -and noble.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Choose—fool!” the king exclaimed in a voice -resembling more the growl of a famished tiger than -any human sound—“choose between life or death!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Death or her honor!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then die—idiot—Roman!” sneered the other, -and with a fearful cry, grinding his teeth till the -foam flew from them as from the tusks of a hunted -boar, he leaped upon Aurelius. Three deadly blows -were interchanged, and at each blow a wound—but -at the fourth, Attila’s sword descending like a thunderbolt, -shivered the Roman’s blade into a thousand -pieces, and, glancing from his helmet, alighted on -his shoulder, and clove deep into his chest!—he -staggered forward, and at the next instant met the -sword’s point, driven home by a tremendous thrust -into his very vitals. Headlong he fell backward; -but, as he fell, his glazing eyes turned fearfully toward -his loved Julia—they glazed fast—but he -saw, and smiled in dying, and died happy! For, as -the last blow fell, she saw the fight was over—and -by a sudden movement, the less expected from her -complete and passive quietude, she snatched a long -knife from the girdle of Onegisus, and before he well -knew what she had done, much less had time to prevent -it, had stabbed herself three times—each time -mortally—into her virgin bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Husband,” she cried, “I come!—true to my -word—Aurelius—I am thine now—all thine!” -and, as the horror-stricken Hun released his hold -upon her arm, she darted forward, and threw herself -upon the bosom of her brave lord. Convulsively, in -the death spasm, his arms closed about her,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>              And in that act</p> -<p class='line0'>And agony her happy spirit fled.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='nia'></a>NIAGARA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>[WRITTEN ON THE BANK OF THE NIAGARA RIVER—BETWEEN THE RAPIDS AND THE CATARACT.]</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GRENVILLE MELLEN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='dramastart'><!----></div> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Their roar is round me. I am on the brink</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of the great waters—and their anthem voice</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Goes up amid the rainbow and the mist.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Their chorus shakes the ground. I feel the rock</p> -<p class='dramaline'>On which my feet hang idly—as they hung</p> -<p class='dramaline'>O’er babbling brooks in boyhood—quivering</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Under the burst of music. Awful voice!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And strong, triumphant waters! Do I stand</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Indeed amid your shoutings? Is it mine</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To shout upon this grey cliff, where the bird,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The cloudy monarch-bird, shrieks from his crag,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>O’er which he’s wheel’d for cent’ries. I lift up</p> -<p class='dramaline'>My cry in echo. But no sound is there—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And my shout seems but whisper. I’m afraid</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To gaze or listen! Yet my eye and ear</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Are servants to a necromance that God</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Alone can hold o’er Nature! Ministers,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>At this immortal shrine of the Great King!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Ye never tiring waters! Let me pass</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Into your presence—and within the veil</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That has no holy like it—a great veil,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Within which the omnipotent outspeaks</p> -<p class='dramaline'>In thunder and in majesty—within</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The shadow of a leaping sea—where He</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Opens His lips in wonder—and His brow</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Bends ’neath a crown of glory from the skies!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>My prayer has speeded to the fount of power—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The veil has lifted—and I’ve entered in!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I feel like one whose visage has been bar’d</p> -<p class='dramaline'>In presence of the Father of all earth—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Like one transported to another sphere,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of the far company that walks the sky,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Who, in the stern confronting of a God</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Has scann’d his own dimensions, and fall’n back</p> -<p class='dramaline'>From an archangel’s reaching, to a man—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I feel like one on whom eternity</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Has graven its large language, in the lines</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Which mem’ry may not pass—nor can send back!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I am as one admitted to the door</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That bars me from the future—the black port</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where clust’ring worlds come round, of spirits dim</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Beckon’d to mysteries of another land.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Tell not of other portals—tell me not</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of other power or awfulness. If you’ve stood</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Within that curtain of Charybdis—if</p> -<p class='dramaline'>You’ve seen and heard the far-voiced flood above,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Clapping its thousand hands, and heralding</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Seas to a new abyss—you have seen all</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The earth has of magnificent, like this—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>You’ve stood within a gate that leads to God;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where the strong beings of his mercy bend</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And do his will with power—while they uphold</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Our steps that grope the footstool.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>                                  O! go in</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Say not that to your gaze has been unbar’d</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The mightiness of majesty, until</p> -<p class='dramaline'>You’ve stood within the shadow of that sea</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And heard it call unto you—until eye</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And ear have stood the terrible rebuke</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That rolls from those great caverns—till your blood</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Flies to its citadel, and you grow white</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Within the whirlpool presence of a flood</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That leapt thus when on soaring Ararat</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Rested the broad bark of a world! say not</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The front of glory has been yet reveal’d</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Until you’ve <span class='it'>felt</span> the tempest in that cloud</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And heard, ’mid rock and roar, that harmony</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That finds no echo like it in the sea!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>                                  O! go in</p> -<p class='dramaline'>All ye who view not earth as monuments</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And men as things but built to—to decay;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Pass ye within—ye will take lesson there.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How passing is the littleness of Earth—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How broad the empyrean reach of Heaven—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How fading is the brilliance of a world—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How beautiful the majesty of God!</p> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='vag'></a>THE VAGRANT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>A man</span> was lying at the further end of a dismal -cell, in the prison of Versailles, when one of the -jailors, thrusting a huge key into the lock of a small -but massive door, roused him with the unwelcome -salutation, “come, get up—the time is come, and -the gentlemen are waiting for you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What, already!” replied the unhappy wretch to -whom these words were addressed, and stretching -his muscular limbs, he added, “what a pity, I was -so sound asleep!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He rose, shook the bits of straw from his hair and -beard, and putting on the remains of an old hat, -which had once been white, calmly said, “well, I -am ready—the sooner it is over the better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The executioner, who was waiting with one of his -assistants in the outer vestibule of the prison, threw -an oblique glance upon the prisoner, then, looking at -his watch, exclaimed, “come, make haste! we are -already after our time—the market is nearly over.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but you have not far to go,” replied the turnkey; -then addressing the prisoner—“old one,” said -he, “it will soon be over, and the weather is fine. -Here, take this, it will keep up your spirits.” And -he handed him a glass of brandy, which the prisoner -drank off with evident delight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thanks, good master,” he replied, returning the -glass to the good natured turnkey, “I shall never -forget your kindness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, well,” said the latter, “that is settled. -Never mind what I do for you, man—it is little -enough, God knows—only behave well—dost hear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The executioner’s man drew from his pocket a -long and strong cord, with a slip knot at the end, and -tightly tied the hands of the convict, who calmly -looked at him, and said not a word. The executioner -himself carried a board, on which was a sort of -notice, partly printed and partly written; and all -three proceeded slowly towards the market place, -where the prisoner was to be placed in the pillory -for one hour, and exposed to the gibes and taunts of -an almost ferocious populace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the scaffold to which he was fastened, the -old mendicant cast a look of pity upon the crowd, -and said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, and what are you looking at? am I an -object of such intense curiosity? But you are right; -look at me well, for you shall never more behold me. -I shall not return from the place to which they are -going to take me—not that I fear a dungeon, for I -have been too long accustomed to have no other bed -than the cold ground. No, I shall return hither no -more; and I should have done well had I not returned -this time. But I could not help it. I was born -here, though I never told any body so; and I love -the spot where I first drew breath. ’Tis natural -enough; yet why should I love it? I never knew -either home or parents—the latter left me, when an -infant, upon the steps of the church of St. Louis.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here the sun-burnt countenance of the old mendicant -assumed an expression of bitterness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who knows,” he continued, “but I may have -among you some uncles or cousins—perhaps even -nearer relatives.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The crowd gathered round the scaffold, listening -to the words of the mendicant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And my excellent father,” said the latter, “what -a pity he is not here to own me! Perhaps he would -be delighted at the <span class='it'>elevation</span> to which I have attained. -For my own part, I never had a son; but if I -had, I could not have deserted him. He should -never have been able to reproach me with being the -author of his misery. The other day I was hungry—I -asked for a morsel of bread—everybody refused -to give it me; and that is the reason why I am here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the old man uttered the last sentence, his head -fell upon his chest, and he wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the executioner returned, accompanied -by his assistant, who carried upon his shoulders a -furnace, in which was an iron instrument, with a long -wooden handle. Both ascended the scaffold, and -placed themselves behind the mendicant. The crowd -drew nearer. The executioner’s man laid the mendicant’s -shoulder bare, whilst the executioner himself -stooped and took up the instrument. The poor convict -shuddered, uttered a plaintive cry, a light smoke -arose, and the ignominious letter was imprinted -for ever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poor man, scarcely able to stand, was helped -from the scaffold, and conveyed back to his prison -through the crowd, who pressed upon his passage to -glut upon his sufferings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Old Philippe—such was the mendicant’s name, -was well known in the department of Seine and Oise; -but nobody could tell who he was, whence he came, -or who his parents were. About fifteen years previous, -just after the restoration, he had appeared in -the country for the first time. He then asked questions, -and seemed in pursuit of information on secret -matters, of which nobody could penetrate the motive. -After some time, he appeared to suffer much, as if -from disappointment, and then disappeared. About -two years before the period of our narrative, he again -made his appearance at Versailles, very much altered, -and looking much older. Fortune had not smiled -upon him during his absence, for he went away a -poor man, and returned a mendicant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No one knew where he had been, or how he had -lived during this interval. It was supposed, that, -previous to his first appearance at Versailles, he had -travelled a great deal, and even borne arms; for of -late years, whenever he obtained the favor of a -night’s lodging in a barn, he would repay this hospitality -by descriptions of foreign countries, and accounts -of bloody conflicts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the day after his exposure in the pillory, as -above related, the following particulars concerning -him were made known:—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening, faint with hunger and fatigue, after -having begged through the environs of Versailles, -without once obtaining alms, and his wallet having -been empty for the two preceding days, he had -stopped at the door of one of those elegant habitations -which overlook the heights of Rocquencourt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He begged a shelter for the night, and a morsel -of bread, but both were refused him, and he was -rudely driven from the door. Leaning upon his -stick, he slowly quitted the inhospitable mansion, -and with difficulty gained a part of the demesne laid -out in the English style of landscape gardening. -Taking shelter under a thick clump of trees, he laid -himself upon the grass, to die with the least possible -pain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The autumn had already begun. The grass was -wet—the wind whistled through the trees, already -in part stripped of their leaves—all around was -pitchy dark, and every thing seemed to announce an -inclement night. Cramped with cold, he felt the -most unconquerable gnawings of hunger. Could he -but sleep, he thought, perhaps the next day might -prove less unfavorable than the two preceding ones. -But sleep refused the call, and the poor mendicant -suffered the most cruel pangs. Unable to bear them -any longer, he rose, took his stick, and returned to -the mansion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had observed an angle of the wall which could -be easily escaladed, and a window badly closed. It -was late, the night was dark, and he might perhaps -find a bit of bread. At least, he determined to try.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The house was inhabited by an old man of more -than eighty—a rich miser, who lived alone, like -many of those who go to spend their last days at -Versailles. He had perceived the mendicant, and -had seen him take refuge under the clump of trees. -He ordered his servants to watch him, and scarcely -had poor Philippe opened the window, when he was -seized, handcuffed, and taken to Versailles, where he -was thrown into prison. There, at least, he found -shelter, and a bit of bread to eat, which the turnkey -gave him from humanity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the expiration of six months, the mendicant -was convicted at the assizes of the department of -Seine et Oise. His sentence was the gallies for -fifteen years, and to be previously exposed and -branded. He had entered a house at night for the -purpose of theft, and with deadly weapons—the -possession of the knife, which he usually carried in -his pocket, and was found there, being thus interpreted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A month had already elapsed since he had been -publicly branded, and poor Philippe seemed patiently -waiting for the time when he was to be sent to -his destination at Toulon. He always said that he -would not go, and the turnkey did not contradict -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening a small iron lamp upon a shelf, suspended -from the wall by a cord on each side, threw -a weak and vacillating light upon the gloom of a -cell in the prison of Versailles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Upon a straw matress, half covered with an old -patched blanket, lay a man apparently overcome -with weakness and despair. His face was turned -towards the wall. An earthen jug without a spout -was near him, and close to it a wooden bowl filled -with soup.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor Philippe will never get over it,” said the -turnkey in the corridor, speaking to some one to -whom he was showing the way. “But it is his own -fault; he would not remain in the infirmary. The -fact is, Monsieur le Curé, ever since he exhibited -upon the <span class='it'>little stage</span>, about a month ago—curse this -lock, it would sprain the wrist of the devil himself—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Peace my friend,” replied a mild voice, “do not -swear—it is an offence against God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door of the prison was at length opened, and -the turnkey ushered in a venerable priest, the chaplain -of the prison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hollo, old one!” cried the jailor, “take heart, -man, here is a visitor. Here is Monsieur le Curé -come to see you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mendicant made no reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My friend,” said the minister of the Gospel, “I -am one of your brethren in Christ, and I bring you -words of peace and consolation. Hear me, in the -name of our Lord Jesus, who died on the cross to -atone for our sins—He suffered more than you; and -it depends upon yourself to be one day happy, and to -dwell with him in eternal life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still the prisoner spoke not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He sleeps,” said the kind-hearted turnkey. “If -your reverence will but wait a moment I will awake -him.” And he shook the mendicant, but in vain—the -latter stirred not. “Oh! oh!” said the jailor, -leaning over him; “but it is all over with him; he -has slipped his wind—the poor fellow’s as dead as -a door post.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And, in fact, the unfortunate Philippe had ceased -to live a few moments after he had been removed, -that very morning, at his own request, from the infirmary -to his old cell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is the poor man really dead?” inquired the -priest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dead as a pickled herring, your reverence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And without confession!—unhappy man!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the good priest knelt upon the cold flag stones -and prayed with fervour for the soul of the deceased -mendicant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Next day the wealthy owner of the mansion was -reclining in an easy chair, his tortured limbs writhing -with agony on the cushions of down by which -they were supported. His physician in attendance -was seated near him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I find myself worse to-day, doctor: I am weaker -than I have yet been, and I feel something which I -cannot well define.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At your age, my dear sir, and in your state of -health,” the physician replied, “you must seek -amusement for your mind. I have always told you -that solitude is baneful to you. You should send for -some members of your own family, or get some devoted -friend to come and live with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Family! devoted friend! Why, you well know, -doctor, that collaterals are mere heirs; you are in -their way whilst you live: they only wait to prey -upon your soil after your death.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But had you never any children?” the doctor -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never,” replied his patient, after some hesitation. -“And I have no relations.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here the unhappy old man sighed, his brow became -clouded, and he seemed to writhe in mental -agony. Suddenly, by an apparent effort, changing -the conversation, and assuming a tone of unconcern—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, doctor,” he said, “and so this scoundrel -of a mendicant, who, you may be assured, wanted -to murder, and afterwards rob me, died yesterday -in the prison hospital.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, not in the hospital,” replied the physician. -“I did all I could to induce him to remain in the -infirmary; but he refused, and even solicited, as a -favour, to be taken back to the cell he occupied before -his trial.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You see then, doctor, what a villain he was. I -suppose he felt remorse for the crime he intended to -commit in this house. Did he make any avowal? -Is any thing known of his family?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing, except that he was an illegitimate -child, and was found, shortly after his birth, under -the peristyle of St. Louis’ church.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“St. Louis’ church?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes: and he was taken to the Foundling Hospital -in the Rue du Plessis.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Rue du Plessis?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes: he told me the whole story the day before -yesterday, at my evening visit to the prison infirmary. -He had carefully preserved an old card, upon -which were traced some strange characters, and an -engraved stone belonging to a seal. He requested -me to take charge of them. I believe they are still -in my pocket-book. Yes, here they are. This stone -must have belonged to a valuable trinket—he probably -sold the setting. Here is the card.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old invalid, whose increasing agitation had -not been observed by the doctor, threw a rapid glance -over these objects,—then, with a shriek of horror, -sunk back upon his chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Great God,” he exclaimed, “the mendicant was -my son!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few minutes after, this unnatural parent had -ceased to breathe.</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bap'></a>THE BAPTISM OF POCAHONTAS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>ON THE PICTURE IN THE ROTUNDA AT WASHINGTON.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Sweet</span>, gentle girl! in holy meekness bending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Though of a wilder race and darker hue;</p> -<p class='line0'>Etherial light is on thy soul descending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Loveliest of wild flowers! like thy native dew.</p> -<p class='line0'>Seen in the struggling of that heaving breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The quivering lip—the downward, fawn-like eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>The strange, deep penitence that will not rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That gushes tears, and vents the swelling sigh.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>From thy dark shades of superstitious lore,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou com’st arrayed in purest vestal white,</p> -<p class='line0'>That he, the man of God, might on thee pour</p> -<p class='line0'>  Jordan’s still wave, to give thy blindness sight;</p> -<p class='line0'>And to that heart, where hath been deeply stealing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The fading bloom of earth’s bright flowery way,</p> -<p class='line0'>A brighter—far enduring bliss revealing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the pure path of Truth’s eternal ray.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Bound in the rapture that thy beauty lendeth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy pale-face lover at thy lonely side,</p> -<p class='line0'>Holdeth with silent joy the book that blendeth</p> -<p class='line0'>  Life and life’s hope—its comfort and its guide.</p> -<p class='line0'>Breathing in his warm look the bliss that springing—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The pure, bright thoughts that thrill his yearning breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>The golden visions that around are flinging,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their airy spells of future love and rest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But there is one upon the ground reposing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With curious gaze, yet wild, irreverent air,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose fallen deer-skin her full charms disclosing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With beaded arms, and crimson braided hair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Declares her kindred to thy own wild race,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The swift-foot wanderer of thy early day;</p> -<p class='line0'>When by Powhatan’s stream thy footstep’s trace</p> -<p class='line0'>  Told, where like fawns ye frolick’d in your play.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And one, in beauty of majestic form,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who stands erect, with scorn like lightning’s gleam</p> -<p class='line0'>Darting from eyes as black as ebon-storm,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When midnight revels with its vivid beam—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who will not brook a sister’s sacred vow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The solemn faith, the strange baptismal rite—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who will not bend in holy praise, or bow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When in deep prayer the list’ning throng unite.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! in this hour, while angels’ harps are swelling,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rich rejoicing of the upper skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>While the sweet anthem of the earth is telling</p> -<p class='line0'>  That one crush’d wild flower ’neath the altar lies.</p> -<p class='line0'>Would that a ray, from that pure shrine descending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Might pierce the darkness of thy forest kind—</p> -<p class='line0'>Lighting a pathway that to thee is lending</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy surest hope the spirit-home to find.</p> -<p class='line0'>                                   <span style='font-size:smaller'>A. F. H.</span></p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='reef'></a>THE REEFER OF ’76.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE “AUTHOR OF CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>BON HOMME RICHARD.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> time sped merrily away in <span class='it'>la belle France</span>, -and months passed, leaving us still in port. In fact, -when our craft came to be surveyed, it was found -that her hull was so rotten, as to make it dangerous -for us to put to sea in her, until she had been thoroughly -overhauled. This occasioned some delay. -Having but little to do, and finding society thrown -freely open to them, the officers spent most of their -time in the interchange of courtesies with their affable -entertainers. There was beside a good number -of French naval officers in the place, and many a -wild meeting took place betwixt our mess and them. -At length, however, I tired of this, and hearing that -Paul Jones was in Paris, I set off for the capital.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That singular individual was, at this time, engaged -in fitting out the <span class='sc'>Bon Homme Richard</span> and her accompanying -squadron, preparatory to a cruise off -the English coasts. He was all enthusiasm as to -the success of the expedition, but found great difficulty -in procuring a fitting crew. He received me -warmly, recognizing me at once, and flatteringly -calling to mind several of the affairs in which I had -been engaged, and my conduct in which he thought -proper to commend. I was gratified by his notice, -and spoke in reply something, I know not what, -respecting his own career. His eye kindled as he -answered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye! but that is not all—we will make our -name a terror to the whole English coast. Had it -not been for some knavish foes of ours here, who -throw every impediment they can in our way, we -should have done deeds before this at which the -cheeks of his majesty of England would have blanched. -But our time has come. We have the ‘Good-man -Richard,’ a sturdy old Indiaman, for our own -craft, beside the Pallas, a smart ship, the Vengeance -brig, and the Cerf, a cutter of metal. They tell me -the Alliance is to go with me, under the command -of that fellow Landais. So at least Franklin has -said—God help his knowledge of naval warfare! -However,” he continued, with a shrug of his shoulders, -“there is no help for it, and the frigate would -be quite a God-send if it were not for the commander.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I understand you have some difficulty in getting -a crew—is it so?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! And, by the bye, why can’t you join -me? Come, you are the very man I want.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Flattered as I was by this offer, I could not persuade -myself to leave the <span class='sc'>Fire-Fly</span>; beside, as the -officers in the squadron were to take precedence -according to the dates of their commission in the -American service, and as I had always served under -the commonwealth of New York, I foresaw that my -acceptance of this offer would either place me under -those who were really my juniors in service, or else -occasion jealousies among the parties I should supplant. -Moreover, I knew not what might be the -eventual determination respecting my craft, and I -felt unwilling, in case she should again go to sea, to -desert her. I stated my objections frankly to the -commodore. He hesitated a moment, and then replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I believe you are right. Yet I am sorry I cannot -have you. We sail in a week from L’Orient. -Come, at least, and see us off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I accepted his invitation, and it was with a heavy -heart I saw them put to sea. By the end of the -month, however, I heard at Paris that the squadron -had returned to the roads at Groix, and that difficulties -had already occurred between the commodore -and Landais. I hurried down at once to L’Orient, -and found both the Richard and Alliance undergoing -repairs. The commodore gladly received me, and -renewed again his offer, telling me that he had heard -that my craft was to be dismantled; and, sure -enough, that afternoon I received a letter from my -captain, informing me that the schooner had been -found unworthy of repair, and been condemned. -There was now nothing to detain me, except the -difficulty respecting my rank in the squadron. This -I soon removed by going as a volunteer. I accordingly -wrote to my captain, obtained leave of absence, -and on the 14th of August, 1779, went with -my traps on board the Bon Homme Richard. The -same day we put to sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The events of that extraordinary cruise are matter -of history, and I need not dwell on them at length -in this hurried autobiography. We soon parted company -with our consorts, and were forced to seek -them at the rendezvous; but, during the whole voyage, -our plans were continually frustrated by occurrences -of this character, sometimes accidental, and sometimes, -I believe, designed, especially on the part of -Captain Landais. After taking three or four prizes, -we bore up for the north of Scotland, when having -been at sea about a month, we made the Cheviot -Hills, vast blue landmarks, lying, like a thunder-cloud, -along the western horizon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Learning that two or three armed cutters, together -with a twenty gun ship, were lying off Leith, the -commodore planned a descent on that place; but in -consequence of the absence of the Alliance, was -forced to delay his project for several days. At -length we beat into the Frith of Forth; and when -just out of gun-shot of the town, the boats were ordered -out and manned. But at this critical moment -a squall struck our squadron, and we soon had -enough on our hands, for the puff settling down into -a regular North Sea gale, we had to fill away, and -bear up under a press of canvass for an offing. The -storm lasted so long that we were forced to give -over our attempt, as the country had now become -alarmed, and beacon lights, to rouse the yeomanry, -were burning on every headland. We bore away, -therefore, for the south.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had kept on this course for several days, until -one calm evening, off Flamborough head, when, the -sea being nearly as smooth as a lake, and a light -southwardly wind dallying playfully with our sails, -we discerned the headmost vessels of a fleet of -merchant ships, stretching out on a bowline from -behind the promontory. Every man of us was instantly -on the <span class='it'>qui vive</span>. The commodore’s eye kindled, -and he shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Signal the squadron for a general chase.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye! aye!” answered the signal officer, and the -next moment the order was passed through our fleet. -It had scarcely been done, however, before the merchant -ships hurriedly tacked, fired alarm-guns, let -fly their top-gallant sheets, and, huddling together -like a flock of frightened partridges, went off to leeward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s a frigate in yonder, convoying, with a -smaller man-of-war,” hailed the look-out, as the -hostile ships shewed their head-sails around the promontory. -“They haul up, sir, and are coming out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let them come,” said the commodore enthusiastically, -“and we’ll have them for our own before -midnight. Shew the signal to form a line—cross -royal-yards—keep boldly on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There goes the Alliance,” said the first lieutenant, -at my side, “see how gallantly she passes the -Pallas—but in God’s name what does she mean? -Surely she is not flying.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curses on the craven Landais,” muttered Paul -Jones betwixt his teeth, as he saw his consort haul -suddenly off from the enemy, and then turning to -the helmsman, he thundered, “keep her on her -course—steady, steady.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the crew had been ordered to quarters, -and the tap of the drum brought every man to his -station at once. Unmoved by the cowardice of our -consort, the men appeared to long for the unequal -conflict as eagerly as their daring commander. -Silently they stood at the guns, awaiting the order -to open their fire, and endeavouring to pierce through -the fast gathering gloom, in order to detect the manœuvres -of the foe. Paul Jones stood on the quarter -deck watching the enemy with a night-glass. As we -drew nearer, we detected, in our antagonists, a frigate -of fifty guns, attended by a twenty gun ship a -little to leeward. The sight would have appalled -any hearts but those on board our daring craft,—for -our armament, all told, did not exceed forty-two -guns, only six of which were eighteens; while, from -the lower gun deck of the frigate alone, might be -seen frowning through her lighted ports, a battery -of ten eighteens to a side. Yet not an eye quailed, -not a cheek blanched, as we drew up towards the -foe; but each man stood calmly at his post, confident -in his leader and in the righteousness of his cause. -My own station was near the commodore. We were -now near enough to hail.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What ship is that?” came slowly sailing on the -night wind, from a dark form on the quarter of the -frigate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall soon know,” answered Paul Jones, and -on the instant the word was given simultaneously -by both commanders to fire, and the two ships poured -in their batteries with scarcely the delay of an instant -betwixt the broadsides. I had no time to observe -the effect of our discharge, for scarcely had -the commodore spoken, when I heard a tremendous -explosion in the direction of our gun-room; the deck -above it was blown bodily up, and as the smoke -swept away from the spot, I beheld two of the eighteens -shattered and dismounted, and surrounded by -a crowd of wretches, maimed and dying from the -accident. I rushed to the place, and a more awful -sight never before or since have I beheld. There -lay our poor fellows, dismembered and bleeding, -groaning in agony such as no pen can picture, and -crying aloud, with their dying breath, for “water—water—water.” -Here one, horribly mangled, hung -over a gun that had burst—there another was -stretched on the deck, with no marks on him except -a black spot by the eye, from which the blood was -trickling slowly. I shuddered and turned away. It -would have been madness to have attempted to work -the other eighteens, so the men were called away, -and we began anew the action, with our chances -one-third lessened by this horrible calamity. But -the death of their messmates fired the rest of the -crew with a thirst for revenge, which soon told in -the murderous fire we poured in upon the enemy. -For nearly an hour we kept up the conflict, working -our lighter guns with the utmost vigor, and attempting -to manœuvre so as to rake the enemy, but at -every new endeavor we were foiled by the superior -working qualities of our opponent. Meantime the -moon had risen, and we could see that the Pallas had -got alongside of the enemy’s consort, and was gallantly -engaged yard-arm to yard-arm with her—the -Alliance hovering out of range in the distance, and -occasionally discharging a random broadside which -did no execution. How our brave fellows cursed the -cowardice of her captain!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! there she is,” said one, “afraid to come -within range even of a twenty gun ship, lest the lace -of her coxcomb captain’s uniform might be ruffled. -But never mind—we’ll win the battle without her—bowse -away, my hearties, and give it to the -Englisher with a will.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the enemy’s frigate doggedly kept her -luff, and her masts were now seen, for the hull was -completely shrouded in a thick canopy of smoke, -shooting ahead, as if it was her intention to pay -broad off across our forefoot. Paul Jones saw the -manœuvre, and determined to avail himself of it to -run afoul of his antagonist; for, with our vast inferiority -of metal, there was not the remotest chance -of success in a regular combat. The attempt, however, -was in itself almost as desperate; but it afforded -a hope, though a slight one, of victory. Whatever -might be the fate of this daring proceeding, -however, we were all actuated by but one impulse, -and that was, a determination to conquer or die. -When, therefore, the frigate forged ahead, we kept -our sails trimmed and bore steadily on. The result -was as we had expected. Finding that she could not -effect her purpose, the frigate put her helm hard -down, making a desperate attempt to clear us. It -was in vain. With a crash that shook both vessels -to their centre, we ran aboard of the foe, bows on, a -little on her weather quarter. With chagrin, we -saw that it was impossible to board our antagonist—an -intention so well understood among our men, that -they had ceased firing on the moment. At this instant -the smoke swept partially away, and the -English captain was seen near the mizen rigging, -shouting to know whether we had struck. The inquiry -brought the red blood in volumes into the face -of Paul Jones, as he thundered hoarsely,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have not yet begun to fight;” and then turning -to his men, he said, “out with your guns and have -at them. Will you, by your silence, be thought to -have surrendered?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never,” answered back the captain of a gun -before him; “Huzza for the brave thirteen—down -with the tyrants—give it to ’em one and all—huzza.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An answering shout rose up from the crew, the -guns that could be brought to bear were jerked out, -and simultaneously the whole of our forward larboard -side was a sheet of flame, while the old craft -trembled from kelson to cross-trees, and heeled -back with the recoil, till the yard-arms almost -touched the water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brace back the yards,” shouted the commodore, -as soon as his voice could be heard above the din, -and obedient to the press of the wind, our vessel fell -slowly astern.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are laying aback their forward, and shivering -their after sails, on board the frigate,” said -Dale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Box-hauling her, by St. Andrew,” said the commodore; -“the knaves are for luffing up athwart our -bows, in order to rake us. But it takes two to play -at that game—we’ll drop astern a little more, fill -on the opposite tack, and luff up against her as she -comes to the wind. Let us once lay her athwart -hawse, and the battle’s won.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rapidly and steadily our daring leader gave his -orders to execute this manœuvre, but the smoke had -settled down so thick around us, shrouding the moon -almost entirely from sight, that we could only now -and then catch a glimpse of the approaching enemy, -and miscalculating our distance, instead of meeting -her as we had expected, we were run into by the -frigate, her bowsprit crashing over our high towerlike -poop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Parker,” said Paul Jones, quickly, “get some -lashings and help me to fasten her head-gear to the -mizzen mast. That’s it—we have her now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, and the frigate feels the strain already,” -said I, as we finished our hasty work; “see how she -swings around by our side—something has given -way on board of her, by that crash.”<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re right, but lash fast yonder anchor that’s -hooked in our quarter—we’ll not let them escape -now—but yonder come their fellows as if to board -us. Boarders ahoy! beat back the villains,” and -springing from my side, our ever ready leader, himself -led the party to repulse the foe. I followed. -Dark masses of seamen, clustered on the sides of the -frigate, were endeavoring to effect an entrance on -our deck; thrusting with their long pikes, cutting -and slashing with their cutlasses, and cheering each -other on to the attack, with shouts and imprecations. -For an instant, our crew, fearfully outnumbered, -seemed to waver; but at this moment Paul Jones -leaped into the midst of the fray, and, with one stroke -of his weapon bringing a foe to the deck, shouted, -“Down with the miscreants—strike home one -and all—bravely my lads,” and accompanying each -word with a blow, he cleared a space before him in -less time than I have taken to narrate the event. -For an instant the enemy faltered, but a huge boatswain -the next moment rallied them, and aiming a -pistol at Paul Jones, the fellow shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurl the pirates to perdition—come on, hearts -of oak—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was luckily by, and as the villain spoke, I -struck up his arm, and his ball glanced harmlessly -over the Commodore’s head. The boatswain did not -live to take vengeance on me for my interposition—he -did not even survive to finish his sentence; for -scarcely had the words left his mouth, before Paul -Jones drove his boarding pike deep into the Englishman’s -heart. There was a dull gurgling sound, as -he fell back without a groan, dropped heavily to the -water, and sank like lead. His companions were -aghast, and struck with a sudden panic, retreated. -The next moment not one was left attempting to -board.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the last few minutes, my attention had -been so occupied by the sharp conflict, in which I -was personally engaged with the boarders, that I had -lost sight altogether of the general battle; and I now -cast a hurried glance around to see what other advantages, -if any, we had gained over the enemy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sight that met my eye, almost blanched my -cheek with apprehension. Crowds of our men from -the main deck were hurrying up the gangways, and -the thought instantly flashed across my mind that -they had mutinied. The guns, too, below, were all -silenced, and only three or four twelves, with a -couple of pieces on the quarter deck, were being -worked; while the fire of the enemy was still kept -up with unremitting fury. At this juncture, a midshipman -from the main deck passed me hurriedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I caught him by the arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In God’s name,” I said, “what is the matter?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are ripping us to pieces below, with their -cursed eighteens,” was the hurried response. “We -kept it up as long as we could, often thrusting our -rammers into their ports, as we loaded, so close were -we to them. But it’s no use. They’re beating in -our timbers as if our good stout oak was no better -than pasteboard. I am taking my men forward and -aloft, it is sheer murder to keep them below; they -must fight now with muskets and hand grenades,” -and hurrying breathlessly away, he was the next -instant engaged in directing his men with an energy -only second to that of the Commodore, and which -seemed to have diffused itself amongst all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The combat, which had paused a moment, now -raged again with redoubled fury. Crowding into the -tops, and thronging on the forecastle, our brave -fellows kept up such a galling contest, with musketry -and grenades, that, in less than five minutes, every -man of the enemy was driven below, and his quarter -deck was left tenanted only by the dead. But fearfully -did the foe return our fire from his heavy guns -on the main deck. Broadside after broadside was -poured into us without intermission—the old craft -quivering like wounded flesh, at every discharge, -until it seemed as if each successive fire would end -the contest, by sending us to the bottom. Yet our -men never flinched. No cry for quarter, no murmur -even, was heard. Manfully they stuck to their new -posts, keeping up their deadly warfare through the -ports of the foe, and though now and then an eye was -turned around the horizon, to see whether the Alliance -was not coming to our aid, not a man displayed -any signs of fear. One of our fellows, even bolder -than the rest, provided with a bucket of grenades and -a match, lay out on the yard, and coolly dropped his -combustibles on the deck of the frigate. One he -threw with such precision, that it went down the -main hatchway. In an instant a slight explosion -took place, and we could hear, notwithstanding the -uproar of the guns, a whizzing sound running aft -on board the enemy—while almost simultaneously, -the most thrilling shrieks of anguish rose up on the -air, succeeded by a stunning explosion, which drowned -every other sound in its fierce uproar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Their loose cartridges must have been fired,” -I exclaimed, “God help the poor wretches.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The day’s our own—huzza!” sung out a warrant -officer beside me, “but, in the name of heaven,” he -said suddenly, “what means the Alliance?—she is -firing into us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I looked to windward, and no words can express -my astonishment, when I saw, in the hazy distance, -the ship which ought to have been engaged at our -side with the foe, now heading to the westward, and -firing hotly in our direction, at the very moment that -she was crossing our larboard quarter, and when her -shot could not reach the foe without passing directly -through us. The discharge, indeed, dismounted two -of our guns, beside damaging us aloft. She was by -this time nearing us fast, and directly abeam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re firing into a friend,” shouted fifty voices -in a breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What does he mean?” said Dale, “surely he -can see that we haven’t yellow sides like the foe—shew -him the signal of recognition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The three lanterns, in a line, were instantly let -down on the off side, when the Alliance ceased -firing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lay the enemy aboard,” shouted the officer of -the deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No answer was returned, and our consort kept -coolly on her course.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you hear the order?” thundered the now -exasperated commodore; “lay the enemy aboard, I -say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perdition take the cowardly traitor,” muttered -Paul Jones betwixt his teeth, as he turned from the -recreant ship.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I watched, however, the course of the frigate until -she had hauled off some distance, and was almost -lost in the shadowy gloom to larboard, when suddenly -a cry of “fire” startled me, and turning hastily -around I saw that the lower deck was a mass of flame. -The confusion, for a moment, baffled description. -Men were hastening to and fro for buckets; some -shouted one thing and some another; a general consternation -seemed to be spreading among the crew, -and all discipline, for an interval of several minutes, -was lost. To add to the disorder, the ship was perceptibly -settling, and a rumour spread through the -decks that we would sink in less than ten minutes. -While everything was still plunged in chaos, the -Alliance again appeared, edging down on our larboard -beam, and hauling up athwart our bows, she -poured in a fire of grape, which took effect on our -crowded forecastle, instead of on the enemy—if indeed -it was ever intended for the foe—and killed -several of our own men. Never shall I forget the -fate of one of our best officers—poor Creswell! who -fell a victim to this discharge. I held his head in -his last moments, and with his eye already glazing -in death, and his tongue faltering in its accents, he -prayed God to forgive his countrymen for his wanton -murder. My blood boiled with indignation against -the scoundrel who commanded the gallant Alliance, -and, at that moment, I would have given ten years -of my life to have crossed swords with Landais.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But I had no time for thoughts of revenge. Louder -and louder swelled the cry ‘that we were sinking,’ -and, as I laid the dead man’s head on the deck, I -saw the carpenter hurry to the commodore with consternation -depicted on every feature of his face. -Instantly the cry arose, that he had sounded the -pump-wells, and that all was over. The wildest -confusion followed. More than a hundred of our -prisoners were let loose by the master-at-arms, who -imagined that all was over, and in a few minutes the -deck was crowded with them. Had they then known -their power, we should have been overpowered with -ease, and, as I looked on their fierce faces, I trembled -for the first time. To add to all, the gunner rushed, -at this crisis, on deck, and not perceiving the commodore -or the lieutenant, would have hauled down -our flag, and failing in this—for the staff had been -shot away—he cried out for quarter. Another -second would have decided our fate, but springing -aft, I shouted that we had not surrendered, and, at the -same instant, the commodore re-appeared, and confirming -my assertion, rallied his men hastily around -him, and led them to repel a party of boarders, which -taking advantage of our disorder, was, at this moment, -clustering on our gunwale. The conflict here -was short, but decisive. Fired anew by the words -and example of their commodore, our brave fellows -redeemed their momentary vacillation, and, aided by -the men in the tops, hurled back the foemen, as if -an avalanche had struck them, on the decks of their -frigate. Meantime, the first lieutenant, availing -himself of the fears of the prisoners, had mustered -them at the pumps, and, arming another party with -buckets, had succeeded in extinguishing the fire. -The re-action, on the part of our crew, was decisive. -The men now fought with a fury that nothing could -suppress, for they knew over what a mine they hung, -and that victory must be soon theirs, or they would -lose all. Several guns were dragged over to the side -against the foe, and the fire of our battery re-commenced -with treble vigor. The top-men hailed down -grenades on the frigate’s decks, and deafening volleys -of musketry incessantly rattled from our forecastle. -The enemy could hold out no longer. A -man darted up the frigate’s hatchway, dashed aft, -and the next moment the cross of Britain was at our -feet. A cheer, that shook the very welkin, and -which, dying away, was renewed and renewed again, -burst from our brave tars, and rolling down to leeward -announced our hard bought victory.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The jib boom of the Serapis gave way, somewhere -about this time. Perhaps this was the moment. <span class='sc'>Ed.</span></p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><h1><a id='isra'></a>ISRAFEL.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY EDGAR A. POE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In Heaven a spirit doth dwell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  “Whose heart-strings are a lute;”</p> -<p class='line0'>None sing so wildly well</p> -<p class='line0'>As the angel Israfel,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the giddy stars (so legends tell)</p> -<p class='line0'>Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of his voice, all mute.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Tottering above</p> -<p class='line0'>  In her highest noon</p> -<p class='line0'>  The enamoured moon</p> -<p class='line0'>Blushes with love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While, to listen, the red levin</p> -<p class='line0'>  Pauses in Heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the rapid Pleiads, even,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which were seven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And they say (the starry choir</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the other listening things)</p> -<p class='line0'>That Israfeli’s fire</p> -<p class='line0'>Is due unto that lyre</p> -<p class='line0'>  By which he sits and sings—</p> -<p class='line0'>That trembling living lyre</p> -<p class='line0'>  With those unusual strings.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But the Heavens that angel trod,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where deep thoughts are a duty—</p> -<p class='line0'>Where Love is a grown God—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where Houri glances are</p> -<p class='line0'>Imbued with all the beauty</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which we worship in the star—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The more lovely, the more far!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou art not, therefore, wrong,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Israfeli, who despisest</p> -<p class='line0'>An unimpassioned song.</p> -<p class='line0'>To thee the laurels belong,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Best bard, because the wisest.</p> -<p class='line0'>Merrily live, and long!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The ecstasies above</p> -<p class='line0'>  With thy burning measures suit—</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the fervor of thy lute.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Well may the stars be mute!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yes, Heaven is thine; but this</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is a world of sweets and sours—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Our flowers are merely—flowers;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the shadow of thy bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is the sunshine of ours.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>If I did dwell</p> -<p class='line0'>Where Israfel</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hath dwelt, and he where I,</p> -<p class='line0'>He might not sing one half so well,</p> -<p class='line0'>  One half so passionately,</p> -<p class='line0'>While a bolder note than this might swell</p> -<p class='line0'>  From my lyre within the sky!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>And the angel Israfel, or Israfeli, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who is the most musical of all God’s creatures.—<span class='sc'>Koran.</span></p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bye'></a>BYE-GONE HOURS.</h1></div> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'>WORDS BY THE</p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:0.5em;'>HON. MRS. NORTON.</p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'>MUSIC BY</p> -<p class='line'>MRS. PRICE BLACKWOOD.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;'><span class='it'>Philadelphia</span>: <span class='sc'>John F. Nunns</span>, <span class='it'>184 Chesnut Street</span>.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>———</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i091.jpg' alt='musical score' id='iid-0003' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Tis sad, ’tis sad to think upon</p> -<p class='line0'>The joyous days of old—</p> -<p class='line0'>When ev’ry year that wearies on,</p> -<p class='line0'>Is number’d by some friendship gone!</p> -<p class='line0'>Some</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i092.jpg' alt='musical score' id='iid-0004' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>kindly heart grown cold!</p> -<p class='line0'>Could those days but come again</p> -<p class='line0'>With their thorns and flowers!</p> -<p class='line0'>I would give the hopes of years!</p> -<p class='line0'>For those by-gone hours!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Tis sad—’tis sad to number o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>  The faces glad and gay,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which we have loved! Some smile no more,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around us as they did of yore!</p> -<p class='line0'>And some have turn’d away!</p> -<p class='line0'>        Could those days, &c.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>’Tis sad—’tis sad to come again,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With changed heart and brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>To our youth’s home, where none remain</p> -<p class='line0'>Of those who made it blessed then—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who leave it lonely now!</p> -<p class='line0'>        Could those days, &c.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! little things bring back to me</p> -<p class='line0'>  The thoughts of by-gone hours.</p> -<p class='line0'>The breath of kine upon the lea,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The murmur of the mountain bee,</p> -<p class='line0'>The scent of hawthorn flow’rs!</p> -<p class='line0'>        Could those days, &c.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='spor'></a>Sports and Pastimes.—THE FOWLING-PIECE.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>A book</span> presents to the shot an elastic body, like down, -through which large shot does not penetrate much farther -than small, because it has to displace and carry -with it a larger mass of paper. Fur and feathers of -game do not present such a resisting body to the shot as -the leaves of a book do; therefore, although large shot -will bear the above test, a much fairer way of trying it -would be to fire at thin pieces of wood fixed upright, (a pile -of cigar boxes would answer the purpose). The latter trial -would, we think, convince any one of the great difference in -momentum between the two charges. At forty yards, not -more than three No. 7 pellets could be calculated on to -strike a partridge, and those from a light gun would necessarily -be weak; whereas, at that distance, with our charge, -two No. 2 pellets might be calculated upon, and with what -effect we leave the experimentalist to decide, when he has -tried it at a target composed of pieces of wood one eighth, -one third, and one half of an inch thick.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is not so much the velocity as the momentum of a shot -that renders it effective. The momentum of a shot increases -in a direct ratio with its weight. The momentum of a No. -2 shot much more than compensates for the diminished -weight of powder and additional weight of lead that we have -recommended.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The structure of a bird or quadruped not protected by -feathers or fur—and we contend that game is very slightly -so protected as against shot—may be compared with that of -a ship. It is a well ascertained fact that a 64 lb. ball, moving -with only half the velocity of a 32 lb. ball, would produce -more than double the effect; the larger, but slowly-flying -ball, would split a much thicker mast or beam, and do more -damage to the frame-work of a ship, than the small one. -Upon the same principle, we think large shot is more effective -for shooting the stronger species of game.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But assuming that game is right well fortified with a -covering of fur, feathers or down, that circumstance would -not induce us to resort to small shot; quite the reverse, because -we know that small shot cannot be fired through down -effectively from a large gun at thirty yards, much less from -a light fowling-piece. No stanchion-gun will shoot No. 7 -effectively at ducks, geese, and the larger wild-fowl—the -birds killed would be chiefly such as were struck in the head; -not one would be stopped by a body blow. Yet large shot -from the stanchion-gun, after passing through down, strikes -an effective body blow. No doubt No. 7 may be shot -through down, but after overcoming the resistance, it would -scarcely injure the bird, certainly not break a bone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus we find that small shot, fired from any gun, is totally -inadequate to kill birds protected with down by a body -blow; but that large shot, flying from a large gun with not -half the velocity of the ineffectual small shot, achieves what -is desired. It is the momentum that effects the object.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A collateral advantage arising from the use of large shot -should not be overlooked. In order to kill in good style -with small shot, the aim must be such that the bird fired at -shall be near the centre of the charge as thrown; for if the -bird be near the outer circle of the charge, it is ten to one -that it is only slightly wounded; but if near the outer circle -of a charge of large shot, it is ten to one that it is brought -down; for it must not be lost sight of, that when large shot is -used, a single pellet will mostly be sufficient to bring a bird -down. There is a stunning effect produced by large shot, -which throws the bird off its balance at once. Small shot -has not the same <span class='it'>immediate</span> effect. Hares, rabbits, grouse, -pheasants, and full-grown partridges, will carry it off, -though they fall within a hundred yards. It is very seldom, -indeed, that a bird towers after being fired at with large shot.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The term friction implies a gradual contraction of the -barrel towards the muzzle, which retards the progress of -the shot, that more time may be allowed to the powder to -burn. Relief accelerates the progress of shot through the -barrels. What is the proper degree of relief or friction for -different descriptions of barrels, is a subject fruitful of controversy; -as is also the form of the breech. The best -breech is that which will cause the greatest quantity of -powder to consume in the barrel, and give the least recoil. -The percussion system of firing has simplified the boring of -guns. We think that short barrels intended to be fired by -percussion, should be bored perfect cylinders, and the -breech should be conical or nearly so, and capable of holding -a little more than half a charge of powder. Long barrels -should be bored true cylinders throughout the greater part -of their length, a little relief being allowed near the muzzle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A barrel, which recoils from being light, or from not -being held firmly when fired, throws shot very weakly. So, -on the other hand, barrels which have sufficient weight to -break the recoil, or which are placed against something -solid when fired, have their shooting power amazingly increased. -The reason is, that when the gun is allowed to -recoil, a portion of that power which should be employed in -expelling the shot is uselessly expended on a yielding surface -in a contrary direction: whereas, when the barrel is -firmly fixed, or is of sufficient weight to break the recoil, -that portion of the explosive force which strikes against the -breech rebounds and is forced back upon the shot, and consequently -becomes a portion of the available strength of the -charge. This explains why the weight of the gun rather -than a difference in length or bore regulates the shooting -power. In what follows, Mr. Greener,<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a> whose book contains -a lucid exposition of the nature of projectile force, shows -this more clearly:—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The fact that the shooting powers of a gun are increased -by its being fixed in an immoveable frame, is proved with -the practice of mortars. Mortars on iron beds, and these -firmly embedded in the earth, will throw a shell farther -when on the ground than when placed on a platform, or on -board a ship. It is for the purpose of destroying the recoil, -that mortars for sea service, though of the same calibre as -those intended for land-service, are made three times the -weight. Dr. Hutton states, that he found no advantage by -retarding the recoil in practice with artillery. He means, -that no advantage is gained by stopping at three feet a gun -accustomed to recoil to the distance of six. The statement -is perfectly true. If he were to allow a gun to recoil only -an inch, and then to strike against a solid substance, he -would gain nothing. For if it recoil ever so little, the shooting -force is as much weakened as if it recoiled twice as far.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To increase that force, a steady fixed resistance is required. -The velocity of the projectile depends on the force -of the immediate impulse. Before a gun, suffered to recoil, -could rebound from striking some solid substance in its -recoil, the charge would be gone, and could, therefore, receive -no additional impetus from that rebound. The truth -of this fact may be illustrated by throwing a hand-ball -against any loose body with sufficient force to displace it. -However hard or elastic that body might be, the ball would -not rebound from it, but would fall perpendicularly down. -Fix and secure that same body, and then the ball will -rebound with little less force than that with which it was -thrown against it. So it is with gunpowder. If it meet with -a firm resistance, it will rebound and project the ball or shot -with additional force.”</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>The Gun</span>, by William Greener. London, 1835.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>WOODCOCK SHOOTING.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>There is a proverb current among sportsmen, that to kill -a woodcock is to perform a day’s work, which doubtlessly -originated in the circumstance of a woodcock being seldom -found until a large extent of wood has been closely beaten. -When, however, woodcocks are most abundant, it would not -be a difficult task, according to that standard of labor, to do -the work of a week in a day, in any noted cover; for every -cover frequented by cocks acquires a notoriety which it seldom -loses, since any wood well frequented with cocks one -year, has generally a fair supply the next. But whether the -same cocks that frequent a wood this year return the next, -with their offspring, or whether an entirely new set of occupants -take possession, we leave the ornithologist to decide. -A certain description of woods are seldom known to fail of -woodcocks during the winter months; these woods or plantations -are such as are swampy, or have a stream of water -running through them, or woods abounding in springs—or -where, from the nature of the ground, or want of draining, -the top water encourages the growth of moss. The woodcock -is rarely found in woods where moss is not abundant. -During a frost, cocks are found near fresh water springs; at -other times they are most commonly flushed in the open -glades of the densest woods, or rather in those parts of the -woods not choked up at the bottom with fern, rushes, or -brambles, but where they can freely run about, and in those -parts where willows, oziers, hazel-trees, or crate-wood is -plentiful. In such places it will readily be ascertained -whether there are cocks or not, by the borings in the moss -or dead leaves, and by the chalkings. A cock will often be -found near its feeding place, after a dark night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A cock will seldom fly far until it has been fired at several -times: it should, therefore, when practicable, be marked -down. By a judicious system of marking, many successive -shots may be obtained at the same bird. It is seldom that -the skilful shooter flushes a cock, which, with the aid of -markers, he does not eventually kill. The difficulty of -woodcock shooting arises, for the most part, from the birds -being flushed in the thickest part of woods, and contriving -to wing their flight through the trees in such a manner as -to baffle the sportsman’s aim. After being fired at in a -wood, cocks will frequently alight amongst hedge-rows on -the outskirts, especially under a hedge running close to and -parallel with a water-course, when they are easily killed, as -they will not rise until the shooter is close upon them; -and their flight is not difficult to master when there are no -trees to obstruct the aim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A shooter, who has not opportunities of grouse-shooting, -deems cock-shooting the perfection of his art; but he considers -himself more than repaid for his toil, if he bag a -couple or two. Combined with pheasant shooting, it is -glorious sport.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As cocks are birds of passage, and their tarriance in our -covers is of uncertain duration, permission to shoot them is -often given to persons whose honour can be depended upon -not to kill pheasants. To any but a real sportsman this is -a tantalizing employment; the pheasants rise before him -every fifty yards, and he may perhaps not meet with more -than a couple of cocks in a day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Spaniels are the best dogs for this sport: they give tongue -when close upon game, and so allow the shooter notice, in -a situation where he could not see a pointer or setter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Formerly any one who was an adept at bringing down a -woodcock, was certain of the enjoyment of a considerable -local reputation as a shot, and he deserved it. Place one of -their long, heavy, single-barrelled pieces, furnished with an -ancient lock, flint of course, in the hands of a modern shooter, -let him charge with powder similar to that used in the early -days, and take his chance in a tangled brake, where the -cock can make play among the branches for its life, and he -will readily believe that killing a cock in those days was a -real trial of skill. A short light detonator is thrown upon -the bird, the trigger is drawn, and the shot reaches the mark -in an instant; so speedy is the whole process, that it is -scarcely necessary to make any allowance for the motion of -the object, when attempting snap shots at short distances; -but, with the fowling-piece and ammunition of the period -we are speaking of, it was necessary to take aim half a yard -above or before the object moving, for a bird would fly that -distance at least, after the trigger was drawn, and before the -shot reached it; or if it made a sudden turn, the shot swept -past it. Besides the less chance of killing with one of those -long heavy guns, the shooter would not fire half so often as -with a light one; so much more time being necessary to -bring up the piece and calculate the requisite allowance, -the bird would generally be behind the next tree before the -gun would be at the shoulder. Such was the slowness of -ignition, that wild-fowl would take alarm at the flash from -the pan, and dive out of harm’s way ere the shot reached -the water. In all shooting, whether in the open or in cover, -a deal depends upon where the shooter places himself,—a -knowledge of this part of his art will enable him to obtain -twice as many fair shots as his uninitiated companion. -When shooting in high covers, the sportsman should push -on hastily through those parts where, though very likely -for game, he cannot command a view of it should it rise; -but whenever he comes to a glade that commands a view -in several directions, he should wait some time while his -dogs beat around him, and his companions, buried in brambles -and brushwood, pass him. It is often advisable to follow -a footpath in a wood, particularly where ground shots -are expected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In our next, we shall pursue this subject, and give some -remarks upon the lock, the percussion system, triggers, -wadding, ammunition, etc., and shall then proceed with remarks -upon Snipe Shooting, etc. We are determined to -make this department a perfect <span class='it'>vade mecum</span> to the sportsman.</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_4'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Owing to the temporary absence of Mr. Poe, the reviews in this number are from another hand. That department is exclusively -under the control of Mr. Poe. C. J. Peterson, his coadjutor, has the charge of the other departments of the work.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Life and Times of Red Jacket, or Sa-go-ye-wat-ha; -being a sequel to the History of the Six Nations. By</span> -<span class='sc'>William L. Stone</span>. <span class='it'>1 vol. Wiley and Putnam, New -York and London, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The first settlers of this country found it tenanted by a -people totally different from the effeminate races of Hispaniola -and Cuba. Bold, patient and sagacious; sinewy in -form and inured to fatigues; warlike in character, wise in -council, and hospitable to a proverb, the savages of North -America approached more nearly to an equality with the -Anglo-Saxon race, than any people whom the rage for discovery -had then made known to Europe. Nor was their -progress in civilization to be despised. Their wigwams, -though not luxurious, were comfortable; their women cultivated -maize, tobacco, and numerous vegetables; pillows of -wood were used in common by them and by the English -peasantry; and, in the comforts of every day life, the savages -of this continent fell little behind the mass of the European -population. Women were held in high respect; their persons -never violated in war, and their opinions consulted in -cases of difficulty. The form of government in use among -the Indians was singularly adapted to their condition. Like -the ancient Germanic leader, the Indian chief was usually -chosen for his wisdom, strength, and bravery—we say -<span class='it'>usually</span>, because in nothing has more ignorance been shown -than in describing the Indian polity as everywhere the same. -No general rule can be laid down respecting it. In most of -the tribes the government was that of a democracy; in some -that of an aristocracy; and, in a few instances, that of a -nearly absolute despotism. Sometimes there was one chief -in war and another in peace: now he was ruled by a council -of old men, and now he had delegated powers equal to -those of a dictator; but, on the whole, the usual polity appears -to have been democratic, each brave having a chance -of attaining the leadership by his eloquence, wisdom, or -courage. Often these qualities preserved the supreme -power in a family for generations, the son succeeding the -father, unless a more worthy leader was chosen by the -people. Where there was both a war chief and a civil -ruler, the latter office was the more likely to be hereditary. -In short, what Tacitus said of the ancient Germans, may be -pronounced of the Indians: “<span class='it'>Reges ex nobilitate, duces ex -virtute sumunt: nec regibus infinita, nec libera potestas; -et duces exemplo potius quam imperio præsunt</span>.” “They -took their kings on account of nobility, and their generals on -account of valor: nor was the power of their kings absolute -and unlimited; and their generals commanded by the authority -which their example rather than their power gave -them.” And, in another place, “<span class='it'>de minoribus principes; -de majoribus omnes</span>”—“the principal men consulted and -decided about the least, the whole body of the people about -the greatest affairs.” Nor did the resemblance stop here. -The same forest life, the same habit of recounting their deeds -in chaunts, the same warlike character, the same wild and -yet spiritual religion, and the same haughtiness of spirit, -arising from the consciousness of independence, characterised -alike our Teuton ancestors, whose freedom we inherit, -and our predecessors on this continent, whose liberty we -have destroyed. And to this day, if we may credit Catlin, -the Western Indian remains the same proud being. The -Sioux, glittering in his showy costume, and careering along -the prairie with his spear and steed, reminds us of the ancient -Pole, flashing with jewels, galloping to the diet at Warsaw, -and seeming to justify the haughty boast of his order, “that -if the sky were to fall they would support it on the points of -their lances.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the period of its settlement by the whites, the two most -powerful nations of what now forms the Northeastern section -of the United States, were the Lenni-Lenape and Mengwe—the -former occupying the shores of the Delaware -river, and extending into Connecticut—and the latter living -chiefly in the Valley of the Mohawk and its vicinity. Neither -of these people were the original occupiers of the land; but -who their predecessors were, or whence they came, no man -can tell. Their language, customs and laws are as unknown -to us as those of the Antediluvian world. They -have passed away and left no sign. Now and then the traveller, -through some primeval forest, will come across the -ruins of their forts—rude, vague and vast—but he can -gather nothing from these silent mounds, except the single -fact, that a race once peopled this continent superior in civilization -to the Indians. The Alligewi gave name to our -mountains,<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a> and that is all we know.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Betwixt the Lenni-Lenape and Mengwe there raged continual -wars, in which the former nation generally came off -victorious. At length, however, the several tribes of the -Mengwe united into a confederacy known as that of the Five -Nations; and, being supplied with fire-arms by the Dutch, -succeeded in subduing the Delawares, and forcing them to -assume the character of <span style='font-size:smaller'>WOMEN</span>. This singular ceremony -was performed at Albany, in the presence of the Dutch, in -1617. From that time the Iroquois have been the dominant -nation. A work recording their history, explaining their -governmental polity, and discussing their manners and customs -would throw great light on the whole Indian race, and -prove invaluable to the student; and it is as one of a series, -intended to carry out such an idea, that the present volume -has been published. The author has divided his subject -into four periods: the first of which will contain the history -of the Six Nations, up to the arrival of Sir William Johnson—the -second will be occupied by the life and times of -that remarkable individual—the third carries on the history -through the life of Brandt—and the fourth, the present work, -brings the subject up to the sale of the last Seneca lands in -1838. Only the last two eras of this history have as yet -seen the light.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The life of Red Jacket is the least important portion of this -subject, affording little more than a narrative of treaties for -the sale of lands, with an occasional glimpse at the polity of -the Six Nations, and the Senecas in particular. The period -is not one calculated to display the powers which the early -history and origin of the Six Nations might call forth. Industry -and research are nearly all that is required. Both of -these qualities Colonel Stone has evinced. There is little -that is positively new in the book, but many doubtful questions -have been settled, and a clearer insight given into the -Indian character and customs than we had been led to expect. -As an instance of the latter, we notice the fact mentioned of -the women and war-chiefs in the Canandaigua council, who -took the business of the treaty out of the sachems’ hands, -asserting that the latter had no right to refuse the sale of -lands, against the opinion of the women and braves. We -are also made more fully acquainted, in this volume, with -the subjection, in general, of the military to the civil power -among the Indians. Perhaps the style is objectionable in -one or two particulars, and there are too many speeches -given “in extenso;” while events of little importance sometimes -occupy as much space as those of greater moment, -and tend to give an occasional prolixity to the work, which -would be well worth the author’s revision when a second -edition comes to be demanded. The anecdotes which intersperse -the volume are highly characteristic. On the whole, -in collecting and arranging so many undigested facts, and in -preserving from oblivion the oral traditions of the actors in -the scenes he relates, Colonel Stone has shown a commendable -industry. But his work is only begun. The mere record -of a chieftain’s life, however celebrated the individual may -be, is secondary to the history of a mighty people and the -inquiry into its origin. We care little, comparatively, when -or how Red Jacket spoke, but we do care whence his people -came. Our object is to learn the polity and customs of his -nation, to analyze its language—in short, thoroughly to -understand its history and character. To do this is what -constitutes Colonel Stone’s design, but as yet he has only incidentally -carried out his plan. Neither the life of Brandt -nor that of Red Jacket does more than skim over the great -question our author has proposed to discuss. Biography is -not history: the narrative of a few land treaties is not the -account of a nation’s glory. As the greatest people of the -Indian race, and as the conquerors of the Alligewi, we feel -an interest in dissipating the obscurity which attends the -origin of the Six Nations. It is in vain to say such an attempt -would be fruitless. Has it ever been methodically, -analytically, perseveringly tried? Why does Colonel Stone -avoid this portion of his subject—the portion which should -naturally claim his attention first? We tell him frankly -that he would gain ten times more reputation, and prove -himself possessed of ten times more talent, if he would come -up to this matter gallantly, and not scour around and -around it, like a frightened hound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Red Jacket was a sachem or civil chief among the Senecas. -He seems to have been of no family, and to have won his -way to the first place in the councils of his people, by his -tact, his patriotism, and, more than all his eloquence. Few -men have ever lived who surpassed him in oratory, if we -may judge his proficiency in that art by the effect he produced -on his hearers. All that has been related of Demosthenes -and Cicero among the ancients, or of Bolingbroke -and Chatham among the moderns, may be applied with -equal truth to this great orator of the Senecas. When he -rose to speak not a word was heard—when he took his seat -his enthusiasm infected all. He was even able to carry his -point when superstition, in its darkest guise, was arrayed -against him. Some specimens, at least, of such wonderful -powers of eloquence may naturally be expected to have -come down to us; yet, with but one or two exceptions, his -printed speeches are tame to mediocrity. Much of this, no -doubt, is to be attributed to incompetent translations: indeed, -our author lays the whole fault at this door. But there -is another and simpler reason, to which Colonel Stone has not -alluded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every nation has its distinctive spirit, or, to speak more -plainly, its peculiar mode of thought. To this the orator -must accommodate himself. The same style of eloquence -which affects an Englishman, falls cold on the ear of an -Italian. Even the Philippics of Demosthenes, or the orations -of Cicero, were unrivalled, only so far forth as they were -adapted to the peculiarities of an Athenian or Roman audience; -and, had the situation of either of these orators been -changed, there is great chance that, unless they altered their -style, they would have been hooted from the forum, or at -least listened to in silence. So with the oriental orators, -whose most celebrated passages seem turgid to us. We take -it, then, that one of the great secrets of this apparent tameness -in Red Jacket’s orations, arises, as much from our different -appreciation of his style, as from the inadequacy of -the translations. We admit that there exists no perfect -transcript of a harangue by him, but could one of his -speeches be handed down to us, word for word, we predict -that it would seem to us little better than turgid bombast or -inflated allegory. Yet that Red Jacket was a great <span class='it'>Seneca</span> -orator, we have the concurrent testimony of more than fifty -years—to say nothing of the evidence, in the book before -us, of his vigorous intellect and grace of manner, the two -most important requisites for oral eloquence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The character of this celebrated chieftain was an odd mixture -of “dirt and divinity.” He was great as a whole, but -mean in the detail. He ruled over warriors, and was an arrant -coward. He professed to be frank, and lived on intrigue. -His constant struggle was to retain the lands of his -people, and yet more than once he would have sold them for -his personal emolument. He was a hypocrite, a drunkard, -and devoured by vanity; but he was also an orator, a statesman, -and devoted to his country. He sometimes was capable -of the loftiest generosity, and at other times he would -stoop to cheat the government out of a coat. But in one -thing his character is above reproach—he never ceased asserting -the rights of his country; and from the treaty at Canandaigua, -down to the latest hour of his life, he opposed -manfully every alienation of the Seneca soil. He was often -unsuccessful, and always misrepresented; but he did not relax -his efforts. On the size of their domain, he said, depended -the importance of his people; and that people it -was his ambition to preserve an entire nation. For this he -would have built up a wall of separation betwixt them and -the whites—for this he excluded missionaries—for this he -opposed schools—for this he denounced intermarriages—for -this he lived and died a pagan. Yet he survived to see all -his efforts in vain. He survived to behold the Senecas -dwindled to half their numbers, to see their forests cut -down, and to witness their lands slip piecemeal from their -hands. How melancholy to contemplate the poor old chief, -when, returning to hunt in the beautiful valley of the Gennesee, -he found the ravages which the white men had made -in the forest so great, that he sat down and wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have said that Red Jacket was intemperate; and the -vice grew on him as he grew older. When a council was -to be held, however, he abstained from indulgence until the -deliberations were past, but then his excesses were often -frightful. An anecdote is related by Colonel Stone, which -shows the old chiefs propensity in rather a ludicrous light. -Colonel Snelling was a great favorite with him. When that -officer was given the command of Governor’s Island, Red -Jacket bade him farewell in the following words:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Brother</span>:—I hear you are going to a place called Governor’s -Island. I hope you will be a governor yourself. I -understand that you white people think children a blessing. -I hope you may have a thousand. <span class='it'>And above all, I hope, -wherever you go, you may never find whiskey above two -shillings a quart.</span>”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Red Jacket died in 1830, and with him perished the glory -of the once powerful Six Nations. Their subsequent history -is well known. Their last rood of land in New York -has now passed into the hands of the white man; the places -which knew them shall know them no more, and in a few -years the Iroquois will be numbered with the dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The short sketches of the lives of Cornplanter, Farmer’s -Brother, and Harry O’Bail, in the conclusion of the work, -are unusually interesting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume is printed well, on paper of the finest quality, -but disfigured, here and there, with typographical mistakes.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_5'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f5'><a href='#r5'>[5]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Alleghany.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Ancient Régime: A Novel. By</span> <span class='sc'>G. P. R. James</span>, Esq. -<span class='it'>2 vols. Harper and Brothers.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stale, flat, and unprofitable” are the novels of Mr. -James, and of all his novels the Ancient Régime is the most -flat. We have just flung down the book, wondering how -any man could, “<span class='it'>sanâ mente</span>,” in a sane mind, publish -two volumes so very common-place. Yet Mr. James has -done it, once and again, and yet again, and—God help us—seems -determined to do it, so long as he can find a publisher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We do not say that the novels of James are unreadable, -paradoxical as it may seem, after what we have written. They -are, on the contrary, pleasant, often instructive. In some -respects they are even well written: if they were not so -written, we should pass them in silence; but when a man -of talent persists in writing such common-place affairs as -Corse de Leon and the Ancient Régime, we feel bound to -caution the public against reading them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In reviewing the last novel of this author, we took occasion -to comment on his repetition of himself; and had not -but a bare six months elapsed since the publication of that -article, we should have thought, that he had commenced -this work with our criticism before him; for the whole -conception of the Ancient Régime—according to the preface—is -essentially different from that of Mr. James’ former -romances. To do him justice, he seems to have set -out intending to write something really new. But a dog -that has once tasted blood is forever killing sheep,—and -our novelist, after the first few chapters of the work, runs -into all his old habits. Indeed, had he not told us in set -phrases that his object was to show the gradual changes of -a female mind from infancy to womanhood, and that too -while she was in the peculiar position of a ward of a man -to whom she bore no relationship: had he not told us this—we -say—and added that he had in the Ancient Régime -attempted a new and more gentle style, we should have -divined neither the one fact nor the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is too much <span class='it'>clap-trap</span> in the work before us. Most -novelists are contented if their hero saves the life of his mistress -once in the space of two orthodox volumes. But -James thinks this entirely too little. His heroine seems put -up like a ten-pin, only to be bowled at; for her life is preserved -once from a wolf—once from a robber—and once -from an assassin—and beside this, her honour is kept in -jeopardy, as a kind of running commentary, through the -whole book. We are tempted to say with Titmouse, “ ’Pon -honour—most uncommon luck.” Then, too, everything -happens, not as it would in life, but just as it ought to happen. -Such a chain of fortuitous circumstances, following -each other link by link, we venture to say, author never -imagined, since the old romances of chivalry gave up the -ghost. The deserted babe passes into the very hands to -which it <span class='it'>should</span> go—the supposed father gets a place in -the police, <span class='it'>the very thing for all hands</span>—the young lady -when grown up falls in love with the son of the <span class='it'>only man -living who knows her parentage</span>—the king is frustrated -in meeting Annette, until after Du Barry has given him -<span class='it'>a new object of pursuit</span>—the Baron de Cajore is arrested -at the <span class='it'>very instant</span> he is arresting the hero—Ernest de -Nogent is rescued in the park at Maupay <span class='it'>just as</span> he is -about to be stabbed from behind—and last of all, the assassin -de Cajore is killed off at the end, <span class='it'>in the very nick of -time</span>, and when all the actors are conveniently assembled -to look on, at a nice little tea-party in the forest. Nothing, -indeed, is done naturally: everything is brought about by -luck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the second place, the characters of the Ancient Régime -are only new editions—by no means improved ones—of -the <span class='it'>dramatis personæ</span> of James’ former novels. Some -wicked wag said that the old dramatists wanted only a king, -a fool, a woman, and a villain, to make a tragedy, and Mr. -James seems to have taken up the joke as serious. He is -like a wax-work keeper: he has one figure, which, by dint -of changing the dress, passes for everything under the sun. -His heroes and heroines are never dissimilar: he has always -one noble and one poorer rogue: he never forgets to bring -in a king or a queen, or both; and he fills up the by-play -with a few supernumeraries, who talk a great deal and do -a very little. If you read one of his novels, you read, in -fact, all. Then there are perils, rescues, a duel or two, -generally a trial, and now and then a sprinkling of battles, -ambuscades, and the like. Sometimes the hobby is one -thing and sometimes another, but he never mixes the draught -without putting in a little of all the ingredients. In his last -novel his fancy ran on battles—in this one, trials appear to -rule the roost. To sum up this head, Mr. James seems to -be like a horse in a mill, who, though every time he goes -his rounds, may kick up his heels after a new variety, never -gets out of the same beaten track, or rises above the same -humdrum pace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the third place, there is no ingenuity in the plot of the -Ancient Régime. You see, at once, not only how all is to -end, but you penetrate into every detail of the plot. By the -time you have read thirty pages, you know that Annette is -not Pierre Morin’s daughter—that the Abbé is the unknown -companion of the murderers—that Pierre Morin is the -person who warns Castelneau to leave Paris—and that the -sign which induces the Abbé to obey, is the discovery of -his own seal, which had been lost at the door of Fiteau’s -shop, impressed on the letter of warning. A plot, so loosely -contrived, wants interest; and if you go through the book at -all, it is with labor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But even that very respectable gentleman, who unfortunately -is provided with a tail, is not, according to the popular -rumour, without his good qualities; and Mr. James, -despite all we have said, is yet a writer of talent—talent -running a muck, we contend—but still talent. More than -this—he is a historian; not a mere chronicler, but a historian. -He knows the manners, costume, and general spirit -of the ages of which he writes, and his novels may, so far -forth as they embody this knowledge, be read with interest. -This, too, is the secret of his continued success in despite of -his many faults. This, too, is why he is called the great -historical novelist of the age, though in painting accurately -the characters of his leading personages, such as Richelieu, -Philip Augustus, &c., he is far beneath Grattan—a writer, -by the bye, less known in this country than he deserves to -be. In another thing James is deficient as a writer of historical -romance—he does not enter, as fully as he ought, -into <span class='it'>the spirit of the age</span>. Here Bulwer, in his Rienzi, has -shown himself superior to the author of Richelieu; to say -nothing of Scott, who, whatever license he took with particular -personages, always depicted vividly the spirit of the -age of which he wrote.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We take leave of this novel with a brief prophesy respecting -its author: he will, in fifty years, be of no more note -than any one of the thousand and one <span class='it'>imitators</span> of whose -class he is the head.</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>America, Historical, Statistical and Descriptive: with -numerous engravings. By</span> <span class='sc'>J. Silk Buckingham</span>. <span class='it'>2 -vols. Harper and Brothers.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>If ever there was an inane author—if ever there was an -arrant egotist—if ever there was a traveller ignorant of -his subject, that author, egotist, and traveller, is J. Silk -Buckingham, late missionary in the cause of morals, to the -world in general and to this land in particular, and now the -author of a romance which he entitles “America, historical, -statistical, and descriptive.” How could a man suffer himself -to be so egregiously gulled, as Mr. Buckingham has -proved himself to have been, in these volumes? If his lectures -on the Holy Land contained a tithe of the exaggeration -of this journal, what a precious mess of stuff his audiences -must have swallowed!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Buckingham opens with a sweeping condemnation -of all former writers on America, and then adroitly insinuates -that his work is the “<span class='it'>ne plus ultra</span>” of all works. No -one who heard him lecture can doubt his egotism or vanity. -We were not, therefore, much surprised at this exordium. -The text, however, keeps up the farce, and whether describing -the emoluments of the bar, the genius and productions -of our poets, the statistics of the States or Union, the conduct -of political parties, or the advance of taste, morals, or religion, -he is sure to drag in something respecting himself, -and to misrepresent, more or less, the subject under discussion. -Did the book merit the time and space, we would -quote some of its remarks to shew what an arrant block-head, -or else what a wilful libeller, this J. Silk Buckingham -is.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This want of truth in Mr. Buckingham is unpardonable. -While here, he was feasted, huzzaed, followed by crowds, in -short made a lion of,—and, as he himself says, he had -every opportunity to gain correct information. But he -seems to have slighted them all. His exaggerations out-romance -Amadis de Gaul. He is beside painfully dull, -prosing away, page after page, just as he used to dilute his -twaddle, when retailing it, by the hour, at a shilling a head. -His work scarcely lays claim to mediocrity. Although -ushered in by a flourish of trumpets from presses on both -sides of the Atlantic, and attended by a pompous dedication -to His Royal Highness Prince Albert, the volumes are inferior -in every respect to the unpretending work, on this country, -lately published by Mr. Combe. As Brougham said of -Sheridan’s statesmanship, “it is neither a bad book, nor a -good book, nor an indifferent book—the fact is, it is no book -at all.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and -Modern: from the German of Frederick Schlegel: -1 vol. J. and H. G. Langley: New York, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work is already extensively known, through the medium -of foreign editions; but the present imprint of it will -be none the less welcome on that account. We rejoice to -see our publishers begin to make head against the reprint -of worthless novels, by issuing, instead of such trash, works -of a standard character like this. Let the press second them -in so noble an effort.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The object of Schlegel, in this volume, has been to give a -general view of the development and spirit of literature, -and to show its influence on the character of successive -ages, from ancient to modern times. We cannot appreciate, -and cannot therefore be expected to praise, the German -fondness for reducing everything to a theory, and we must -consequently protest against the attempt made by our author -to give his subject such a character. Nevertheless the book -is full of profound reflections, and displays great research. -It is the result of a full mind, and not the idle rhapsody of a -visionary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The present edition is a reprint from the last Edinburgh -one. The translation is attributed to J. G. Lockhart, whose -scholarship is a guarantee for excellence and fidelity.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Secretary of Machiavelli, or the Siege of Florence. -By</span> <span class='sc'>D. M’Carthy</span>. <span class='it'>2 vols. Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>A very common-place book, too bad to praise, yet too -good absolutely to condemn. It will find its place on the -shelves of circulating libraries.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Secret Foe. By</span> <span class='sc'>Ellen Pickering</span>, <span class='it'>2 vols. Carey -and Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is scarcely equal to Miss Pickering’s earlier production, -“Nan Darrell.” Indeed, the present novel is, by no -means, a work which will increase her reputation. Portions -of it are written well, we admit; but the character of the -book, considered as a whole, is but little above a desperate -mediocrity. There is no individuality in the actors—no -novelty in the plot—many incidents extravagant and unnatural; -and a forced interest, if we may so speak, in the -whole of the second volume. It is true, many of the scenes -are drawn vividly, but they do not suffice to redeem the -work. Worse than all, the introduction of the fugitive, -Charles the Second, together with the whole conception of -the character of the boy Jackson, is a plagiarism from -Woodstock of the worst kind, because one where the spirit -and not the language is stolen. We cannot forgive the -author, even though a woman, for such an act.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Deerslayer, or, the First War-Path: A Tale: By</span> -<span class='sc'>J. F. Cooper</span>. <span class='it'>2 vols. Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Little can be said of this tale which has not been said -of the former novels, by Mr. Cooper, in which “Leather -Stocking” appears. The story is one of thrilling interest, -full of perils and of hair-breadth escapes. The reader, unable -to lay down the book, peruses it with painful and breathless -eagerness; but, with the exception of Natty Bumpo, -there is no character worthy of the name. Here is the great -difference betwixt Cooper and Scott. No one will deny, that -the former is nearly, if not quite, as successful as the latter -in the interest his story awakens in the reader’s mind, yet -we look back in vain, through the whole series of the Red -Rover tales, for such inimitable characters as those of Balfour -of Burley, and the other actors in the Waverley Novels. -Mr. Cooper paints only the outside, he cannot reach into the -soul. Yet, as an author, skilful in the management of incident, -or capable of whirling away the reader in the breathless -interest of a story, no writer of the day, at least no -American, can, at all, compare with Mr. Cooper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the present tale there is an unusual unity of person, -place and time. The whole action is confined to three days; -the principal characters are not more than six; and the scene -is the lake at Cooperstown, with its surrounding shores. -The story is placed as far back as the early French war, and -is one of Indian siege and ambuscade. Some of the night -scenes, where the beleagured whites, uncertain of the time -or mode of the enemy’s attack, wander up and down the -lake in the ark, listening for the dip of a paddle or the crackling -of a twig, to announce the approach of the foe, are unsurpassed -even by the earliest efforts of Mr. Cooper. The -rescue of Hist from the hostile camp is a scene of great -power—so is the surprise of the whites at the castle—and -so is the death of the Panther from Deerslayer’s hands, and -the latter’s temporary escape from the savages. The closing -scene, however, in which the torture of Deerslayer is going -on, seems to us not only painfully, but unnaturally protracted—so -that, long before the <span class='it'>dénouement</span>, we begin to -lose our interest in the finale, under the feeling that the -author has overworked his scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are not captious in these few objections, for they are -but specks on a sunny sky. No one can question Mr. -Cooper’s powers as a novelist of his particular school. We -dismiss his work with high praise, hoping that he may long -live to adorn the literature of his country, and that he may -never write a worse story than the Deerslayer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Leather Stocking tales are now complete in ten volumes, -by Messrs. Lea and Blanchard.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>A Practical Description of Herron’s Patent Trellis Railway -Structure, etc., etc. By</span> <span class='sc'>James Herron</span>, <span class='it'>Civil -Engineer. 1 vol. Carey and Hart, and J. Dobson, -Philadelphia, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is an able treatise. The main object of the author is -to explain his Patent Trellis Railway Structure—an invention -which is peculiarly adapted to the frosty climates of the -middle and northern states; but, as collateral to this, he has -discussed the subject of mineralizing wood, of an improved -method of joining the ends of railway bars, and of the defective -nature of railway structures in use.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The length to which we have extended some of the preceding -reviews, forbids us to go at large into the contents of this -volume; but we recommend it to the attention of the public, -and to that of rail-road companies in particular. The volume -is accompanied by four large plates of working plans -to illustrate the author’s remarks. The invention of Mr. -Herron has received the sanction of the very highest authorities, -and will, in our opinion, supercede all other modes of -railway structure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Strickland, so well known as an architect and engineer, -speaks of it as follows:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Among the various methods now used for the super-structure -of railways in this country and in Europe, I know -of none to compare with Mr. Herron’s patent horizontal -truss, or diagonal braced floor. It has the great advantages -of surface-bearing lateral connection, and longitudinal combination -of strength, and evenness of level. It is calculated -to rest secure in all the various characters of soil . . . . will be -found to resist with the utmost degree of permanency all the -vicissitudes of the caved and washed embankments which -undermine the present mud-sills and cross-ties of the road-beds -now in use.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Franklin Institute says of it:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Herron has fully understood and appreciated the -evils inseparably connected with the plans of railway super-structure -so much in use here and in Europe, in which the -rails are supported upon isolated blocks of stone or sleepers -of timber . . . . His object has been to devise a plan in which -all the parts forming the structure shall be adequately supported; -while, at the same time, they shall be so connected -that no portion will be liable to independent displacement, -either laterally or vertically.”</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home. By the -author of “The Linwoods,” etc. 2 vols. Harper and -Brothers: New York, 1841.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Sedgwick has given us, in these volumes, her notes -of travel through England, Italy, and other parts of Europe. -The book is written in an easy, almost conversational style; -it abounds in anecdote and what we should call allowable -gossip; and, if it were only a little racier, would be a model -for tourists. We like particularly the little details of persons -and manners, in which our author has indulged—one -gets, in perusing them, an excellent idea of the society in -other countries. This is what we want, and where the author -does not intrude on privacy, we cannot see that he or -she is to be condemned. Miss Sedgwick’s choice of words -might—to our minds—be purer: her style is often disfigured -by provincial phrases of the worst kind.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Life and Adventures of Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. -By</span> <span class='sc'>H. Cockton</span>. <span class='it'>With numerous illustrations, -by Phiz. 1 vol. Carey and Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a work of considerable humor—one of that class, -which, without much originality, manages to become popular, -as much from the fun it contains, as from the style in -which the story is told. The illustrations are not as happy -as those of Phiz in general. The book is neatly printed, in -the style of the Nickleby series.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sec'></a>SECRET WRITING.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> the tenth of August, a letter addressed to us by -some gentleman who had assumed the <span class='it'>nom de guerre</span> of -Timotheus Whackemwell, was received at this office, from -Baltimore. It enclosed a cypher, and says, “if you succeed -with it I will set you down as perfect in the art.” Thinking -that in the chirography we recognized the hand of our friend, -Mr. J. N. McJilton, of Baltimore, we addressed <span class='it'>him</span> by -return of mail, with the solution desired. Mr. McJilton, it -appears, however, was not the correspondent. The solution -ran thus—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This specimen of secret writing is sent you for explanation. -If you succeed in divining its meaning, I will believe -that you are some kin to Old Nick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Whackemwell, whoever or wherever he is, will acknowledge -this reading to be correct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cypher submitted through Mr. F. W. Thomas, by Dr. -Frailey, of Washington, and decyphered by us, also in return -of mail, as stated in our August number, has not yet -been read by any of our innumerable readers. We now -append its solution, together with the whole of that letter of -the Doctor’s, of which we gave only a portion in the August -number.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>SOLUTION.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In one of those peripatetic circumrotations I obviated a -rustic whom I subjected to catachetical interrogation respecting -the nosocomical characteristics of the edifice to -which I was approximate. With a volubility uncongealed -by the frigorific powers of villatic bashfulness, he ejaculated -a voluminous replication from the universal tenor of -whose contents I deduce the subsequent amalgamation of -heterogeneous facts. Without dubiety incipient pretension -is apt to terminate in final vulgarity, as parturient mountains -have been fabulated to produce muscupular abortions. -The institution the subject of my remarks, has not been -without cause the theme of the ephemeral columns of -quotidian journals, and enthusiastic encomiations in conversational -intercourse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The key to this cipher is as follows—<span class='it'>But find this out -and I give it up</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The appended letter, however, from Dr. Frailey, will -show the means used by him to embarrass the reading. -Arbitrary characters were made to stand for <span class='it'>whole words</span>. -When we take this circumstance into consideration, with -other facts mentioned in the letter, and regard also the nonsensical -character of the phraseology employed, we shall be -the better enabled to appreciate the extreme difficulty of -the puzzle.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'><span class='sc'>Washington</span>, July 6, 1841.</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Dear Sir,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It gives me pleasure to state, that the reading by Mr. Poe, -of the cryptograph which I gave you a few days since for -transmission to him, is correct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I am the more astonished at this, since for various words -of two, three and four letters, a distinct character was used -for each, in order to prevent the discovery of some of those -words, by their frequent repetition in a cryptograph of any -length and applying them to other words. I also used a -distinct character for the terminations <span class='it'>tion</span> and <span class='it'>sion</span>, and -substituted in every word where it was possible, some of -the characters above alluded to. Where the same word of -two of those letters occurred frequently, the letters of the -key phrase and the characters were alternately used, to -increase the difficulty.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em;margin-top:0.75em;'>As ever, yours, &c.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'>CHAS. S. FRAILEY.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>To F. W. Thomas</span>, Esq.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i107.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>LATEST FASHIONS, OCTOBER, 1841. FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Available scans of the fashion plate -were missing a caption so caption was added in the style of the fashion plates of the previous issues of this volume. -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 4, October 1841</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XIX, NO. 4, OCTOBER 1841 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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