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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..5176258 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65156 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65156) diff --git a/old/65156-0.txt b/old/65156-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b9a7dbc..0000000 --- a/old/65156-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5611 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 2, August -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. 2, August 1841 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - -Release Date: April 25, 2021 [eBook #65156] - -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. -2, AUGUST 1841 *** - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XIX. August, 1841. No. 2. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Penitent Son - The Colloquy of Monos and Una - The Assault - The Neglected Wife - The Puritan Son - Auzella - School-Boy Recollections - The Reefer of ’76 - A Day at Niagara - Willis Gaylord Clark - Sports and Pastimes—Angling - Review of New Books - Secret Writing - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - My Mother’s Bible - “I Know That Thou Wilt Sorrow!” - Sonnet - O, Say, Do I Na’ Lo’e Ye Lassie - Thoughts In Spring - The Withered Rose - Major Dade’s Command - The Widow - Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer - Latest Fashions, August 1941 - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Painted by Prentis_ _Engraved by J. Sartain._ - -_The Penitent Son._ - -_Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - -[Illustration: embossed lace work by F. QUARRE] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XIX. PHILADELPHIA: AUGUST, 1841. No. 2. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PENITENT SON. - - -“Father, only look at him—do but hear him!” said the soft, entreating -voice of the daughter, as she looked up imploringly into her parent’s -face, while the sobs of the penitent son shook his frame with agony. - -James Vernon was the only son of two doating parents, and the heir of a -splendid fortune. Gratified in his every wish, and left almost without -restraint, he had grown up that most fatal of all things, a spoiled -child; and had it not been for a naturally frank and generous -disposition, he would have been ruined by indulgence even in his -boyhood. When, however, at fifteen, he left home for college, he still -possessed the elements of a noble character, and had he then been -entrusted to a careful tutor, he might have been saved years of folly -and subsequent misery. But, thrown among the hundreds of youth of his -own age who thronged the institution whither he was sent, with no one to -guide him aright, and habits of wilfulness, contracted at home, to urge -him on wherever whim might lead him, he soon fell into the temptations -incident to a large college, and, without intending evil so much as -seeking for amusement, became notorious for his frolics, idleness, and -even dissipation. He had not been at the university a year before his -name was regarded as that of the worst member of his class. His progress -in study was deficient, and his expenses great. His doating father at -first overlooked his son’s irregularities, thinking they would soon wear -off; but when term after term elapsed, and there was no appearance of -reformation, he expostulated strongly, almost sternly, with his child. -For a time James was moved, and almost shook off his unworthy -companions. But the effort to cut loose from them altogether required -more energy than he was capable of, and as no reformation can be lasting -when only half complete, he soon relapsed into his old habits, and, -before the term was up, was as notorious as ever for being the leader in -every mischievous or even disreputable action. This could not last. More -than once he had been warned by the faculty, and weekly—almost -daily—did his friends, by letter, expostulate with him. Frank, generous -and good-intentioned, he constantly determined to amend his conduct; but -his very open-heartedness, by rendering him incapable of resisting -temptation, prevented every lasting effort at reformation. Each failure -likewise placed him more and more in the power of his gay companions. -The result is easily told. In his second year, he was detected in a -flagrant violation of the college rules, and, as expostulation had been -used again and again in vain, he was expelled from the university. The -blow fell like a thunderbolt on his parents. His father was a rigidly -correct, and withal a proud man, and, in proportion to the affection -with which he regarded his son, was the conviction of the disgrace thus -brought upon his name. In the first emotions of his anger, he almost -vowed never to look on the face of his son again. But the prayers of the -fond mother at length prevailed; he relented, and James was once more -received under the paternal roof. - -It must not be supposed that the youth was callous to his disgrace. He -felt it acutely, and the more acutely because, as every good principle -was not yet eradicated from his heart, he was conscious that he deserved -his degradation. He saw, too, how deeply injured were the feelings of -his parents; and he determined to thoroughly reform. He kept his word. -For the year that he remained under the paternal roof, he seemed another -being. But, in a fatal hour, his father yielded to his solicitations to -allow him to study a profession, and he was accordingly sent to -Philadelphia, to commence a course of lectures at the celebrated -university of that city. Who might not have foretold the result? Almost -imperceptibly, and, to a disposition like his, unavoidably, he was -seduced back into his old courses, and, before the winter was over, he -became once more celebrated as one of the most idle and dissipated -students of his class. The arrival of a few of his old companions in -college, to begin their studies for a profession, completed his ruin. He -plunged into every extravagance. His allowance, liberal as it was, fell -far short of his expenses. His bills soon accumulated to a fearful -amount. Dreading to acquaint his parent with their extent, and in order -to relieve himself from their load, he did what hitherto he had -shunned—he resorted to the gaming table. For a while he was successful, -for he had always been accounted a skilful player, and believing he now -had a resource for every emergency, he plunged still deeper into -extravagance of every character. But suddenly his luck failed him. He -lost. Again he essayed to retrieve his fortune—again he was -unsuccessful. His bills had meantime accumulated to a fearful amount; -and knowing that he had no hope for succor from his parent, he made a -desperate attempt to retrieve his losses. It was in vain. Not only did -he fail to retrieve his luck, but he went forth a ruined man, having -involved himself even still deeper. For a while he was frantic with -despair. As a last resort, he determined on applying to his mother, well -knowing that she would look with more leniency on him than his sterner -father would. He waited breathlessly for an answer. It came, directed in -his father’s handwriting. He opened the epistle with a trembling hand, -and beating heart, and read as follows: - - “Sir, - - Your letter found your mother on a sick bed, unable to - receive any intelligence, and, as we knew from whom the packet - came, I opened it. Its contents will account for the style of - this epistle. You are no longer a son of mine. Two years ago, - when you brought the disgrace on your name of having been - expelled ignominiously from college, I almost vowed never to - acknowledge you as a son of mine. I relented, however, and took - you again into favor. I see now how useless it was. Again you - have brought shame on my gray hairs; and I now make the - determination to disown you wholly. Enclosed is a thousand - dollars, for I will not send you penniless on the world. Let me - never again hear from you. Change your name, since you will - dishonor the one I bear, and remember that your own folly has - cut loose every tie betwixt you and - - George L. Vernon.” - -The letter fell from the hands of the young man as he ceased reading, -and for some moments, without uttering a word, he gazed on it as it lay -on the floor at his feet. In that minute how his whole past life rushed -through his memory! He thought of his infancy; his early childhood; the -rooms where he played; his little sister; his mother; the servants; -every old familiar place and thing, all now shut out to him forever. Had -he deserved to be treated with such harshness? His passion blinded him -as he said: - -“No! I have not deserved it. I will be under no obligations to one who -can thus heartlessly cast me off. He disowns me—does he? Let it be. -Never will I sue for a favor again at any of their hands. From this day -forth they shall be to me as the dead.” - -Shall we follow him through his career of subsequent desperation and -eventual profligacy, or shall we at once draw to a close? - -More than a year had passed since Vernon had been disowned by his -parent, and he was now an outcast, and almost penniless. In all that -time he had heard nothing of home. He had seen, in the interval, every -variety of life. The gaming table had been his principal resort, for -after having, with the remittance made to him by his father, discharged -his debts of honor, he had so little left that he saw no other resource -from starvation. The vicissitudes of a gambler’s life are well known; -the inevitable result—poverty—is ever the same. By the time a -twelvemonth had elapsed, Vernon was almost penniless. - -With only a few dollars in his pocket, he one night entered a low gaming -house, and for some time betted without either loss or gain. At length, -however, he lost. He threw down another stake, and that too was swept up -by the banker. His last dollar was in his hand, ready to be put up, when -he paused, and the question flashed across his mind, what if he should -lose again? Never before had he been so near to utter poverty. He had -even no place where he might lodge that night, and, save that dollar, he -owned nothing in the wide world but the garments he wore. He paused, and -turned away. - -“The cards pass,” said the banker. “You do not bet this time, -sir?—another chance, and you retrieve your loss.” - -Still the young man hesitated. The banker lost. - -“The cards pass,” said the banker again; “you see you would have won, -sir. How much do you put up now?” - -The young man glanced fiercely at the speaker, hesitated an instant, and -half turned away again; but the temptation to try his luck once more was -too great, and hastily throwing down his dollar, he grasped the cards -convulsively. - -“Twenty!” said the banker, flinging his cards with a smile on the table. -“Sir, you have lost.” - -The young man stared wildly at the hoary villain, and then grinding his -teeth together fiercely, with ill-concealed despair, he pushed the piece -towards his tempter, cast a stern defying glance around the room at the -curious spectators of the scene, and strode from the apartment. - -“Humph!” said the banker, “I’ll bet it’s his last dollar—who takes me -up? No one, eh! Then, gentlemen, proceed.” - -No sooner had the young man reached the street than he paused, and -looking up at the gay windows of the room he had left, he shook his -clenched hand fiercely at them, and exclaimed— - -“Curses on ye for the ruin ye have brought upon me!—ay! ten thousand -curses on ye and your hoary owners!” and then the recollection of his -poverty seeming to cross his mind in another guise, he added, less -passionately, “My God! not a cent have they left me, even to buy a -night’s shelter. Oh! that I had never left my father’s house!” - -For hours he wandered up and down the streets, now inflamed to madness -by his despair, now melting at the recollection of the happy days he had -once enjoyed under his father’s roof. Morning still found him a -wanderer. Pale, dejected and spirit-broken, he entered, at early dawn, -an obscure coffee-house, just as the sleepy menials were opening the -shutters, and sitting moodily down, picked up the morning paper. The -first paragraph that his eye lit upon was as follows: - - “Died, on the 5th inst., after a lingering illness, which she - bore with Christian meekness and fortitude, Elizabeth, wife of - George L. Vernon.” - -The paper dropped from his grasp. For an instant all power of speech -left him. Then rushed across his mind the recollection of a thousand -things which that mother had done for her erring boy. And she had -died—died without forgiving him! Oh! at that moment, he would have -given worlds to have recalled her to life, in order that he might kneel -at her feet and solicit her pardon. - -“I will arise,” at length he said, in the language of scripture, “and go -unto my father. I will sue for permission to behold her face in death; -surely that they will not deny me.” - -And he arose. Completely changed in spirit, that erring son, after -nearly a day’s travel, arrived at his native village. He had parted with -every available thing to obtain funds for the journey, and reached his -father’s house just before night, penniless. He knocked hastily at the -door, not giving himself time to notice that the house bore no signs of -mourning. The old housekeeper, who happened to be crossing the hall at -the time the servant admitted him, could scarcely repress a scream of -surprise at seeing her young master. - -“For God’s sake,” gasped the penitent, “Mrs. Irwin, lead me to my -mother; let me see her before the grave closes over her forever.” - -The almost incoherent words and eager, impassioned gestures of the -penitent for a moment bewildered the good woman. - -“Your mother! Mr. James—she is not dead; but you have seen the -newspapers’ mistake, then?” - -“Not dead!” exclaimed he, falling on his knees; “then I thank thee, oh! -my Creator, that I can yet sue for her forgiveness.” - -“Come, then, my dear boy,” said the old housekeeper, bursting into -tears, “and let me take you in to your parents. Oh! I have prayed for -this hour night and day, and I knew that it would come;” and while the -tears fell thick and fast down her aged cheeks, she led the now passive -penitent across the hall, opened the door of the drawing-room, and -ushered in the returning prodigal. - -One glance around that well-remembered room was sufficient for the young -man. His mother sat in her easy chair, wrapped in a large shawl, and -bearing evident traces of a late illness; his sister was at her piano, -playing one of the old airs which he had heard a thousand times from -her; and his silver-haired father sat betwixt the mother and daughter, -engaged in his usual occupation of reading. Yet, oh! how care-worn were -the faces of all! And this was the work of that prodigal son. As he saw -it all, a gush of old feelings swept across the penitent’s soul, and -falling on his knees, he buried his face in his hands, and sobbed aloud -in his remorse. - -“My boy!—come to my arms,” said the mother, almost hysterically, -awarding her forgiveness almost before it was solicited. - -Not so the father. Rising with a frown from his chair, he was about to -advance on the intruder, when the daughter, rushing towards him, lifted -her beseeching eyes to her parent’s, and said, - -“Father, only look at him—do but hear him!” - -For a moment the conflict in that father’s bosom almost shook his frame -with emotion. At first he turned away, refusing to see his boy; but in -every line of his agitated face might be seen the struggle betwixt -affection for his son and his sense of injury. Nature at length -triumphed; he suffered himself to be led towards the penitent, and the -next moment the members of the re-united family were sobbing alternately -in each other’s arms. - - R. - - * * * * * - - - - - MY MOTHER’S BIBLE. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - This book is all that’s left me now!— - Tears will unbidden start— - With faltering lip and throbbing brow, - I press it to my heart. - For many generations passed, - Here is our family tree; - My mother’s hands this Bible clasped— - She, dying, gave it me. - - Ah! well do I remember those - Whose names these records bear: - Who round the hearth-stone used to close, - After the evening prayer, - And speak of what these pages said, - In terms my heart would thrill!— - Though they are with the silent dead, - Here are they living still! - - My father read this holy book - To brothers, sisters dear— - How calm was my poor mother’s look, - Who leaned God’s word to hear! - Her angel face—I see it yet! - What thronging memories come! - Again that little group is met - Within the halls of home! - - Thou truest friend man ever knew, - Thy constancy I’ve tried; - When all were false, I found thee true, - My counsellor and guide. - The mines of earth no treasures give - That could this volume buy; - In teaching me the way to live, - It taught me how to die. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. - - - BY EDGAR A. POE. - - -Una. “Born again?” - -Monos. Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, “born again.” These were the -words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the -explanations of the priesthood, until Death himself resolved for me the -secret. - -Una. Death! - -Monos. How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe, too, a -vacillation in your step—a joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are -confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes, -it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word which -of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts—throwing a mildew upon -all pleasures! - -Una. Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often, Monos, -did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature! How mysteriously -did it act as a check to human bliss—saying unto it “thus far, and no -farther!” That earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which burned within -our bosoms—how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy in its -first upspringing, that our happiness would strengthen with its -strength! Alas! as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of that evil -hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus, in time, it became -painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then. - -Monos. Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una—mine, mine forever now! - -Una. But the memory of past sorrow—is it not present joy? I have much -to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know the -incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and Shadow. - -Monos. And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in vain? I -will be minute in relating all—but at what point shall the weird -narrative begin? - -Una. At what point? - -Monos. You have said. - -Una. Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the -propensity of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then, -commence with the moment of life’s cessation—but commence with that -sad, sad instant when, the fever having abandoned you, you sank into a -breathless and motionless torpor, and I pressed down your pallid eyelids -with the passionate fingers of love. - -Monos. One word first, my Una, in regard to man’s general condition at -this epoch. You will remember that one or two of the wise among our -forefathers—wise in fact, although not in the world’s esteem—had -ventured to doubt the propriety of the term “improvement,” as applied to -the progress of our civilization. There were periods in each of the five -or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution, when arose some -vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those principles whose truth -appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly -obvious—principles which should have taught our race to submit to the -guidance of the natural laws, rather than attempt their control. At long -intervals some master-minds appeared, looking upon each advance in -practical science as a retro-gradation in the true utility. Occasionally -the poetic intellect—that intellect which we now feel to have been the -most exalted of all—since those truths which to us were of the most -enduring importance could only be reached by that _analogy_ which speaks -in proof-tones to the imagination alone, and to the unaided reason bears -no weight—occasionally did this poetic intellect proceed a step farther -in the evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic, and find in the -mystic parable that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its forbidden -fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation that knowledge was not -meet for man in the infant condition of his soul. And these men—the -poets—living and perishing amid the scorn of the “utilitarians”—of -rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves a title which could have been -properly applied only to the scorned—these men, the poets, pondered -piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our wants were -not more simple than our enjoyments were keen—days when _mirth_ was a -word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was happiness—holy, august and -blissful days, when blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into -far forest solitudes, primæval, odorous, and unexplored. - -Yet these noble exceptions from the general misrule served but to -strengthen it by opposition. Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil of -all our evil days. The great “movement”—that was the cant term—went -on:—a diseased commotion, moral and physical. Art—the Arts—arose -supreme, and, once enthroned, cast chains upon the intellect which had -elevated them to power. Man, because he could not but acknowledge the -majesty of Nature, fell into childish exultation at his acquired and -still-increasing dominion over her elements. Even while he stalked a god -in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As might be -supposed from the origin of his disorder, he grew infected with system, -and with abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other -odd ideas, those of universal equality gained ground; and in the face of -analogy and of God—in despite of the loud warning voice of the laws of -_gradation_ so visibly pervading all things in Earth and Heaven—wild -attempts at an omni-prevalent Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang -necessarily from the leading evil, Knowledge. Man could not both know -and succumb. Meantime huge smoking cities arose, innumerable. Green -leaves shrank before the hot breath of furnaces. The fair face of Nature -was deformed as with the ravages of some loathsome disease. And -methinks, sweet Una, even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the -far-fetched might have arrested us here. But now it appears that we had -worked out our own destruction in the perversion of our _taste_, or -rather in the blind neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in -truth, it was at this crisis that taste alone—that faculty which, -holding a middle position between the pure intellect and the moral -sense, could never safely have been disregarded—it was now that taste -alone could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and to Life. -But alas for the pure contemplative spirit and majestic intuition of -Plato! Alas for the μουσικη which he justly regarded as an -all-sufficient education for the soul! Alas for him and for it!—since -both were most desperately needed when both were most entirely forgotten -or despised.[1] - -Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said, how truly!—“_que -tout notre raisonnement se rèduit à céder au sentiment_;” and it is not -impossible that the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted it, -would have regained its old ascendancy over the harsh mathematical -reason of the schools. But this thing was not to be. Prematurely induced -by intemperance of knowledge, the old age of the world drew on. This the -mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily although unhappily, affected -not to see. But, for myself, the Earth’s records had taught me to look -for widest ruin as the price of highest civilization. I had imbibed a -prescience of our Fate from comparison of China the simple and enduring, -with Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more -crafty than either, the turbulent mother of all Arts. In history[2] of -these regions I met with a ray from the Future. The individual -artificialities of the three latter were local diseases of the Earth, -and in their individual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied; -but for the infected world at large I could anticipate no regeneration -save in death. That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw -that he must be “_born again_.” - -And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we busied our souls, daily, in -dreams. Now it was that, in twilight, we discoursed of the days to come, -when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having undergone that -purification[3] which alone could efface its rectangular obscenities, -should clothe itself anew in the verdure and the mountain-slopes and the -smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a fit -dwelling-place for man:—for man the Death-purged—for man to whose now -exalted intellect there should be poison in knowledge no more—for the -redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, but still for the -_material_, man. - -Una. Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the epoch -of the fiery overthrow was not so near at hand as we believed, and as -the corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in believing. Men -lived; and died individually. You yourself sickened, and passed into the -grave; and thither your constant Una speedily followed you. And though -the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion brings us thus -together once more, tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience of -duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century still. - -Monos. Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity. Unquestionably, it -was in the Earth’s dotage that I died. Wearied at heart with anxieties -which had their origin in the general turmoil and decay, I succumbed to -the fierce fever. After some few days of pain, and many of dreamy -delirium replete with ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook -for pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you—after some -days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless and motionless -torpor; and this was termed _Death_ by those who stood around me. Words -are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of sentience. It -appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of him -who, having slumbered long and profoundly, lying motionless and fully -prostrate in a midsummer noon, begins to steal slowly back into -consciousness, through the mere sufficiency of his sleep, and without -being awakened by external disturbances. I breathed no longer. The -pulses were still. The heart had ceased to beat. Volition had not -departed but was powerless. The senses were unusually active, although -eccentrically so—assuming often each other’s functions at random. The -taste and the smell were inextricably confounded, and became one -sentiment, abnormal and intense. The rose-water with which your -tenderness had moistened my lips to the last, affected me with sweet -fancies of flowers—fantastic flowers, far more lovely than any of the -old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here blooming around us. The -eyelids, transparent and bloodless, offered no complete impediment to -vision. As volition was in abeyance, the balls could not roll in their -sockets—but all objects within the range of the visual hemisphere were -seen with more or less distinctness; the rays which fell upon the -external retina, or into the corner of the eye, producing a more vivid -effect than those which struck the front or interior surface. Yet, in -the former instance, this effect was so far anomalous that I appreciated -it only as _sound_—sound sweet or discordant as the matters presenting -themselves at my side were light or dark in shade—curved or angular in -outline. The hearing, at the same time, although excited in degree, was -not irregular in action—estimating real sounds with an extravagance of -precision, not less than of sensibility. Touch had undergone a -modification more peculiar. Its impressions were tardily received, but -pertinaciously retained, and resulted always in the highest physical -pleasure. Thus the pressure of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at -first only recognised through vision, at length, long after their -removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight immeasurable. I -say with a sensual delight. _All_ my perceptions were purely sensual. -The materials furnished the passive brain by the senses were not in the -least degree wrought into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain -there was some little; of pleasure there was much; but of moral pain or -pleasure none at all. Thus your wild sobs floated into my ear with all -their mournful cadences, and were appreciated in their every variation -of sad tone; but they were soft musical sounds and no more; they -conveyed to the extinct reason no intimation of the sorrows which gave -them birth; while the large and constant tears which fell upon my face, -telling the bystanders of a heart which broke, thrilled every fibre of -my frame with ecstasy alone. And this was in truth the _Death_ of which -these bystanders spoke reverently, in low whispers—you, sweet Una, -gaspingly, with loud cries. - -They attired me for the coffin—three or four dark figures which flitted -busily to and fro. As these crossed the direct line of my vision they -affected me as _forms_; but upon passing to my side their images -impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and other dismal -expressions of terror, of horror, or of wo. You alone, habited in a -white robe, passed in all directions musically about me. - -The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I became possessed by a -vague uneasiness—an anxiety such as the sleeper feels when sad real -sounds fall continuously within his ear—low distant bell-tones, solemn, -at long but equal intervals, and commingling with melancholy dreams. -Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomfort. It oppressed my -limbs with the oppression of some dull weight, and was palpable. There -was also a moaning sound, not unlike the distant reverberation of surf, -but more continuous, which, beginning with the first twilight, had grown -in strength with the darkness. Suddenly lights were brought into the -room, and this reverberation became forthwith interrupted into frequent -unequal bursts of the same sound, but less dreary and less distinct. The -ponderous oppression was in a great measure relieved; and, issuing from -the flame of each lamp, (for there were many,) there flowed unbrokenly -into my ears a strain of melodious monotone. And when now, dear Una, -approaching the bed upon which I lay outstretched, you sat gently by my -side, breathing odor from your sweet lips, and pressing them upon my -brow, there arose tremulously within my bosom, and mingling with the -merely physical sensations which circumstances had called forth, a -something akin to sentiment itself—a feeling that, half appreciating, -half responded to your earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took no -root in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a -reality, and faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then -into a purely sensual pleasure as before. - -And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual senses, there -appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all perfect. In its exercise -I found a wild delight—yet a delight still physical, inasmuch as the -understanding had in it no part. Motion in the animal frame had fully -ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no artery throbbed. But -there seemed to have sprung up in the brain, _that_ of which no words -could convey to the merely human intelligence even an indistinct -definition. Let me term it a mental pendulous pulsation. It was the -moral embodiment of man’s abstract idea of _Time_. By the absolute -equalization of this movement—or of such as this—had the cycles of the -firmamental orbs themselves, been adjusted. By its aid I measured the -irregularities of the clock upon the mantel, and of the watches of the -attendants. Their tickings came sonorously to my ears. The slightest -deviations from the true proportion—and these deviations were -omni-prævalent—affected me just as violations of abstract truth were -wont, on earth, to affect the moral sense. Although no two of the -time-pieces in the chamber struck the individual seconds accurately -together, yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily in mind the tones, -and the respective momentary errors of each. And this—this keen, -perfect, self-existing sentiment of _duration_—this sentiment existing -(as man could not possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of -any succession of events—this idea—this sixth sense, upspringing from -the ashes of the rest, was the first obvious and certain step of the -intemporal soul upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity. - -It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others had departed -from the chamber of Death. They had deposited me in the coffin. The -lamps burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the tremulousness of the -monotonous strains. But, suddenly these strains diminished in -distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The perfume in my -nostrils died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. The oppression -of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull shock like that of -electricity pervaded my frame, and was followed by total loss of the -idea of contact. All of what man has termed sense was merged in the sole -consciousness of entity, and in the one abiding sentiment of duration. -The mortal body had been at length stricken with the hand of the deadly -_Decay_. - -Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the consciousness and the -sentiment remaining supplied some of its functions by a lethargic -intuition. I appreciated the direful change now in operation upon the -flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence of -one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully felt that you sat -by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I was not -unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side, which -confined me within the coffin, which deposited me within the hearse, -which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within it, which heaped -heavily the mould upon me, and thus left me in blackness and corruption -to my sad slumbers with the worm. - -And here, in the prison-house, which has few secrets to disclose, there -rolled away days and weeks and solemn months, and the soul watched -narrowly each second as it flew, and, without effort, took record of its -flight—without effort and without object. Meantime the worm, with its -convulsive motion, writhed untorturing and unheeded about me. - -A year passed. The consciousness of _being_ had grown hourly more -indistinct, and that of mere _locality_ had, in great measure, usurped -its position. The idea of entity was becoming merged in that of _place_. -The narrow space immediately surrounding what had been the body, was now -growing to be the body itself. At length, as often happens to the -sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is _Death_ imaged)—at length, as -sometimes happened on Earth to the deep slumberer, when some flitting -light half startled him into awaking, yet left him half enveloped in -dreams—so to me, in the strict embrace of the _Shadow_, came _that_ -light which alone might have had power to startle—the light of enduring -_Love_. Men toiled at the grave in which I lay darkling. They upthrew -the damp earth. Upon my mouldering bones there descended the coffin of -Una. - -And now again all was void. That nebulous light had been extinguished. -That feeble thrill had vibrated itself into quiescence. Many lustra had -supervened. Dust had returned to dust. The worm had food no more. The -sense of being had at length utterly departed, and there reigned in its -stead—instead of all things—dominant and perpetual—the autocrats -_Place_ and _Time_. For _that_ which _was not_—for that which had no -form—for that which had no thought—for that which had no -sentience—for that which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no -portion—for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the -grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates. - ------ - -[1] “It will be hard to discover a better [method of education] than -that which the experience of so many ages has already discovered; and -this may be summed up as consisting in gymnastics for the body, and -_music_ for the soul.”—Repub. lib. 2. “For this reason is a musical -education most essential; since it causes Rhythm and Harmony to -penetrate most intimately into the soul, taking the strongest hold upon -it, filling it with _beauty_ and making the man -_beautiful-minded_. . . . . . He will praise and admire _the beautiful_; -will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed upon it, and -_assimilate his own condition with it_.”—Ibid, lib. 3. Music (μουσικη) -had, however, among the Athenians, a far more comprehensive -signification than with us. It included not only the harmonies of time -and of tune, but the poetic diction, sentiment and creation, each in its -widest sense. The study of _music_ was with them, in fact, the general -cultivation of the taste—of that which recognizes the beautiful—in -contra-distinction from reason, which deals only with the true. - -[2] “History” from ιστορειν, to contemplate. - -[3] The word “_purification_” seems here to be used with reference to -its root in the Greek πυρ, fire. - - * * * * * - - - - - “I KNOW THAT THOU WILT SORROW!” - - - BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS. - - - I know that thou wilt sorrow, when first I pass from earth, - And at thy pale and quivering lip shall gleam no sign of mirth, - For grief shall sit upon thy brow, in sad, unseemly guise, - And tears, e’en though thou art a man, shall well up to thine eyes. - - For each young plant, each speaking flower, and old familiar place - Will seem to gaze with sadness, up to thine averted face; - And when, perchance, another hand my own sweet chords shall sweep, - Thou’lt list to those remembered tones, and turn aside and weep! - - And when another’s thoughtless voice, shall breathe to thee my name, - And whisper that the sound was linked with an undying fame, - No pride shall mantle o’er thy cheek, nor darkle in thine eye, - For idle words breathed of the dead, should pass as idly by. - - Thou’lt miss my step at even, when thou drawest near thy home, - When gleam the ever-sleepless stars, from yon eternal dome; - And thou wilt sit and gaze at them, nor shall thou gaze unmoved, - For, oh! thou’lt think, that I too well their startling beauty loved! - - Thou’lt miss me, and will seek to claim the tempest of thy soul, - For passions all untamed as those, shall bend to thy control; - And grief, that erst sat on thy brow, thou’lt spurn from out thy - heart, - And with each old remembrancer most willingly will part. - - When my dim-remembered features shall pass from memory, - When the music of my name, shall wake no answering melody, - Thou wilt turn thee to another, and she will be to thee, - E’en all that I have ever been,—all I could hope to be! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ASSAULT. - - - BY J. H. DANA. - - -It was the last morning of the assault. The sun had risen heavily across -the eastern highlands, flinging his slant beams upon the embattled -armies of the cross, and disclosing, as the mists rolled upwards from -the valley, mangonel, and tower, and battering-ram, and serried troops -of warriors, drawn up in array before Jerusalem,—and now as the shout -“to the Holy City,” swelled out upon the air, and the priests, in -sacerdotal robes, lifted up their chaunt again, the whole vast mass, as -if by a simultaneous impulse, moved forward from their stations, and -with lance, and shield, and banner, and shouts of triumph, and clashing -of arms, marched on to the assault. All Europe was up. Prince and -subject; noble and serf; layman and monk; the rich and the poor; the -proud and the humble; old, young, and middle aged; stalwart men and -feeble women; the knight in his armor, and the boor in his capote,—the -bishop with his crozier, and the friar in his cowl; the halt, the deaf, -the blind; all ranks and conditions of life swelled the gigantic host, -which, gathering new accessions to its numbers in every land it -traversed, had rolled on with threatening aspect over Palestine, -carrying terror and desolation to the Saracens, until at length the -mighty army was now arrayed before Jerusalem, burning to achieve the -redemption of the sepulchre. Yes! Europe was there in arms, moved as one -man, by one spirit. From hill and dale; from city and hamlet; from the -castle of the noble and the cottage of the boor; from cloister, and -forge, and plough, the sons of the church had gathered at her summons, -fired with a lofty determination to avenge an insulted faith, and -scourge back to the fastnesses from whence they came the sacrilegious -followers of the crescent. There was the bluff Englishman, the -fair-haired German, the tall gaunt Scot, the gay cavalier from Provence, -the dark eyed son of Italy, and the wild and uncouth child of that green -“Erin,” of the ocean, lying on the utmost verge of civilization, and -known only by vague rumor as the habitation of man. Ay! all these were -there—there, with spear, and sword, and cross-bow—there, in glittering -casque, and homely jerkin—there, on proudly caparisoned steeds, or -marching with soiled buskin humbly on foot. Soldiers of every garb, -tongue, and nation; men who had been enemies but were now friends; -warriors, who had hitherto lived only for rapine, joined in that wild -shout, and with an enthusiasm they had never felt before, swept on the -second time to the assault—and ever as they marched, in solid phalanx -or open column, Frank, or Saxon, or Italian, they swelled out the cry, -“Ho! soldiers of the cross—on to the Holy City!” - -And now the battle was joined. Foremost of all, in his lofty tower, -stood Godfrey of Bouillon, cheering on the attack, and directing his -unerring shafts against every one who appeared upon the walls;—while -beneath and around him, plying mangonel and battering-ram, or showering -arrows on the foe, pressed on the humbler soldiers of the cross—ay! -pressed on, although the missiles of the Saracens poured down like rain, -and melted lead, and scalding water, and fire itself, fell thick and -fast upon the hosts of the assailants. And still on they pressed, and -though the ground was strewed with the dying, and every moment some new -assailant fell, the gallant line of the Crusaders never swerved, but as -fast as one went down another filled his place; and as the long hours of -the morning passed away, and the Saracens maintained their walls, -fighting with the desperation of men who were contending for their -homes, the fearless assailers kept pressing on to the attack, determined -to succeed in the assault or leave their bones to bleach before the -walls. One universal enthusiasm pervaded the whole host. Old and young; -peaceful monks and timid women; the sick, the halt, the dumb, came forth -from the camp, bringing weapons for those who had spent their missiles, -carrying water for the parched combatants, or cheering the dying in -their last moments of mortal agony. And higher and higher mounted the -sun, and sultry and more sultry grew the air, yet still the Saracens -made good their walls, and when the exhausted soldiers were almost -fainting from the fatigues of the day, the beseiged made one more -desperate rally, and, collecting all their strength for a last effort, -they bore down upon the soldiers of the cross, and drove them, with -terrific slaughter, from the walls. Back—back—back they fled, in wild -dismay. In vain their leaders attempted to rally the worn-out soldiers; -they themselves could scarcely support their frames, exhausted by their -heavy armor and the stifling heat of noonday. Further effort was -hopeless. The despair was general. A wild shout of exultation rung out -from the walls, as the Saracens seized the image of a cross, spat upon -it, and cast it, with insulting gestures, into the ditch. The taunt -stung the assailants to the heart. At that instant a shining horseman, -clad in armor brighter than the day, and waving on high a sword that -shone with the brilliancy of the sun seven times brightened, was seen -upon the Mount of Olives, beckoning to the discomposed assailants, and -pointing onwards to the Holy Sepulchre; and as one after another of the -wearied crusaders beheld the blessed vision, sighs, groans, and tears -burst from the assembled thousands, and clashing their arms deliriously -aloft, and waving their banners wildly to and fro upon the air, they -cried out, “Ho! soldiers of the cross—on to the Holy City!” - -And on they swept. Horse and foot; archer and man-at-arms; wounded and -unhurt; noble and retainer; Frank, Gaul, and German; the Saxon, and -Tuscan; the old, the young, the middle aged; leader and follower; proud -and humble; free and bond;—on—on—on they pressed, as if a whirlwind -had sent them reeling upon the foe, bearing every thing down before -them, plying cross-bow and mangonel, hurling huge stones that crushed -the foe like glass, and heaving battering-rams that shook the walls as -if an earthquake was rolling by. Ay! on they pressed, for did not the -archangel wave them to the onset? The foe shrank back amazed. Outwork, -and door-post, and palisade could offer no resistance to the enthusiasm -of the Christians. Vain were the wildest efforts of the infidels to stay -the progress of the assailing hosts; vain were their adjurations to the -prophet, their impious prayers for help, their insulting prostrations -before high heaven. The hurricane that levels cities was not more -desolating than the onslaught of the Christians. They dashed across the -plain, they drove in the outposts, they crossed the ditch itself; and -now the tower of Godfrey reached the walls—the bridge was let down—a -rush was made, and a knight sprang on the battlements. Another and -another followed—the Saracens stood palsied—Godfrey, Baldwin, Bouillon -rushed in—down went the sacrilegious infidels who opposed them—a wild -conflict, beyond what the battle had yet seen, took place around the -standard of the crescent; and lo! with a shout that men shall remember -till the day of judgment, the impious ensign is hurled from the -battlements, and the cross—the cross of Christ—floats wild and free -above the towers of Jerusalem. Then rose up the acclamations of -thousands—then pealed the triumphal chaunts of priests—then quailed -the Saracen with fear in the remotest dens of that vast city. The day -was won. The cross was avenged. Tancred and Robert of Normandy heard the -triumphal shout, and burst open the furthermost gates with sudden -energy; while Raimond of Toulouse scaled the walls upon the other side -at the outcry, and shook the cross to the wind beyond the Holy -Sepulchre. Down went the Saracens in street and lane, and open field, or -wherever these unholy revilers of the church attempted to make their -stand. From house to house, and street to street, the indignant -conquerors pursued the foe, until the thoroughfares were filled with -blood, and the infidels lay slaughtered in heaps on every hand; and -wherever the Christians followed up the flying wretches, in mansion or -in mosque, they kept in memory the insult to the cross which they had -witnessed but the hour before, and keeping it in memory, their arms -never tired, nor their weapons slackened. It was a day over which for -ages the Saracen women wept. The mosque of Omar floated with gore; the -streets were slippery with blood; not a nook or corner gave safety to -one of that accursed race; and when, at length, the Saracens rushed in -wild despair to the temple of Soliman, even there the avenging -Christians sought them out, and a thousand, ay! ten times a thousand -impious revilers slaked the earth with their gore. And when the work was -done, and that fearful insult was avenged; when the conquering army had -time to think of the mighty deed they had achieved; when they remembered -that within the walls where they now were the Savior had been buried, a -gush of holy tenderness swept over their souls,—old and young, noble -and peasant, men, women, and children,—and with tears in their eyes, -they cast aside their weapons, took off their sandals, and, rushing to -the Holy Sepulchre, kissed the consecrated pavement, and washed the -altar with their tears. And when twilight darkened over the city, the -vespers of holy men went up to heaven, for the first time after the -lapse of centuries, instead of the accursed Mezzuin’s call. Night came -down at length, and silence hung over the walls. The shrieks of the -wounded; the groans of the dying; the crackling of burning habitations, -and the impious revilings of the infidels had ceased: while not a sound -broke the profound hush of midnight, except the faint gurgling of the -brook of Kedron, and the low whispers of the night wind among the -palaces of Jerusalem. And a thousand stars looked brilliantly down from -the calm blue sky, as if the angels, whose thrones they are, were -shouting hallelujahs that the last day of the Saracen had passed. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - - Loved of my soul! I seek in vain for thee. - Why from my sight art thou, sweet star, away? - Heaven is not fair without thy tender ray, - And all things robed in shadow seem to be. - The evening wind has lost its melody: - Hushed are the chords on every bending bough; - The waters have no voice of music now, - And silence, dove-like, broods upon the sea. - Is there no light, indeed—no joyous sound - When Beauty dwelt with Song, and Nature cast - Treasures of Summer happiness around? - Oh, yes! unchanged the verdant prospect lies— - The present is as lovely as the past— - It only lacks the lustre of thine eyes. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE NEGLECTED WIFE. - - - BY ROBERT MORRIS. - - - “Oh! there were hours - When I could hang forever on his eye, - And Time, who stole with silent swiftness by, - Strew’d, as he hurried on, his path with flowers.” - - -The relations of life abound with solemn warnings and touching -incidents. Scarcely a community exists, however small, the history of -which is not replete with scenes that, if delineated by the pen of a -master spirit, and embellished with a few of the golden rays of fancy, -would not seem fraught with romance. Nay, there is scarcely a family of -any extent that has not stories in its private chronicles, “lights and -shadows,” joys and sorrows, full of interest, and calculated, when -suitably embellished and elaborated, to “point a moral or adorn a tale.” -We “live, move and breathe” in a world of mystery. The shadows which -veil a single year—nay, a single day—from the eye of poor mortality, -may to some be charged with death and desolation, while to others they -may serve to shut out the glorious light of hope and happiness and -prosperity. The incident which to-day gladdens the heart and kindles the -expectation, may to-morrow prove but as the lightning’s flash, that -foreruns the bolt of the destroyer. Thus we know not what is best for -us, and while seeking to deserve the due of virtue and integrity, we -should check our own hearts when envying the apparent success of -another, and murmuring at what, to our imperfect vision, may appear an -unequal distribution of the blessings of Providence. - -Such was the tone of reflection in which I indulged a few evenings -since, on returning from a visit to a friend—a friend whose career of -honor and ambition had, but a year or two before, excited a feeling in -the mind somewhat akin to envy. But let me not anticipate. - -Laura Milnor, at the age of sixteen, was one of the loveliest of her -sex. Her beauty was girlish and buoyant, and made up of such elements as -youth and hope and innocence and joy. Her laugh thrilled upon the ear -like the clear voice of a glad child; her step was elastic and aerial, -and although as mirthful and happy as one who had never known a thought -of grief or a dream of sorrow, she was one of the most susceptible of -her sex, and was melted to tears almost as readily as she was excited to -mirth. Blue eyes, auburn hair, and a voice full of music—she was too -sensitive for the heartlessness of this world, and thus it was the fear -of those who knew her character thoroughly, and were well acquainted -with human nature in the aggregate, that she would be won too readily, -and possibly waste the sweetness of her pure and guileless heart upon an -unworthy object. Not so, however. At seventeen, she was the “bright, -particular star” of her immediate circle, with groups of admirers, of -various grades of merit and pretension, but with an avowed, preferred -and envied suitor. He had a rival, it is true, and a formidable one; -because, to a considerable fortune he added a sincerity of devotion and -an assiduity of attention that seldom fail to make an impression upon -the heart of woman, however obdurate. But the preferred suitor, Morton -Markley, was a cousin, and had been preferred, to a slight degree, from -earliest boyhood. His opportunities for pressing his suit, moreover, -were of the best kind; he was a favorite with the family generally, and -these influences were potent in determining Laura as to a choice. Nay, -the avowal of preference was scarcely determined upon by her. It was -rather made by the household circle, and regarded as a thing of course, -than elicited from the artless girl in some quiet and impassioned moment -of mutual confidence. At times, too, she felt something like a doubt—a -doubt as to the _reality_ of her attachment to her cousin. She knew—she -_felt_ that she esteemed him. He possessed many noble qualities. His -habits were of the kind that her mother approved in an especial manner. -He was not only strictly moral, but temperate from his earliest youth—a -zealot in the cause, indeed—and withal thoroughly devoted to business. -True, he was somewhat stiff and formal in his manners, possessed little -or no imagination, had no taste for poetry or pathos, and was somewhat -cold in his general character. In most of these particulars he afforded -a broad contrast to his rival, George St. Clair, a free, dashing, -thoughtless creature, all impulse and enthusiasm, with a flashing genius -and a heart of fire. But all these qualities were moderated and subdued -in the presence of Laura Milnor. She had achieved a conquest over his -heart, and he yielded to her every wish, and even often anticipated her -thoughts. But he saw her seldom, comparatively speaking, and although -the impression he made at such times was decided, it was but momentary. -Laura would occasionally hesitate, especially when she found the image -of St. Clair rising up in her memory, and she discovered herself -analysing his traits of disposition and manner, and contrasting them -with those of her cousin. But she blushed when she detected the current -of her thoughts, and turned away from the subject as from one that she -ought not to contemplate. St. Clair, moreover, was a ripe scholar for -his years, perfectly familiar with the poetry of the classics, and with -modern literature. His practice was to mark the exquisite passages in -his favorite authors, and thus, while indicating his own sentiments and -tone of mind, to appeal, as it were, to the calm and reflecting spirit -of Laura. How often did she find herself unconsciously meditating upon -these gems of thought—these eloquent and impassioned pourings out of -the souls of the gifted! How frequently did the brief but expressive -notes touch a chord in her own breast, and speak in a still, but deep -voice to her own spirit! It was on such occasions that she trembled lest -she had mistaken the feeling that animated her with regard to her -cousin. But then he was so good, so calm, so attentive! They had grown -up side by side! Her mother, her brother, her elder sister, all -respected him so much—he was so amiable, and his prospect in life was -so excellent! No—it was impossible. There could not be any mistake as -to the nature of her feelings, and she would consent and name the day. - -The day _was_ named, and the bridal took place. The party was large, -gay, delightful. I shall never forget that wedding night. It was one of -the happiest of my existence—a joyous epoch in memory’s waste, which -shines with no common glory as the mind wanders back and lingers above -the regretted past. Laura, so charming before, seemed to excel all her -former brightness and beauty. Sweet seventeen—the loveliest of the -lovely, glittering in gems and satin, with her blue eyes brightened with -a double lustre by the excitement of the moment, her auburn hair waving -like a flood of moonbeams upon her white shoulders: approving relations -and friends around! That indeed seemed a happy moment—the happiest of -her life. But _was_ it so? Her affianced also looked remarkably well. He -had thrown off his gravity of manner, his dignity of deportment, and -joined the jest and laugh as if the world to him also had assumed its -sunniest smile. But I need not describe the etceteras of the wedding. At -twelve o’clock, Mr. and Mrs. Markley were taken in charge by the usual -number of select and officiating friends, and driven to their own home, -a neat but elegantly furnished establishment, No. 47 —— Row. - -I was absent from the city two years. On my return, one of my first -visits was to the house of my old friend Markley. It was a delightful -evening in the month of May, 1836. The weather for the preceding week -had been wet and disagreeable, so that the change and a bright moon had -won hundreds from their dwellings to enjoy the cool evening breeze, and -gaze once more into the windows of the stores. I inquired for Mr. -Markley. He was not in. For Mrs. Markley. Her parlor door was thrown -open, and Laura stood before me—but how changed! She was paler, -thinner, and, to my eye, lovelier than ever. The delicate cast of -thought had given an intellectual aspect to her features. The ruddy -glow, the buoyant, springy motion of girlhood, were no longer there; -but, in the one case, the ripeness of the peach had been succeeded by -the soft tints of the rose, and in the other, the gazelle-like bound had -mellowed and melted into the more graceful and majestic movement of the -perfect woman. Her reception was frank and cordial. My visit seemed a -relief to her. She had “been alone for more than an hour, and had wanted -so much to take a stroll. Her spirits had been checked for the week past -by the gloomy weather, and _now_, when they seemed anxious to spring -away, as if on new-born wings, she was compelled, like a bird in a cage, -to remain within doors. Oh, these abominable meetings! This dreadful -political excitement! These detestable societies! Would you believe it, -Mr. Markley has not been home a single evening for these two weeks! He -has become a violent politician, and is a member of several literary and -philanthropic societies. These occupy four-fifths of his time, and -although he is one of the very best husbands in the world, kind, gentle -and affectionate when here, I do not see him except at meal times, three -hours in a fortnight. And here I sit, ‘moping’ away my young hours, -thinking all sorts of melancholy things, indulging sometimes in the -wildest of fancies, and not unfrequently—although I am almost ashamed -to confess it—killing the time and giving vent to my moody temper in a -fit of crying! It is of no use to complain to Morton. He is perfectly -mad upon the subject of politics, and fancies, dear soul, that he is -building up for himself an enviable reputation.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Yes, indeed! Until the death of my first-born I bore it very well, for -the little innocent engaged my attention in a thousand ways, and the -time passed smoothly enough. But since that painful event—nearly a year -ago—the time has hung heavily indeed. I don’t know what I should do but -for our old friend St. Clair. He calls frequently, and serves no little -to chase away the gloom of these lonely hours. You remember St. Clair!” - -“Certainly. I have not met him since the night of your wedding, and -then, poor fellow, he endeavored to _look_ and _act_ his best, but he -made a sorry failure of it. Has he married yet?” - -“Oh, no! He tells me he will never marry, but of course the hour of -temptation and trial is yet to come. He has changed very little within -the last three years, and although not so gay and reckless as formerly, -his spirits are still excellent. Mr. Markley prizes him very highly, and -frequently consigns me to his care for a stroll, while he hurries off to -some political club or abominable meeting. Can you furnish me with any -remedy for the sort of infatuation I have described in the case of -Morton? I am really provoked at him at times, and have ventured to -remonstrate more than once, but never with a good effect either upon his -temper or his conduct. Oh! how frequently have the lines of the poet -risen to my memory during the tedious hours of waiting and of watching! - - ——‘May slighted woman turn, - And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, - Bend lightly to her tendencies again? - Oh, no! by all her loveliness, by all - That makes life poetry and beauty, no! - Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek - By needless jealousies; let the last star - Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain; - Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all - That makes her cup a bitterness—yet give - One evidence of love, and earth has not - An emblem of devotedness like hers. - But, oh! estrange her once, it boots now how, - By wrong or silence, anything that tells - A change has come upon your tenderness— - And there is not a high thing out of heaven - Her pride o’ermastereth not.’ - -I ridiculed them when they were first pointed out to me by St. Clair, -but sad experience has taught me better.” - -Such, in brief, was the nature of the conversation of the night. I -remained until a late hour, exceedingly anxious to see my old friend, -but the clock struck eleven, and he had not returned. Wandering -homeward, a crowd of strange thoughts pressed upon my brain. Can he love -this gentle being? I asked. And then his whole course through life came -to my recollection, and I dismissed every doubt. He does love her to the -extent of his ability. Then why neglect her? Why permit melancholy to -prey upon her gentle spirit? Why subject her to the fascinations of such -a man as St. Clair?—temptations at which both would shrink with horror -at first, but which, sooner or later, with such a being, such hearts, -such sympathy of soul and of taste, must establish a bond very like that -of love! The subject was a painful one, and I dismissed it, unwilling to -probe it to the bottom. - -I visited Laura repeatedly during the subsequent six months. I became -deeply interested in her position, and more than once ventured to hint, -jestingly, to her husband the duty of watching with a vigilant eye over -so precious and delicate a flower. He appeared perfectly insensible to -all insinuations upon the subject, and with unbounded confidence in, and -as much attachment for Laura as his nature was capable of feeling, he -became more and more wedded to his dream of political ambition and -popular applause. He was a member of most of the societies that were in -any degree connected with philanthropy, and of all on the political side -to which he was attached; and thus, night after night, week after week, -and month after month, he absented himself from the society of his wife. - -But why prolong the story? Hour after hour, the conviction grew stronger -in the mind of Laura that she had mistaken the sentiments of her -husband. He had, she now believed, never loved her. He had either -deceived her or been himself deceived. It was clear that he shunned her -society, and although kind and obliging, this course was attributed -rather to his tone of mind and moral principle than to a warmer and -fonder emotion of his heart. She too had been mistaken. At least she -thought so. The feeling that had induced her to become his wife was not -love; not that deep and absorbing passion, that flame and fire of the -soul, that she now could feel and appreciate. He was her cousin; she had -known him long; he had ever been kind to her; her parents had urged her -marriage, and she had been misled! But, alas! how had he deserted her! -How had she been neglected! How cold had he become! How indifferent! -What a contrast to St. Clair!—St. Clair, who even now would lay down -his life for her; who even now _sought_ her society, and was never so -happy as when basking in her smile! Her heart thrilled, her brain -throbbed, and her mind almost maddened as these wild thoughts forced -themselves upon her. I say forced themselves, for she repelled them -again and again, as fiends that would destroy her quiet, sap her -principles, and render her an object of scorn even to herself. But night -after night, and her husband was still abroad. At first she saw him -depart with pride upon her lip and anguish in her heart. Then sullenness -followed, and indifference came after. Then a feeling of pleasure -tingled in her breast as the door closed behind him, and a still -stronger sensation was experienced as the well known step of St. Clair -was heard upon the pavement below her window. But why trace the progress -of the weak, the erring human heart? Why linger over the guilt-ward -progress of that neglected wife? Why harrow the soul with her struggles -between duty on the one hand and infatuation on the other? Why point to -her fall, as, step by step, she was hurried to the brink of ruin? Why -detail the subtle sophistry of a gifted spirit—one, too, who had -persuaded himself that he really loved with a pure and undying flame? -Why recount his many appeals to fly to some other land, some distant -shore, where the scorn of the heartless world could not point at and -exult over another victim? Why picture the secret and agonizing thoughts -of the wretched beauty; the sorrow that at moments fastened upon her -soul, when some heart-touching expression fell from the lips of her -husband, and she was recalled by a look or a phrase to her early dream -of home and love and happiness? - -It was late in the month of September, that, rambling down Spruce -street, my attention was attracted by an unusual stir and confusion in -the front parlor of my friend Markley’s dwelling. Lights were passing to -and fro with great rapidity, and ever and anon a shriek, as of one in -mortal agony, broke upon the night. I hurried forward, rapidly ascended -the stairs, and what a scene of horror was before me! The slight, yet -beautiful form of Laura Markley lay upon the sofa, her hair dishevelled, -her clothes in disorder, and her features pale and cold in the solemn -aspect of death! It was almost midnight; her husband had been sent for, -but had not yet arrived. Miserable being! Blind and misguided fool! He -came in a few minutes after, and for weeks and weeks was little better -than a maniac. The following brief note, the last ever penned by Laura, -told the dreadful story: - -“Forgive me, Charles! forgive me, if I have wronged you! I can endure it -no longer. Night after night have you neglected me for the last two -years, until my mind, maddened by doubt, despair, and a thousand -fiendish phantoms, has ventured to pause and contemplate a deed of -guilt! There is, I verily believe, another being on the face of the -earth who loves me, and I—I—my hand trembles and my brain reels—I am -yet yours, and in honor. But I fear I could not live, be neglected, and -continue so. Forgive me, heaven!—forgive me, my husband, and pray for -me.” - - * * * * * - -She had taken poison! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PURITAN SON. - - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” ETC. - - -In the West Riding of Yorkshire, not many miles removed from the line of -the great North Road, singularly and somewhat romantically situated on a -vast rocky hill, projecting sternly and abruptly into the lovely valley -of the Nid, stands the old borough town of Knaresborough. As you -approach it from the south, the aspect it presents is singularly wild -and picturesque. A long line of steep limestone crags, running from east -to west, limits the view in front; the river, deep, black and sullen, -wheeling along below their base in many a turbid ripple, until it skirts -their western cape, a huge and perpendicular crag of shaley limestone, -crowned by the massy relics of an old Norman keep, rifted and gray, and -overrun with immemorial ivy, but still majestic in their hoary grandeur. -Beneath the shelter of this formidable keep—which, in its day, before -the levelling force of gunpowder had reduced warfare to a mere matter of -scientific calculation, had been deemed quite impregnable—the -straggling country town climbs the hill-side from the stream’s level, -where the road is carried over a narrow, high-backed bridge of stone, in -one long zigzag street, so perilously slippery and steep that the most -daring riders dismount from their surest horses, whether ascending or -descending, until, the summit gained, it expands into a neat borough, -with market-place, and hostelries, and banks, and churches, all -overlooked, however, and commanded by the old castle; and, in its turn, -overlooking and commanding the wide range of hilly country of which it -occupies the extreme and highest promontory. - -Such is the picture it presents to the traveller of the present day, and -singularly beautiful is that picture! The huge gray ruins and the -stained limestone precipices, relieved and set off by the deep emerald -verdure of the wide pastures in the valley, and the dark foliage of the -hanging woods which skirt the margin of the river; the stream itself -here dark and deep and silent, and there flashing like silver in the -sunlight, and brawling noisily about the base of the great castle-rock; -and, more than all, the life and animated bustle of the modern town, -contrasted with the dim memories and solemn silence of those old towers, -which frown upon the noisy thoroughfares of men, most like a grim and -ghastly skeleton, glaring down from the gothic niche of some cathedral -church upon the merry sports of thoughtless childhood. Far different was -the scene which Knaresborough presented toward the middle of the -seventeenth century, Some few weeks later than the fatal field of -Marston, whereon, untimely sacrificed and vainly, by the mad rashness of -Prince Rupert, the flower of England’s loyal chivalry lay weltering in -their gore, for one who neither prized their faith nor sorrowed at their -fall. - -Those ruins, shapeless now, and undistinguished from the gray crags -around them, were then a proud and lordly castle; that huge and rifted -pile, that frowns above the lesser fragments, was the square dungeon -keep, with battlemented turrets at each aerial angle, and bartizans for -shot of arquebuss and musquetoon, and embrasures for heaviest ordnance; -while round it swept the massy flankers, with thirteen strong round -towers, well garnished with the lighter cannon of the day, sakers and -culverins and falcons; and without these, still in concentric circles, -half moon and counterscarp and ravelin, glacis and rock-hewn moat—a -mighty fortress for the king, whose banner, hoisted there by the -fugitives from that disastrous field, still waved defiance to his -foemen. - -It was a bright October morning with which we have to do; the sun was -pouring a broad flood of light over the fertile vale, with its green -meadowland, its hanging woods, its ruddy cornfields, and its bright -river; over the town and castle, crowded, this with fierce steel-clad -veterans, mustered beneath the royal standard, that with the yeomanry -and burghers, like their more regular comrades, in arms for church and -king against the leaguering hosts of Cromwell; over the camp, the lines, -the outposts of the Puritans, which hemmed the destined town about with, -as it were, a wall of iron. Upon the heights, just to the eastward of -the town, the fierce, enthusiastic Lilburne had fixed his quarters, and -hoisted the broad red cross of the parliament, and thence, on every -side, had drawn his lines about the borough; the bridge and the high -road, on the south side, were kept by a brigade of pikes and two strong -bands of horse arquebusiers; the meadows and the vale were swept by four -full regiments of the far-famed invincibles, the ironsides of Cromwell; -the woods were filled with sharp-shooters, the roads blocked up with -mounds and trenches, and all the north side of the town exposed to a -tremendous fire from fifty wide-mouthed cannon, which, covered from the -castle guns by a projecting hillock, battered the dwellings of the -hapless burghers without remorse or respite. Nor were the besieged -passive in the mean time, or fearful. Bright sheets of flame would leap -out, ever and anon, from the dark castle embrasures, and clouds of -snow-white smoke would swathe the giant keep in their dense vapory -shroud, and with a roar that told the awful tale of civil warfare even -to the distant walls of York, the heavy shot would plunge into the -serried columns of the leaguers, thinning their ranks indeed, and -shaking for a moment their array, but daunting not their fiery courage, -nor damping their enthusiastic zeal. And now, with the long roll of -drums and the soul-stirring flourish of the horn and bugle, from this -point or from that of the beleaguered town, the cavaliers would sally -out on their besiegers. Now by some ford of the swift river, neglected -because thought impassable, a little troop of gentlemen, superbly -mounted on high blooded chargers, fluttering with lace and waving with -tall plumes and blue embroidered scarfs, would dash upon some picquet of -the Puritans, and drive them back, scattered and broken and cut down, to -the main body; and then, forced to retreat in turn, would fall back foot -by foot, firing their petronels and musquetoons from every hedge and -coppice, and charging again and again on their pursuers from every spot -of vantage, till they had gained the river; then they would wheel, throw -in one shattering volley, swim through the eddying waters, and raise -their gallant cheer, “God for King Charles!” in safety. Now it would be -a steadier and sterner effort; a heavy column would rush out, pikemen -and musqueteers and horse in one dense body, bearing the outposts in at -the pike’s point, carrying some redoubt, and then deploying in its -front, until their pioneers and axemen should spike its guns, fill up -its ditches, and level its defences to the ground. Incessant were alarms -and panics, sallies and feints and false attacks on the one hand; and, -on the other, strict watches, stout resistance, guarded and sure -approaches, for Lilburne knew right well the quality of his own -troops—the nature of the force opposed to him. He had experienced often -in the field the fiery and resistless charges of the impetuous -cavaliers; he knew that in the stoutest veterans of the Parliament, none -could be found who, for a single dash, could cope with the high-born and -chivalrous adherents of the King; but he knew also that undisciplined -and fiery gentlemen, how gallant and how desperate soever, would not -endure the tedium of protracted operations, the dull monotony of a long -siege, where passive opposition only can be offered, the lack of wine -and the appliances of mirth, the scarcity of food, the daily sufferings, -the daily waste, the daily growing anguish. He knew, and acted on this -knowledge. Vastly superior in his numbers, he cared not for the loss of -a picquet; he shook not at the defeat of an outpost, the destruction of -a redoubt, or the success of a sally. If evening saw the line of his -circumvallation broken, the morning sun beheld his working parties on -the ground repairing the defences, protected by so powerful masses that -any sally must be fruitless to annoy them, and evening found the lines -again complete, but stronger, nearer, closer than before. Nor was this -all. With his strong cavalry, he kept the country round in constant -terror and excitement; he cut off every convoy, before it well had left -the place from which it started; he surprised every stronghold of the -cavaliers, at miles away from his scene of operations; he took and -garrisoned the loyal house of Ripley; he battered Spofforth Castle, the -old, time-honored dwelling of the Percies; he quelled the risings of the -Langdales, the Vavasours, the Slingsbys and the Stourtons. He indeed -bridled the bold valor of the West Riding, as he had boasted that he -would—bridled it with a curb of iron! - -Yet Knaresborough still held out!—castle and town held out, though worn -and wasted with fatigue and famine. Hastily had the brave defenders -thrown themselves into that stronghold, scantily victualled as it was, -expecting succors from without, as it were, every hour, and prepared -desperately to endure the utmost before submission to their hated foes. -Hastily, rashly had they suffered themselves to be hemmed in, without a -hope except to die, and desperately had they borne up against the -tortures which had rewarded that hot rashness. And now the moment had -arrived. For three whole days, the castle and the town had had no food -at all! All stores had, many days since, been exhausted; the very grass -that grew upon the ramparts had been all gathered, all consumed! The -beasts of burthen, the domestic animals, the very vermin, had been -sought eagerly for food—had been devoured greedily—till no more could -be found at all in that most miserable town. There was not one house but -had lost some of its inmates, by that most lingering, most terrible of -deaths, mere famine!—and it was on the youngest, the fairest, the -loveliest, the most beloved, that the dread doom fell first. The streets -were heaped with carcasses, for now the living lacked the strength, the -energy, to bury their own dead! Thrice had the burghers risen against -the castle, to force its commandant, by surrendering to the Puritans, to -free them from that lamentable durance; and thrice had the gray-headed -cavalier, who held that last stronghold for an unthankful monarch—while -the tears streamed hot and heavy down his emaciated cheeks, and his -heart throbbed as if it would burst his bosom, for very pity—ordered -the castle guns to play with grape upon the famished wretches, whose -despair would have forced him from his duty. Three times, repulsed from -the castle by their friends, had that most hapless populace rushed out -to the besieger’s camp, throwing themselves upon the mercy of their -foes, and hoping so to force their way into the open country, and three -times, at pike’s point, had they been driven back into that town of -sepulchres and charnel houses. - -It was the third day that no particle of food, except some scraps of -leather, roasted or sodden into soup, had passed the lips of any of the -garrison, on which a sad deputation of the townsmen waited for the -fourth time upon the captain of the castle. They came not now in -turbulence, hoping to _force_ submission, but tearfully and on their -bended knees, to beg that stern old veteran, as they deemed him, that -for the love of God, by all his hopes of Heaven, he would have mercy -_not_ on them, they said, “for we are men, and can endure the utmost, -but for our wives, our perishing wives and children!” - -“My friends,” he answered, “I feel for you—God is my judge I do!—and -here, here is my witness that none hath heavier cause to feel than I -have,” and as he spoke, he opened the door of an inner chamber, and -showed to those worn deputies the corpse of a fair, light-haired youth, -stretched on a pallet bed, emaciated beyond all conception—yea! -literally wasted to the bones! “Look there!” he said, “look there! Six -little days ago that famished, cold, dead carcass was the most fair, the -sprightliest, the bravest, the best, the noblest boy in all wide -England! You see him, as he lies there—_my_ boy, my glorious boy!—oh, -God! last pledge of my lost angel, who, dying, left him to my paternal -care, which here is proved forever! Gentlemen, ye are answered; when my -King’s orders reach me to yield up this hold, then will I yield it -up—’till then, please God, I shall maintain it; and so long as my -trusty fellows have boots, and sword belts, and buff jerkins, we shall -not lack a meal. So, my friends, fare ye well.” - -To this there was no answer; from this lay no appeal. They went away, as -they had come, despairing; they betook themselves to their inhospitable -homes, to their wan, starving families, and sat them down beside their -fireless hearths, to pray for resignation, and for death to put an end -to tortures which were fast becoming too terrible to bear. So the bright -hours of daylight rolled over them unheeded, and the dark night came -on—that season of repose and quiet, season of respite from all cares, -relief from every wo—yet brought it no repose, no respite to the -mourners of that city! The groans of manly agony, blent with the -wailings of expiring infancy, and the faint sobs of women, suppressing -their own agonies lest they should rend the hearts of others, went up -that livelong night to Heaven; and there were humble prayers breathed -out from penitent Christian bosoms; and there were wild, impatient, -fierce ejaculations, which those who uttered them _called_ prayer; and -there were desperate blasphemies and curses, such as fiends howl out -against the throne of grace, too fearful to be written! - -In a low chamber of a lonely dwelling, close to the outposts of the -enemy—looking down, indeed, upon the glacis and the dry moat of the -town—there sat an aged man, shivering above the last expiring embers of -his last brand—it was the last small fragment of the door, that dying -brand! All else, the floor, the furniture, the casements, had been -consumed already. Upon the hearth, beside the embers, there stood a mug -of water, and a large dish, covered with thrice gnawed bones, part of a -horse’s ribs, clean picked and broken, so as to reach the marrow. He was -a tall and stately figure, was that aged man, and he had been strong, -sinewy and vigorous even in his old age; but now his form was bent and -all his limbs contracted; the skin, yellow as parchment, was drawn tight -across his withered brow; his nose was terribly, unnaturally sharpened, -like the nose of a corpse; his eye was dim and lustreless; his ashy lips -were glued together with a thin frothy slaver. Yet he had fought that -morning in a fierce skirmish, which had well-nigh brought in a drove of -cattle, and had been only driven back by a charge of the ironsides, a -troop of which, commanded, too, by his own son, had fallen upon their -flank, and borne them back into the town when confident of victory and -full of high anticipation. - -His corslet and buff coat were not yet laid aside; his plumed hat was -cast listlessly beside him on the ground, but his blue baldric still -sustained his rapier, spotted with many blood gouts, and, in the buff -belt round his waist, his pistols, with the hammers down and the pans -black with smoke, showed that he had not removed them since he had -thrust them back into his girdle, just fired in the heat of action. -There he sat, with his hands clenched and his teeth hard set, _silent_, -yet cursing in his heart that recreant son, whom he had never -forgiven—no! never for one moment’s space!—that he had joined the -Parliament against the King, and on whose head he now invoked the direst -of calamities, that, by his too successful charge, he had cut off the -last relief from that sad starving city. - -Suddenly a faint sound fell on his ear, as of one clambering up the -glacis. The old man listened, acutely, breathlessly, as though life were -dependant on his sense of hearing!—again it came, clearer and louder, -_nearer_ than before. Sword in hand, on the instant the veteran sprang -to the narrow casement which overlooked the moat and glacis, and there, -scarce three feet from the window, in the steel cap and corslet, the -scarlet cassock and unshapely boots of Cromwell’s Ironsides, stood a -tall, slender figure. The moon, which was dimly wading through the -uncertain clouds, feebly defined the outlines of his form, and half -revealed, as the old man fancied, the shapes and weapons of a score or -two of his fanatical companions in the dark hollow of the moat below -him. - -“Treason—to arms—ho! treason!”—shouted the wretched father, at the -utmost pitch of his querulous attenuated voice; but ere he had well -syllabled the words, a faint and well-remembered sound responded to his -high pitched clamor. - -“Hist!—Father,”—it said—“Father—it is I—I have brought hither food -and wine, at great risk of my life—approach, quick! quick! and take -them; I will return to-morrow and crave thy blessing!” - -“Out on thee! Dog and traitor—die in thy treason, and thy gifts perish -with thee!—Ho! treason! to arms! treason!” - -And now the cry reached wakeful ears, and was again repeated and -again—“Ho! treason! to arms! treason!”—and lights were seen flashing -along the ramparts, and trumpets were blown through the streets, and -sentinels were heard continually challenging, and hasty footsteps, and -the clash of arms, drew nearer every moment; and still that aged man, -implacable, and steeled against his son by bitter hate, shouted, “to -arms! to arms!” and called the hue and cry that way with frantic energy. - -“I will not be so balked—thou wilt repent this, father,” said the young -man, advancing nearer. - -“Pray God I live to see thee hanged; I will repent this never!—approach -me not, or I will rob the hangman of his due, and with mine own hand -slay thee!” - -“Thou wilt not, father,” replied the other, as he laid his hand on the -casement, and reaching into the chamber, set down upon the floor a small -rush basket, and a tall flask of wine,—“thou wilt not, father—seeing -that I have risked my life to bring thee meat and wine. I knew not, till -to-day, that thou wert in this lamentable town!” - -At first the old man listened, and seemed even somewhat mollified, but -as his son alluded to the situation of the town, all his old rage -returned, and with the words, “die dog!” he lunged full at his heart -with his drawn rapier—the blow took effect, full on the polished -corslet, and glanced off, inflicting a deep wound on his left arm, and -hurling him to the ground. - -“Ha! have I slain thee?—Ha! so perish all the enemies of good king -Charles!” - -“Praised be God,” replied the Puritan, “praised be God, _that_ sin is -spared to thee—farewell!” - -“Ho! guard—this way,” shouted the veteran, now more incensed than ever, -“ho! guard—this way!” - -And with their arquebusses lowered, and their slow-matches lighted, a -party of the night-watch rushed in from the street—the ruthless father -pointed them to the figure of his flying son, and a quick volley -followed—another—and another!—and all along the ramparts, from every -battlement and crenelle, the sharp, clear flashes of the random -musquetry streamed out into the midnight darkness—and the loud rattle -of the shots startled the sentinels of Lilburne on their posts, and set -the outposts and picquets on the alert throughout the whole of the -beleaguering hosts. - -Escaping from the random volleys, the young man hurried to his quarters; -but ere he reached them, he was met by the grand rounds, interrogated, -seized, dragged to head-quarters, tried for communicating with the enemy -by a drum-head court-martial, and sentenced to be hanged upon the -morrow, between the glacis and the lines—before two hours had passed. -Meantime the old man _fed_—_coolly fed_ on the meat, and quaffed the -wine his child—his betrayed child—had brought to him—then mocked the -throne of mercy with a prayer, and lay down, and slept soundly—while -that same child, watched in a military dungeon, and prayed for mercy to -his soul, which must be with its God, to-morrow. - -The morrow dawned, and the accursed gallows stood there erect between -the glacis and the lines—and the death-drums were beating through the -camp—and the Parliamentarians mustered to punishment parade, with their -war weapons trailed, and their grim visages suffused with more than -their accustomed gloom. - -The fearful tale was known—at once, almost instinctively it was -revealed—all means were taken, and all methods tried to preserve the -victim son—threats of retaliation—proffers of -terms—entreaties—ransom—bribes—but all were tried in vain. - -In the full blaze of noon, before the besieged town, before the -besieging army, before men, angels, God—the son died on the gallows -tree, victim of filial piety—martyr to military discipline—and the old -ruthless man, who had consigned his own child to that fearful doom, -looked on, and strove to smile, and would have braved it out even to the -end—but the offended majesty of nature stood forth in its dread -might!—the fierce revulsion of conflicting passions conquered the -wretched clay!—with the sneer on his lip, and the bold evil words upon -his tongue—he staggered—fell!—they lifted him, but he was dead. - -That night, a courier with a white flag paused at the outposts of the -Roundheads. It was a messenger from Charles, licensing his commander to -surrender his good and faithful town of Knaresborough—and the next day -the garrison marched out with colors flying and drums beating, and all -the honors of war granted them,—and filed in their superb array beneath -the gibbet and the corpse of him who died a felon’s death, for succoring -a father at his need!—Ho! the morality of warfare! The glory of the -victor! - - * * * * * - - - - - O, SAY, DO I NA’ LO’E YE LASSIE. - - - O, say, do I na’ lo’e ye, lassie? - O, say, do I na’ lo’e ye well? - Aye! mair than tongue can utter, lassie, - Or mair than tender looks can tell. - Ye’re i’ my dreams by night, my lassie, - An’ ye are i’ my thoughts by day, - An’ ye’re the beacon star, my lassie. - That guides me through life’s troubled way. - - I lo’e ye for those tresses, lassie, - That i’ bright jetty masses flow; - I lo’e ye for that bosom, lassie, - As white an’ fair as driven snow; - I lo’e ye for those cheeks, my lassie, - O’ sweetest tinge o’ rosy hue; - An’ O, I lo’e ye, dearest lassie, - For those twa cannie e’en o’ blue. - - I lo’e ye for that form, my lassie, - Like to the deer’s, sae fit’ o’ grace; - I lo’e ye for that smile, my lassie, - That plays across thy charming face. - But what I lo’e still more, my lassie, - Is that which is worth mair to gain: - It is the bonnie min’, my lassie, - Which i’ gude truth ye ca’ your ain. - - S. - - * * * * * - - - - - AUZELLA. - - - A LEGEND OF THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS. - - -“Absolution, father, for breath is fleeting fast,” cried the dying man, -in a scarce audible voice. As the monk approached the bed, the sick man -started from his pillow, and, with clenched hands and straining eyes, -uttered, in a low, sepulchral tone, “Avaunt! avaunt, thou damning fiend! -thine hour is not yet come. Oh, mercy! mercy!” His bosom heaved -convulsively, the dew of agony gathered thick upon his brow, and, with a -beseeching look, he pointed to the crucifix on the wall. - -“Confession alone can save you, my son. While there is yet time, relieve -your bosom of its load of sin, and seek for pardon.” - -“_Too late!_ oh, lost forever! The hour approaches; come near.” Drawing -from under his pillow a parchment, he placed it in the hands of the -monk. “My confession, father; _now_, now, sign me with the cross.” -Uttering a wild cry of anguish, the dying man, with desperate energy, -flung himself towards the monk, and attempted to grasp the symbol of -salvation. . . . . . A vivid, lurid gleam, followed by an astounding -crash, mingled with horrid yells and piercing screams! When the monk was -found by a lay brother, he still breathed, but unconscious of external -objects, from which state he never recovered; the bed was empty, and the -bedclothes lay in wild disorder, as if torn by a mighty struggle. In the -hand of the prostrate monk was found a manuscript: - - - THE CONFESSION OF THE LOST. - -Upon the confines of the Hartz Mountains, in a lowly hut, I first saw -the light. My mother yielded up her life in giving me birth, and the -nourishment of a pet goat sustained the feeble spark of infancy. My -remaining parent proved, though rough and uncultivated, a kind nurse. -The hours of childhood were passed in assisting my father in collecting -dried wood for burning charcoal, and oft, as I penetrated through the -tangled forest, would I stand and gaze upon the clear blue flame that -night after night arose from one of the highest peaks, and though an -ague would creep over me at the recollection of some of the tales of -horror that clothed those mountains in such fearful dread, still an -unconquerable desire to witness their midnight orgies grew with my -growth and strengthened with my strength. - -About two hundred feet from the base of the loftiest of that extended -chain of mountains, jutted out a perpendicular rock. Upon the summit -stood the castle of Rudolfo, whose weather-beaten battlements had for -ages frowned defiance upon the plain below. Dark hints and mysterious -whispers surrounded that isolated spot with gloom and fear; no footsteps -ever approached its portals after sundown, and an Ave Maria was -silently, though fervently breathed, when the benighted hunter or weary -traveller caught a glimpse of the solitary light that was ever seen in -one of the casements of the castle. - -Count Rudolph was a man of valor; his arm was held invincible in the -battle field; but of a temperament morose and savage, his vassals -quailed beneath the glance of his bright gray eye, and trembled when the -sound of his loud clear voice rang through the vaulted halls. Among the -dependants that sat at his board below the salt, or rallied around his -banner, were hearts that thirsted to bury their daggers in his blood; -but the mantle of superstitious mystery so completely enveloped him, -that the hand, however daring, shrunk from the murderous deed. - -The iron-bound features of Count Rudolph never relaxed, save when his -looks rested upon his daughter. Then would the contracted brow expand, -and those eyes so formidable emit a ray of feeling. He seldom smiled, -but the effect was startling; a meteor, dazzling by its brightness, to -render the darkness more visible. And that daughter was a glorious -creature! The tall, graceful form, the dark hazel eyes, commanded the -allegiance of all that looked upon her. To her father her features bore -a strong resemblance, but moulded in the most perfect female softness. - -The lady Auzella was seldom seen beyond the boundaries of the castle, -but the report of her wondrous beauty had spread far over Germany, and -many a valiant knight had sued in vain for her fair hand, -notwithstanding the vague and strange reports that were ever afloat -about Count Rudolph and his unhallowed deeds. - -It was my twentieth birthday. The hours of labor were exchanged for -hunting, a pastime of which I was most fond. So intent was I in chasing -the chamois and hungry wolves that infest those regions, I thought not -of the departure of day, until warned by the declining sun shedding its -golden rays through the “forest’s thickening gloom.” An unconquerable -feeling of dread at being thus benighted, caused me to hasten my -footsteps towards my humble cot. With a steady eye and nervous limbs, I -bounded over the impetuous stream that rolls down the mountain side, and -springing from crag to crag, I emerged from the dense shadow of trees, -and stood upon a platform of rock overgrown with moss and stunted oak. - -Involuntarily I lingered to gaze upon the scene before me. The whole -country glowed with the effulgence of the setting sun, whilst the -amphitheatre of hills that bounded the horizon was clothed in gorgeous -purple. On the right stood the castle, its turrets and towers catching -the lingering sunbeams, bringing them out in bold relief from the mass -of frowning mountains that formed the back ground. The only sound that -broke upon the ear was the incessant roar of the cataract. Whilst thus I -stood entranced, a strain of music suddenly burst through the air, so -wild, so melodious, that it seemed an echo from the spheres. Amazed, I -listened breathlessly; again the same sweet notes were borne upon the -gentle gales. I turned, when lo! beside the rushing torrent sat a -female; her long tresses were floating upon the breeze, and revealed the -features of the Lady Auzella! Ere the melting strains were ended that -had held bound my soul, shrieking, affrighted, she fled towards me. With -horror I beheld a huge bear spring from the overhanging crag, and stand -within a foot of his prey. In one moment I took a sure and deadly -aim—fired—the monster rolled head-long down the rapid stream; the next -instant the fainting form of Auzella reposed within my arms! My fate was -sealed; the past, the future, all, all were forgotten. We met again and -again; I loved, ardently, madly, and was beloved! Yes! the high-born, -haughty damsel loved the humble youth. - -We lived in the spring-time of love; the cold, bleak winds of autumn had -not yet chilled our hearts, when, with the impassioned fervor of -affection, I besought the gentle Auzella to fly with me to other lands, -where with my sword I would carve for myself a name worthy for her to -share. Silently she listened, then raising her head from my bosom, fixed -her expressive eyes upon me, and whispered, as soft as a zephyr’s sigh— - -“Hast thou dear Carl, resolution to win fame and wealth, and, with my -father’s consent, this hand?” - -“Try me, beloved, and thou wilt find no braggart in thy lover.” - -“Then, by thy vows of love, ere ‘yon moon fills her horn,’ pluck from -the mountain’s blazing pile a firebrand; bear it with all speed to my -father’s feet, and by that token fearlessly claim the hand of Auzella!” - -She ceased, and fled from me. In that brief space a new existence burst -upon my senses. The voice of love had pointed out the way to the -possession of _gold_ and the hand of her whom I adored; but how? To -league myself with devils! A cold shudder crept over me; within my -breast raged a fearful struggle. It passed away, and, with the purpose -of my soul determined, I awoke from the _dream_ of life to the reality -of existence. - - * * * * * - -Strange, that man should shrink in after years from lifting the veil -that has shadowed crimes recklessly committed in youth. Does he scorn -and bid defiance to the eyes of Omnipotence, and tremble at the opinions -of his fellow worms? How incongruous, but alas! how true! - -Although years have rolled past—and time, as it has flown onward, has -hurried with them into the vast abyss of eternity, pleasures, sins and -sorrows—the events of that _fearful_ night, that fatal hour, are -concentrated in one burning spot within my brain. - -Like king Midas, the cravings of discontent proved my destruction. -Destruction! aye, one endless chain of wretchedness, perpetuated through -life, with no oblivion in the _grave_. - - * * * * * - -With desperate energy I braved the lightning’s lurid gleam, and heeded -not the tempest that raged around me. As I bent my footsteps towards the -ever-burning flame, sounds, as if from the abyss of Hades, burst upon my -ear. I stood palsied with horror, and as a bright flash burst through -the gloom, shrieks and wild laughter rang through the air, and revealed -my presence! “Ah! standest thou there to mock me, thou fiend, thou -devil? Hurl not reason _yet_ from its tottering throne! Begone!” - -The hour was past, the trophy _gained_, my bride _won_; but an _oath_ -was taken that is engraved upon my heart with a firebrand, and ever -thrills my frame with anguish—with never-ceasing torture! - -How shall I unravel the tangled thread of my after life? Shall I dwell -upon the hour that called Auzella _mine_?—the joy I felt as I clasped -my beautiful, my adored _wife_ to my heart, notwithstanding the dark -flash from Count Rudolph’s eyes? A brief state of happiness was mine—an -oasis in the wilderness of life. - -I _now_ had gold unbounded. We left the frowning castle for the gay -metropolis. The mountain boy was no longer the shy boor, but the wealthy -_noble_ and the crafty man. - -Once launched upon the ocean of dissipation, I trimmed my sails to catch -the breeze of pleasure, and thought not of the whirlpools that -surrounded me; when, one night, in the midst of a gay revel, whilst the -sparkling cup and the merry jest passed freely round the festive board, -a touch of _fire_, a whisper which penetrated my very soul, reminded me -of my _oath_—that _fearful oath_! Then fled the scene of enchantment, -the faces of beauty, the chrystal lights, and the music, breathing its -soft strains through the fragrant air; and, in the mind’s eye, the -burning mountain, the horrid yells of demoniacal laughter, were beheld -with frightful distinctness. - - * * * * * - -_Murder my friend!_—the companion of my midnight revels, the sharer of -my pleasures—_never!_ But thine oath! Ah! then did I feel the serpent’s -sting; his envenomed coil compressed every fibre of my defenceless body; -no escape from his toils. I had voluntarily _sold myself_ to the demon -of the burning mountain! - -Out upon it! why quakes this feeble frame as the hour approaches when I -shall “throw off this mortal coil?” Can tortures be greater than what I -do and _ever will_ suffer? Why not snap asunder the cord at once? - -But the deed was _done_, and _then_ deeper did I plunge into the vortex -of vice, for the slight barrier of conscience was broken down, and I -moved through the gazing crowd an envied man. Ah, ah, envied! How little -dreamed the gaping fools of the livid spot _within_. But, amidst the -volcano that was consuming me, burned one pure flame—the shrine on -which it was kindled was still unpolluted—my love for Auzella. She was -my day-star, my dream of all that was pure. Her smile would chase the -demon from my breast, and lull me into forgetfulness. - -But the cup of misery that I had tasted was not yet drained. Jealousy -mingled with its bitter dregs, and poisoned my blood and shot through -every vein. - -Suddenly there appeared among us a youth of striking mien and of great -beauty, though of a wild and singular aspect. He was ever with Auzella! -I chased from my breast the dark thoughts that would sometimes enter. -With the madness of despair, I bore her to the gloomy castle where dwelt -her father. She murmured not at thus being torn from scenes of festive -mirth to hours of dreary sadness; her eyes still sparkled with their -wonted fire. We visited the spot where first I dared breathe my aspiring -hopes, and as I folded her to my breast again, I told her how dear she -still was to me. - -Count Rudolph had become more morose, and seldom went beyond the castle -walls. He seemed to take no pleasure in the presence of his child, and -when I encountered the glance of his eye fixed upon me, a strange, -undefinable sensation would creep over me: a vague recollection of -scenes gone by. Thus passed four long, weary weeks. For me were no -dreams of the future, no surveying of the past; all, all was a chaos of -guilt and dread. - -Twice, in the still hour of midnight, did I miss Auzella from my side. -At first I heeded it not, but as thought pressed upon thought, my brain -became maddened; horrible suspicions crept over me. Grasping my pistols, -I fled from the castle, and, without one definite object, I strode -hastily towards _that_ fatal spot. The same wild yells met my ear, and, -by the clear blue flame, I beheld a scene of sickening horror!—while I -think upon it, my brain becomes frenzied—but I must relieve the -tortures of this breast by tracing my sum of misery. - -Aye! I beheld a motley group sitting around the fire, who, with shouts -of laughter and demoniacal gestures, were tearing asunder a human frame, -a fresh victim! There was a pause, when a voice arose upon the stillness -that sent my blood curdling to my heart; I looked, and saw _my wife_, -and by her side that stranger youth! Slowly I moved my hand towards my -pistol, and, setting my teeth, grasped it firmly. Another voice rang -through the air, and there sat Count Rudolph, the demon of the burning -mountain; well did I remember, by that light, those unhallowed eyes and -_that smile_. The glance was but momentary, for revenge was heaving my -bosom almost to bursting. There sat the only object on earth that was -dear to me; for _her_ I had bartered my _soul_, and there she was, in -seeming fellowship with devils. Ages of misery were crowded in that -moment. She turned, and smiled upon the beardless boy. Nature could -endure no longer—I fired! Loud yells and horrid imprecations mingled -with the thunder’s roar; one fierce scream was borne upon the blast, -and, from the spot where sat Auzella, up rose a _vulture_! For a moment -she hovered near me; I saw the crimson blood stream from its breast, and -casting a look upon me, (which, by day and night, haunts the deepest -spot in memory’s waste,) flapped her broad wings, and was soon lost in -the impenetrable gloom. - - * * * * * - -Darkness fell upon me; reason was lost amid the breakers of despair. A -wreck, deserted by Hope, within my heart is the torch of anguish, -kindled at the funeral pile of Vice. - - E. - - * * * * * - - - - - THOUGHTS IN SPRING. - - - BY HENRY B. HIRST. - - - It is the spring time. Varied flowers are sending - Their new-born odors on the sighing breeze, - The sun its brightness from the sky is lending, - Flinging its kisses to the budding trees, - And Nature, lovely Nature fair doth seem, - As the creation of a poet’s dream. - - The robin’s mellow strain in wild notes gushes - From the snow blossoms of the apple tree; - The cat-bird’s scolding from the leafy bushes, - The wren’s low music thrilling comes to me, - Seeming the hymns of Nature freely given, - As stainless offerings of its praise to Heaven. - - Earth is a sea of verdure. Blossoms springing - All gem-like dewy from the velvet sod, - Like whispered melody their perfume flinging, - Earth’s altar’d incense rising up to God,— - Whose word I read in there as in his book, - When e’er their beauties meet my eager look. - - Thro’ laughing verdure silvery is straying, - Reflecting, mirror-like, the pure calm sky, - A babbling stream, o’er rock and lichen playing, - Sweet as the softness of a loved one’s sigh— - Floating along with harmony as rife - As pass the hours in some bright day of life. - - The river far away is calmly stealing, - Thro’ its green banks all glittering with light, - Like beaming fancies in the poet’s feeling, - Who worships ever all that’s fair and bright; - Creating images that living start - Warm from the gushings of his burning heart. - - Yes! this is spring time, mild and glorious spring, - When earth is like a paradise, and gay - With birds, and buds, and flowers, and everything, - Whose beauties serve to gild awhile life’s clay. - Bidding hearts revel in enjoyment wild, - Making one happy even as a child. - - * * * * * - - - - - SCHOOL-BOY RECOLLECTIONS. - - - A FROLIC AMONG THE LAWYERS.—A SCENE FROM LIFE. - - - BY T. W. THOMAS, AUTHOR OF “HOWARD PINCKNEY,” ETC. - - -I was born in New Orleans. I had very bad health there in my early -childhood, and “My Aunt Betsey,” of whom I have before spoken, took a -voyage by sea from Baltimore to the “crescent city,” for the purpose of -returning with me to a climate which the physicians had said would -strengthen my constitution. - -She brought me up with the greatest kindness, or rather, I should say -she kept me comparatively feeble by her over-care of my health. When I -was about fourteen years of age, my father brought my mother and my -little sister Virginia on from New Orleans to see me. My meeting with my -kind mother I shall never forget. She held me at arms’ length for an -instant, to see if she could recognise, in the chubby, healthy boy -before her, the puny, sickly child with whom she had parted with such -fond regret on board the Carolina, but a few years before; and when, in -memory and in heart, she recognized each lineament, she clasped me to -her bosom with a wild hysteric joy which compensated her, more than -compensated her, she said, for all the agony which our separation had -caused her. I loved my mother devotedly, yet I wondered at the emotion -which she exhibited at our meeting, and, child though I was, a sense of -unworthiness came over me, possibly because my affections could not -sound the depths of hers. - -My father’s recognition was kinder than I had expected, from what I -remembered of our parting in New Orleans. He felt prouder of me than at -our parting, I presume, from my improved health and looks, and this made -him feel that my being tied to the apron strings of my good old aunt -would not improve my manliness. A gentleman whom he had met at a dinner -party, who was the principal of an academy, a kind of miniature college, -some thirty miles from Baltimore, had impressed my father, by his -disquisitions, with a profound respect for such a mode of education. - -“William,” said my father, in speaking on the subject to Mr. Stetson, -“will be better there than here among the women; he’ll be a baby forever -here. No, I must make a man of him. I shall take him next week with me, -and leave him in the charge of Mr. Sears.” My mother insisted upon it -that I should stay awhile longer, that she might enjoy my society, and -that my sister and myself might become attached to each other ere they -returned to New Orleans. But my father said, “No, my dear; you know it -was always agreed between us that you should bring up Virginia as you -pleased, and that I would bring up William as I pleased.” - -“Let us take him, then, back to New Orleans,” exclaimed my mother; “he -is healthy enough now.” - -“But he would not be healthy long there, my dear. No, I have made -inquiry: Mr. Sears is an admirable man, and under his care, which I am -satisfied will be paternal, William will improve in mind, and learn to -be a man—will you not, William?” - -I could only cling to my mother without reply. - -“There,” exclaimed my father, exultingly, “you see the effect of his -education thus far.” - -“The effect of his education thus far!” retorted my aunt Betsey, who did -not relish my father’s remark; “he has been taught to say his prayers, -and to love his parents and tell the truth. You see the effects in him -now,” and she pointed to me, seated on a stool by my mother. - -All this made no impression upon my father. He was resolved that I -should go to Belle Air, the county town, situated twenty-five miles from -Baltimore, where the school was, the next week, and he so expressed -himself decidedly. - -The condemned criminal, who counts the hours that speed to his -execution, scarcely feels more horror at the rush of time than did I. -One appalling _now_ seemed to possess me. I was deeply sensitive, and -the dread of my loneliness away from all I loved, and the fear of the -ridicule and tyranny of the oldsters, haunted me so that I could not -sleep, and I have lain awake all night, picturing to myself what would -be the misery of my situation at Belle Air. In fact, when the day -arrived, I bade my mother, aunt Betsey and my little sister Virginia -farewell with scarcely a consciousness, and was placed in the gig by my -father as the stunned criminal is assisted into the fatal cart. - -This over-sensitiveness—what a curse it is! I lay no claims to genius, -and yet I have often thought it hard that I should have the quality -which makes the “fatal gift” so dangerous, and not the gift. My little -sister Virginia, who had been my playmate for weeks, cried bitterly when -I left her. I dwelt upon her swimming eye with mine, tearless and stony -as death. The waters of bitterness had gathered around my heart, but had -not yet found an outlet from their icy thrall, ’neath which they flowed -dark and deep. - -Belle Air, at the time I write of, was a little village of some -twenty-five or more houses, six of which were taverns. It was and is a -county town, and court was regularly held there, to which the Baltimore -lawyers used to flock in crowds; and many mad pranks have I known them -play there for their own amusement, if not for the edification of the -pupils of Mr. Sears. - -My father drew up at Mr. Kenny’s tavern, and as it was about twelve when -we arrived, and the pupils were dismissed to dinner, he sent his card to -the principal, who in a few minutes made his appearance. Talk of a lover -watching the movements and having impressed upon his memory the image of -her whom he loveth!—the schoolboy has a much more vivid recollection of -his teacher. Mr. Sears was a tall, stout man, with broad stooping -shoulders, he carried a large cane, and his step was as decided as ever -was Doctor Busby’s, who would not take his hat off when the king visited -his school, for the reason, as he told his majesty afterwards, that if -his scholars thought that there was a greater man in the kingdom than -himself, he never could control them. The face of Mr. Sears resembled -much the likeness of Alexander Hamilton, though his features were more -contracted, and his forehead had nothing like the expansion of the great -statesman; yet it projected very similarly at the brows. He welcomed my -father to the village with great courtesy, and me to his pupilage with -greater dignity. He dined with my father, with me by his side, and every -now and then he would pat me on the head and ask me a question. I -stammered out monosyllabic answers, when the gentleman would address -himself again to his plate with renewed gusto. - -Mr. Sears recommended my father to board me at the house of a Mr. Hall, -who had formerly been the sheriff of the county, and whose wife and -daughters, he said, were very fine women. He repented, he said, when he -first took charge of the academy, that there was not some general place -attached to it where the pupils could board in common, but after -reflection had taught him that to board them about among the -towns-people would be as well. He remarked that I was one of his -smallest pupils, but that he could look on me _in loco parentis_, and -doubted not that he could make a man of me. - -After dinner he escorted my father, leading me by the hand, down to the -academy, which was on the outskirts of the town, at the other end of it -from Mr. Kenny’s. The buzz, which the usher had not the power to control -in the absence of Mr. Sears, hushed instantly in his presence, and as he -entered with my father, the pupils all arose, and remained standing -until he ordered them to be seated. Giving my father a seat, and placing -me in the one which he designed for me in the school, Mr. Sears called -several of his most proficient scholars in the different classes, from -Homer down to the elements of English, and examined them. When a boy -blundered, he darted at him a look which made him shake in his shoes, -and when another boy gave a correct answer and took his fellow’s place, -and glanced up for Mr. Sears’ smile, it was a picture which my friend -Beard, of Cincinnati, would delight to draw. The blunderer looked like -one caught in the act of sheep-stealing, while the successful pupil took -his place with an air that would have marked one of Napoleon’s doubtful -soldiers, when the Emperor had witnessed an act of daring on his part. -As for Mr. Sears, he thought Napoleon a common creature to himself. To -kill men, he used to say, was much more easy than to instruct them, he -felt himself to be like one of the philosophers of old in his academy; -and he considered Doctor Parr and Doctor Busby, who boasted that they -had whipped every distinguished man in the country, much greater than he -of Pharsalia or he of Austerlitz. - -When the rehearsal of several classes had given my father a due -impression of Mr. Sears’ great gifts as an instructor, and of his -scholars’ proficiency, he took my father to Mr. Hall’s, to introduce us -to my future host. - -We found the family seated in the long room in which their boarders -dined. To Mr. Sears they paid the most profound respect. Well they -might, for without his recommendation they would have been without -boarders. Hall was a tall, good humored, careless man. His wife was -older than himself, tall too, but full of energy. He had two daughters, -Harriet and Jane. Harriet was a quick, active, lively girl, and withal -pretty, while Jane was lolling and lazy in her motions, and without -either good looks or prettiness. The matter of my boarding was soon -arranged, and it had become time for my father to depart. All this while -the variety and excitement of the scene had somewhat relieved my -feelings, but when my father bade me be a good boy and drove off, I felt -as if the “last link” was indeed broken, and though I made every effort, -from a sense of shame, to repress my tears, it was in vain, and they -broke forth the wilder from their previous restraint. Harriet Hall came -up instantly to comfort me. She took a seat beside me at the open window -at which I was looking out after my father, and with a sweet voice, -whose tones are in my memory yet, she told me not to grieve because I -was from my friends; that I should soon see them again, and that she -would think I feared they would not be kind to me if I showed so much -sorrow. This last remark touched me, and while I was drying my eyes, one -of the larger boys, a youth of eighteen or twenty, came up to the -window—for the academy by this time had been dismissed for the -evening—and said, - -“Ah, Miss Harriet, is this another baby who is crying for home?” - -In an instant my eyes were dried. I cast one glance at the speaker—he -was a tall, slim, reckless looking fellow, named Prettyman—and from -that day to this I have neither forgotten it, nor, I fear, forgiven him. - -In the night, when we retired to our rooms, I found that my bed was in a -room with two others, Prettyman and a country bumpkin, by the name of -Muzzy. As usual on going to bed, I kneeled down to say my prayers, -putting my hands up in the attitude of supplication. I had scarcely -uttered to myself the first words, “Our Father,” but to the ear that -heareth all things, when Prettyman exclaimed— - -“He’s praying! ‘By the Apostle Paul!’ as Richard the Third says, that’s -against rules. Suppose we cob him, Muzzy?” Muzzy laughed, and got into -bed; and I am ashamed to say that I arose with the prayer dying away -from my thoughts, and indignation and shame usurping them, and sneaked -into bed, where I said my prayers in silence, and wept myself in silence -to sleep. In the morning, with a heavy heart, and none but the kind -Harriet to comfort me, I betook myself to the academy. - -Parents little know what a sensitive child suffers at a public school. I -verily believe that these schools engender often more treachery, -falsehood and cruelty than exists in West India slavery; I was about -saying even in the brains of an abolitionist. Most tenderly nurtured, -under the care of an affectionate old aunt, who was always fixing my -clothes to keep me warm, coddling up something nice to pamper me with, -watching all my outgoings and incomings, and seeing that everything -around me conduced to my convenience and comfort, the contrast was -indeed great when I appeared at the Belle Air academy, one of the -smallest boys there, and subjected to the taunts and buffetings of every -larger boy than myself in the institution. My father little knew what -agony it cost me to be made a man of. - -I am not certain that the good produced by such academies is equal to -their evils. I remember well for two or three nights after Prettyman -laughed at me, that I crept into bed to say my prayers, and, at last, -under his ridicule—for he practised his gift on me every night—I not -only neglected to say them, but began to feel angry towards my aunt that -she had ever learned them to me, as they brought so much contempt upon -me. Yet, such is the power of conscience, at that tender age, that, when -I awoke in the morning of the first night that I had not prayed, I felt -myself guilty and unworthy, and went into the garden and wept aloud, -tears of sincere contrition. - -Too often, in public schools, the first thing a youth learns from his -elders, is to laugh at parental authority, and to exhibit to the -ridicule of his fellows the letter of advice which his parent or -guardian feels it his duty to write to him, taking care, with a jest -upon them, to pocket the money they send, with an air of incipient -profligacy which, any one may see, will soon not only be rank but -prurient—such a moral contagion should be avoided, and, I therefore am -inclined to think that the Catholic mode of tuition, where some one of -the teachers is with the scholars, not only by day but by night, is -preferable. And, in fact, any one who has witnessed the respectful -familiarity they teach their pupils to feel and act towards them, and -the kindness with which they return it, cannot but be impressed with the -truth of my remark. - -There were nearly one hundred pupils at Belle Air, at the period of -which I write, and the only assistant Mr. Sears had, was a gaunt fellow -named Dogberry. Like his illustrious namesake in Shakspeare, from whom I -believe he was a legitimate descendant, he might truly have been -“_written down an ass_.” - -The boys invented all sorts of annoyances to torture Dogberry withal. A -favorite one was, when Mr. Sears was in the city, which was at periods -not unfrequent, for them to assemble in the school before Dogberry came, -and setting one by the door to give notice when the usher was within a -few feet of it, to begin as soon as he appeared in sight, to shout, as -with one voice—first _Dog_, and then, after a pause, by way of a -chorus, _berry_. - -As soon as notice was given by the watcher, he leaped to his seat, and -every tongue was silent, and every eye upon the book before it. The rage -of Dogberry knew no bounds on these occasions. He did not like to tell -the principal, for the circumstance would have proved not only his want -of authority over the boys, but the contempt in which they held him. - -A trick which Prettyman played him, nearly caused his death, and, -luckily for the delinquent, he was never discovered. Dogberry was very -penurious, and he saved two-thirds of his salary; as it was not large, -he had, of course, to live humbly. He dined at Halls and took breakfast -and supper in his lodgings, if he ever took them, and the quality of the -dinner of which he made himself the receptacle, caused it to be doubted. -His lodgings were the _dormant_ story of a log cabin, to which he had -entrance by a rough flight of stairs without the house and against its -side. Under the stairs there was a large mud-hole, and Prettyman -contrived one gusty night to pull them down, with the intention of -calling the usher in the tone of Mr. Sears, for he was a good mimic, and -causing him to fall in the mud. Unluckily, the usher heard the racket -without, and not dreaming it was the fall of the stairs, he leaped from -his bed, and hurried out to see what it was. He fell on them, and though -no bones were broken, he was laid up for several weeks. The wind always -had the credit of the affair, and Prettyman won great applause for his -speedy assistance and sympathy with Dogberry, whom he visited constantly -during his confinement. - -The night of the adjournment of court, the lawyers, and even the judges, -had what they called a regular frolic. Mr. Sears was in Baltimore, and -the scholars were easily induced to join in it—in fact they wanted no -inducement. About twelve o’clock at night we were aroused from our beds -by a most awful yelling for the ex-sheriff. “Hall, Hall,” was the -cry—soon the door was opened, and the trampling of feet was heard—in a -minute the frolickers ascended the stairs, and one of the judges, with a -blanket wrapped round him, like an Indian, with his face painted, and a -red handkerchief tied round his head, and with red slippers on, entered -our room, with a candle in one hand and a bottle in the other; and, -after making us drink all round, bade us get up. We were nothing loath. -On descending into the dining-room, lo! there were the whole bar, -dressed off in the most fantastic style, and some of them scarcely -dressed at all. They were mad with fun and wine. The ex-sheriff brought -forth his liquors, and was placed on his own table as a culprit, and -tried and found guilty of not having been, as in duty bound, one of the -originators of the frolic. He was, therefore, fined glasses round for -the company, and ordered by the judges to pay it at Richardson’s bar. To -Richardson’s the order was given to repair. Accordingly, without they -formed a line, Indian file. Two large black women carried a light in -each hand beside the first judge, and two smaller black women carried a -light in the right hand beside the next one. The lawyers followed, each -with a light in his hand, and the procession closed with the scholars, -who each also bore a light. I, being smallest, brought up the rear. -There was neither man nor boy who was not more or less inebriated, and -the wildest pranks were played. - -When we reached Dogberry’s domicile, one of the boys proposed to have -him out with us. The question was put by one of the judges and carried -by acclamation unanimously. It was further resolved, that a deputation -of three, each bearing a bottle of different liquor, should be appointed -to wait on him, with the request that he would visit the Pawnee tribe, -from the far west, drink some fire-water with them, and smoke the pipe -of peace. - -Prettyman, whose recklessness knew no bounds, and who, as I suppose, -wished to involve me in difficulty, moved that the smallest and tallest -person in the council be of that deputation. There happened to be a -quantity of logs, which had been gathered there for the purpose of -building a log house. Mr. Patterson (I use here a fictitious name) was -at this time the great lawyer of Maryland. He was dressed in a splendid -Indian costume, which a western client had given him, and he had painted -himself with care and taste. He was a fine looking man, and stretching -out his hand, he exclaimed: - -“Brothers, be seated; but not on the prostrate forms of the forest, -which the ruthless white man has felled to make unto himself a -habitation. Like the big warrior Tecumseh, in council with the great -white chief Harrison, we will sit upon the lap of our mother the -earth—upon her breast we will sleep—the Pawnee has no roof but the -blue sky, where dwelleth the Great Spirit—and he looks up to the -shining stars, and they look down upon him—and they count the leaves of -the forest and know the might of the Pawnees.” - -Every one, by this time, had taken a seat upon the ground, and all were -silent. As the lights flashed o’er the group, they formed as grotesque a -scene as I have ever witnessed. - -“Brothers,” he continued, “those eyes of the Great Spirit,” pointing -upwards to the stars, “behold the rushing river, and they say to our -fathers, who are in the happy hunting grounds of the blest, that, like -it, is the might of the Pawnee when he rushes to battle. The white men -are dogs—their carcasses drift in the tide—they are cast out on the -shore, and the prairie-wolf fattens on them. - -“Brothers—the eyes of the Great Spirit behold the prairies and the -forest, where the breath of the wintry wind bears the red fire through -them—where the prairie-wolf flies, and the fire flies faster. Brothers, -the white man is the prairie-wolf, and the Pawnee is the fire. - -“Brothers—when the forked fire from the right arm of the Great Spirit -smites the mountain’s brow, the eagle soars upwards to his home in the -clouds, but the snake crawls over the bare rock in the blast, and hides -in the clefts and in the hollows and holes. Behold! the forked fire -strikes the rock and scatters it as the big warrior would throw pebbles -from his hand, and the soaring eagle darts from the clouds and the -death-rattle of the snake is heard, and he hisses no more. - -“Brothers—the Pawnee is the eagle, the bird of the Great Spirit, and -the white man is the crawling snake that the Great Spirit hates. - -“Brothers—the shining eyes of the Great Spirit sees all these things, -and tells them to our fathers, who are in the happy hunting ground of -the blest, and they say that some day, wrapped in the clouds, they will -come and see us, for our land is like theirs.” - -This was said with so much eloquence, by the distinguished lawyer, that -there was the silence of nearly a minute when he concluded. In the -company was a lawyer named Short, who, strange to say, was just six feet -three inches and a half high, and he had a client—which is stranger -still—named Long, who was but five feet high. - -“Who has precedence, Judge Willard?” called out somebody in the crowd, -breaking in upon the business of the occasion, as upon such occasions -business always will be broken in upon—“who has precedence, Long or -Short?” - -“Long,” exclaimed the judge, “of course. It is a settled rule in law, -that you must take as much land as is called for in the deed—therefore -Long takes precedence of Short. May be, Short has a remedy in equity; -but this court has nothing to do with that—so you have the _long_ and -the _short_ of the matter.” - -“Judge,” cried out the ex-sheriff, “we must go to Richardson’s—you know -it is my treat.” - -“The Pawnee—the eagle of his race,”—exclaimed Patterson, “the prophet -of his tribe; he who is more than warrior—whose tongue is clothed with -the Great Spirit’s thunder—who can speak with the eloquence of the -spring air when it whispers amidst the leaves and makes the flowers open -and give forth their sweets—he, the Charming Serpent, that hath a -tongue forked with persuasion—he, even he, will go in to the white man, -and invite him to come forth and taste the fire-water, and smoke the -pipe of peace with the Pawnee. Then, if he comes not forth when the -charming serpent takes him by the hand, and bids him, the Pawnees shall -smoke him out like a fox, and his blazing habitation shall make night -pale, and there shall be no resting place for his foot, and children and -squaws shall whip him into the forest, and set the dogs upon his trail, -and he shall be hunted from hill to hill, from river to river, from -prairie to prairie, from forest to forest, till, like the frightened -deer, he rushes, panting, into the great lakes, and the waters rise over -him, and cover him from the Pawnees’ scorn.” - -This was received with acclamation. Mr. Patterson played the Indian so -well, that he drew me one of the closest to him, in the charmed circle -that surrounded him. His eye flashed, his lips quivered with fiery -ardor, though at the mimic scene. I was so lost in admiration of him, -that I placed myself beside him without knowing it. He saw the effect he -had produced upon me, and was evidently gratified. Taking me by the -hand, he said: - -“Warriors and braves, give unto me the brand, that the Charming Serpent -may light the steps of the boy to the hiding-place of the pale-face. He -shall listen to the eloquence of the Charming Serpent when he takes the -white man by the hand—he shall learn how to move alike the heart of the -pale-face and the red man. - -“Brothers—the Charming Serpent to-night,” said he, handing me the -candle, and placing himself in an oratorial attitude, while every man -lifted up his candle so that it shone full upon him,—“Brothers, the -Charming Serpent to-night could speak unto the four winds that are now -howling in the desolate Pawnee paths of the wilderness, and make them -sink into a low moan, and sigh themselves to silence, were he to tell -them of the many of his tribe who are now lying mangled, unburied, and -cold, beneath the shadow of the rocky mountains—victims of the white -man’s vengeance. - -“Brothers: O! that the Great Spirit would give the Charming Serpent his -voice of thunder—then would he stand upon the highest peak of the -Alleghanies, with the forked lightning in his red right hand, and tell a -listening and heart-struck world the wrong of his race. And, when all of -every tribe of every people had come crouching in the valleys, and had -filled up the gorges of the hills, then would the Charming Serpent hurl -vengeance on the oppressor. But come,” said he, taking the candle in one -hand, and myself by the other, “the Pawnee talks like a squaw. The -Charming Serpent will speak with the pale-face, and lead him forth from -his wigwam to the great council fire.” - -Accordingly, the Charming Serpent took me by the hand, and led me up the -stairs. His steps were steady, and it was evident that his libations had -excited his brain, and, instead of weakening him, given him strength. - -“What’s your name?” said he to me kindly. - -“William Russel, sir.” - -“Do you know me, my little fellow?” - -“Yes, sir, you’re Mr. Patterson, the great lawyer.” - -“Ah, ah! they call me a great lawyer, do they! What else do they say?” - -“That you’re the greatest orator in the country,” I replied—for what I -had drank made me bold too. - -“They do—I know they do, my little fellow—I believe, in fact, that I -could have stood up in the Areopagus of old, in favor of human rights, -and faced the best of them. Yes, sir, I too could have ‘fulmined over -Greece.’ But we are not Grecians now—we are Pawnees.” - -“Stop, stop, Mr. Pawnee,” called out some one from the crowd, “Short was -to go, he is the tallest man.” - -“The tallest man,” re-echoed Mr. Patterson, speaking in his natural -tone. “The judge, sir, has already decided that by just legal -construction, Short is short, no matter how long he is; and, if he -claims to be long, sir, I can just inform him that Lord Bacon says ‘that -tall men are like tall houses, the upper story is the worst furnished.’” -Here, every eye was turned on Short, and there was a shout of laughter. - -“If,” continued Mr. Patterson—and it was evident his potations were -doing their work—“if it be true—I’ll just say this to you, sirs. -Doctor Watts was a very small man; and, I repeat it for the benefit of -all small men— - - ‘Had I the height to reach the pole - Or meet the ocean with my span, - I would be measured by my soul— - The mind’s the standard of the man.’ - -“There, gentlemen of the jury; if that be true, I opine that the tallest -man in the crowd is now addressing you. But, I forget. I am a Pawnee. - -“Brothers: The tall grass of the prairies is swept by the fire, while -the flint endureth the hot flames of the stake. The loftiest trees of -the forest snap like a reed in the whirlwind, and the bird that builds -there leaves her eggs unhatched. The highest peak of the mountain is -always the bleakest and barest—in the valley are the sweet waters and -the pleasant. Damn it,” said he, speaking in his proper person, for he -began to forget his personation, “why do we value the gem— - - ‘Ask why God made the gem so small, - And why so huge the granite? - Because he meant mankind should set - The higher value on it.’ - -“That’s Burns—an illustrious name, gentlemen. When I was minister -abroad, I stood beside the peasant poet’s grave, and thanked God that he -had given me the faculties to appreciate him. Suppose that he had been -born in this land of ours, sirs; all we who think ourselves lights in -law and statesmanship, would have seen our stars paled—paled, sirs, as -the fire of the prairie grows dim, when the eye of the Great Spirit -looks forth from the eastern gates—damn it, that’s Ossian and not -Pawnee—upon it in its fierceness. - - ‘Thou, the bright eye of the universe, - That openest over all, and unto all - Art a delight—thou shinest not on my soul.’ - -“That’s Byron—I knew him well—handsome fellow. ‘Thou shinest not on my -soul’—no, but thou shinest on the prairie.” - -“The usher—Dogberry—let’s have Dogberry,” called out several of the -students. - -“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson; “Dogberry, ha! He’s Goldsmith’s village -teacher, that caused the wonder - - ‘That one small head could carry all he knew.’ - -Dogberry—Dogberry—but that sounds Shakspearian. ‘Reading and writing -comes by Nature.’ That’s certainly not his sentiments; were they, he -should throw away the usher’s rod and betake himself to something else; -for if these things come by nature, then is Dogberry’s occupation gone. -Yes, he had better betake himself to the constableship. Come, my little -friend—come, son of the Pawnee, and we will arouse the pale face.” - -Stepping by the side of Mr. Patterson, we ascended to the little -platform in front of Dogberry’s door, at which we rapped three times -distinctly. “Who’s there?” cried out a voice from within. Dogberry must -of course have been awake for at least half an hour. - -“Pale face,” said the Pawnee chief, “thou hast not followed the example -of the great chief of the pale faces; the string of thy latch is pulled -in. Upon my word, this is certainly the attic story,” he continued in a -low voice. - -“I am not very well to-night, gentlemen, unless your business is -pressing.” - -“Pressing! Pale face, the Pawnees have lit their council fire, and -invite thee to drink with them the fire-water and smoke the pipe of -peace.” - -“Thank you, gentlemen, I never drink,” responded Dogberry, in an -impatient tone. - -“Never drink! Pale face, thou liest! Who made the fire-water, and gave -it to my people, but thee and thine? Lo! before it, though they once -covered the land, they have melted away like snow beneath the sun.” - -“I belong to the temperance society,” cried out Dogberry from within. - -“Dogberry,” exclaimed Patterson—whose patience, like that of the crowd -below, who were calling for the usher as if they were at a town meeting, -and expected him to speak, was becoming exhausted—“Dogberry, compel me -not, as your great namesake would say, to commit either ‘perjury’ or -‘burglary,’ and break your door open. You remember in Marmion, Dogberry, -that the chief, speaking of the insult which had been put upon him, -said, - - ‘I’ll right such wrongs where’er they’re given, - Though in the very court of Heaven.’ - -Now I will not say that I would make you drink wherever the old chief -would ‘right his wrongs,’ but this I will say, that wherever I, Burbage -Patterson, get drunk, I think you can come forth and take a stirrup cup -with him; he leaves for the Supreme Court to-morrow.” - -“Mr. Patterson,” said Dogberry, coming towards the door, “your character -can stand it—it can stand anything—mine can’t.” - -“There’s truth in that,” said Mr. Patterson aside to me. “Gentlemen, let -us leave the pedagogue to his reflections; and now it occurs to me that -we had better not uncage him, for, boys, he would be a witness against -you; more, witness, judge, jury and executioner—by the by, clear -against law. Were I in your place, I would appeal, and for every stripe -he gives you, should the judgment be reversed, do you give him two.” - -Here a sprightly fellow, one of the scholars, named Morris, from Long -Green, ran up the steps and said to Mr. Patterson, - -“Do, sir, have him out, for if we get him into the frolic too, we are as -safe, sir, as if we were all in our beds. He has seen us all through -some infernal crack or other.” - -“Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, in a low tone to Morris, “he has been -playing Cowper, has he—looking from the loopholes of retreat, seeing -the Babel and not feeling the stir?” - -“Yes sir, but he’ll make a stir about it to-morrow.” - -“He shall come forth, then,” said Mr. Patterson; “Dogberry, open the -door; they speak of removing Sears, and why don’t you come forth and -greet your friends? We have an idea of getting the appointment for you.” - -This flattery took instant effect, for we heard Dogberry bustling to the -door, and in a moment it was opened about half way, and the usher put -his head out, and said, but with the evident wish that his invitation -would be refused, “Will you come in sir? Why, William Russell!” to me, -in surprise. - -“Pale face, this is a youthful brave, whom I want the pale face to teach -the arts of his race. Behold! I am the Charming Serpent. Come forth and -taste of the fire-water.” - -As Mr. Patterson spoke, he took Dogberry by the hand, and pulled him on -to the platform. The usher was greeted with loud acclamations and -laughter by the crowd. He, however, did not relish it, and was -frightened out of his wits. He really looked the personification of a -caricature. His head was covered with an old flannel nightcap, -notwithstanding it was warm weather, and his trousers were held up by -his hips, while his suspenders dangled about his knees. On his right leg -he had an old boot, and on his left foot an old shoe, and was without -coat or vest. As Mr. Patterson held up the light, so that the crowd -below could see him, there was such a yelling as had not been heard on -the spot since those whose characters the crowd were assuming had left -it. - -Dogberry hastily withdrew into his room, but followed by Mr. Patterson -and myself, each bearing a light. When we entered, the crowd rushed up -the steps. - -“For God’s sake, sir, for the sake of my character and situation, don’t -let them come in here.” - -“They shall not, if you will promise to drink with me. Pale face, speak, -will you drink with the Pawnee?” - -“Yes sir,” said Dogberry, faintly. - -The Charming Serpent here went to the door, and said, - -“Brothers, the Charming Serpent would hold a private talk with the chief -of the pale faces. Ere long, he will be with you. Let the Big Bull (one -of the lawyers was named Bull, and he was very humorous,) pass round the -fire-water and the calumet, and by that time the Charming Serpent will -come forth. Brothers, give unto the Charming Serpent some of the -fire-water, that he may work his spells.” - -A dozen handed up bottles of different wines and liquors. The Charming -Serpent gave Dogberry the candles to hold, took a bottle of Champaigne, -and handed me another. Then shutting the door, he said, - -“This is the fire-water that hath no evil in it. It courses through the -veins like a silvery lake through the prairie, where the wild grass -waves green and placid, and it makes the heart merry like the merriment -of birds in the spring-time, and not with the fierce fires of the dark -lake, like the strong fire-water, that glows red as the living coal. -Brothers, we will drink.” - -Dogberry’s apartment was indeed an humble one. Only in the centre of it -could you stand upright. Over our heads were the rafters and bare -shingles, formed exactly in the shape of the capital letter A inverted, -or rather V. Opposite the door was a little window of four panes of -glass, and under it, or rather beside it, in the corner, was a little -bedstead, with a straw mattrass upon it. A small table, with a tumbler -and broken pitcher, and candle in a tin candlestick on it, stood -opposite the bed. A board, nailed across from rafter to rafter, held a -few books, and beside it, on nails, were several articles of clothing. -There were besides in the apartment two chairs, and a wooden chest in -the corner, by the door. - -“Come, drink, my old boy,” exclaimed Patterson. - -“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, your character can stand it, I tell you, but -mine can’t.” - -“Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,” reiterated Patterson, offering -Dogberry the glass. - -“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, I would not choose any,” said he. - -“You can’t but choose, Dogberry; there is no alternative. Do you -remember what the poet beautifully says of the Roman daughter, who -sustained her imprisoned father from her own breast?— - - ‘Drink, drink and live, old man; Heaven’s realm holds no such tide.’ - -Do you remember it? I bid you drink, then, and I say to you, Hebe nor -Ganymede ever offered to the immortals purer wine than that. Drink! -here’s to you, Dogberry, and to your speedy promotion,” and Mr. -Patterson swallowed every drop in the glass, and re-filling it, handed -it to the usher. - -Without much hesitation, he drank it. He now filled me up a glass nearly -full, and I followed the example of my preceptor, he the while looking -at me with astonishment. - -“How do you like the letter, Mr. Dogberry?” asked Mr. Patterson of the -pedagogue. - -“What letter, sir? Mr. Patterson, I must say this is a strange -proceeding. I don’t know, sir, to what you allude.” - -“Don’t know to what I allude! Why, the letter wishing to know if you -would take the academy at the same price at which Sears now holds it.” - -“Sir, I have received no such letter. I certainly, sir, would, if it was -thought that I was—” - -“Was competent. Merit is always modest; you’re the most competent of the -two, sir—take some.” - -So saying, Mr. Patterson filled up the tumbler, and Dogberry swallowed -the compliment and the wine together, and fixed his eye on the rafters -with an exulting look. While he was so gazing, the lawyer filled his -glass, and observed, “Come, drink, and let me open this other bottle; I -want a glass myself.” Down went the wine, and, with a smack of his lips, -Dogberry handed the glass to Mr. Patterson. - -“Capital, ain’t it, eh?” - -“Capital,” re-echoed Dogberry. The wine and his supposed honors had -aroused the brain of the pedagogue in a manner which seemed to awake him -to a new existence. While Mr. Patterson was striking the top from the -other bottle, Dogberry handed me the candle which he held—the other he -had put in his candlestick, taking out his own when he first drank—and -lifting the tumbler, he stood ready. - -Again he quaffed a bumper. The effect of his potations on him was -electrical. He had a long face, with a snipe-like nose, which was -subjected to a nervous twitching whenever its owner was excited. It now -danced about, seemingly, all over his face, while his naturally -cadaverous countenance, under the excitement, turned to a glowing red, -and his small ferret eyes looked both dignified and dancing, merry and -important. “So,” exclaimed he, “I am to be principal of the academy; ha, -ha, ha! oh, Lord! William Russell, I would reprove you on the spot, but -that you are in such distinguished company.” - -Whether Dogberry meant only Mr. Patterson, or included himself, I do not -know, but as he spoke he arose, and paced his humble apartment with a -proud tread, forgetting what a figure he cut, with his suspenders -dangling about his knees and his nightcap on, and forgetting also that -his attic was not high enough to admit his head to be carried at its -present altitude. The consequence was that he struck it against one of -the rafters, with a violence that threatened injury to the rafter, if -not to the head. He stooped down to rub the affected part, when Mr. -Patterson said to him, - -“‘Pro-di-gi-ous,’ as Dominie Sampson, one of you, said, ain’t it? Come, -we’ll finish this bottle, and then go forth. The scholars are all -rejoiced at your promotion, and are all assembled without to do you -honor. They have made complete saturnalia of it. They marvel now why you -treat them with so much reserve.” - -“Gad, I’ll do it,” exclaimed Dogberry, taking the tumbler and swallowing -the contents. - -“Just put your blanket around you,” said Patterson to him. “Let your -nightcap remain; it becomes you.” - -“No, it don’t indeed, though, eh?” - -“It does, ’pon honor. That’s it. Now, pale face, come forth; the -eloquence of the Charming Serpent has prevailed.” - -So speaking, Mr. Patterson opened the door, and we stepped on to the -platform. - -The scene without was grotesque in the extreme. In front of us, I -suppose to the number of an hundred persons, were the frolickers, -composed of lawyers, students and town’s-people, all seated in a circle, -while Mr. Patterson’s client from the West, dressed in costume, was -giving the Pawnee war dance. This client was a rough uneducated man, but -full of originality and whim. Mr. Patterson had gained a suit for him, -in which the title to an estate in the neighborhood was involved, worth -upwards of sixty thousand dollars. The whole bar had believed that the -suit could not be sustained by Patterson, but his luminous mind had -detected the clue through the labyrinths of litigation, where they saw -nothing but confusion and defeat. His client was overjoyed at the -result, as every one had croaked defeat to him. He gave Mr. Patterson -fifteen thousand dollars, five more than he had promised, and besides -had made him a present of the splendid Indian dress in which, as a bit -of fun, before the frolic commenced, he had decked himself, under the -supervision of his client, who acted as his costumer, and afterwards -dressed himself in the same way. The client had a great many Indian -dresses with him, which he had collected with great care, and on this -occasion he threw open his trunks, and supplied nearly the whole bar. - -The name of Mr. Patterson’s client was Blackwood, and the admiration -which he excited seemed to give him no little pleasure. Most of the -lawyers in the circle had something Indian on them, while the boys, who -could not appear in costume, and were determined to appear wild, had -turned their jackets wrong side out, and swapped with each other, the -big ones with the little, so that one wore his neighbor’s jacket, the -waist of which came up under his arms, and exhibited the back of his -vest, while the other wore a coat the hip buttons of which were at his -knees. - -On the outskirts of this motley assembly could be seen, here and there, -a negro, who might be said at once to contribute to the darkness that -surrounded the scene and to reflect light upon it, for their black skins -were as ebon as night, while their broad grins certainly had something -luminous about them, as their white teeth shone forth. - -We stood about a minute admiring the dance, when it was concluded, and -some one espied us, and pointed us out to the rest. We, or rather I -should say Dogberry, was greeted with three times three. I have never -seen, for the size of the assembly, such an uproarious outbreak of -bacchanalian merriment. After the cheers were given, many of the boys -threw themselves on the grass and rolled over and over, shouting as they -rolled. Others jerked their fellows’ hats off, and hurled them in air. -Prettyman stood with his arms folded, as if he did not know what to make -of it, and then deliberately spreading his blanket on the ground, as -deliberately took a seat in the centre of it, as if determined to -maintain the full possession of his faculties, and, like an amateur at a -play, enjoy the scene. Morris held his sides, stooped down his head, and -glanced sideways cunningly at Dogberry, throwing his head back every now -and then with a sudden jerk, while loud explosive bursts of laughter, -from his very heart, echoed through the village above every other sound. - -“A speech from Dogberry!” exclaimed Prettyman. - -“Ay, a speech!” shouted Morris, “a speech!” - -“No, gentlemen, not now,” exclaimed Richardson, the proprietor of one of -the hotels; “I sent down to my house an hour ago, and have had a -collation served. Mr. Patterson, and gentlemen and students all, I -invite you to partake with me.” - -“Silence!” called out Mr. Patterson. All were silent. “Students of the -Belle Air Academy and citizens generally, I have the honor to announce -to you that my friend, Mr. Dogberry, is about to supersede Mr. Sears. We -must form a procession and place him in our midst, the post of honor, -and then to mine host’s.” So speaking, Mr. Patterson descended, followed -by Dogberry and myself. The students gave their candles to the negroes -to hold, joined their hands, and danced round Dogberry with the wildest -glee, while he received it all in drunken dignity. - -When I have seen since, in Chapman’s floating theatre, or in a barn or -shed, some lubberly, drunken son of the sock and buskin enact Macbeth, -with the witches about him, I have recalled this scene, and thought that -the boys looked like the witches and Dogberry like the Thane, when the -witches greet him: - - ‘All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!’ - -The procession was at length formed. Surrounded by the boys, who rent -the air with shouts, with his nightcap on his head and his blanket -around him, with one boot and one shoe, Dogberry, following immediately -after the judges, proceeded with them to Richardson’s hotel. Whenever -there was the silence of a minute or two, some boy or other would ask -Dogberry not to remember on the morrow that he saw them out that night. - -“No, boys, no, certainly not; this thing, I understand, is done in honor -of me. I shan’t take Sears in even as an assistant. Boys, he has not -used me well.” - -We arrived at Richardson’s as well as we could, having business on both -sides of the street. His dining-room was a very large one, and he had a -very fine collation set out, with plenty of wines and other liquors. -Judge Willard took the head of the table and Judge Nolan the foot. -Dogberry was to the right of Judge Willard and Mr. Patterson to the -left. He made me sit beside him. The eating was soon despatched, and it -silenced us all a little, while it laid the groundwork for standing -another supply of wine, which was soon sparkling in our glasses, and we -were now all more excited than ever. It was amusing to see the merry -faces of my schoolmates twinkling about among the crowd, trying to catch -and comprehend whatever was said by the lawyers, particularly those that -were distinguished. - -Songs were sung, sentiments given, and Indian talks held by the -quantity. Dogberry looked the while first at the boys and then at the -lawyers and then at himself, not knowing whether or not the scene before -him was a reality or a dream. The great respect which the boys showed -him, and Patterson’s making an occasional remark to him, seemed at last -not only fully to impress him with the reality, but also with a full, if -not a sober conviction of his own importance. - -“A song!—a song!” was shouted by a dozen of the larger students; “a -song from Morris. Give us ‘Down with the pedagogue Sears.’ Hurrah for -old Dogberry—Dogberry forever.” - -“No,” cried out others, “a speech from Mr. Patterson—no, from the -Pawnee. You’re fineable for not speaking in character.” - -Here Prettyman took Mr. Patterson courteously by the hand, and said -something to him in a whisper. - -“Ah ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “so shall it be; I like Morris. Come, -my good fellow, sing us the song you wrote; come, Dogberry’s star is now -in the ascendant. ‘Down with the pedagogue Sears’—let’s have it.” - -Nothing loth, Morris was placed on the table, while the students -gathered round him, ready to join the chorus. Taking a preparatory glass -of wine, while Mr. Patterson rapped on the table by way of commanding -silence, Morris placed himself in an attitude and sang the following -song, which he had written on some rebellious occasion or other: - - SONG. - - You may talk of the study of imperial power, - And tell how their subjects must fawn, cringe and cower, - And offer the incense of tears; - But I tell you at once, that there’s none can compare - With the tyrant that rules o’er the lads of Belle Air, - So down with the pedagogue Sears. - (Chorus,) Down, down, - Down with the pedagogue Sears. - - The serf has his Sunday—the negroes tell o’er - Their Christmas, the Fourth, aye, and many days more, - When they feel themselves any man’s peers; - But we’re tasked night and day by the line and the rule, - And Sunday’s no Sunday, for there’s Sunday school, - So down with the pedagogue Sears. - (Chorus,) Down, down, &c. - - So here’s to the lad who can talk to his lass, - And here’s to the lad who can take down his glass, - And is only a lad in his years: - Who can stand up and act a bold part like a man, - And do just whatever another man can, - So down with the pedagogue Sears. - (Chorus,) Down, down, - Down with the pedagogue Sears— - -“Hip, hip, hurrah—once more,” shouted Morris. “Now then”— - - Down, down, - So down with the pedagogue Sears. - -While the whole room was in uproarious chorusing, who should enter but -Sears himself. He looked round with stern dignity and surprise, at first -uncertain on whom to fix his indignation, when his eye lit on Dogberry, -who, the most elated and inebriated of all, was flourishing his nightcap -over his head, and shouting, at the top of his voice, - - “Down with the pedagogue Sears.” - -As soon as Sears caught a view of Dogberry, he advanced towards him, as -if determined to inflict personal chastisement on the usher. At first -Dogberry prepared again to vociferate the chorus, but when he caught the -eye of Sears, his voice failed him, and he moved hastily towards Mr. -Patterson, who slapped him on the shoulder, and cried out, - -“Dogberry, be true to yourself.” - -“I am true to myself. Yes, my old boy, old Sears, you’re no longer head -devil at Belle Air Academy. You’re no devil at all, or if you are, old -boy, you’re a poor devil, and be d—d to you.” - -“You’re a drunken outcast, sir,” exclaimed Sears. “Never let me see your -face again; I dismiss you from my service,” and so speaking, he took a -note book from his pocket, and began hastily to take down the names of -the students. The Big Bull saw this, and caught it from his hand. - -“Sir, sir,” exclaimed Sears, enraged, “my vocation, and not any respect -I bear you, prevents my infliction of personal chastisement upon you. -Boys, young gentlemen, leave instantly for your respective boarding -houses.” - -During this, Patterson was clapping Dogberry on the shoulder, evidently -endeavoring to inspire him with courage. - -“Tell him yourself,” I overheard Dogberry say. - -“No, no,” replied Patterson, “it is your place.” - -“Well, then, I’ll tell you at once, Sears, you’re no longer principal of -this academy; you’re dished. Mr. Patterson, sir, will tell you so.” - -“Mr. Patterson!” exclaimed Sears, now for the first time recognizing, in -the semblance of the Indian chief, the distinguished lawyer and -statesman. “Sir, I am more than astonished.” - -“Sir,” rejoined Patterson, drawing himself up with dignity, “I am a -Pawnee brave; more, a red man eloquent or a pale face eloquent, as it -pleases me; but, sir, under all circumstances, I respect your craft and -calling. What more dignified than such? A poor, unfriended boy, I was -taken by the hand by an humble teacher of a country school, and here I -stand, let me say sir, high in the councils of a great people. Peace to -old Playfair’s ashes. The old philosopher, like Porson, loved his cups, -and, like Parr, loved his pipe; but, sir, he was a ripe scholar and a -noble spirit, and I have so said, sir, in the humble monument which I am -proud, sir, I was enabled, through the education he gave me, to build -over him. - - ‘After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well.’ - -Yes, as some one says, he was ‘my friend before I had flatterers.’ How -proud he was of me! I remember well catching his eye in making my first -speech, and the approving nod he gave me had more gratification to me -than the approbation of bench, bar and audience. Glorious old Playfair! -Mr. Sears, you were his pupil too. Many a time have I heard him speak of -you; he said, of all his pupils, you were the one to wear his mantle. -And, sir, that was the highest compliment he could pay you—the highest, -Mr. Speaker, for he esteemed himself of the class of the philosophers, -the teachers of youth. Sir, Mr. Sears, I propose to you that in -testimony of our life-long respect for him, we drink to his memory.” - -This was said so eloquently, and withal so naturally, that Sears, -forgetful of his whereabouts, took the glass which Mr. Patterson offered -him, and drank its contents reverently to the memory of his old teacher. - -“Sir,” resumed Patterson, “how glorious is your vocation! But tell me, -do you subscribe to the sentiment of Don Juan?— - - ‘Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, - Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, - I pray ye flog them upon all occasions— - It mends their morals—never mind the pain.’” - -The appropriate quotation caused a thrill to run through the assembled -students, while they cast ominous looks at each other. For the life of -him, Sears could not resist a smile. - -At this Mr. Patterson glanced at us with a quiet meaning, and turning to -Mr. Sears, he continued: “The elder Adams taught school—he whose -eloquence Jefferson has so loudly lauded—the man who was for liberty or -death, and so expressed himself in that beautiful letter to his wife. Do -you not remember that passage, sir, where he speaks of the Fourth being -greeted thereafter with bonfires and illuminations? His son, Johnny Q., -taught school. My dark-eyed friend Webster, who is now figuring so -gloriously in the halls of Congress and in the Supreme Court, taught -school. Judge Rowan, of Kentucky, a master spirit too, taught school. -Who was that - - ‘Who passed the flaming bounds of time and space, - The living throne, the sapphire blaze, - Where angels tremble as they gaze: - Who saw, but, blasted with excess of light, - Closed his eyes in endless night’— - -Who was he? Milton, the glorious, the sublime—who, in his aspirations -for human liberty, prayed to that great spirit who, as he himself says, -“sends forth the fire from his altar to touch and purify the lips of -whom he pleaseth”—Milton, the schoolmaster. - - ‘If fallen in evil days on evil tongues, - Milton appealed to the avenger, Time: - If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs, - And if the word ‘Miltonic’ mean ‘sublime,’ - He deigned not to belie his soul in songs, - Nor turn his very talent to a crime; - He did not loathe the sire to laud the son, - But closed the tyrant-hater he begun. - - ‘Thinkest thou, could he—the blind old man—arise, - Like Samuel, from the grave, to freeze once more - The blood of monarchs with his prophecies, - Or be alive again—again, all hoar - With time and trials, and those helpless eyes - And heartless daughters, worn, and pale, and poor—’ - -Would he not be proud of his vocation, when he reflected how many great -spirits had followed his example? The schoolmaster is indeed abroad. Mr. -Sears, let us drink the health of the blind old man eloquent.” - -“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Patterson, but before my scholars, under the -circumstances, it would be setting a bad example, when existing -circumstances prove they need a good one. Sir, it was thought that I -should not return from Baltimore until to-morrow, and this advantage has -been taken of my absence. But, Mr. Patterson, when such distinguished -gentlemen as yourself set the example, I know not what to say.” - -“Forgive them, sir, forgive them,” said Patterson, in his blandest tone. - -“Let them repair to their homes, then, instantly. Mr. Patterson, your -eloquent conversation had made me forget myself; I don’t wonder they -should have forgotten themselves. Let them depart.” - -“There, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “I have a greater opinion of my -oratorical powers than ever. Be ye all dismissed until I again appear as -a Pawnee brave, which I fear will be a long time, for ’tis not every day -that such men as my western client are picked up. But, Mr. Sears, what -do you say about Dogberry? He must be where he was; to-morrow must but -type yesterday. Dogberry, how is Verges?” - -“I don’t know him,” said Dogberry, doggedly. - -“Why, sir, he is the associate of your namesake in Shakspeare’s immortal -page. Let this play to-night, Mr. Sears, be like that in which -Dogberry’s namesake appeared—let it be ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’” - -Sears smiled, and nodded his head approvingly. - -“Then be the court adjourned,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson. “Dogberry, you -and my friend Sears are still together, and you must remember in the -premises what your namesake said to Verges, ‘An’ two men ride of a -horse, one man must ride behind.’” - -Giving three cheers for Mr. Patterson, we boys departed, and the next -day found us betimes in the academy, where mum was the word between all -parties. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WITHERED ROSE. - - - BY ALEX. A. IRVINE. - - - Thou pale withered flower, oh! once thou wert fair, - But now ev’ry leaf has been nipped by a blight— - Dost thou pine for the bosom, its fragrance to share, - Whence I won thee, sweet nestler, at parting one night? - - How beauteous thy head, as it modestly stoop’d - Its blushes to hide in her bosom of snow— - How sweetly above thee her fair tresses droop’d— - How pure was the heart beating stilly below! - - Oh! sweet was her smile as the first blush of Eve, - And soft was her voice as the low summer wind, - When she gave thee away, half reluctant to leave, - Like an angel from heaven sent down to mankind. - - I have cherished thee since as if never to part, - Thou remindest me so of that fair girl away;— - But, ah! can I banish the blight from thy heart, - Or save thee from withering day after day? - - And thus, oh! how often, the ones we love best, - Drop away from our sides like the roses in June— - But why should we weep? since they pass to their rest, - And if parted awhile, we shall follow them soon. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE REEFER OF ’76. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR.” - - - CUTTING OUT. - -We had now been several months at sea, and, although our stores had been -more than once replenished from the prizes we had taken, our provisions -began to grow scarce. The skipper accordingly announced his intention of -going into port. We bore up, therefore, for Charleston, that being the -most convenient harbor. - -My emotions on approaching the place where Beatrice resided, I shall not -attempt to describe. A full year had passed since we had parted, and in -all that time I had heard of her but once. Might she not now be married -to another? The proverbial fickleness of her sex; the known opposition -of her family to my suit; her uncertainty whether I still continued to -care for her, or whether even I was yet alive; and a thousand other -reasons why she might be unfaithful to me, rose up before me to torture -me with doubts. But most of all, I reflected on our different situations -in society. She was rich, courted, allied to rank—I was poor, unknown, -and a rebel officer. Many a night as I lay in my solitary hammock, or -trod my silent watch on deck, the fear that I might find Beatrice the -wife of another, filled my soul with agony. And yet could I doubt her -faith? - -At length we entered Charleston harbor, and with a gentle breeze floated -up towards the town. It was a moonless night, but the sky above was -spangled with a thousand stars, and the low outline of the city before -us glittered with myriads of lamps. The wind just ruffled the glassy -surface of the bay, fanning us, as it swept by, with a delicious -coolness. Here and there, on either shore, a light from a solitary house -flickered through the darkness, while occasionally a sheet of summer -lightning would play along the western firmament, where a low belt of -clouds skirted the horizon, and hung like a veil above the city. -Everything reminded me of the night when I had sailed up this same -harbor with Beatrice. What had I not witnessed since then! The -shipwreck, the battle, the hurricane, fire and sword, danger in every -shape, almost death itself—I had endured them all. During that period -where had been Beatrice? A few hours would determine. - -With a beating heart, the next morning I sought the residence of -Beatrice’s uncle. How my brain swam and my knees tottered when I came in -sight of the mansion which contained the form of her whom I loved! I had -understood that the family, except one or two of the ladies of it, was -out of town, and I burned with impatience to ascertain whether Beatrice -was among the absentees. Yet my heart failed me when I came in sight of -the residence of her uncle. I recollected the terms on which I had -parted with Mr. Rochester, and I scarcely thought myself allowable in -intruding on his hospitality in any shape. But, then, how else could I -obtain an interview with Beatrice? Again and again I approached the -door, and again and again I changed my mind and retired; but at length -remembering that my conduct was attracting attention, and unable longer -to endure my suspense, I advanced boldly to the portal, and knocked at -the hall door. It was answered by a strange porter. With a fluttering -heart I inquired for Miss Derwent. I felt relieved from a load of fear -when informed that she was in town, and hastily thrusting my card into -the man’s hand, I followed him eagerly into the drawing-room. He -disappeared, and I was alone. - -Who can forget his emotions, when, after a long separation from the -object of his love, he finds himself under the same roof with his -mistress, awaiting her appearance? How he pictures to himself the joy -with which the announcement of his arrival, especially if unexpected, -will be received! He fancies every look that will be exchanged and every -word that will be said at the moment of meeting. As the moments elapse, -he imagines, however short the time may be, that the appearance of his -mistress is unavoidably delayed, and a hundred fears arise, vague, -unfounded, and but half believed, that perhaps her affection has grown -lukewarm. Each successive instant of suspense increases his doubts until -they amount almost to agony; and as a light footfall—oh! how well -remembered!—breaks upon his ear, he almost dreads to meet her whom but -an hour before he would have given worlds to behold. So was it now with -myself. As minute after minute elapsed, and still Beatrice did not -appear, my fears amounted almost to madness; and when at length I heard -her light tread approaching, my heart began to beat so violently that I -thought I should have fainted. Anxious to resolve my doubts, by -observing her demeanor before I should be seen myself, I sprang into the -recess of a window. As I did so, the door opened and Beatrice entered -hurriedly, looking, if possible, more beautiful than ever. Her cheek was -flushed, her step was quick and eager, and her eyes shone with a joy -that could not be affected. She advanced several steps into the room, -when, perceiving no one, she gazed inquiringly around, with a look, I -thought, of disappointment. I moved from the recess. She turned quickly -around at the noise, blushed over brow, neck and bosom, and, with a -faint cry of joy, sprang forward, and was locked the next instant in my -arms. - -“Beatrice—my own, my beautiful!” - -“Harry—_dear_ Harry!” were our mutual exclamations, and then, locked in -each other’s embrace, for a moment we forgot in our rapture to speak. - -At length we awoke from this trance of delight, and found leisure for -rational conversation. Sitting side by side on the sofa, with our hands -locked together, and our eyes looking as it were into each other’s -souls, we recounted our mutual histories since our separation. With mine -the reader is already acquainted. That of Beatrice was naturally less -chequered, but yet it was not without interest. - -I have said that an alliance had been projected between Beatrice and her -cousin, and that Mr. Rochester had placed his whole soul on the -consummation of this project. The consciousness of my interest in the -heart of Beatrice had induced their conduct towards myself, under the -hope that if once separated from her, I would be eventually forgotten by -Miss Derwent. Time, however, proved how false had been this hope. -Instead of prospering in his suit from my absence, every day only seemed -to make the success of her cousin more problematical. In vain her uncle -persuaded; in vain he expostulated; in vain he lavished all his scorn on -me as a beggar and a rebel—Beatrice continued unmoved; now defending me -from every imputation, and now with tears giving up the contest, -although unconvinced. The letter she received from me, by acquainting -her with my projected cruise, prepared her for the long silence on my -part which had ensued; and although reports, no doubt originating with -her persecutors, were circulated respecting my arrival in port, and the -disreputable life I was said to lead, she remained faithful to me amid -it all. Oh! what is like woman’s love? Amid sorrow and joy; in sunshine -or storm; whether distant or near; in every varied circumstance of life, -it is the solace of our existence, the green spot amid the arid deserts -of the world. Nothing can change it—nothing can dim its brightness. -Even injury fails to break down the love of woman. You may neglect, you -may abuse her, if you will; but still, with a devotion not of this -earth, she clings to you, cheering you in distress, smiling on you in -joy, and amply repaid if she only win in return one kind word, one look -of approval. Thank God! that, fallen as we are, there is left to us that -link of our diviner nature—the pure, deep, unchanging love of woman. - -With what joy did I hear that Beatrice was still mine, wholly mine, and -how ardently did I press her to my bosom, invoking her again and again -to repeat the blessed words which assured me of her love! Hours passed -away as if they had been minutes. And when at length I rose to depart, -and, imprinting another kiss on her but half averted lips, took my leave -with a promise to return again the ensuing morning, my astonishment -passed all bounds to learn that noon had long since passed, and that the -evening was almost at hand. - -During the short time that we remained in port, I was daily with -Beatrice, and when we parted she pledged herself to be mine at the end -of another year, come what might. My heart, I will admit, reproached me -afterwards for winning this promise from her, and inducing her to give -up wealth and luxury for the bare comforts an officer’s pay could -afford; and yet her love was such a priceless gem, and she looked up to -me with such unreserved devotedness, that I could not regret a vow which -ensured me the right to protect her from the cold tempests of the world. -Besides, we were both young and full of hope, and I trusted some -fortunate event might occur which would yet allow us to be united with -the concurrence of her friends. - -“Uncle is suspected and watched by the colonial authorities,” said -Beatrice, as we parted, “and I fear me that he is linked in with some of -those who have designs against the state. I tremble to think what might -be his fate if detected in any conspiracy to restore the king’s -authority.” - -“Fear not, dearest,” I replied, “I will interest Col. Moultrie in his -favor, and besides, your uncle must see the danger of any such attempt -at present.” - -“And yet I have fearful forebodings.” - -“Cheer up, sweet one, he has nothing to dread. But now I must go. God -bless you, Beatrice!” and I kissed her fervently. - -She murmured something half inaudibly, returned my parting embrace with -a sigh, and, while a tear stood in her eye, waved a final adieu with her -kerchief. In an hour the schooner had sailed. - -We had been at sea but a few days, having run down the Bahamas in that -time, when we spoke a French merchantman, and obtained from him the -intelligence that an English ship, with a valuable cargo and a large -amount of specie, was then lying at the port of ——, in one of the -smaller islands. She was well armed, however, and carried the crew of a -letter of marque. But the skipper instantly determined on attempting her -capture. Accordingly, we bore up for the island within an hour after we -had spoken the merchantman, and having a favorable breeze to second our -wishes, we made the low headlands of the place of our destination just -as the sun sank behind them into the western ocean. Not wishing to be -detected, we hauled off until evening, spending the intervening time in -preparing for the adventure. - -The night was fortunately dark. There was no moon, and a thick veil of -vapors overhead effectually shrouded the stars from sight. The seaboard -was lined with dusky clouds; the ocean heaved in gentle undulations; and -a light breeze murmured by, with a low soft music in its tone, like the -whisper of a young girl to her lover. As the twilight deepened, the -shadowy outlines of the distant land became more and more indistinct, -until at length they were merged in the obscurity of the whole western -firmament. No sound was heard over the vast expanse as we resumed our -course, and silently stretched up towards the island. - -It was nearly midnight when we reached the mouth of the harbor. All -within was still. The town lay along the edge of the water, -distinguishable by its long line of flickering lamps; while a dark mass -on the left of the harbor betrayed the position of the battery guarding -the port. One or two small coasting vessels were moored at the quay, -and, a few cables’ length out in the harbor, rode at anchor the -merchantman. He was in part protected by the guns of the fort; but other -means of defence had not been forgotten, for his nettings were triced -up, and he swung at his anchor as if springs were on his cables. A -solitary lantern hung at his mast-head, throwing a faint radiance around -the otherwise shadowy ship. Not a sound arose from his decks. -Occasionally a low murmur would float down from the far-off town, or the -cry of a sentry at the fort would rise solemnly on the still night air; -but except these faint sounds, at long intervals apart, a deep, unbroken -silence buried the whole landscape in repose. - -“Pipe away the boats’ crews,” said the skipper, when, everything having -been planned, we had steered our craft under the shadow of the huge -cape, and now lay to in our quiet nook, hidden from observation. - -The boatswain issued his summons almost in a whisper, and the men -answered with unusual promptness. In a few minutes the boats were -manned, and we were waiting with muffled oars for the signal. We -lingered only a moment to receive the last orders of the captain, when, -with a whispered “give way,” the gallant fellows bent to the oars, and -we shot from the schooner’s side. In a few moments she was lost in the -gloom. I watched her through the gathering night, as spar after spar -faded into the obscurity, until at length nothing could be seen of her -exquisite proportions but a dark and shapeless mass of shadow; and at -length, when I turned my eyes in her direction again, after having had -my attention for a moment called away, even the slight outline of her -form had disappeared, and nothing but the gloomy seaboard met my eye. - -The night was now so dark that we could scarcely see a fathom before us; -but, guided by an old salt who had been brought up on the island, and -knew the harbor as accurately as a scholar knows his horn book, we -boldly kept on our course. As we swept around the headland, we perceived -that the town, so lately alive with lights, was now buried in a profound -darkness. The solitary lantern, however, still burned at the fore-peak -of the Englishman, like a star hanging alone in the firmament, to guide -us on our way. Every eye was fixed on it as we rapidly but noiselessly -swept up towards the merchantman. The fort was buried in gloom. The -other vessels in the harbor lay hidden in the palpable obscurity ahead. -No sound was heard, no object was seen, as we moved on in our noiseless -course. At length the huge hull of the merchantman began to be -indistinctly visible upon our starboard bow, and, lying on our oars for -a moment, we held a short, eager consultation on our future course. It -was soon, however, terminated. As yet we had remained undiscovered, and -as the slightest accident might betray us, not a moment was to be lost -if we would surprise the foe. It had been arranged that I should dash -into the larboard side of the Englishman, while the two other boats -should attack him simultaneously on his starboard bow and quarter; and -accordingly, as my companions sheered off, I gave a whispered order to -my men to pull their best, and the next instant we were shooting with -the rapidity of an arrow right on to the foe. - -The instant preceding the attack is always a thrilling one. You know not -but that in a few minutes you may be in eternity, and as yet you are not -carried away with that reckless enthusiasm which, in the heat of the -contest, makes you insensible to every thing but the struggle. On the -present occasion I felt as I had never felt before. The odds against us -were fearful, for the ship was admirably defended, and we had every -reason to believe that her crew outnumbered our own. As I looked around -on my men, I saw more than one hardy veteran cast an uneasy glance at -the foe. But it was no time now to pause. We had scarcely pulled a dozen -strokes, and were yet some distance from the ship, when the sentry from -her quarter cried out, “Boat ahoy!” and then perceiving that we still -advanced, he fired his piece and gave the alarm. I saw the moment for -action had come. Disguise was now useless. Instantaneously I forgot the -feelings which had just been passing through my mind, and, like a -war-horse starting at a trumpet, I sprang up in the stern sheets, and -waving my sword aloft, shouted, - -“Give way, my lads—give way, and lay us aboard the rascals—with a -will, boys—pull!” - -As if fired with an enthusiasm which nothing might resist, my gallant -fellows sprang to their oars with renewed vigor at my words, until the -oaken blades almost snapped beneath their brawny arms; and we were -already within a few fathoms of the ship’s quarter when a volley from -the merchantman hit the stroke-oarsman in front of me, and he fell dead -across the thwart. The boat staggered in her course. I could hear our -companions surging but a short distance behind, and I burned to be the -first to mount the enemy’s deck. - -“On—on!” I shouted; “pull for your lives, my lads—pull, pull!” - -A thundering cheer burst from the brave veterans, as they bent with even -redoubled power to their task, and with a few gigantic strokes sent us -shooting upon the quarters of the foe. Waving my sword above my head, I -sprang at once up the ship’s side, calling on my crew to follow me. They -needed not the invocation. The boat had scarcely touched the vessel -before every man, cutlass in hand, was clambering over the side of the -foe; and in an instant, with one simultaneous spring, old and young, -officer and men, we tumbled in upon the enemy. And like men they met us. -It was no child’s play—that conflict! Fearfully outnumbering us, -apprised of and ready for our onset, fighting on their own decks too, -and knowing that succor was at hand from the fort even in case of -defeat, the crew of the Englishman met our attack with an unbroken -front, giving back blow for blow and shout for shout. Short, wild and -terrific was the conflict. Conscious of the vicinity of the other boats, -the enemy wished to overcome us before we could be succored; while we -struggled as desperately to maintain our footing until aid should -arrive. But our efforts were in vain. Pressing on to us in dense, -overpowering numbers, and hemming us in on every quarter but that by -which we had boarded the ship, they seemed determined to drive us into -the ocean pell-mell, or slaughter us outright. No quarter was asked or -given. Man after man fell around me in the vain attempt to maintain our -footing. Already I had received two cutlass wounds myself. Our ranks -were fearfully thinned. Yet still I cheered on my men, determined rather -to die at bay than surrender or retreat. But all seemed in vain. Several -men had already fallen before my arm, and the deck was slippery with the -blood of friend and foe; yet the enemy did not appear to lessen in -numbers. As fast as one man fell, another filled his place. Despair took -possession of us. I saw nothing before us but a glorious death, and I -determined that it should be one long after to be talked of by my -countrymen. All this, however, had passed almost in a minute. Suddenly I -heard a cheer on the starboard bow of the enemy, and as it rose clear -and shrill over all the din of the conflict, I recognised the Fireflies -clambering over the ship’s side in that direction. - -“Huzza! the day’s our own!” I shouted, in the revulsion of feeling. -“Come on, my lads, and let us hew the scoundrels to the chine!” and, -with another wild huzza, I dashed like a madman upon the cutlasses of -the foe. My men followed me with the fury of a whirlwind. Wild, -terrible, overpowering was that charge; fierce, desperate and relentless -was the resistance. The scene that ensued eternity will not eradicate -from my memory. Hand to hand and foot to foot we fought, each man -striving with his opponent, conscious that life or death depended on the -issue: while swords clashed, pistols exploded, shouts rent the air, and -blood flowed on every hand as if it had been water. Now the foe yielded, -and now we retired in turn. Swaying to and fro, striking around -pell-mell, thrusting, parrying, hewing, wrestling in the death-grip, or -hurling the fallen from our path, now clearing our way by main force, -and now breaking the enemy’s front by a deceptive retreat, we succeeded -at length in driving the foe back in a broken mass on their assailants -from the bow. Then they rallied, and, with the fury of tigers at bay, -returned to the charge. If ever men fought like demons, they did. As -they grew more and more desperate, they fairly howled with rage. Their -curses were terrific. God help me from ever witnessing such a sight -again! I saw that it only needed another vigorous charge to complete -their defeat, and rallying my little band around me once more, though -every man of them was wounded, we dashed on to the foe, determined to -cut our way through to our friends, or drive the enemy down the -hatchway. - -“Once more, my boys, once more—huzza for liberty!—on!” - -“Come on, ye rebel knaves!” growled the leader of the British, and -striking at me with his cutlass, to challenge me to single combat, he -roared, “Take that, ye hell-hound.” One of my men sprang to my aid. - -“Back—back!” I shouted, “leave him to me.” - -“Ay, God’s curse be on you—” but his words were lost in the clash of -the conflict. For a moment I thought he was more than my match, but his -very rage overreached itself, and failing to guard himself sufficiently, -he exposed his person, and the next instant my sword passed through his -body. He fell backwards without a groan. His men saw him fall, and a -score of weapons were pointed at me. - -“Down with him—hew him to the ground,” roared the British. - -“Hurrah for Parker!—beat back the villains!” thundered my own men, and -the contest, which had paused during the combat between the fallen chief -and myself, now raged with redoubled frenzy, the whole fury of the enemy -being directed against myself. I remember shouts, curses, and groans, -the clash of cutlasses and the roar of fire-arms, and then comes a faint -memory of a sharp pain in my side, succeeded by a reeling in my brain, -and a sensation of staggering, as if about to fall. After that all is -blank. - -When I recovered my senses, I was lying on the quarter deck, while the -cool night breeze swept deliciously over my fevered brow, and my ears -were soothed with the gentle ripple of the waters as the ship moved on -her course. A solitary star, struggling through a rent in the clouds -overhead, shone calmly down on me. I turned uneasily around. - -“How are you, Parker?” said the voice of the lieutenant, approaching me. -“We are nearing the schooner rapidly, when you’ll have your wound -attended to—I bandaged it as well as I could.” - -“Thank you,” I said, faintly. “But have you really brought off the -prize?” - -“Ay, ay,” said he, laughing, “we got off, although they hailed cannon -balls around us like sugar-plums at a carnival in Rome. Never before did -I run such a gauntlet. But the sleepy fellows did not get properly awake -until we had made sail—had they opened their fire at once, they might -have sent us to Davy Jones’ locker in a trice.” - -“And the enemy’s crew?” - -“All snug below hatches, every mother’s son of them. They fought like -devils, and came within an ace of beating us. But, faith, yonder is the -old schooner. Ship, ahoy!” - -We were soon aboard. My wound proved a serious, though not a dangerous -one, and for several weeks I was confined to my hammock. - - * * * * * - - - - - A DAY AT NIAGARA. - - - BY MRS. E. C. STEDMAN. - - -“Well, here’s an evil of rail-road travelling that I never thought of -before!” screamed a bright girl, with pouting, rosy lips and a dimpled -chin, at the risque of spoiling as sweet a voice as ever warbled “Away -with Melancholy,” on a May morning; addressing her words to our good -cousin, who had taken upon himself the responsible charge of escorting a -party of ladies, (among whom were the fair speaker, his sister, and my -fortunate self,) to see the great ‘lion’ of this western world. - -“You say that we are within five miles of Niagara, yet I cannot hear its -voice for the eternal gabble, gabble of this locomotive. Why, all my -dreams have been associated with the geographic recollections of -childhood, which invariably said, ‘The roar of the cataract may be heard -distinctly at the distance of fifteen or twenty miles.’” - -“You forget,” replied her brother, “that it is when those wise -assurances were written, which make the eyes of the school-girl stand -out ‘as visibly as letters on a sign,’ that this rapid, noisy mode of -travelling was unthought of: wait a little, my sweet sis., till we reach -the point of our destination, and Niagara’s thundering bass will sound -all the mightier, for bursting suddenly upon your ear.” - -While these remarks were passing, we were nearing the end of our -journey; and on reaching the depot, our party was among the foremost to -leave the puffing, snorting, “black poney” behind, as we turned our -faces towards the hotel. But neither my fair cousin nor myself seemed -_astounded_ at the noise of the cataract; much to the surprise of her -brother. The truth was, that in this particular of _sound_ our “loud -expectations” exceeded the reality; though it may as well be remembered -here as elsewhere, that before leaving Niagara, our ears _were_ “filled -with hearing,” no less than were our “eyes satisfied with seeing.” The -sun was first hiding his face behind the golden curtain of a July -evening, and tea already sending its grateful fragrance from the ample -board, as we reached “The Cataract House;” so it was agreed that we -should refresh ourselves with a dish of the green beverage, before -sallying out for a peep at the Falls:—furthermore, that until then, no -one of our party should approach a certain window which commanded a view -of the rapids, upon the penalty of our good-natured cousin’s -displeasure; and as we had one and all promised obedience to his wishes, -each poised herself on the tip-toe of curiosity, long enough to swallow -a boiling draught, at the expense of sore, though not _disabled_ -tongues, for some days thereafter. We were, however, too unmerciful to -allow our gallant the comforts of his cigar after tea; but by sundry -hints, in the form of bonnets and shawls, compelled his politeness to -yield to our impatience for the evening ramble. Our footsteps were first -directed to the bridge which extends over the boiling, angry rapids, to -Goat Island. Even here, it would seem that as much of the awful, the -sublime, and the beautiful, had met together, as human eyes could endure -to look upon! As we leaned over the railing of the bridge, (holding on -instinctively with convulsive grasp,) and surveyed the yawning -whirlpools beneath, encompassed by the ever-restless foam, I, for one, -thought I had never seen any thing terrific before! But from the -imperfect view of the falls, which the gathering shades of twilight and -the American side gave us that evening, my “first impressions” were -those of bitter disappointment. “And is this the end of all my vast -imaginings?” said I, in haste to myself, but breathed it not aloud; for, -indeed, even then and there, the scene was grand and imposing: so I held -my peace, resolving to await the morning beams, for its rainbow crown, -and retire to my pillow _opinionless_, touching the glories of the grand -cataract. - -The sun looked down upon us the next morning without the shadow of a -cloud between, and preparations commenced at an early hour, for a day at -Niagara. Much to our delight, we found a familiar party of ladies and -gentlemen, at a sister hotel, who had arrived during the night, and -would join us in the pleasures of the day. As it happened that the -gentlemen of said party outnumbered the ladies, the _fair_ -responsibilities of our obliging cousin (who had performed the part of -“beau-general” much to the credit of his gallantry) were _fairly_ -divided with the other beaux, and all things being arranged, each lady -could boast of her own protector. I know of nothing that quickens the -pleasing excitement of these excursions more than an unexpected recruit -of acquaintances and friends. Never was there a gayer or happier little -company than left the “Cataract House” that shadowless summer morning, -to cross the green waters of Niagara river for the Canada side. Oh! how -those bright faces come up before me now, as if among the vivid -recollections of yesterday! There was the brilliant Mrs. —— with her -raven curls, matchless form, and “dangerous eyes of jet,” ever and anon -returning a dazzling smile for the involuntary gaze of admiration. And -what coquette by _nature_ ever learned, until she had been the happy -wife and mother _more_ than two years, to confine her favorable glances -to _one_ beloved object. Albeit the beautiful Mrs. —— is “a jewel of a -wife,” though I heard her adoring husband confess that very day, that -she “caught” him “with her eyes!” There, too, in striking contrast, was -the gentle wife of our happy cousin, with her hazel “eyes, like shaded -water;” the carnation of modesty on her cheeks, and “the ornament of a -meek and quiet spirit” beaming on her brow. And then the fair Miss ——, -only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. ——, from New York, who were exposing, -for the first time, their fragile flower of sixteen summers, whose -delicate complexion, and lily hands, needed none to affirm that “the -winds of heaven never visited her too roughly;” but whose chief -attraction seemed in some way connected with the appellation of -“heiress!” So no doubt thought a whiskered “fortune-hunter,” who, by -dint of bows and smiles, had contrived to insinuate himself into the -good graces of our party, and played the devoted to Miss ——, after the -most approved fashion. To say nothing of the pretty sister of our -cousin, with her tiny feet—“the lightest and gentlest that ever from -the heath-flower brushed the dew!” Nor of the radiant and fascinating -belle of ——, who had already commenced a flirtation with the rich -southerner, who was her chosen _knight_ for the day. Nor of other -laughing eyes and mirth-stirring spirits that made up the party. But, -alas! the shadow of death falls ever upon life’s retrospect picture. Of -one individual, whose gallantry, good sense and extraordinary musical -powers, rendered him a favorite of the fair, on that occasion, may it -now be said, “the places that knew him shall know him no more.” In early -manhood, and in a stranger’s grave, sleeps he whose active step, whose -buoyant spirits, whose melody of song and sparkling wit concealed from -us the insatiate disease, whose slow, sure worm had even then fastened -upon his vitals. Consumption sent him to the balmy south, there to find -a resting place ’mid orange groves and perpetual-blooming flowers. Peace -be with the ashes of the early, the gifted dead. - -No sooner was our little barge on the centre of the rapid tide, and the -eye glanced upward and round about, than a scene of magnificence and -glory burst upon us, which it had “never entered into the heart to -conceive!” Many have attempted to describe it; but if the ablest pen of -the most ready writer hath failed to embrace half its wondrous beauties, -let not this humble pen dare to desecrate what for sublimity and -loveliness is verily _indescribable_! To us it seemed that “the -fountains of the deep were again broken up”—as if old _Ocean_ was -pouring forth his deep green floods into that awful abyss, so wide, so -vast, so terrible was their rush to the brink—so mighty and resistless -their plunge into the boiling chasm! There hung the rainbow, with God’s -promise in its hues of beauty— - - “That arch, where angel-forms might lean, - And view the wonders of the mighty scene!” - -On reaching the Canada side, our first “post of observation” was Table -Rock. The picture it presents—who shall paint it? The most striking -feature of the whole is the vast _quantity_ of water which pours -unceasing and unspent, and its consequent deeply emerald hue as it -passes the rocks, before breaking in its fall to the pure, amber-shaded -foam, which sends up an eternal incense of spray to Heaven. Another -feature of beauty which arrested our attention was the meeting of the -floods at the termination of the “Horse-shoe Fall,” where an angle of -the rocks causes a continual _embrace of the waters_. The eye could -scarce weary in viewing this _one_ beauty of the scene; but before the -mighty _whole_, awe-struck, the heart could only bow in silent adoration -to that Great Being who made it all, for “the spirit of God moved on the -face of the waters!” We next ascended the craggy steep to a -wide-extended plain above, where are placed the barracks of the -“Forty-third regiment of Her Majesty’s troops.” Fortunately for us, the -day was one of regular review, and the whole regiment was out on duty. -As we reached the brow of the hill, where, on the one side, was Niagara -in all its glory, and on the other an extensive military display of red -coats and arms of steel flashing in the sunlight, I thought that Nature -and Art needed no embellishment from the pen of Fancy—“’Twas like -enchantment all!” While in the full enjoyment of this glorious scene, -her Majesty’s well-disciplined band played the familiar air of “God save -the Queen!” as to _us_ it was never played before, and my heart vibrated -with as much joy as it ever felt at the sound of our national air, “Hail -Columbia!” - -Our party returned to the hotel at sunset, all uniting in the opinion -that it is impossible to anticipate too much of enjoyment at Niagara, so -far as it respects the marvellous and beautiful in nature, and only -regretting that we could not pass a month, instead of a day, with its -scenes around us. A few hours, previous to our departure the following -morning, were spent in exploring Goat Island, so far as our limited time -would allow. ’Tis in sooth a “fairy isle,” lashed day and night by the -untiring rapids, and affording various and beautiful views of the great -cataract it divides. The luxuriant foliage of its majestic trees -shelters the admirer of the scenes around from the noonday heat, and the -odors from its garden of flowers regale his senses the while. - -We bade a reluctant adieu to Niagara, calling to mind all the -imaginations that the heart had devised—all the descriptions we had -heard from others’ lips—but with the words of “the Queen of the East” -on our own, “_The half was not told me_.” - -By way of concluding this imperfect sketch, we add some few lines, which -were written in despite of a resolution most religiously _made_ against -such a presumptive measure; for, somehow or other, the humblest, as well -as the loftiest pen, will attempt in numbers to express the _un_numbered -thoughts and “strange, which crowd into the brain” at Niagara. And while -this prince of cataracts flows on, its terrific beauties will be still -the oft-told but unspent theme of the “spirit-stirring muse.” - - NIAGARA. - - “How dreadful is this place!” for God is here! - His name is graven on th’ eternal rocks, - As with an iron pen and diamond’s point: - While their unceasing floods his voice proclaim, - Oft as their thunder shakes the distant hills. - O! if the forest-trees, which have grown old - In viewing all the wonders of this scene, - Do tremble still, and cast to earth their leaves— - Familiar as they are with things sublime— - Shall not the timid stranger here unloose - His sandals, ere he treads on “holy ground,” - And bow in humble worship to his God? - - For unto such as do approach with awe - This bright creation of th’ Immortal Mind, - Methinks there comes, amid the deafening roar - Of “many waters,” yet “a still, small voice,” - Which saith, “Ye children of the dust, fear not— - Know that this God, this awful God, is _yours_!” - Yes, here have wrath and peace together met— - Justice and Mercy sweetly have embraced; - For, o’er the terrors of the angry floods, - The bow of promise and of beauty hangs: - When in the sunbeams, with its matchless hues, - Or as a silver arch on evening’s brow, - Saying, “God’s works are marvellous and great, - But ah! when understood, his name is Love.” - - Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J. - - * * * * * - - - - - MAJOR DADE’S COMMAND. - - - A requiem for the gallant dead? - A dirge for those who died, - With banner streaming overhead, - Unsoiled, unterrified! - A gallant but devoted band, - They fell, unyielding, sword in hand. - - They hear not now the Indian yell, - Nor cannon’s angry roar; - The clash of arms, or ’larum bell, - Shall startle them no more! - Unlike and severed were their homes— - One sepulchre contains their bones. - - The spangled banner that has led - So oft to victory, - Its stars undimmed, above their bed, - Unfolded to the sky, - When in the unconquered hearts below, - The tide of life had ceased to flow. - - No sculptured imagery on high, - Reveals their lonely grave. - No epitaph can passer spy, - To tell where rest the brave! - Such may become the gilded tomb, - But not the stern old forest’s gloom. - - Like streamers, to the passing breeze, - The unshorn grass waves here; - As silent mourners, blighted trees, - Or monuments appear; - The glad, wild birds their requiem sing, - And flowers around their incense fling. - - The smile that struggles in the eye, - When withered is the heart, - Reminding us of hopes gone by, - No joy, but gloom impart; - So nature loses all its bloom, - And beauty round the loved one’s tomb. - - Though wild and distant is the spot, - Where their bleached bones are laid, - More hallowed ground is honored not - By widow, sire, or maid: - And fame shall shield from vulgar tread, - The ashes of the valiant dead. - - And though around their lowly tomb, - No kin or friends are found, - Who weep the blight of manhood’s bloom - On valor’s sacred ground; - Yet loving hearts are chill with woe, - And eyes are dim with sorrow’s flow. - - As to some venerated shrine, - Whose lights have ceased to hum, - Shall pilgrims here, in after time, - Their wand’ring footsteps turn, - And view in Fancy’s magic glass, - The scene of death before them pass. - - Perchance, upon the spot they fell, - Some monument may then - Its lofty column rear to tell - The gratitude of men; - The noble dead! they need it not; - Their valor consecrates the spot. - - Conrad. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIDOW. - - - There sits a mourner, solitary now - With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow. - Cold is the pillow where she laid her head, - When last they sat beneath their favorite shade— - Hushed is the voice, which ever to her own - Answered in tones of tenderness alone. - - Stilled are the merry notes of childish glee, - And she is left—of all that family! - She looks abroad—and sees no welcome smile, - No cheerful sounds her weary hours beguile, - She looks within—and all is mute despair, - She looks to Heaven—oh! joy! her all is there. - - M. S. B. D. - - * * * * * - - - - - WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. - - -Since our last number went to press, we have been called upon to mourn -the death of Willis Gaylord Clark, one of the contributors to this -Magazine, and a poet of unusual sweetness, elegance, melody and pathos. -He died, in his thirty-second year, of pulmonary consumption. He had -more than once been almost prostrated by this fell disease, but his -constitution had rallied against its attacks, and he, as well as his -friends, entertained hopes of his recovery; but about two months before -his death, the disease apparently returned with renewed violence, and, -after sinking gradually beneath its power, Mr. Clark’s life terminated -on Sunday, the 13th of June, 1841. - -As a man, Mr. Clark was universally esteemed. His warm heart, frank -nature, and social qualities endeared him to all his friends, and he has -left a blank in the little circle which he was wont to grace. To the -last he enjoyed the society of his friends. He breathed to them the wish -that no venomous tongue should be suffered to insult his fame when he -was dead, and thus rob his orphan boy of his father’s only heritage—his -name. God knows, the heart that could entertain aught evil towards the -departed deserves not the companionship or sympathy of mankind. The -dying moments of Mr. Clark were filled with the memory of his lost -wife—to whom he has written some of the sweetest verses in the -language—and his parting request was that he should be buried by her -side, at the same hour of the day at which she was interred. Need we say -his request was religiously fulfilled? - -The closing days of the poet are finely drawn in the following lines, -for which we are indebted to Robert Morris, Esq., another of our valued -contributors, and one of the circle of Mr. Clark’s friends. They need no -eulogy at our hands. They will commend themselves to all who loved the -departed, or admire true poetry. - - A DEATH SCENE IN THE CHAMBER OF A POET. - - Come hither, friend! My voice grows thin and weak— - My limbs are feeble, and I feel that Death - Will soon achieve his conquest. Look not sad! - The being best beloved has gone before— - Why should _I_ tarry here? An angel form - Beckons me on. Amid my morning dreams, - I hear _her_ voice and see her starry eyes! - That voice so full of woman tenderness; - Those eyes that mirrored an unsullied soul! - Then look not sad! My peace is made with God, - And in the hope, which is the dawn of Heaven— - The Christian’s hope—I will a little hence - On my mysterious journey. Soon—how soon!— - The truth will break upon me! The dim stars, - Which now, this mellow night, like sands of gold, - Glitter amid the distance—it may be - That I may pass their confines on my course; - That peopled worlds may greet my spirit’s gaze! - Look, gentle friend, how brightly do they shine! - How like to living things! How beautiful! - How more than wonderful the mighty hand - That placed them there, all radiant with light! - - Oh, God! in whose high presence soon my soul - Will stand uncovered, what a worm am I - Amid thy wonders vast and infinite! - And yet I feel th’ immortal burns within— - The quenchless light of an eternal soul! - Yes! as the frame decays; as this frail dust - Sinks to its native earth, the spirit’s wings - Unfold, and all within seems eager for the flight! - - My voice is almost lost. Friend!—faithful friend, - Long tried and well beloved—before I leave - This summer scene of earth, yon fields and flowers— - Alas! like youth and life, they soon will fade— - I have a boon to crave. My boy, my only boy, - Will soon be fatherless! Forgive this tear; - It is among the last. - - Hither, my child! - - There lives his mother’s image—her soft eyes, - So large and full and dove-like; her brown hair, - So rich and silken, and her cheek of rose! - Oh! what a fate was hers! But yesterday, - All youth and hope and beauty; and to-day, - A banquet for the cold and creeping worm! - But far above the grave her spirit dwells, - Among the white-robed circles of the blest: - In that bright clime where Faith and Fancy soar, - And Love and Hope and Joy walk hand in hand. - - But to the boon. - I would not, when my dust - Lies still and cold, leave bitter memories. - I would not leave a wound in any breast, - But fain with all the world would die in peace, - Forgiving all, and asking all forgiveness. - The only legacy that I may leave - My idol boy, is a weak dream of fame: - A phantom that has cheated me of life, - And fails me now, I fear, before the grave. - And yet, how that wild dream, tempting and bright, - Has spanned my youthful life, as does the bow - The summer storm! And now, e’en while I gaze. - And feel the mortal passing slowly off, - How dust still clings to dust, and a desire - Burns at my breast, that justice may be done - My memory!—that he, in after time— - (Poor child, how little recks he of this scene!—) - May speak his father’s name with love and pride. - - * * * * * * * * * * - - A hand—a friendly hand!—mine eyes grow dim— - - His pale lip quivered, and the hectic tinge - Passed from his hollow cheeks. And see, he sleeps! - Alas! ’tis Death’s unchangeable repose— - The spirit of the poet soars to God! - - -Mr. Clark possessed poetic talents of no ordinary merit. He belonged to -the school of Goldsmith and Pope, rather than to that of Byron or -Coleridge. He was more remarkable for sweetness than passion, for melody -than force, for fancy than imagination. The rank to which he belonged -was not the highest, but in that rank he occupied one of the foremost -stations. He was distinguished for his grace and euphony. Few men have -written so elegantly as Mr. Clark; no man has excelled him in the melody -of numbers. He obviously devoted the greatest attention to the -composition of poetry, and no piece left his hand until it had received -its utmost polish. There was a deep abiding sense of religion in his -compositions which commend them to every heart. He was indeed almost the -first poet to render the poetry of religion attractive; for Young, -Cowper, Wordsworth, and even Milton, too often fail in this. But Mr. -Clark was always successful, breathing, as he did, aspirations after a -higher and better state of being, and emulating, if that were possible, -the rapt enthusiasm of the Hebrew poet, when dreaming of the “better -land”—that land to which he has now followed his long-wept wife. Yes! -he has gone— - - “Gone to his Heavenly Father’s rest! - The flowers of Eden round him blowing, - And on his ear the murmur blest - Of Siloa’s waters softly flowing!— - Beneath that Tree of Life which gives - To all the earth its healing leaves! - In the white robe of angels clad, - And wandering by that sacred river, - Whose streams of loveliness make glad - The city of our God forever!” - -Why should we mourn his loss? This is no home for the weary spirit. -Earth has nothing to satisfy the immortal mind; but, with a reach after -higher and holier things, it struggles to be away, satisfied only when -roaming free through the wide expanse of Eternity. - - * * * * * - - - - - FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER, - - - A BALLAD—WRITTEN BY LORD BYRON. - - MUSIC COMPOSED BY - J. DODSLEY HUMPHREYS. - - _Philadelphia_: John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street_. - -[Illustration: musical score] - - Farewell if ever fondest prayer for others’ weal availed on high, - Mine will not all be lost in air, - But waft, but waft thy name beyond the sky. - ’Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh, - Oh more than - -[Illustration: musical score continued] - - tears of blood can tell, - When wrung from guilt’s expiring eye, - Are in that word farewell. - Are in that word farewell, farewell, - When wrung from guilt’s expiring eye, - Are in that word, are in that word farewell. - - These lips are mute, these eyes are dry, - But in my breast and in my brain, - Awake the pangs that pass not by, - The thought, the thought that ne’er shall sleep again. - My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, - Though grief and passion there rebel, - I only know we lov’d in vain. - I only feel farewell, - I only feel farewell, farewell, - I only know I loved in vain, - I only feel, I only feel farewell. - - * * * * * - - - - - Sports and Pastimes. - - - ANGLING. - -The prevailing attributes and domestic economy of fishes may be -described as exactly the reverse of those of birds. These gay and airy -creatures possess the power of surveying distinctly, at a glance, an -immeasurable extent of horizon; their acute perception of sound -appreciates all intonations, and their glad voices are exquisitely -skilled in their production. Though their bills are hard, and their -bodies closely covered by down and feathers, they are by no means -deficient in the sense of touch. They enjoy all the delights of conjugal -and parental affection, and perform their incumbent duties with -devotedness and courage. They cherish and defend their offspring, and -will sometimes even die in their defence; and of all the wonderful -labors of instinctive art, none is so beautiful as the formation of -their mossy dwellings. With what deep and continuous affection does the -female brood over her cherished treasures!—how unwearied is the gallant -male in his tender assiduities, and with what melodious love does he -outpour that rich and varied song by which he seeks to soothe her -sedentary task! - - “Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods!” - -But close at hand, on that umbrageous bough, sits the fond partner of -his joys and sorrows, so that it is in no spirit of selfish solitary -musing that he ever murmurs, by woodland stream and shadow-haunted -brook, “a music sweeter than their own.” The slender winged and glossy -plumaged swallow, which skims the verdure of the new-mown meadow, or -dimples the surface of the breezeless lake—the ponderous but -giant-pinioned eagle, winging his way from distant isles, o’er waters -glittering with redundant life—the proud, far-sighted falcon, which, -launching from some hoar cliff or lightning-scathed peak, - - “Doth dally with the wind, and scorn the sun,”— - -the wild and fearful lapwing, with graceful crest and dark dilated eye, -are each and all enslaved for many a long-enduring season by this love -of offspring, and toil in its support from dewy morning until latest -eve. - -But it is far otherwise with our voiceless dwellers in the deep, who -exhibit but few attachments, are conversant with no interchanging -language, and cherish no warm affections. Constructing no dwellings, -they merely shelter themselves from danger among the cavernous rocks of -the ocean, in the silent depths of lakes, or beneath the murky shade of -the overhanging banks of rivers; and the cravings of hunger alone seem -to exercise a frequent or influential action over their monotonous -movements. We must not, however, conceive that the life of fishes is not -one of enjoyment, for we know that the Great Creator “careth for all his -creatures;” and it ought perhaps rather to be said that we cannot -appreciate the nature of their feelings, than that they are in any way -fore-doomed to a negation of pleasure. Assuredly, however, the hand of -nature has been most prodigal in bestowing on their external aspect -every variety of adornment. Their special forms are infinite, their -proportions often most elegant, their colors lively and diversified—and -nothing seems wanting, either in their shape or structure, to excite the -unfeigned admiration of mankind. Indeed, it almost appears as if this -prodigality of beauty was intended solely for such an end. The -brightness of metallic splendor, the sparkling brilliancy of precious -gems, the milder effulgence of the hues of flowers, all combine to -signalize fishes as among the most beautiful objects of creation. When -newly withdrawn from their native element, or still gliding submerged -amid its liquid coolness, their colors, fixed or iridescent, are seen -mingling in spots, or bands, or broader flashes—always elegant and -symmetrical, sometimes richly contrasted, sometimes gradually softened -into each other, and in all cases harmonizing with a chaste fulness of -effect which Titian and Rubens might envy, but could never equal. For -what reason, then, it has been asked, has all this adornment been -bestowed on creatures which can scarcely perceive each other amid the -dim perpetual twilight of the deep? Shakspeare has already said that -there are “more things in _heaven_ and _earth_ than are dreamt of in our -philosophy;” and we fear it is no answer to the foregoing question to -add, that the same observation applies with even greater truth to the -“_waters beneath the earth_.” - - - NUTRITION AND GROWTH OF FISHES. - -The nutritive functions of fishes follow the same order of progression -as those of the other classes of the vertebrated kingdom. They seize, -and in some measure divide, their food with their teeth; they digest it -in the stomach, from whence it passes into the intestinal canal, where -it receives a supply of bile from the liver, and frequently a liquid -similar to that of the pancreas; the nutritive juices, absorbed by -vessels analogous to lacteals, and probably taken up in part also -directly by the veins, are mingled with the venous blood which is -flowing towards the heart, from whence it is pushed to the branchiæ, in -which, coming in contact with the water, it is converted into arterial -blood, and then proceeds to the nourishment of the whole body. - -Fishes are in general extremely voracious, and the rule of “eat or be -eaten,” applies to them with unusual force. They are almost constantly -engaged either in the active pursuit or patient waiting for their -prey—their degree of power in its capture depending, of course, on the -dimensions of the mouth and throat, and the strength of the teeth and -jaws. If the teeth are sharp and curved, they are capable of seizing and -securing either a large and fleshy bait, or the slenderest and most -agile animal; if these parts are broad and strong, they are able to -bruise the hardest aliment; if they are feeble or almost wanting, they -are only serviceable in procuring some inert or unresisting prey. Fishes -indeed, in most instances, show but little choice in the selection of -their food, and their digestive powers are so strong and rapid as -speedily to dissolve all animal substances. They greedily swallow other -fishes, notwithstanding the sharp spines or bony ridges with which they -may be armed; they attack and devour crabs and shell-fish, gulping them -entire, without the least regard to the feelings of their families; they -do not object occasionally to swallow the young even of their own -species, and the more powerful kinds carry their warfare into other -kingdoms of nature, and revel on rats, reptiles and young ducklings, to -say nothing, gentle reader, of the ferocious shark, which not seldom -makes a meal even of the lord of the creation. A particular friend of -ours has his right leg in the West Indies, in consequence of an act of -aggression alike unpleasant and uncalled for, and which a -Christian-minded pedestrian finds it easier to forgive than forget. The -species which live chiefly on vegetables are few in number, almost all -fishes preferring pork to green peas. - -The growth of these creatures depends greatly on the nature and amount -of food, different individuals of the same species exhibiting a large -disparity in their dimensions. They grow less rapidly in small ponds or -shallow streams, than in large lakes and deep rivers. We once kept a -minnow, little more than half an inch long, in a small glass vessel for -a period of two years, during which time there was no perceptible -increase in its dimensions. Had it continued in its native stream, -subjected to the fattening influence of a continuous flow of water, and -a consequent increase in the quantity and variety of its natural food, -its cubic dimensions would probably have been twenty times greater; yet -it must have attained, long prior to the lapse of a couple of years, to -the usual period of the adult state. The growth itself seems to -continue, under favorable circumstances, for a length of time, and we -can scarcely set bounds to, certainly we know not with precision, the -utmost range of the specific size of fishes. Salmon sometimes attain a -weight of eighty pounds and upwards, and the giant pike of -Kaiserslautern is alleged to have measured nineteen feet, and to have -weighed 350 pounds. No doubt, an incorrect allegation does not in any -way increase the actual size of fishes, and few people now-a-days can -take exact cognizance of what was done at Mannheim in the year 1497; -but, even in these degenerate days, amid our own translucent waters, and -among species in no way remarkable for their ordinary dimensions, we -ever and anon meet with ancient individuals which vastly exceed the -usual weight and measure of their kind. But, in spite of this, let no -angler, whether in the bloom of early youth, the power of matured -manhood, or with the silver locks of “hoar antiquity” above his wrinkled -brow, ever induce within himself, or express to others, the belief that, -at all times and places, he is perpetually catching enormous trouts in -vast numbers, because we happen to know that this is not the case. We -don’t insist upon any one weighing every fish he captures, but we insist -that no one, after jerking out a few pair, will maintain next morning, -or even that very night, that he has had a most toilsome but very -glorious day, and has killed five dozen and four of the finest trouts -the human eye ever gazed upon. “All men are liars”—and several -anglers—is a proposition the exact import of which depends much on the -mode of construction. - - - THE MUSCULAR MOVEMENTS OF FISHES. - -The vertebral column, composed of numerous articulations, united by -cartilages which permit of certain movements, curves with great facility -from side to side; but the vertical motion is much more restricted, -chiefly in consequence of the projection of the upper and under spiny -processes of the vertebræ. The great organ of movement in all fishes is -the tail. The muscles, by which it is brought into play, extend in -lengthened masses on either side of the vertebral column. The body, -being supported chiefly by the swimming bladder, (which, however, is -absent in several species), is propelled forward by the rapid flexure of -the extremity acting laterally upon the resistance offered by the water. -Generally speaking, neither the pectoral nor the ventral fins are of any -material use during swift progressive motion; they rather serve to -balance the body, or to aid its gentler movements while in a state of -comparative repose. In _flying fishes_, as they are called, the pectoral -fins are of such great length and expansion as to support these -creatures in the air; and the strength of muscular action might probably -suffice even for a longer flight, but for the necessity of constant -moisture for the purposes of respiration. The drying of the gills in an -individual of this class is attended by results analogous to those -produced in the case of a land animal; and a flying fish is obliged to -descend to respire, in like manner as a swimming quadruped, or disguised -mammiferous animal, as we may term a whale, is under the necessity of -ascending for the same purpose. - -The heads of fishes exercise but a slight movement independent of the -rest of the body, but the jaws, opercular bones, branchial arches, and -other parts, are very free in their motions. The muscles, like those of -other vertebrated animals, are composed of fleshy fibres more or less -colored, and of tendonous fibres of a white or silvery aspect. With the -exception, however, of certain spinal muscles, which are sometimes of a -deep red, the flesh of fishes is much paler than that of quadrupeds, and -still more so than that of birds. In several species it is even entirely -white. - - - THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND SENSES OF FISHES. - -As fishes respire through the intervention of water alone, that is, as -they can scarcely avail themselves, in rendering their blood _arterial_, -of anything more than the small portion of oxygen contained in the air -which is suspended in the water, their blood is necessarily cold, and -the general energy and activity of their senses are by no means so great -as those of quadrupeds and birds. Their brain also, though of similar -composition, is proportionally much smaller, whether as compared with -the total size of the body, with the mass of nerves which proceed from -it, or with the cavity of the cranium in which it is contained. In the -turbot (_Gadus lota_) for example, the weight of the brain to that of -the spinal marrow is ascertained to be as 8 to 12, and to that of the -whole body as 1 to 720; and it has been ascertained that the brain of a -pike, weighed in proportion to the whole body, is as 1 to 1305. Now, in -many small birds, the brain, viewed in relation to the rest of the body, -is equal to a twentieth part. In the generality of fishes, the spinal -cord extends along the whole of the caudal vertebræ, and it is thus that -it preponderates over the brain; but the fishing frog, or sea devil -(_Lophius piscatorius_), the moon fish (_Lampris guttatus_), and a few -others, form exceptions to this rule, the spinal marrow disappearing -before it reaches the eighth vertebra. The brain of fishes by no means -fills up the cavity of the cranium; and the interval between the _pia -mater_, which envelopes the brain itself, and the _dura mater_, which -lines the interior of the skull, is occupied only by a loose -cellulosity, frequently impregnated by an oil, or sometimes, as in the -sturgeon and thunny, by a more compact fatty matter. It has also been -remarked that this void between the cranium and the brain is much less -in young subjects than in adults; from which it may be inferred that the -brain does not increase in an equal proportion with the rest of the -body. Cuvier, in fact, has found its dimensions nearly the same in -different individuals—of the same species—of which the general size of -one was double that of the other. - -Although we should be sorry to lower the subjects of our present -observation in the estimation of society, we think it undeniable that, -of all vertebrated animals, fishes exhibit the smallest apparent -symptoms of refined sensibility. Having no elastic air to act upon, they -are necessarily mute, or nearly so, and all the sweet sensations which -the delightful faculty of voice has called into being among the higher -tribes, are to them unknown. Their glazed, immovable eyes, their fixed -and bony faces, admit of no playful range in their physiognomical -expression, of no variation connected with emotion. Their ears, -surrounded on every side by the bones of the cranium, destitute of -external conch, without any internal cochlea, and composed merely of -certain sacks and membranous canals, scarcely suffice for the perception -of the loudest sounds. Yet they will sink affrighted into the darksome -depths of lakes, beneath the banks of rivers, or in oceans blue -profound, when the “sky lowers and mutters thunder,” and with elemental -fierceness the sheeted lightning flashes broad and bright above their -liquid dwellings. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _The Quacks of Helicon: A Satire. By_ L. A. Wilmer. - _Philadelphia: Printed by J. W. Macclefield._ - -A satire, professedly such, at the present day, and especially by an -American writer, is a welcome novelty, indeed. We have really done very -little in the line upon this side of the Atlantic—nothing, certainly, -of importance—Trumbull’s clumsy poem and Halleck’s “Croakers” to the -contrary notwithstanding. Some things we have produced, to be sure, -which were excellent in the way of burlesque, without intending a -syllable that was not utterly solemn and serious. Odes, ballads, songs, -sonnets, epics, and epigrams, possessed of this unintentional -excellence, we could have no difficulty in designating by the dozen; -but, in the matter of directly-meant and genuine satire, it cannot be -denied that we are sadly deficient. Although, as a literary people, -however, we are not exactly Archilocuses—although we have no -pretensions to the ηχεηντες ιαμβοι—although, in short, we are no -satirists ourselves, there can be no question that we answer -sufficiently well as subjects for satire. - -We repeat, that we are glad to see this book of Mr. Wilmer’s; first, -because it is something new under the sun; secondly, because, in many -respects, it is well executed; and, thirdly, because, in the universal -corruption and rigmarole amid which we gasp for breath, it is really a -pleasant thing to get even one accidental whiff of the unadulterated air -of _truth_. - -The “Quacks of Helicon,” as a poem and otherwise, has many defects, and -these we shall have no scruple in pointing out—although Mr. Wilmer is a -personal friend of our own;[4] and we are happy and proud to say so—but -it has also many remarkable merits—merits which it will be quite -useless for those aggrieved by the satire—quite useless for any -_clique_, or set of _cliques_, to attempt to frown down, or to affect -not to see, or to feel, or to understand. - ------ - -[4] Of Mr. Poe’s. - -Its prevalent blemishes are referrible chiefly to the leading sin of -_imitation_. Had the work been composed professedly in paraphrase of the -whole manner of the sarcastic epistles of the times of Dryden and Pope, -we should have pronounced it the most ingenious and truthful thing of -the kind upon record. So close is the copy, that it extends to the most -trivial points—for example to the old forms of punctuation. The turns -of phraseology, the tricks of rhythm, the arrangement of the paragraphs, -the general conduct of the satire—everything—all—are Dryden’s. We -cannot deny, it is true, that the satiric model of the days in question -is insusceptible of improvement, and that the modern author who deviates -therefrom, must necessarily sacrifice something of merit at the shrine -of originality. Neither can we shut our eyes to the fact, that the -imitation, in the present case, has conveyed, in full spirit, the higher -qualities, as well as, in rigid letter, the minor elegances and general -peculiarities of the author of “Absalom and Achitophel.” We have here -the bold, vigorous, and sonorous verse, the biting sarcasm, the pungent -epigrammatism, the unscrupulous directness, as of old. Yet it will not -do to forget that Mr. Wilmer has been _shown how_ to accomplish these -things. He is thus only entitled to the praise of a close observer, and -of a thoughtful and skilful copyist. The images are, to be sure, his -own. They are neither Pope’s, nor Dryden’s, nor Rochester’s, nor -Churchill’s—but they are moulded in the identical mould used by these -satirists. - -This servility of imitation has seduced our author into errors which his -better sense should have avoided. He sometimes mistakes intention; at -other times he copies faults, confounding them with beauties. In the -opening of the poem, for example, we find the lines— - - Against usurpers, Olney, I declare - A righteous, just, and patriotic war. - -The rhymes _war_ and _declare_ are here adopted from Pope, who employs -them frequently; but it should have been remembered that the modern -relative pronunciation of the two words differs materially from the -relative pronunciation of the era of the “Dunciad.” - -We are also sure that the gross obscenity, the filth—we can use no -gentler name—which disgraces the “Quacks of Helicon,” cannot be the -result of innate impurity in the mind of the writer. It is but a part of -the slavish and indiscriminating imitation of the Swift and Rochester -school. It has done the book an irreparable injury, both in a moral and -pecuniary view, without effecting anything whatever on the score of -sarcasm, vigor or wit. “Let what is to be said, be said plainly.” True; -but let nothing vulgar be _ever_ said, or conceived. - -In asserting that this satire, even in its mannerism, has imbued itself -with the full spirit of the polish and of the pungency of Dryden, we -have already awarded it high praise. But there remains to be mentioned -the far loftier merit of speaking fearlessly the truth, at an epoch when -truth is out of fashion, and under circumstances of social position -which would have deterred almost any man in our community from a similar -Quixotism. For the publication of the “Quacks of Helicon,”—a poem which -brings under review, by name, most of our prominent _literati_, and -treats them, generally, as they deserve (what treatment could be more -bitter?)—for the publication of this attack, Mr. Wilmer, whose -subsistence lies in his pen, has little to look for—apart from the -silent respect of those at once honest and timid—but the most malignant -open or covert persecution. For this reason, and because it is the truth -which he has spoken, do we say to him from the bottom of our hearts, -“God speed!” - -We repeat it:—_it is_ the truth which he has spoken, and who shall -contradict us? He has said unscrupulously what every reasonable man -among us has long known to be “as true as the Pentateuch”—that, as a -literary people, we are one vast perambulating humbug. He has asserted -that we are _clique_-ridden, and who does not smile at the obvious -truism of that assertion? He maintains that chicanery is, with us, a far -surer road than talent to distinction in letters. Who gainsays this? The -corrupt nature of our ordinary criticism has become notorious. Its -powers have been prostrated by its own arm. The intercourse between -critic and publisher, as it now almost universally stands, is comprised -either in the paying and pocketing of black mail, as the price of a -simple forbearance, or in a direct system of petty and contemptible -bribery, properly so called—a system even more injurious than the -former to the true interests of the public, and more degrading to the -buyers and sellers of good opinion, on account of the more positive -character of the service here rendered for the consideration received. -We laugh at the idea of any denial of our assertions upon this topic; -they are infamously true. In the charge of general corruption there are -undoubtedly many noble exceptions to be made. There are, indeed, some -very few editors, who, maintaining an entire independence, will receive -no books from publishers at all, or who receive them with a perfect -understanding, on the part of these latter, that an unbiassed _critique_ -will be given. But these cases are insufficient to have much effect on -the popular mistrust: a mistrust heightened by late exposure of the -machinations of _coteries_ in New York—_coteries_ which, at the bidding -of leading booksellers, manufacture, as required from time to time, a -pseudo-public opinion by wholesale, for the benefit of any little hanger -on of the party, or pettifogging protector of the firm. - -We speak of these things in the bitterness of scorn. It is unnecessary -to cite instances, where one is found in almost every issue of a book. -It is needless to call to mind the desperate case of Fay—a case where -the pertinacity of the effort to gull—where the obviousness of the -attempt at forestalling a judgment—where the wofully over-done -be-Mirrorment of that man-of-straw, together with the pitiable platitude -of his production, proved a dose somewhat too potent for even the -well-prepared stomach of the mob. We say it is supererogatory to dwell -upon “Norman Leslie,” or other by-gone follies, when we have, before our -eyes, hourly instances of the machinations in question. To so great an -extent of methodical assurance has the _system_ of puffery arrived, that -publishers, of late, have made no scruple of keeping on hand an -assortment of commendatory notices, prepared by their men of all work, -and of sending these notices around to the multitudinous papers within -their influence, done up within the fly-leaves of the book. The -grossness of these base attempts, however, has not escaped indignant -rebuke from the more honorable portion of the press; and we hail these -symptoms of restiveness under the yoke of unprincipled ignorance and -quackery (strong only in combination) as the harbinger of a better era -for the interests of real merit, and of the national literature as a -whole. - -It has become, indeed the plain duty of each individual connected with -our periodicals, heartily to give whatever influence he possesses, to -the good cause of integrity and the truth. The results thus attainable -will be found worthy his closest attention and best efforts. We shall -thus frown down all conspiracies to foist inanity upon the public -consideration at the obvious expense of every man of talent who is not a -member of a _clique_ in power. We may even arrive, in time, at that -desirable point from which a distinct view of our men of letters may be -obtained, and their respective pretensions adjusted, by the standard of -a rigorous and self-sustaining criticism alone. That their several -positions are as yet properly settled; that the posts which a vast -number of them now hold are maintained by any better tenure than that of -the chicanery upon which we have commented, will be asserted by none but -the ignorant, or the parties who have best right to feel an interest in -the “good old condition of things.” No two matters can be more radically -different than the reputation of some of our prominent _litterateurs_, -as gathered from the mouths of the people, (who glean it from the -paragraphs of the papers,) and the same reputation as deduced from the -private estimate of intelligent and educated men. We do not advance this -fact as a new discovery. Its truth, on the contrary, is the subject, and -has long been so, of every-day witticism and mirth. - -Why not? Surely there can be few things more ridiculous than the general -character and assumptions of the ordinary critical notices of new books! -An editor, sometimes without the shadow of the commonest -attainment—often without brains, always without time—does not scruple -to give the world to understand that he is in the _daily_ habit of -critically reading and deciding upon a flood of publications one tenth -of whose title-pages he may possibly have turned over, three fourths of -whose contents would be Hebrew to his most desperate efforts at -comprehension, and whose entire mass and amount, as might be -mathematically demonstrated, would be sufficient to occupy, in the most -cursory perusal, the attention of some ten or twenty readers for a -month! What he wants in plausibility, however, he makes up in -obsequiousness; what he lacks in time he supplies in temper. He is the -most easily pleased man in the world. He admires everything, from the -big Dictionary of Noah Webster to the last diamond edition of Tom Thumb. -Indeed his sole difficulty is in finding tongue to express his delight. -Every pamphlet is a miracle—every book in boards is an epoch in -letters. His phrases, therefore, get bigger and bigger every day, and, -if it were not for talking Cockney, we might call him a “regular swell.” - -Yet in the attempt at getting definite information in regard to any one -portion of our literature, the merely general reader, or the foreigner, -will turn in vain from the lighter to the heavier journals. But it is -not our intention here to dwell upon the radical, antique, and -systematized rigmarole of our Quarterlies. The articles here are -anonymous. Who writes?—who causes to be written? Who but an ass will -put faith in tirades which _may_ be the result of personal hostility, or -in panegyrics which nine times out of ten may be laid, directly or -indirectly, to the charge of the author himself? It is in the favor of -these saturnine pamphlets that they contain, now and then, a good essay -_de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis_, which may be looked into, without -decided somnolent consequences, at any period not immediately subsequent -to dinner. But it is useless to expect criticism from periodicals called -“Reviews” from never reviewing. Besides, all men know, or should know, -that these books are sadly given to verbiage. It is a part of their -nature, a condition of their being, a point of their faith. A veteran -reviewer loves the safety of generalities, and is therefore rarely -particular. “Words, words, words” are the secret of his strength. He has -one or two ideas of his own, and is both wary and fussy in giving them -out. His wit lies with his truth, in a well, and there is always a world -of trouble in getting it up. He is a sworn enemy to all things simple -and direct. He gives no ear to the advice of the giant -Moulineau—“_Belier, mon ami, commencez au commencement._” He either -jumps at once into the middle of his subject, or breaks in at a back -door, or sidles up to it with the gait of a crab. No other mode of -approach has an air of sufficient profundity. When fairly into it, -however, he becomes dazzled with the scintillations of his own wisdom, -and is seldom able to see his way out. Tired of laughing at his antics, -or frightened at seeing him flounder, the reader at length shuts him up, -with the book. “What song the Syrens sang,” says Sir Thomas Browne, “or -what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though -puzzling questions, are not beyond _all_ conjecture”—but it would -puzzle Sir Thomas, backed by Achilles and all the Syrens in Heathendom, -to say, in nine cases out of ten, _what is the object_ of a -thorough-going Quarterly Reviewer. - -Should the opinions promulgated by our press at large be taken, in their -wonderful aggregate, as an evidence of what American literature -absolutely is, (and it may be said that, in general, they are really so -taken,) we shall find ourselves the most enviable set of people upon the -face of the earth. Our fine writers are legion. Our very atmosphere is -redolent of genius; and we, the nation, are a huge, well-contented -chameleon, grown pursy by inhaling it. We are _teretes et -rotundi_—enwrapped in excellence. All our poets are Miltons, neither -mute nor inglorious; all our poetesses are “American Hemanses;” nor will -it do to deny that all our novelists are great Knowns or great Unknowns, -and that every body who writes, in every possible and impossible -department, is the admirable Crichton, or at least the admirable -Crichton’s ghost. We are thus in a glorious condition, and will remain -so until forced to disgorge our ethereal honors. In truth, there is some -danger that the jealousy of the Old World will interfere. It cannot long -submit to that outrageous monopoly of “all the decency and all the -talent” in which the gentlemen of the press give such undoubted -assurance of our being so busily engaged. - -But we feel angry with ourselves for the jesting tone of our -observations upon this topic. The prevalence of the spirit of puffery is -a subject far less for merriment than for disgust. Its truckling, yet -dogmatical character—its bold, unsustained, yet self-sufficient and -wholesale laudation—is becoming, more and more, an insult to the common -sense of the community. Trivial as it essentially is, it has yet been -made the instrument of the grossest abuse in the elevation of -imbecility, to the manifest injury, to the utter ruin, of true merit. Is -there any man of good feeling and of ordinary understanding—is there -one single individual among all our readers—who does not feel a thrill -of bitter indignation, apart from any sentiment of mirth, as he calls to -mind instance after instance of the purest, of the most unadulterated -quackery in letters, which has risen to a high post in the apparent -popular estimation, and which still maintains it, by the sole means of a -blustering arrogance, or of a busy wriggling conceit, or of the most -barefaced plagiarism, or even through the simple immensity of its -assumptions—assumptions not only unopposed by the press at large, but -absolutely supported in proportion to the vociferous clamor with which -they are made—in exact accordance with their utter baselessness and -untenability? We should have no trouble in pointing out, to-day, some -twenty or thirty so-called literary personages, who, if not idiots, as -we half think them, or if not hardened to all sense of shame by a long -course of disingenuousness, will now blush, in the perusal of these -words, through consciousness of the shadowy nature of that purchased -pedestal upon which they stand—will now tremble in thinking of the -feebleness of the breath which will be adequate to the blowing it from -beneath their feet. With the help of a hearty good will, even _we_ may -yet tumble them down. - -So firm, through a long endurance, has been the hold taken upon the -popular mind (at least so far as we may consider the popular mind -reflected in ephemeral letters) by the laudatory system which we have -deprecated, that what is, in its own essence, a vice, has become endowed -with the appearance, and met with the reception of a virtue. Antiquity, -as usual, has lent a certain degree of speciousness even to the absurd. -So continuously have we puffed, that we have at length come to think -puffing the duty, and plain speaking the dereliction. What we began in -gross error, we persist in through habit. Having adopted, in the earlier -days of our literature, the untenable idea that this literature, as a -whole, could be advanced by an indiscriminate approbation bestowed on -its every effort—having adopted this idea, we say, without attention to -the obvious fact that praise of all was bitter although negative censure -to the few alone deserving, and that the only result of the system, in -the fostering way, would be the fostering of folly—we now continue our -vile practices through the supineness of custom, even while, in our -national self-conceit, we repudiate that necessity for patronage and -protection in which originated our conduct. In a word, the press -throughout the country has not been ashamed to make head against the -very few bold attempts at independence which have, from time to time, -been made in the face of the reigning order of things. And if, in one, -or perhaps two, insulated cases, the spirit of severe truth, sustained -by an unconquerable will, was not to be so put down, then, forthwith, -were private chicaneries set in motion; then was had resort, on the part -of those who considered themselves injured by the severity of criticism, -(and who were so, if the just contempt of every ingenuous man is -injury,) resort to arts of the most virulent indignity, to untraceable -slanders, to ruthless assassination in the dark. We say these things -were done, while the press in general looked on, and, with a full -understanding of the wrong perpetrated, spoke not against the wrong. The -idea had absolutely gone abroad—had grown up little by little into -toleration—that attacks however just, upon a literary reputation -however obtained, however untenable, were well retaliated by the basest -and most unfounded traduction of personal fame. But is this an age—is -this a day—in which it can be necessary even to advert to such -considerations as that the book of the author is the property of the -public, and that the issue of the book is the throwing down of the -gauntlet to the reviewer—to the reviewer whose duty is the plainest; -the duty not even of approbation, or of censure, or of silence, at his -own will, but at the sway of those sentiments and of those opinions -which are derived from the author himself, through the medium of his -written and published words? True criticism is the reflection of the -thing criticised upon the spirit of the critic. - -But _à nos moutons_—to the “Quacks of Helicon.” This satire has many -faults besides those upon which we have commented. The tide, for -example, is not sufficiently distinctive, although otherwise good. It -does not confine the subject to _American_ quacks, while the work does. -The two concluding lines enfeeble instead of strengthening the _finale_, -which would have been exceedingly pungent without them. The individual -portions of the thesis are strung together too much at random—a natural -sequence is not always preserved—so that although the lights of the -picture are often forcible, the whole has what, in artistical parlance, -is termed an accidental and spotty appearance. In truth, the parts of -the poem have evidently been composed each by each, as separate themes, -and afterwards fitted into the general satire, in the best manner -possible. - -But a more reprehensible sin than any or than all of these is yet to be -mentioned—the sin of indiscriminate censure. Even here Mr. Wilmer has -erred through imitation. He has held in view the sweeping denunciations -of the Dunciad, and of the later (abortive) satire of Byron. No one in -his senses can deny the justice of the general charges of corruption in -regard to which we have just spoken from the text of our author. But are -there _no_ exceptions? We should indeed blush if there were not. And is -there _no_ hope? Time will show. We cannot do everything in a day—_Non -se gano Zamora en un ora_. Again, it cannot be gainsaid that the greater -number of those who hold high places in our poetical literature are -absolute nincompoops—fellows alike innocent of reason and of rhyme. But -neither are we _all_ brainless, nor is the devil himself so black as he -is painted. Mr. Wilmer must read the chapter in Rabelais’ _Gargantua_, -“_de ce qu’ est signifié par les couleurs blanc et bleu_”—for there is -_some_ difference after all. It will not do in a civilized land to run -a-muck like a Malay. Mr. Morris _has_ written good songs. Mr. Bryant is -not _all_ a fool. Mr. Willis is not _quite_ an ass. Mr. Longfellow -_will_ steal, but perhaps he cannot help it, (for we have heard of such -things,) and then it must not be denied that _nil tetigit quod non -ornavit_. - -The fact is that our author, in the rank exuberance of his zeal, seems -to think as little of discrimination as the Bishop of Autun[5] did of -the Bible. Poetical “things in general” are the windmills at which he -spurs his rozinante. He as often tilts at what is true as at what is -false; and thus his lines are like the mirrors of the temples of Smirna, -which represent the fairest images as deformed. But the talent, the -fearlessness, and especially the _design_ of this book, will suffice to -save it even from that dreadful damnation of “silent contempt” to which -editors throughout the country, if we are not very much mistaken, will -endeavor, one and all, to consign it. - ------ - -[5] Talleyrand. - - * * * * * - - _Biography and Poetical Remains of the late Margaret Miller - Davidson. By_ Washington Irving. _Philadelphia: Lea and - Blanchard._ - -The name of Lucretia Davidson is familiar to all readers of Poetry. -Dying at the early age of seventeen, she has been rendered famous not -less, and certainly not more, by her own precocious genius than by three -memorable biographies—one by President Morse, of the American Society -of Arts, another by Miss Sedgwick, and a third by Robert Southey. Mr. -Irving had formed an acquaintance with some of her relatives, and thus, -while, in Europe, took great interest in all that was said or written of -his young countrywoman. Upon his return to America, he called upon Mrs. -Davidson, and then, in 1833, first saw the subject of the memoir now -before us—a fairy-like child of eleven. Three years afterwards he met -with her again, and then found her in delicate health. Three years -having again elapsed, the MSS. which form the basis of the present -volume, were placed in his hands by Mrs. Davidson, as all that remained -of her daughter. - -Few books have interested us more profoundly. Yet the interest does not -appertain solely to Margaret. “In fact the narrative,” says Mr. Irving, -“will be found almost as illustrative of the character of the mother as -of the child; they were singularly identified in taste, feeling, and -pursuits; tenderly entwined together by maternal and filial affection, -they reflected an inexpressibly touching grace and interest upon each -other by this holy relationship, and, to my mind it would be marring one -of the most beautiful and affecting groups in modern literature, to -sunder them.” In these words the biographer conveys no more than a just -idea of the exquisite loveliness of the picture here presented to view. - -The MSS. handed Mr. Irving, have been suffered, in great measure, to -tell their own thrilling tale. There has been no injudicious attempt at -mere authorship. The compiler has confined himself to chronological -arrangement of his memoranda, and to such simple and natural comments as -serve to bind rather than to illustrate where no illustration was -needed. These memoranda consist of relations by Mrs. Davidson of the -infantine peculiarities of her daughter, and of her habits and general -thoughts in more matured life, intermingled with letters from the young -poetess to intimate friends. There is also a letter from the bereaved -mother to Miss Sedgwick, detailing the last moments of the child—a -letter so full of all potent nature, so full of minute beauty and truth -and pathos, that to read it without tears would be to prove one’s self -less than human. - -The “Poetical Remains” of this young creature, who perished (of -consumption) in her sixteenth year, occupy about two hundred pages of a -somewhat closely printed octavo. The longest poem is called “Lenore,” -and consists of some two thousand lines, varying in metre from the -ordinary octo-syllabic, to the four-footed, or twelve-syllabled iambic. -The story, which is a romantic love-tale, not ill-conceived in its -incidents, is told with a skill which might put more practised bards to -the blush, and with occasional bursts of the truest poetic fire. But -although as indicative of her future power, it is the most important, as -it is the longest of her productions, yet as a whole it is not equal to -some of her shorter compositions. It was written not long before her -death, at the age of fifteen, and (as we glean from the biography) after -patient reflection, with much care, and with a high resolve to do -something for fame. As the work of so mere a child, it is unquestionably -wonderful. Its _length_, viewed in connection with its keeping, its -unity, its adaptation, and completeness, will impress the metaphysician -most forcibly, when surveying the capacities of its author. Powers are -here brought into play which are the last to be matured. For fancy we -might have looked, and for the lower evidences of skill in a perfect -versification and the like, but hardly for what we see in Lenore. - -Yet remarkable as this production is, from the pen of a girl of fifteen, -it is by no means so incomprehensible as are some of the shorter pieces. -We have known instances—rarely, to be sure—but still we have known -instances when finer poems in every respect than Lenore have been -written by children of as immature age—but we look around us in vain -for anything composed at eight years, which can bear comparison with the -lines subjoined— - - “TO MAMMA. - - “Farewell, dear mother, for a while - I must resign thy plaintive smile; - May angels watch thy couch of wo, - And joys unceasing round thee flow. - - “May the almighty Father spread - His sheltering wings above thy head. - It is not long that we must part, - Then cheer thy downcast drooping heart. - - “Remember, oh! remember me, - Unceasing is my love for thee! - When death shall sever earthly ties, - When thy loved form all senseless lies, - - “Oh! that my form with thine could flee, - And roam through wide eternity; - Could tread with thee the courts of heaven, - And count the brilliant stars of even.” - -Nor are these stanzas, written at ten, in any degree less remarkable— - - “MY NATIVE LAKE. - - “Thy verdant banks, thy lucid stream, - Lit by the sun’s resplendent beam, - Reflect each bending tree so light - Upon thy bounding bosom bright. - Could I but see thee once again, - My own, my beautiful Champlain! - - “The little isles that deck thy breast, - And calmly on thy bosom rest, - How often, in my childish glee, - I’ve sported round them, bright and free! - Could I but see thee once again, - My own, my beautiful Champlain! - - “How oft I’ve watch’d the fresh’ning shower - Bending the summer tree and flower, - And felt my little heart beat high - As the bright rainbow graced the sky. - Could I but see thee once again, - My own, my beautiful Champlain! - - “And shall I never see thee more, - My native lake, my much-loved shore - And must I bid a long adieu, - My dear, my infant home, to you? - Shall I not see thee once again, - My own, my beautiful Champlain?” - -In the way of criticism upon these extraordinary compositions, Mr. -Irving has attempted little, and, in general, he seems more affected by -the loveliness and the purity of the child than even by the genius she -has evinced—however highly he may have estimated this latter. In -respect, however, to a poem entitled “My Sister Lucretia,”—he thus -speaks—“We have said that the example of her sister Lucretia was -incessantly before her, and no better proof can be given of it than in -the following lines, which breathe the heavenly aspirations of her pure -young spirit, _in strains to us quite unearthly. We may have read poetry -more_ _artificially perfect in its structure, but never any more truly -divine in its inspiration._” The nature of inspiration is -disputable—and we will not pretend to assert that Mr. Irving is in the -wrong. His words, however, in their hyperbole, do wrong to his subject, -and would be hyperbole still, if applied to the most exalted poets of -all time. - - * * * * * - - _Incidents of Travel in Central America, etc. By_ John L. - Stephens. _Two Volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers._ - -Mr. Stephens’ former book, “Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia Petrea, -and Palestine,” was everywhere well received, and gained him high -reputation—reputation not altogether well deserved. No one can deny his -personal merits as a traveller, his enthusiasm, boldness, acuteness, -courage in danger, and perseverance under difficulty. His manner of -narration is also exceedingly pleasing; frank, unembarrassed and direct, -without pretension or attempt at effect. But neither were his -reflections characterised by profundity, nor had he that degree of -education which would have enabled him to travel, with benefit to -himself or to others, through regions involving so much of historical -importance as Egypt, and especially as Arabia Petrea. Through a -deficiency of previous information in regard to the moot points of this -classical ground, he suffered many things to pass unexamined, whose -examination would have thrown light upon history, and lustre upon his -own name. Our remarks here apply more particularly to the southern -regions of Arabia. In regard to Arabia Petrea, he committed some errors -of magnitude. Before entering upon his travels, he had been much -interested in Keith’s book upon the literal fulfilment of the Biblical -Prophecies. In this work the predictions of Isaiah, respecting the -ancient Idumea, are especially insisted upon, and the sentence, “_None -shall pass through thee forever and ever_,” quoted as a remarkable -instance of literal fulfilment. Dr. Keith states roundly that all -attempts at passing through Idumea have actually failed, and expresses -his belief that such will always be the case. Mr. Stephens resolved to -test this point, and congratulates himself and his readers upon the -success of his attempt at traversing the disputed region from one end to -the other. The truth is, however, that Arabia Petrea, through which he -unquestionably did pass, _is not at all the Idumea alluded to in the -prophecies_, this latter lying much farther to the eastward. The -traveller had contented himself with the usual understanding upon this -subject. In the matter of the prophecy, both he and Dr. Keith might have -spared themselves much trouble by an examination of the Biblical text in -the original, before founding a question upon it. In an article on this -head, which appeared in the New York Review, we pointed out an obvious -mistranslation in the Hebrew words of the prediction—a mistranslation -which proves Mr. Stephens to have thrown away his courage and labor. The -passage in Isaiah 34, 10, which is rendered in our bibles by the -sentence, “And none shall pass through thee forever and ever,” runs in -the original Hebrew thus— - - _Lenetsach metsachim ein over bah._ - -Literally—_Lenetsach_, for an eternity; _metsachim_, of eternities; -_ein_, not; _over_, moving about; _bah_, in it. For an eternity of -eternities (there shall) not (be any one) moving about in it. The -literal meaning of _bah_ is “in it,” and not “through it.” The -participle _over_, refers to one moving to and fro, or up and down, and -is the same phrase which is rendered “current,” as an epithet applied to -money, in Genesis, 23, 16. The prophet only intends to say that there -shall be no marks of life in the land, no living being there, no one -moving up and down in it. A similar mistranslation exists in regard to -the prophecy in Ezekiel, 35, 7, where death is threatened (according to -the usual construction) to any traveller who shall _pass through_. The -words are - - _Venathati eth har Seir leshimmamah ushemmamah, vehichrati - mimmennu over vasal_— - -Literally, “And I will give the mountain Seir for a desolation and a -desolation, and I will cut off from it him that goeth and him that -returneth.” By “him that goeth and him that returneth,” reference is had -to the passers to and fro, to the inhabitants. The prophet speaks only -of the general abandonment and desolation of the land. - -We are not prepared to say that misunderstandings of this character will -be found in the present “Incidents of Travel.” Of Central America, and -her antiquities, Mr. Stephens may know, and no doubt does know, as much -as the most learned antiquarian. Here all is darkness. We have not yet -received from the Messieurs Harper a copy of the book, and can only -speak of its merits from general report, and from the cursory perusal -which has been afforded us by the politeness of a friend. The work is -certainly a magnificent one—perhaps the most interesting book of travel -ever published. An idea has gone abroad that the narrative is confined -to descriptions and drawings of Palenque; but this is very far from the -case. Mr. S. explored no less than six ruined cities. The “incidents,” -moreover, are numerous, and highly amusing. The traveller visited these -regions at a momentous time; during the civil war, in which Carrera and -Morazan were participants. He encountered many dangers, and his -hair-breadth escapes are particularly exciting. - - * * * * * - - _The Marrying Man. A Novel. By the Author of_ “Cousin Geoffrey.” - _Two Volumes. Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard._ - -This novel is _inscribed_ to Theodore Hook, who, we are given to -understand in the preface, was the _chaperon_ of “Cousin Geoffrey,” and -“The Old Bachelor,”—two books of which we indistinctly remember to have -heard. The “Marrying Man” is not badly written, and will answer -sufficiently well for the ordinary patrons of the circulating library. -Better books might have been re-published, no doubt; but this, we -presume, will sell, and thus serve its purpose. - - * * * * * - - _The Poems and Prose Writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield. Two - Volumes. Vol. the First. Philadelphia. Printed for the - Proprietor._ - -This is a large octavo, embracing, we believe, the principal poems of -Mr. Fairfield, if not all of them, and to be followed by a collection of -his prose writings. His prose, so far as we have had an opportunity of -judging, is scarcely worth reading. His poems have, in many respects, -merit—in some respects, merit of a high order. His themes are often -well selected, lofty, and giving evidence of the true spirit. But their -execution is always disfigured by a miserable verbiage—words meaning -nothing, although sounding like sense, like the nonsense verses of Du -Bartas. - - * * * * * - - _The Moneyed Man. By_ Horace Smith. _Two Volumes. Philadelphia: - Lea and Blanchard._ - -This is a good book, and well worth the re-publication. The story is -skilfully constructed, and conveys an excellent moral. Horace Smith is -one of the authors of the “Rejected Addresses.” He is, perhaps, the most -erudite of all the English novelists, and unquestionably one of the best -in every respect. His style is peculiarly good. - - * * * * * - - _The Science of Government. Founded on Natural Law. By_ Clinton - Roosevelt. _New York: Dean and Trevett. Philadelphia: Drew and - Scammel._ - -Will _any_ one be kind enough to tell us who is Mr. Clinton Roosevelt? -We wish to know, of course. Mr. Roosevelt has published a little book. -It consists of a hundred little pages. Ten of these pages would make one -of our own. But a clever man may do a great thing in a small way, and -Mr. Roosevelt is unquestionably a clever man. For this we have his own -word, and who should know all about it better than he? Hear him!— - -“Learned men have long contended that it was impossible for any human -intellect to grasp what has been here attempted;—that a Cyclopædia only -could embrace in one view all the arts and sciences which minister to -man’s necessity and happiness—and _that_ they give but little credit -for, as a Cyclopædia is a mere arbitary [we follow Mr. R.’s spelling as -in duty bound] alphabetical arrangement. _We_ [Mr. Roosevelt is a _we_] -would not say we have done even what we have without much toil and -sacrifice. It has cost the best ten years of the writer’s life to settle -its great principles, and give it form and substance. The great -interests of man were in a state of chaos, and this science [Mr. -Roosevelt’s] is to harmonise them, and run side by side with true -religion so far as that is meant ‘to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, -and make on earth peace and good will to man.’” - -Ah!—we begin to breathe freely once more. We _had_ thought that the -world and all in it (this hot weather) were going to the -dogs,—“proceeding to the canines,” as Bilberry has it—but here is Mr. -Roosevelt, and we feel more assured. We entrench ourselves in security -behind his little book. “A larger work,” says he, “would have been more -imposing in appearance, but the truth is, large works and long speeches -are rarely made by men of powerful thought.” Never was anything more -true. “As to boasting,” he continues, very continuously, “the writer is -well aware that it is the worst policy imaginable.” In this opinion we -do not so entirely acquiesce. “The little man”—says he—the reader will -perceive that we are so rapt in admiration of Mr. Roosevelt that we -quote him at random—“The little man may say this book was not done -_secundum artem_—not nicely or critically.” He must be a _very_ little -man indeed, who would say so. _We_ think he has done it _quite_ nicely. -“My tone”—we here go on with Mr. Roosevelt—“may seem not strictly -according to _bien science_.” Oh, yes is it, Mr. Roosevelt; don’t -distress yourself now—it is, we assure you, very strictly according to -_bien science_, (good heavens!) and to every thing else. - -“These remarks,” he observes, “are made that none may lightly damn the -work.” Of course; any one who should damn it lightly should be damned -himself. “But liberal criticism [ah! that is the thing,] will be -accepted as a favor, [the smallest favors thankfully accepted] and -writers who may undertake the task will confer an obligation by -directing a copy of their articles to the author, at New York, from -England, France or Germany, or any part of our own country where this -work may reach.” Certainly; no critic could do less—no liberal critic. -We shall send Mr. Roosevelt a copy of our criticism from Philadelphia, -and we would do the same thing if we were living at Timbuctoo. - - * * * * * - - _Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L. By_ Laman Blanchard. _2 - vols. Lea and Blanchard._ - -This work contains the most authentic biography of the lamented L. E. L. -yet issued from the press, together with a collection of her posthumous -pieces, and several lighter effusions already published. The volumes -possess uncommon interest. The detail of her every-day life, the picture -of her gaiety and sweetness, and the criticisms on her genius, will -commend it to all who have loved, in other days, the poetry of this -sweet writer. Nor will the details of her melancholy death prove of less -interest. After fully examining all the evidence relating to this -tragedy, the author arrives at the conclusion that her death was -natural, and instigated neither by her own sorrows nor by the jealousy -of others. The conduct of her husband seems, in every respect, to have -been without censure. - -Of the genius of Miss Landon it is almost unnecessary to speak. Without -the elegance of Mrs. Hemans, she had considerable grace; with a fine -ear, she was often careless in her rhythm; possessing a fancy exuberant -and glowing, she showered her metaphors too indiscriminately around her. -But few equalled her—if we may so speak—in the _passionate purity_ of -her verse. Affection breathed through every line she wrote. Perhaps -there was a mannerism, certainly an affectation, in her constant -reference to love, and blighted love especially; but even this error was -made seductive by the never-ceasing variety which she contrived to throw -around her theme, and the sweetness, richness, and enthusiasm of her -song. Her great faults were a want of method, and a careless, rapid -habit of composition. From first to last, she was emphatically an -“_improvisatrice_.” She wrote from whim rather than from plan, and -consequently was often trite, and always careless. These observations -will apply, we think, equally to her prose. Her “Ethell Churchill” may -be taken as a specimen, and the best specimen, of her style in romance -writing. It would be almost invidious to name any one of her long poems -as the finest. In her shorter pieces she is often more successful than -in more extended flights; and some of her most carelessly written -stanzas glitter most with the dew of Castaly. Without fear of -contradiction, we may say that she has left no living female poet to -compete with her in fame, unless Mrs. Norton may be said to be her -rival; and even with Mrs. Norton, so different are the two writers, no -parallel can be drawn. Let us be contented with placing Hemans, Landon -and Norton together in one glorious trio—the sweetest, brightest, -loftiest of the female poets of the present generation. - - * * * * * - - _Lectures on the Sphere and Character of Woman, and Other - Subjects. By_ George W. Burnap, _Pastor of the First Independent - Church of Baltimore. Philadelphia: Kay and Co._ - -These lectures are designed as a _pendant_ to a course delivered to the -Young Men of Baltimore, last winter, by Mr. Burnap. From the “Sphere and -Duties” of Woman the author has excluded all allusion to her physical -education and her political rights—regarding the first as a topic for -the physician, the last for the jurist. Perhaps this subdivision is -injudicious. At all events, from what we here know of Mr. Burnap, we -should have been pleased to have his subject extended to Woman in all -her relations. - -The volume appears to us not only well written, but forcibly original in -many of its views and illustrations. A passage, at page 50, in which the -lecturer suggests the idea of an instinctive reverence in which each sex -holds the other, is not only new, but embodies a truth of important -result. Mr. B. justly styles the feeling a human religion. Its moral -effects are unquestionably great. The deterioration of every community -which isolates the sexes, or prevents their free intercommunication, is -here traced to a distinct and sufficient cause. - -These lectures are handsomely printed and bound, and would form an -appropriate present to any lady. - - * * * * * - - _The Lady of Refinement in Manners, Morals and Religion. By_ - Mrs. Sandford, _Author of “Woman in her Social and Domestic - Character.” James Loring: Boston._ - -Mrs. Sandford is the wife of an English clergyman, and has given -frequent evidences of her capacity. Her former work, “Woman in her -Social and Domestic Character,” was well received in her own country. -Whether it has been re-published here we cannot say. “The Lady of -Refinement” is well written, and appears to be carefully matured in its -opinions. - - * * * * * - - - - - SECRET WRITING. - - -Our remarks on this head, in the July number, have excited much -interest. The subject is unquestionably one of importance, when we -regard cryptography as an exercise for the analytical faculties. In this -view, men of the finest abilities have given it much of their attention; -and the invention of a perfect cipher was a point to which Lord -Chancellor Bacon devoted many months;—devoted them in vain, for the -cryptograph which he has thought worthy a place in his _De Augmentis_, -is one which can be solved. - -Just as we were going to press with the last sheet of this number, we -received the following letter from F. W. Thomas, Esq., (of Washington,) -the well-known author of “Clinton Bradshawe,” “Howard Pinckney,” &c. &c. - - My Dear Sir:—The enclosed cryptograph is from a friend of mine - (Dr. Frailey,) who thinks he can puzzle you. If you decipher it, - then are you a magician, for he has used, as I think, the - greatest art in making it. - - Your friend, - F. W. Thomas. - -[Illustration: image of cryptograph, transcription given below] - - £ 7i A itagi niinbiiit thitvuiaib9g h auehbiifb ivgiht itau % - gvuiitiif 4 t$bt2ihtbo £iiiiadb9 iignit£d i2 ta5ta whbo - ttbibtiii†it9 A iti if X hti 4 ithtt % i ‡ bnniathubii iSt b - eaovuhoSu vtt7diboif * iti nihd6Xht na3ig an choo$ht n‡tnvotigg2 - iibtvo$if b Eaovu£avg iinoh†$h7 niau iti vtheiigbo iit6 A itagi - t7iitig h fifvti iti gvugidviti bubodbub9 A tiiiiaditiavg nbttg - iStavi fvuhiiu £thnhiti niiiit8 † bni 4 iiiu£$i ht d£bo evodbiSa - ‡ nbiivihiti uavtib£g ibei —it dbuvo$if ia niafvti uvgtvnvobi - buai9g uii iti £giSv9 i2 gvuiiti A uu iiubisg ibg tai —it - iStavi tbvgi iti itiui A i2 intiuiiibo taovutg an dvaihfh¶ - iavitbog ¶f a ititvghbgight ittauh$h7g ht t7eiigb9bo £iiitavigi. - - Transcriber’s Note: In this transcription of the cryptograph, - the % character has been substituted for a small right pointing - hand character since depending on the device used and fonts - available in the device used to view the cryptograph, the hand - character may not display. - -This cipher is printed precisely as we received it, with the exception -that we have substituted, for convenience sake, in some instances, -characters that we have in the office, for others that we have not. Of -course, as these characters are substituted _throughout_, the -cryptograph is not affected. - -By return of mail we sent the solution to Mr. Thomas; but as the cipher -is an exceedingly ingenious one, we forbear publishing its translation -here, and prefer testing the ability of our readers to solve it. _We -will give a year’s subscription to the Magazine, and also a year’s -subscription to the Saturday Evening Post, to any person, or rather to -the first person who shall read us this riddle._ We have no expectation -that it will be read; and, therefore, should the month pass without an -answer forthcoming, we will furnish the key to the cipher, and again -offer a year’s subscription to the Magazine, to any person who shall -solve it _with the key_. - -Lest the tenor of our observations on Cryptography should be -misunderstood, and especially lest the nature of our challenge should be -misconceived, we take occasion to refer to our Review of Mr. Walsh’s -“Sketches of Conspicuous Living Characters of France,” published in the -April number of the Magazine. M. Berryer, the French Minister, is there -said to have displayed the highest ingenuity in the solution of a cipher -addressed by the Duchess of Berri to the legitimists of Paris, but of -which she had neglected to furnish the key. Berryer discovered this to -be the phrase “Le gouvernement provisoire.” Beneath this sentence the -alphabet had been placed, letter for letter; and thus when _a_ was -intended _l_ was written, when _b_ was meant _e_ was substituted, and so -on throughout. This species of cryptograph is justly considered very -difficult. We remarked, however, that we would engage to read any one -_of the kind_; and to this limit our correspondents must confine -themselves. To be sure, we said, in our last number, that “human -ingenuity could not construct a cipher which human ingenuity could not -resolve”—but then we do not propose, just now, to make ourselves -individually the test of “human ingenuity” in general. We do not propose -to solve _all_ ciphers. Whether we can or cannot do this is a question -for another day—a day when we have more leisure than at present we have -any hope of enjoying. The most simple cryptograph requires, in its -solution, labor, patience, and much time. We therefore abide by the -limits of our cartel. It is true that in attempting the perusal of Dr. -Frailey’s we have exceeded these limits by very much; but we were -seduced into the endeavor to read it by the decided manner in which an -opinion was expressed that we could not. - -E. St. J. will observe that his cipher includes _every_ letter of the -natural alphabet. Then (admitting it to be a cipher of the kind -proposed) his key-phrase must contain every letter of the natural -alphabet. In such case no letter of the phrase can stand _for more than -one_ of the alphabet, and the whole would be nothing more than a simple -cipher, where the natural characters are represented, invariably and -respectively, by arbitrary ones. But in this supposition there could be -no such words as _ll_, &c.—words seen in the cryptograph. _Therefore_, -his cipher is _not_ within the limits prescribed—Q. E. D. We do not say -that we _cannot_ solve it, but that we will not make the attempt. This -for the obvious reasons above assigned. - -P. S. We have just received the annexed letter from Mr. Thomas, -enclosing one from Dr. Frailey: - - Washington, July 6th, 1841. - - My Dear Sir, - - This morning I received yours of yesterday, deciphering the - “cryptograph” which I sent you last week, from my friend, Doctor - Frailey. You request that I would obtain the Doctor’s - acknowledgment of your solution. I have just received the - enclosed from him. - - Doctor Frailey had heard me speak of your having deciphered a - letter which our mutual friend, Dow, wrote upon a challenge from - you last year, at my lodgings in your city, when Aaron Burr’s - correspondence in cipher was the subject of our conversation. - You laughed at what you termed Burr’s shallow artifice, and said - you could decipher any such cryptography easily. To test you on - the spot, Dow withdrew to the corner of the room, and wrote a - letter in cipher, which you solved in a much shorter time than - it took him to indite it. - - As Doctor Frailey seemed to doubt your skill to the extent of my - belief in it, when your article on “Secret Writing” appeared in - the last number of your Magazine, I showed it to him. After - reading it, he remarked that he thought he could puzzle you, and - the next day he handed me the cryptograph which I transmitted to - you. He did not tell me the key. The uncommon nature of his - article, of which I gave you not the slightest hint, made me - express to you my strong doubts of your ability to make the - solution. I confess that your solution, so speedily and - correctly made, surprised me. I congratulate myself that I do - not live in an age when the black art is believed in, for, - innocent as I am of all knowledge of cryptography, I should be - arrested as an accessory before the fact, and, though I escaped, - it is certain that you would have to die the death, and, alas! I - fear upon my testimony. - - Your friend, - F. W. Thomas. - Edgar A. Poe, Esq. - - - Washington, July 6th, 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—— [We omit the remainder of the letter, since it - enters into details which would give our readers some clue to - the cipher.] - - As ever, yours, &c., - Chas. S. Frailey. - F. W. Thomas, Esq. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: LATEST FASHIONS, AUGUST 1841. FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected without note. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 2, August 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 } - .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. 2, August 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. 2, August 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 25, 2021 [eBook #65156]</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. 2, AUGUST 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:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XIX.</span> August, 1841. No. 2.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;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'><span style='font-size:larger'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#pen'>The Penitent Son</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#coll'>The Colloquy of Monos and Una</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ass'>The Assault</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#neg'>The Neglected Wife</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#pur'>The Puritan Son</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#auz'>Auzella</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sch'>School-Boy Recollections</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='#nia'>A Day at Niagara</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wil'>Willis Gaylord Clark</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#spor'>Sports and Pastimes—Angling</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#new'>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> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></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'><span style='font-size:larger'>Poetry, Music and Fashion</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bib'>My Mother’s Bible</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sorr'>“I Know That Thou Wilt Sorrow!”</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonn'>Sonnet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#doi'>O, Say, Do I Na’ Lo’e Ye Lassie</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#tho'>Thoughts In Spring</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wit'>The Withered Rose</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#maj'>Major Dade’s Command</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wid'>The Widow</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fare'>Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Latest Fashions, August 1941</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></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='' id='iid-0001' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Painted by Prentis</span> <span class='it'>Engraved by J. Sartain.</span></span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>The Penitent Son.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine</span> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i002.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0002' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>F. QUARRE</span></p> -</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:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XIX. PHILADELPHIA: AUGUST, 1841. <span class='sc'>No. 2.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='pen'></a>THE PENITENT SON.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father, only look at him—do but hear him!” -said the soft, entreating voice of the daughter, as she -looked up imploringly into her parent’s face, while the -sobs of the penitent son shook his frame with agony.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>James Vernon was the only son of two doating parents, -and the heir of a splendid fortune. Gratified -in his every wish, and left almost without restraint, -he had grown up that most fatal of all things, a -spoiled child; and had it not been for a naturally -frank and generous disposition, he would have been -ruined by indulgence even in his boyhood. When, -however, at fifteen, he left home for college, he still -possessed the elements of a noble character, and had -he then been entrusted to a careful tutor, he might -have been saved years of folly and subsequent misery. -But, thrown among the hundreds of youth of -his own age who thronged the institution whither he -was sent, with no one to guide him aright, and habits -of wilfulness, contracted at home, to urge him on -wherever whim might lead him, he soon fell into the -temptations incident to a large college, and, without -intending evil so much as seeking for amusement, -became notorious for his frolics, idleness, and even -dissipation. He had not been at the university a -year before his name was regarded as that of the -worst member of his class. His progress in study -was deficient, and his expenses great. His doating -father at first overlooked his son’s irregularities, -thinking they would soon wear off; but when term -after term elapsed, and there was no appearance of -reformation, he expostulated strongly, almost sternly, -with his child. For a time James was moved, -and almost shook off his unworthy companions. But -the effort to cut loose from them altogether required -more energy than he was capable of, and as no reformation -can be lasting when only half complete, -he soon relapsed into his old habits, and, before the -term was up, was as notorious as ever for being the -leader in every mischievous or even disreputable -action. This could not last. More than once he -had been warned by the faculty, and weekly—almost -daily—did his friends, by letter, expostulate with -him. Frank, generous and good-intentioned, he constantly -determined to amend his conduct; but his -very open-heartedness, by rendering him incapable -of resisting temptation, prevented every lasting effort -at reformation. Each failure likewise placed -him more and more in the power of his gay companions. -The result is easily told. In his second -year, he was detected in a flagrant violation of the -college rules, and, as expostulation had been used -again and again in vain, he was expelled from the -university. The blow fell like a thunderbolt on his -parents. His father was a rigidly correct, and -withal a proud man, and, in proportion to the affection -with which he regarded his son, was the conviction -of the disgrace thus brought upon his name. In -the first emotions of his anger, he almost vowed -never to look on the face of his son again. But the -prayers of the fond mother at length prevailed; he -relented, and James was once more received under -the paternal roof.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It must not be supposed that the youth was callous -to his disgrace. He felt it acutely, and the more -acutely because, as every good principle was not yet -eradicated from his heart, he was conscious that he -deserved his degradation. He saw, too, how deeply -injured were the feelings of his parents; and he determined -to thoroughly reform. He kept his word. -For the year that he remained under the paternal -roof, he seemed another being. But, in a fatal hour, -his father yielded to his solicitations to allow him to -study a profession, and he was accordingly sent to -Philadelphia, to commence a course of lectures at the -celebrated university of that city. Who might not -have foretold the result? Almost imperceptibly, -and, to a disposition like his, unavoidably, he was -seduced back into his old courses, and, before the -winter was over, he became once more celebrated as -one of the most idle and dissipated students of his -class. The arrival of a few of his old companions in -college, to begin their studies for a profession, completed -his ruin. He plunged into every extravagance. -His allowance, liberal as it was, fell far short of his -expenses. His bills soon accumulated to a fearful -amount. Dreading to acquaint his parent with their -extent, and in order to relieve himself from their -load, he did what hitherto he had shunned—he resorted -to the gaming table. For a while he was successful, -for he had always been accounted a skilful -player, and believing he now had a resource for every -emergency, he plunged still deeper into extravagance -of every character. But suddenly his luck failed -him. He lost. Again he essayed to retrieve his fortune—again -he was unsuccessful. His bills had -meantime accumulated to a fearful amount; and -knowing that he had no hope for succor from his parent, -he made a desperate attempt to retrieve his -losses. It was in vain. Not only did he fail to retrieve -his luck, but he went forth a ruined man, -having involved himself even still deeper. For a -while he was frantic with despair. As a last resort, -he determined on applying to his mother, well knowing -that she would look with more leniency on him -than his sterner father would. He waited breathlessly -for an answer. It came, directed in his father’s -handwriting. He opened the epistle with a trembling -hand, and beating heart, and read as follows:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Sir</span>,</p> - -<p class='pindent'> Your letter found your mother on a sick bed, -unable to receive any intelligence, and, as we knew -from whom the packet came, I opened it. Its contents -will account for the style of this epistle. You -are no longer a son of mine. Two years ago, when -you brought the disgrace on your name of having -been expelled ignominiously from college, I almost -vowed never to acknowledge you as a son of mine. -I relented, however, and took you again into favor. -I see now how useless it was. Again you have -brought shame on my gray hairs; and I now make -the determination to disown you wholly. Enclosed -is a thousand dollars, for I will not send you penniless -on the world. Let me never again hear from -you. Change your name, since you will dishonor the -one I bear, and remember that your own folly has -cut loose every tie betwixt you and</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'><span class='sc'>George L. Vernon</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The letter fell from the hands of the young man as -he ceased reading, and for some moments, without -uttering a word, he gazed on it as it lay on the floor -at his feet. In that minute how his whole past life -rushed through his memory! He thought of his infancy; -his early childhood; the rooms where he -played; his little sister; his mother; the servants; -every old familiar place and thing, all now shut out -to him forever. Had he deserved to be treated with -such harshness? His passion blinded him as he said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No! I have not deserved it. I will be under no -obligations to one who can thus heartlessly cast me -off. He disowns me—does he? Let it be. Never -will I sue for a favor again at any of their hands. -From this day forth they shall be to me as the dead.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Shall we follow him through his career of subsequent -desperation and eventual profligacy, or shall -we at once draw to a close?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than a year had passed since Vernon had -been disowned by his parent, and he was now an -outcast, and almost penniless. In all that time he -had heard nothing of home. He had seen, in the interval, -every variety of life. The gaming table had -been his principal resort, for after having, with the -remittance made to him by his father, discharged his -debts of honor, he had so little left that he saw no -other resource from starvation. The vicissitudes of -a gambler’s life are well known; the inevitable result—poverty—is -ever the same. By the time a -twelvemonth had elapsed, Vernon was almost penniless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With only a few dollars in his pocket, he one night -entered a low gaming house, and for some time -betted without either loss or gain. At length, however, -he lost. He threw down another stake, and -that too was swept up by the banker. His last dollar -was in his hand, ready to be put up, when he -paused, and the question flashed across his mind, -what if he should lose again? Never before had he -been so near to utter poverty. He had even no place -where he might lodge that night, and, save that dollar, -he owned nothing in the wide world but the garments -he wore. He paused, and turned away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The cards pass,” said the banker. “You do not -bet this time, sir?—another chance, and you retrieve -your loss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still the young man hesitated. The banker lost.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The cards pass,” said the banker again; “you -see you would have won, sir. How much do you -put up now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man glanced fiercely at the speaker, -hesitated an instant, and half turned away again; -but the temptation to try his luck once more was too -great, and hastily throwing down his dollar, he -grasped the cards convulsively.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Twenty!” said the banker, flinging his cards -with a smile on the table. “Sir, you have lost.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man stared wildly at the hoary villain, -and then grinding his teeth together fiercely, with -ill-concealed despair, he pushed the piece towards -his tempter, cast a stern defying glance around the -room at the curious spectators of the scene, and -strode from the apartment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph!” said the banker, “I’ll bet it’s his last -dollar—who takes me up? No one, eh! Then, -gentlemen, proceed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No sooner had the young man reached the street -than he paused, and looking up at the gay windows -of the room he had left, he shook his clenched hand -fiercely at them, and exclaimed—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curses on ye for the ruin ye have brought upon -me!—ay! ten thousand curses on ye and your -hoary owners!” and then the recollection of his -poverty seeming to cross his mind in another guise, -he added, less passionately, “My God! not a cent -have they left me, even to buy a night’s shelter. Oh! -that I had never left my father’s house!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For hours he wandered up and down the streets, -now inflamed to madness by his despair, now melting -at the recollection of the happy days he had once -enjoyed under his father’s roof. Morning still found -him a wanderer. Pale, dejected and spirit-broken, -he entered, at early dawn, an obscure coffee-house, -just as the sleepy menials were opening the shutters, -and sitting moodily down, picked up the morning -paper. The first paragraph that his eye lit upon -was as follows:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Died, on the 5th inst., after a lingering illness, -which she bore with Christian meekness and fortitude, -<span class='sc'>Elizabeth</span>, wife of <span class='sc'>George L. Vernon</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The paper dropped from his grasp. For an instant -all power of speech left him. Then rushed across -his mind the recollection of a thousand things which -that mother had done for her erring boy. And she -had died—died without forgiving him! Oh! at -that moment, he would have given worlds to have -recalled her to life, in order that he might kneel at -her feet and solicit her pardon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will arise,” at length he said, in the language -of scripture, “and go unto my father. I will sue for -permission to behold her face in death; surely that -they will not deny me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And he arose. Completely changed in spirit, that -erring son, after nearly a day’s travel, arrived at his -native village. He had parted with every available -thing to obtain funds for the journey, and reached -his father’s house just before night, penniless. He -knocked hastily at the door, not giving himself time -to notice that the house bore no signs of mourning. -The old housekeeper, who happened to be crossing -the hall at the time the servant admitted him, could -scarcely repress a scream of surprise at seeing her -young master.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For God’s sake,” gasped the penitent, “Mrs. -Irwin, lead me to my mother; let me see her before -the grave closes over her forever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The almost incoherent words and eager, impassioned -gestures of the penitent for a moment bewildered -the good woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your mother! Mr. James—she is not dead; but -you have seen the newspapers’ mistake, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not dead!” exclaimed he, falling on his knees; -“then I thank thee, oh! my Creator, that I can yet -sue for her forgiveness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, then, my dear boy,” said the old housekeeper, -bursting into tears, “and let me take you -in to your parents. Oh! I have prayed for this hour -night and day, and I knew that it would come;” and -while the tears fell thick and fast down her aged -cheeks, she led the now passive penitent across the -hall, opened the door of the drawing-room, and -ushered in the returning prodigal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One glance around that well-remembered room -was sufficient for the young man. His mother sat in -her easy chair, wrapped in a large shawl, and bearing -evident traces of a late illness; his sister was at -her piano, playing one of the old airs which he had -heard a thousand times from her; and his silver-haired -father sat betwixt the mother and daughter, -engaged in his usual occupation of reading. Yet, -oh! how care-worn were the faces of all! And this -was the work of that prodigal son. As he saw it all, -a gush of old feelings swept across the penitent’s -soul, and falling on his knees, he buried his face in -his hands, and sobbed aloud in his remorse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My boy!—come to my arms,” said the mother, -almost hysterically, awarding her forgiveness almost -before it was solicited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not so the father. Rising with a frown from his -chair, he was about to advance on the intruder, when -the daughter, rushing towards him, lifted her beseeching -eyes to her parent’s, and said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father, only look at him—do but hear him!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment the conflict in that father’s bosom -almost shook his frame with emotion. At first he -turned away, refusing to see his boy; but in every -line of his agitated face might be seen the struggle -betwixt affection for his son and his sense of injury. -Nature at length triumphed; he suffered himself to -be led towards the penitent, and the next moment -the members of the re-united family were sobbing -alternately in each other’s arms.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'>R.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bib'></a>MY MOTHER’S BIBLE.</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'>This book is all that’s left me now!—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Tears will unbidden start—</p> -<p class='line0'>With faltering lip and throbbing brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I press it to my heart.</p> -<p class='line0'>For many generations passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Here is our family tree;</p> -<p class='line0'>My mother’s hands this Bible clasped—</p> -<p class='line0'>  She, dying, gave it me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ah! well do I remember those</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose names these records bear:</p> -<p class='line0'>Who round the hearth-stone used to close,</p> -<p class='line0'>  After the evening prayer,</p> -<p class='line0'>And speak of what these pages said,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In terms my heart would thrill!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Though they are with the silent dead,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Here are they living still!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My father read this holy book</p> -<p class='line0'>  To brothers, sisters dear—</p> -<p class='line0'>How calm was my poor mother’s look,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who leaned God’s word to hear!</p> -<p class='line0'>Her angel face—I see it yet!</p> -<p class='line0'>  What thronging memories come!</p> -<p class='line0'>Again that little group is met</p> -<p class='line0'>  Within the halls of home!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou truest friend man ever knew,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy constancy I’ve tried;</p> -<p class='line0'>When all were false, I found thee true,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My counsellor and guide.</p> -<p class='line0'>The mines of earth no treasures give</p> -<p class='line0'>  That could this volume buy;</p> -<p class='line0'>In teaching me the way to live,</p> -<p class='line0'>  It taught me how to die.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='coll'></a>THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA.</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> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> “Born again?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, “born -again.” These were the words upon whose mystical -meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the -explanations of the priesthood, until Death himself -resolved for me the secret.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> Death!</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my -words! I observe, too, a vacillation in your step—a -joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are confused -and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life -Eternal. Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here -how singularly sounds that word which of old was -wont to bring terror to all hearts—throwing a mildew -upon all pleasures!</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all -feasts! How often, Monos, did we lose ourselves -in speculations upon its nature! How mysteriously -did it act as a check to human bliss—saying unto it -“thus far, and no farther!” That earnest mutual -love, my own Monos, which burned within our bosoms—how -vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling -happy in its first upspringing, that our happiness -would strengthen with its strength! Alas! as it -grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of that evil -hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! -Thus, in time, it became painful to love. Hate -would have been mercy then.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> Speak not here of these griefs, dear -Una—mine, mine forever now!</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> But the memory of past sorrow—is it not -present joy? I have much to say yet of the things -which have been. Above all, I burn to know the incidents -of your own passage through the dark Valley -and Shadow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> And when did the radiant Una ask anything -of her Monos in vain? I will be minute in relating -all—but at what point shall the weird narrative -begin?</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> At what point?</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> You have said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we -have both learned the propensity of man to define -the indefinable. I will not say, then, commence -with the moment of life’s cessation—but commence -with that sad, sad instant when, the fever having -abandoned you, you sank into a breathless and motionless -torpor, and I pressed down your pallid eyelids -with the passionate fingers of love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> One word first, my Una, in regard to -man’s general condition at this epoch. You will remember -that one or two of the wise among our forefathers—wise -in fact, although not in the world’s -esteem—had ventured to doubt the propriety of the -term “improvement,” as applied to the progress of -our civilization. There were periods in each of the -five or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution, -when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly -contending for those principles whose truth appears -now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly obvious—principles -which should have taught our race -to submit to the guidance of the natural laws, rather -than attempt their control. At long intervals some -master-minds appeared, looking upon each advance -in practical science as a retro-gradation in the true -utility. Occasionally the poetic intellect—that intellect -which we now feel to have been the most exalted -of all—since those truths which to us were of -the most enduring importance could only be reached -by that <span class='it'>analogy</span> which speaks in proof-tones to the -imagination alone, and to the unaided reason bears -no weight—occasionally did this poetic intellect -proceed a step farther in the evolving of the vague -idea of the philosophic, and find in the mystic -parable that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its -forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation -that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant -condition of his soul. And these men—the poets—living -and perishing amid the scorn of the “utilitarians”—of -rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves -a title which could have been properly applied -only to the scorned—these men, the poets, -pondered piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient -days when our wants were not more simple -than our enjoyments were keen—days when <span class='it'>mirth</span> -was a word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was -happiness—holy, august and blissful days, when -blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, -into far forest solitudes, primæval, odorous, and unexplored.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet these noble exceptions from the general misrule -served but to strengthen it by opposition. Alas! -we had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil days. -The great “movement”—that was the cant term—went -on:—a diseased commotion, moral and physical. -Art—the Arts—arose supreme, and, once enthroned, -cast chains upon the intellect which had elevated -them to power. Man, because he could not but -acknowledge the majesty of Nature, fell into childish -exultation at his acquired and still-increasing dominion -over her elements. Even while he stalked a -god in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came -over him. As might be supposed from the origin of -his disorder, he grew infected with system, and with -abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. -Among other odd ideas, those of universal equality -gained ground; and in the face of analogy and of -God—in despite of the loud warning voice of the -laws of <span class='it'>gradation</span> so visibly pervading all things in -Earth and Heaven—wild attempts at an omni-prevalent -Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang -necessarily from the leading evil, Knowledge. Man -could not both know and succumb. Meantime huge -smoking cities arose, innumerable. Green leaves -shrank before the hot breath of furnaces. The fair -face of Nature was deformed as with the ravages of -some loathsome disease. And methinks, sweet Una, -even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the -far-fetched might have arrested us here. But now it -appears that we had worked out our own destruction -in the perversion of our <span class='it'>taste</span>, or rather in the blind -neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in truth, -it was at this crisis that taste alone—that faculty -which, holding a middle position between the pure -intellect and the moral sense, could never safely -have been disregarded—it was now that taste alone -could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, -and to Life. But alas for the pure contemplative -spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas for the -μουσικη which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient -education for the soul! Alas for him and for it!—since -both were most desperately needed when both -were most entirely forgotten or despised.<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'>Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has -said, how truly!—“<span class='it'>que tout notre raisonnement se -rèduit à céder au sentiment</span>;” and it is not impossible -that the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted -it, would have regained its old ascendancy -over the harsh mathematical reason of the schools. -But this thing was not to be. Prematurely induced -by intemperance of knowledge, the old age of the -world drew on. This the mass of mankind saw not, -or, living lustily although unhappily, affected not to -see. But, for myself, the Earth’s records had taught -me to look for widest ruin as the price of highest -civilization. I had imbibed a prescience of our Fate -from comparison of China the simple and enduring, -with Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, -with Nubia, more crafty than either, the turbulent -mother of all Arts. In history<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a> of these regions -I met with a ray from the Future. The individual -artificialities of the three latter were local diseases -of the Earth, and in their individual overthrows we -had seen local remedies applied; but for the infected -world at large I could anticipate no regeneration -save in death. That man, as a race, should not become -extinct, I saw that he must be “<span class='it'>born again</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we -busied our souls, daily, in dreams. Now it was that, -in twilight, we discoursed of the days to come, when -the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having undergone -that purification<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a> which alone could efface its -rectangular obscenities, should clothe itself anew in -the verdure and the mountain-slopes and the smiling -waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a fit -dwelling-place for man:—for man the Death-purged—for -man to whose now exalted intellect -there should be poison in knowledge no more—for -the redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, -but still for the <span class='it'>material</span>, man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Una.</span> Well do I remember these conversations, -dear Monos; but the epoch of the fiery overthrow -was not so near at hand as we believed, and as the -corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in believing. -Men lived; and died individually. You -yourself sickened, and passed into the grave; and -thither your constant Una speedily followed you. -And though the century which has since elapsed, and -whose conclusion brings us thus together once more, -tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience -of duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century -still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Monos.</span> Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity. -Unquestionably, it was in the Earth’s dotage that I -died. Wearied at heart with anxieties which had -their origin in the general turmoil and decay, I succumbed -to the fierce fever. After some few days of -pain, and many of dreamy delirium replete with -ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook for -pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive -you—after some days there came upon me, as you -have said, a breathless and motionless torpor; and -this was termed <span class='it'>Death</span> by those who stood around -me. Words are vague things. My condition did -not deprive me of sentience. It appeared to me not -greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of him -who, having slumbered long and profoundly, lying -motionless and fully prostrate in a midsummer noon, -begins to steal slowly back into consciousness, -through the mere sufficiency of his sleep, and without -being awakened by external disturbances. I -breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The -heart had ceased to beat. Volition had not departed -but was powerless. The senses were unusually active, -although eccentrically so—assuming often -each other’s functions at random. The taste and the -smell were inextricably confounded, and became one -sentiment, abnormal and intense. The rose-water -with which your tenderness had moistened my lips -to the last, affected me with sweet fancies of flowers—fantastic -flowers, far more lovely than any of -the old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here -blooming around us. The eyelids, transparent and -bloodless, offered no complete impediment to vision. -As volition was in abeyance, the balls could not roll -in their sockets—but all objects within the range of -the visual hemisphere were seen with more or less -distinctness; the rays which fell upon the external -retina, or into the corner of the eye, producing a -more vivid effect than those which struck the front -or interior surface. Yet, in the former instance, this -effect was so far anomalous that I appreciated it -only as <span class='it'>sound</span>—sound sweet or discordant as the -matters presenting themselves at my side were light -or dark in shade—curved or angular in outline. -The hearing, at the same time, although excited in -degree, was not irregular in action—estimating real -sounds with an extravagance of precision, not less -than of sensibility. Touch had undergone a modification -more peculiar. Its impressions were tardily -received, but pertinaciously retained, and resulted -always in the highest physical pleasure. Thus the -pressure of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at -first only recognised through vision, at length, long -after their removal, filled my whole being with a -sensual delight immeasurable. I say with a sensual -delight. <span class='it'>All</span> my perceptions were purely sensual. -The materials furnished the passive brain by the -senses were not in the least degree wrought into -shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain there -was some little; of pleasure there was much; but of -moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild -sobs floated into my ear with all their mournful cadences, -and were appreciated in their every variation -of sad tone; but they were soft musical sounds and -no more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no intimation -of the sorrows which gave them birth; -while the large and constant tears which fell upon -my face, telling the bystanders of a heart which -broke, thrilled every fibre of my frame with ecstasy -alone. And this was in truth the <span class='it'>Death</span> of which -these bystanders spoke reverently, in low whispers—you, -sweet Una, gaspingly, with loud cries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They attired me for the coffin—three or four dark -figures which flitted busily to and fro. As these -crossed the direct line of my vision they affected me -as <span class='it'>forms</span>; but upon passing to my side their images -impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and -other dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of -wo. You alone, habited in a white robe, passed in -all directions musically about me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I -became possessed by a vague uneasiness—an anxiety -such as the sleeper feels when sad real sounds fall -continuously within his ear—low distant bell-tones, -solemn, at long but equal intervals, and commingling -with melancholy dreams. Night arrived; and with -its shadows a heavy discomfort. It oppressed my -limbs with the oppression of some dull weight, and -was palpable. There was also a moaning sound, not -unlike the distant reverberation of surf, but more -continuous, which, beginning with the first twilight, -had grown in strength with the darkness. Suddenly -lights were brought into the room, and this reverberation -became forthwith interrupted into frequent -unequal bursts of the same sound, but less dreary -and less distinct. The ponderous oppression was in -a great measure relieved; and, issuing from the flame -of each lamp, (for there were many,) there flowed -unbrokenly into my ears a strain of melodious monotone. -And when now, dear Una, approaching the -bed upon which I lay outstretched, you sat gently by -my side, breathing odor from your sweet lips, and -pressing them upon my brow, there arose tremulously -within my bosom, and mingling with the merely -physical sensations which circumstances had called -forth, a something akin to sentiment itself—a feeling -that, half appreciating, half responded to your -earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took no -root in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather -a shadow than a reality, and faded quickly away, -first into extreme quiescence, and then into a purely -sensual pleasure as before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the -usual senses, there appeared to have arisen within -me a sixth, all perfect. In its exercise I found a -wild delight—yet a delight still physical, inasmuch -as the understanding had in it no part. Motion in -the animal frame had fully ceased. No muscle -quivered; no nerve thrilled; no artery throbbed. -But there seemed to have sprung up in the brain, -<span class='it'>that</span> of which no words could convey to the merely -human intelligence even an indistinct definition. -Let me term it a mental pendulous pulsation. It -was the moral embodiment of man’s abstract idea of -<span class='it'>Time</span>. By the absolute equalization of this movement—or -of such as this—had the cycles of the firmamental -orbs themselves, been adjusted. By its -aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon -the mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. -Their tickings came sonorously to my ears. The -slightest deviations from the true proportion—and -these deviations were omni-prævalent—affected me -just as violations of abstract truth were wont, on -earth, to affect the moral sense. Although no two -of the time-pieces in the chamber struck the individual -seconds accurately together, yet I had no difficulty -in holding steadily in mind the tones, and the -respective momentary errors of each. And this—this -keen, perfect, self-existing sentiment of <span class='it'>duration</span>—this -sentiment existing (as man could not possibly -have conceived it to exist) independently of -any succession of events—this idea—this sixth -sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest, was -the first obvious and certain step of the intemporal -soul upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. -All others had departed from the chamber of Death. -They had deposited me in the coffin. The lamps -burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the tremulousness -of the monotonous strains. But, suddenly -these strains diminished in distinctness and in volume. -Finally they ceased. The perfume in my nostrils -died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. -The oppression of the Darkness uplifted itself -from my bosom. A dull shock like that of electricity -pervaded my frame, and was followed by total loss -of the idea of contact. All of what man has termed -sense was merged in the sole consciousness of entity, -and in the one abiding sentiment of duration. The -mortal body had been at length stricken with the -hand of the deadly <span class='it'>Decay</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the -consciousness and the sentiment remaining supplied -some of its functions by a lethargic intuition. I appreciated -the direful change now in operation upon -the flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of -the bodily presence of one who leans over him, so, -sweet Una, I still dully felt that you sat by my side. -So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I -was not unconscious of those movements which displaced -you from my side, which confined me within -the coffin, which deposited me within the hearse, -which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within -it, which heaped heavily the mould upon me, and -thus left me in blackness and corruption to my sad -slumbers with the worm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And here, in the prison-house, which has few secrets -to disclose, there rolled away days and weeks -and solemn months, and the soul watched narrowly -each second as it flew, and, without effort, took -record of its flight—without effort and without object. -Meantime the worm, with its convulsive motion, -writhed untorturing and unheeded about me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A year passed. The consciousness of <span class='it'>being</span> had -grown hourly more indistinct, and that of mere <span class='it'>locality</span> -had, in great measure, usurped its position. The -idea of entity was becoming merged in that of <span class='it'>place</span>. -The narrow space immediately surrounding what -had been the body, was now growing to be the body -itself. At length, as often happens to the sleeper -(by sleep and its world alone is <span class='it'>Death</span> imaged)—at -length, as sometimes happened on Earth to the deep -slumberer, when some flitting light half startled him -into awaking, yet left him half enveloped in dreams—so -to me, in the strict embrace of the <span class='it'>Shadow</span>, came -<span class='it'>that</span> light which alone might have had power to -startle—the light of enduring <span class='it'>Love</span>. Men toiled at -the grave in which I lay darkling. They upthrew -the damp earth. Upon my mouldering bones there -descended the coffin of Una.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now again all was void. That nebulous light -had been extinguished. That feeble thrill had vibrated -itself into quiescence. Many lustra had supervened. -Dust had returned to dust. The worm -had food no more. The sense of being had at length -utterly departed, and there reigned in its stead—instead -of all things—dominant and perpetual—the -autocrats <span class='it'>Place</span> and <span class='it'>Time</span>. For <span class='it'>that</span> which <span class='it'>was not</span>—for -that which had no form—for that which had no -thought—for that which had no sentience—for that -which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no -portion—for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, -the grave was still a home, and the corrosive -hours, co-mates.</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'>“It will be hard to discover a better [method of education] -than that which the experience of so many ages has -already discovered; and this may be summed up as consisting -in gymnastics for the body, and <span class='it'>music</span> for the soul.”—Repub. -lib. 2. “For this reason is a musical education -most essential; since it causes Rhythm and Harmony to -penetrate most intimately into the soul, taking the strongest -hold upon it, filling it with <span class='it'>beauty</span> and making the man -<span class='it'>beautiful-minded</span>. . . . . . He will praise and admire <span class='it'>the -beautiful</span>; will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed -upon it, and <span class='it'>assimilate his own condition with it</span>.”—Ibid, -lib. 3. Music (μουσικη) had, however, among the Athenians, -a far more comprehensive signification than with us. -It included not only the harmonies of time and of tune, but -the poetic diction, sentiment and creation, each in its widest -sense. The study of <span class='it'>music</span> was with them, in fact, the general -cultivation of the taste—of that which recognizes the -beautiful—in contra-distinction from reason, which deals -only with the true.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<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'>“History” from ιστορειν, to contemplate.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<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'>The word “<span class='it'>purification</span>” seems here to be used with -reference to its root in the Greek πυρ, fire.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sorr'></a>“I KNOW THAT THOU WILT SORROW!”</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'>I know that thou wilt sorrow, when first I pass from earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>And at thy pale and quivering lip shall gleam no sign of mirth,</p> -<p class='line0'>For grief shall sit upon thy brow, in sad, unseemly guise,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tears, e’en though thou art a man, shall well up to thine eyes.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For each young plant, each speaking flower, and old familiar place</p> -<p class='line0'>Will seem to gaze with sadness, up to thine averted face;</p> -<p class='line0'>And when, perchance, another hand my own sweet chords shall sweep,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou’lt list to those remembered tones, and turn aside and weep!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And when another’s thoughtless voice, shall breathe to thee my name,</p> -<p class='line0'>And whisper that the sound was linked with an undying fame,</p> -<p class='line0'>No pride shall mantle o’er thy cheek, nor darkle in thine eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>For idle words breathed of the dead, should pass as idly by.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou’lt miss my step at even, when thou drawest near thy home,</p> -<p class='line0'>When gleam the ever-sleepless stars, from yon eternal dome;</p> -<p class='line0'>And thou wilt sit and gaze at them, nor shall thou gaze unmoved,</p> -<p class='line0'>For, oh! thou’lt think, that I too well their startling beauty loved!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thou’lt miss me, and will seek to claim the tempest of thy soul,</p> -<p class='line0'>For passions all untamed as those, shall bend to thy control;</p> -<p class='line0'>And grief, that erst sat on thy brow, thou’lt spurn from out thy heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>And with each old remembrancer most willingly will part.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When my dim-remembered features shall pass from memory,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the music of my name, shall wake no answering melody,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou wilt turn thee to another, and she will be to thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>E’en all that I have ever been,—all I could hope to be!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='ass'></a>THE ASSAULT.</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. H. DANA.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the last morning of the assault. The sun -had risen heavily across the eastern highlands, flinging -his slant beams upon the embattled armies of the -cross, and disclosing, as the mists rolled upwards -from the valley, mangonel, and tower, and battering-ram, -and serried troops of warriors, drawn up in array -before Jerusalem,—and now as the shout “to the -Holy City,” swelled out upon the air, and the priests, -in sacerdotal robes, lifted up their chaunt again, the -whole vast mass, as if by a simultaneous impulse, -moved forward from their stations, and with lance, -and shield, and banner, and shouts of triumph, and -clashing of arms, marched on to the assault. All -Europe was up. Prince and subject; noble and serf; -layman and monk; the rich and the poor; the proud -and the humble; old, young, and middle aged; stalwart -men and feeble women; the knight in his armor, -and the boor in his capote,—the bishop with his -crozier, and the friar in his cowl; the halt, the deaf, -the blind; all ranks and conditions of life swelled -the gigantic host, which, gathering new accessions -to its numbers in every land it traversed, had rolled -on with threatening aspect over Palestine, carrying -terror and desolation to the Saracens, until at length -the mighty army was now arrayed before Jerusalem, -burning to achieve the redemption of the sepulchre. -Yes! Europe was there in arms, moved as one man, -by one spirit. From hill and dale; from city and -hamlet; from the castle of the noble and the cottage -of the boor; from cloister, and forge, and plough, the -sons of the church had gathered at her summons, -fired with a lofty determination to avenge an insulted -faith, and scourge back to the fastnesses from -whence they came the sacrilegious followers of the -crescent. There was the bluff Englishman, the fair-haired -German, the tall gaunt Scot, the gay cavalier -from Provence, the dark eyed son of Italy, and the -wild and uncouth child of that green “Erin,” of the -ocean, lying on the utmost verge of civilization, and -known only by vague rumor as the habitation of -man. Ay! all these were there—there, with spear, -and sword, and cross-bow—there, in glittering -casque, and homely jerkin—there, on proudly caparisoned -steeds, or marching with soiled buskin humbly -on foot. Soldiers of every garb, tongue, and -nation; men who had been enemies but were now -friends; warriors, who had hitherto lived only -for rapine, joined in that wild shout, and with an -enthusiasm they had never felt before, swept on the -second time to the assault—and ever as they -marched, in solid phalanx or open column, Frank, -or Saxon, or Italian, they swelled out the cry, “Ho! -soldiers of the cross—on to the Holy City!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the battle was joined. Foremost of all, -in his lofty tower, stood Godfrey of Bouillon, cheering -on the attack, and directing his unerring shafts -against every one who appeared upon the walls;—while -beneath and around him, plying mangonel and -battering-ram, or showering arrows on the foe, -pressed on the humbler soldiers of the cross—ay! -pressed on, although the missiles of the Saracens -poured down like rain, and melted lead, and scalding -water, and fire itself, fell thick and fast upon the -hosts of the assailants. And still on they pressed, -and though the ground was strewed with the dying, -and every moment some new assailant fell, the gallant -line of the Crusaders never swerved, but as fast -as one went down another filled his place; and as -the long hours of the morning passed away, and the -Saracens maintained their walls, fighting with the -desperation of men who were contending for their -homes, the fearless assailers kept pressing on to the -attack, determined to succeed in the assault or leave -their bones to bleach before the walls. One universal -enthusiasm pervaded the whole host. Old and -young; peaceful monks and timid women; the sick, -the halt, the dumb, came forth from the camp, -bringing weapons for those who had spent their -missiles, carrying water for the parched combatants, -or cheering the dying in their last moments of mortal -agony. And higher and higher mounted the sun, -and sultry and more sultry grew the air, yet still the -Saracens made good their walls, and when the exhausted -soldiers were almost fainting from the fatigues -of the day, the beseiged made one more -desperate rally, and, collecting all their strength for -a last effort, they bore down upon the soldiers of the -cross, and drove them, with terrific slaughter, from -the walls. Back—back—back they fled, in wild -dismay. In vain their leaders attempted to rally the -worn-out soldiers; they themselves could scarcely -support their frames, exhausted by their heavy armor -and the stifling heat of noonday. Further effort -was hopeless. The despair was general. A wild -shout of exultation rung out from the walls, as the -Saracens seized the image of a cross, spat upon it, -and cast it, with insulting gestures, into the ditch. -The taunt stung the assailants to the heart. At that -instant a shining horseman, clad in armor brighter -than the day, and waving on high a sword that shone -with the brilliancy of the sun seven times brightened, -was seen upon the Mount of Olives, beckoning to the -discomposed assailants, and pointing onwards to the -Holy Sepulchre; and as one after another of the -wearied crusaders beheld the blessed vision, sighs, -groans, and tears burst from the assembled thousands, -and clashing their arms deliriously aloft, and waving -their banners wildly to and fro upon the air, they -cried out, “Ho! soldiers of the cross—on to the -Holy City!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And on they swept. Horse and foot; archer and -man-at-arms; wounded and unhurt; noble and retainer; -Frank, Gaul, and German; the Saxon, and -Tuscan; the old, the young, the middle aged; leader -and follower; proud and humble; free and bond;—on—on—on -they pressed, as if a whirlwind had -sent them reeling upon the foe, bearing every thing -down before them, plying cross-bow and mangonel, -hurling huge stones that crushed the foe like glass, -and heaving battering-rams that shook the walls as if -an earthquake was rolling by. Ay! on they pressed, -for did not the archangel wave them to the onset? -The foe shrank back amazed. Outwork, and door-post, -and palisade could offer no resistance to the -enthusiasm of the Christians. Vain were the wildest -efforts of the infidels to stay the progress of the assailing -hosts; vain were their adjurations to the -prophet, their impious prayers for help, their insulting -prostrations before high heaven. The hurricane -that levels cities was not more desolating than the -onslaught of the Christians. They dashed across the -plain, they drove in the outposts, they crossed the -ditch itself; and now the tower of Godfrey reached -the walls—the bridge was let down—a rush was -made, and a knight sprang on the battlements. Another -and another followed—the Saracens stood -palsied—Godfrey, Baldwin, Bouillon rushed in—down -went the sacrilegious infidels who opposed -them—a wild conflict, beyond what the battle had -yet seen, took place around the standard of the -crescent; and lo! with a shout that men shall remember -till the day of judgment, the impious ensign -is hurled from the battlements, and the cross—the -cross of Christ—floats wild and free above the -towers of Jerusalem. Then rose up the acclamations -of thousands—then pealed the triumphal chaunts of -priests—then quailed the Saracen with fear in the -remotest dens of that vast city. The day was won. -The cross was avenged. Tancred and Robert of -Normandy heard the triumphal shout, and burst open -the furthermost gates with sudden energy; while -Raimond of Toulouse scaled the walls upon the -other side at the outcry, and shook the cross to the -wind beyond the Holy Sepulchre. Down went the -Saracens in street and lane, and open field, or -wherever these unholy revilers of the church attempted -to make their stand. From house to house, and -street to street, the indignant conquerors pursued -the foe, until the thoroughfares were filled with -blood, and the infidels lay slaughtered in heaps on -every hand; and wherever the Christians followed -up the flying wretches, in mansion or in mosque, -they kept in memory the insult to the cross which -they had witnessed but the hour before, and keeping -it in memory, their arms never tired, nor their -weapons slackened. It was a day over which for -ages the Saracen women wept. The mosque of -Omar floated with gore; the streets were slippery -with blood; not a nook or corner gave safety to one -of that accursed race; and when, at length, the Saracens -rushed in wild despair to the temple of Soliman, -even there the avenging Christians sought them -out, and a thousand, ay! ten times a thousand impious -revilers slaked the earth with their gore. -And when the work was done, and that fearful insult -was avenged; when the conquering army had time -to think of the mighty deed they had achieved; -when they remembered that within the walls where -they now were the Savior had been buried, a gush of -holy tenderness swept over their souls,—old and -young, noble and peasant, men, women, and children,—and -with tears in their eyes, they cast aside -their weapons, took off their sandals, and, rushing to -the Holy Sepulchre, kissed the consecrated pavement, -and washed the altar with their tears. And -when twilight darkened over the city, the vespers of -holy men went up to heaven, for the first time after -the lapse of centuries, instead of the accursed Mezzuin’s -call. Night came down at length, and silence -hung over the walls. The shrieks of the wounded; -the groans of the dying; the crackling of burning -habitations, and the impious revilings of the infidels -had ceased: while not a sound broke the profound -hush of midnight, except the faint gurgling of the -brook of Kedron, and the low whispers of the night -wind among the palaces of Jerusalem. And a thousand -stars looked brilliantly down from the calm -blue sky, as if the angels, whose thrones they are, -were shouting hallelujahs that the last day of the -Saracen had passed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonn'></a>SONNET.</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 PARK BENJAMIN.</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'>Loved of my soul! I seek in vain for thee.</p> -<p class='line0'>  Why from my sight art thou, sweet star, away?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Heaven is not fair without thy tender ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all things robed in shadow seem to be.</p> -<p class='line0'>The evening wind has lost its melody:</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hushed are the chords on every bending bough;</p> -<p class='line0'>  The waters have no voice of music now,</p> -<p class='line0'>And silence, dove-like, broods upon the sea.</p> -<p class='line0'>Is there no light, indeed—no joyous sound</p> -<p class='line0'>  When Beauty dwelt with Song, and Nature cast</p> -<p class='line0'>Treasures of Summer happiness around?</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, yes! unchanged the verdant prospect lies—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The present is as lovely as the past—</p> -<p class='line0'>It only lacks the lustre of thine eyes.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='neg'></a>THE NEGLECTED WIFE.</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='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>          “Oh! there were hours</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>When I could hang forever on his eye,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And Time, who stole with silent swiftness by,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Strew’d, as he hurried on, his path with flowers.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The relations of life abound with solemn warnings -and touching incidents. Scarcely a community exists, -however small, the history of which is not replete -with scenes that, if delineated by the pen of a -master spirit, and embellished with a few of the -golden rays of fancy, would not seem fraught with -romance. Nay, there is scarcely a family of any extent -that has not stories in its private chronicles, -“lights and shadows,” joys and sorrows, full of interest, -and calculated, when suitably embellished and -elaborated, to “point a moral or adorn a tale.” We -“live, move and breathe” in a world of mystery. -The shadows which veil a single year—nay, a single -day—from the eye of poor mortality, may to some -be charged with death and desolation, while to others -they may serve to shut out the glorious light of hope -and happiness and prosperity. The incident which -to-day gladdens the heart and kindles the expectation, -may to-morrow prove but as the lightning’s -flash, that foreruns the bolt of the destroyer. Thus -we know not what is best for us, and while seeking -to deserve the due of virtue and integrity, we should -check our own hearts when envying the apparent -success of another, and murmuring at what, to our -imperfect vision, may appear an unequal distribution -of the blessings of Providence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such was the tone of reflection in which I indulged -a few evenings since, on returning from a -visit to a friend—a friend whose career of honor and -ambition had, but a year or two before, excited a -feeling in the mind somewhat akin to envy. But let -me not anticipate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Laura Milnor, at the age of sixteen, was one of -the loveliest of her sex. Her beauty was girlish -and buoyant, and made up of such elements as youth -and hope and innocence and joy. Her laugh thrilled -upon the ear like the clear voice of a glad child; her -step was elastic and aerial, and although as mirthful -and happy as one who had never known a thought -of grief or a dream of sorrow, she was one of the -most susceptible of her sex, and was melted to tears -almost as readily as she was excited to mirth. Blue -eyes, auburn hair, and a voice full of music—she -was too sensitive for the heartlessness of this world, -and thus it was the fear of those who knew her character -thoroughly, and were well acquainted with -human nature in the aggregate, that she would be -won too readily, and possibly waste the sweetness -of her pure and guileless heart upon an unworthy object. -Not so, however. At seventeen, she was the -“bright, particular star” of her immediate circle, -with groups of admirers, of various grades of merit -and pretension, but with an avowed, preferred and -envied suitor. He had a rival, it is true, and a formidable -one; because, to a considerable fortune he -added a sincerity of devotion and an assiduity of attention -that seldom fail to make an impression upon -the heart of woman, however obdurate. But the -preferred suitor, Morton Markley, was a cousin, and -had been preferred, to a slight degree, from earliest -boyhood. His opportunities for pressing his -suit, moreover, were of the best kind; he was a favorite -with the family generally, and these influences -were potent in determining Laura as to a choice. -Nay, the avowal of preference was scarcely determined -upon by her. It was rather made by the -household circle, and regarded as a thing of -course, than elicited from the artless girl in some -quiet and impassioned moment of mutual confidence. -At times, too, she felt something like a doubt—a -doubt as to the <span class='it'>reality</span> of her attachment to her -cousin. She knew—she <span class='it'>felt</span> that she esteemed him. -He possessed many noble qualities. His habits were -of the kind that her mother approved in an especial -manner. He was not only strictly moral, but temperate -from his earliest youth—a zealot in the cause, -indeed—and withal thoroughly devoted to business. -True, he was somewhat stiff and formal in his manners, -possessed little or no imagination, had no taste -for poetry or pathos, and was somewhat cold in his -general character. In most of these particulars he -afforded a broad contrast to his rival, George St. -Clair, a free, dashing, thoughtless creature, all impulse -and enthusiasm, with a flashing genius and a -heart of fire. But all these qualities were moderated -and subdued in the presence of Laura Milnor. She -had achieved a conquest over his heart, and he yielded -to her every wish, and even often anticipated her -thoughts. But he saw her seldom, comparatively -speaking, and although the impression he made at -such times was decided, it was but momentary. -Laura would occasionally hesitate, especially when -she found the image of St. Clair rising up in her -memory, and she discovered herself analysing his -traits of disposition and manner, and contrasting -them with those of her cousin. But she blushed -when she detected the current of her thoughts, and -turned away from the subject as from one that she -ought not to contemplate. St. Clair, moreover, was -a ripe scholar for his years, perfectly familiar with -the poetry of the classics, and with modern literature. -His practice was to mark the exquisite -passages in his favorite authors, and thus, while -indicating his own sentiments and tone of mind, -to appeal, as it were, to the calm and reflecting -spirit of Laura. How often did she find herself unconsciously -meditating upon these gems of thought—these -eloquent and impassioned pourings out of the -souls of the gifted! How frequently did the brief -but expressive notes touch a chord in her own breast, -and speak in a still, but deep voice to her own spirit! -It was on such occasions that she trembled lest she -had mistaken the feeling that animated her with regard -to her cousin. But then he was so good, so -calm, so attentive! They had grown up side by -side! Her mother, her brother, her elder sister, all -respected him so much—he was so amiable, and his -prospect in life was so excellent! No—it was impossible. -There could not be any mistake as to the -nature of her feelings, and she would consent and -name the day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day <span class='it'>was</span> named, and the bridal took place. -The party was large, gay, delightful. I shall never -forget that wedding night. It was one of the happiest -of my existence—a joyous epoch in memory’s -waste, which shines with no common glory as the -mind wanders back and lingers above the regretted -past. Laura, so charming before, seemed to excel -all her former brightness and beauty. Sweet seventeen—the -loveliest of the lovely, glittering in gems -and satin, with her blue eyes brightened with a -double lustre by the excitement of the moment, her -auburn hair waving like a flood of moonbeams upon -her white shoulders: approving relations and friends -around! That indeed seemed a happy moment—the -happiest of her life. But <span class='it'>was</span> it so? Her affianced -also looked remarkably well. He had -thrown off his gravity of manner, his dignity of deportment, -and joined the jest and laugh as if the -world to him also had assumed its sunniest smile. -But I need not describe the etceteras of the wedding. -At twelve o’clock, Mr. and Mrs. Markley were -taken in charge by the usual number of select and -officiating friends, and driven to their own home, a -neat but elegantly furnished establishment, No. 47 -—— Row.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was absent from the city two years. On my return, -one of my first visits was to the house of my -old friend Markley. It was a delightful evening in -the month of May, 1836. The weather for the preceding -week had been wet and disagreeable, so that -the change and a bright moon had won hundreds -from their dwellings to enjoy the cool evening -breeze, and gaze once more into the windows of the -stores. I inquired for Mr. Markley. He was not -in. For Mrs. Markley. Her parlor door was thrown -open, and Laura stood before me—but how changed! -She was paler, thinner, and, to my eye, lovelier than -ever. The delicate cast of thought had given an intellectual -aspect to her features. The ruddy glow, -the buoyant, springy motion of girlhood, were no -longer there; but, in the one case, the ripeness of -the peach had been succeeded by the soft tints of the -rose, and in the other, the gazelle-like bound had -mellowed and melted into the more graceful and majestic -movement of the perfect woman. Her reception -was frank and cordial. My visit seemed a relief -to her. She had “been alone for more than an -hour, and had wanted so much to take a stroll. Her -spirits had been checked for the week past by the -gloomy weather, and <span class='it'>now</span>, when they seemed anxious -to spring away, as if on new-born wings, she was -compelled, like a bird in a cage, to remain within -doors. Oh, these abominable meetings! This -dreadful political excitement! These detestable societies! -Would you believe it, Mr. Markley has -not been home a single evening for these two weeks! -He has become a violent politician, and is a member -of several literary and philanthropic societies. These -occupy four-fifths of his time, and although he is one -of the very best husbands in the world, kind, gentle -and affectionate when here, I do not see him except -at meal times, three hours in a fortnight. And here -I sit, ‘moping’ away my young hours, thinking all -sorts of melancholy things, indulging sometimes in -the wildest of fancies, and not unfrequently—although -I am almost ashamed to confess it—killing -the time and giving vent to my moody temper in a -fit of crying! It is of no use to complain to Morton. -He is perfectly mad upon the subject of politics, and -fancies, dear soul, that he is building up for himself -an enviable reputation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, indeed! Until the death of my first-born I -bore it very well, for the little innocent engaged my -attention in a thousand ways, and the time passed -smoothly enough. But since that painful event—nearly -a year ago—the time has hung heavily indeed. -I don’t know what I should do but for our old -friend St. Clair. He calls frequently, and serves no -little to chase away the gloom of these lonely hours. -You remember St. Clair!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Certainly. I have not met him since the night -of your wedding, and then, poor fellow, he endeavored -to <span class='it'>look</span> and <span class='it'>act</span> his best, but he made a sorry failure -of it. Has he married yet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no! He tells me he will never marry, but -of course the hour of temptation and trial is yet to -come. He has changed very little within the last -three years, and although not so gay and reckless as -formerly, his spirits are still excellent. Mr. Markley -prizes him very highly, and frequently consigns -me to his care for a stroll, while he hurries off to -some political club or abominable meeting. Can -you furnish me with any remedy for the sort of infatuation -I have described in the case of Morton? I -am really provoked at him at times, and have ventured -to remonstrate more than once, but never with -a good effect either upon his temper or his conduct. -Oh! how frequently have the lines of the poet risen -to my memory during the tedious hours of waiting -and of watching!</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      ——‘May slighted woman turn,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bend lightly to her tendencies again?</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, no! by all her loveliness, by all</p> -<p class='line0'>That makes life poetry and beauty, no!</p> -<p class='line0'>Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek</p> -<p class='line0'>By needless jealousies; let the last star</p> -<p class='line0'>Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain;</p> -<p class='line0'>Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all</p> -<p class='line0'>That makes her cup a bitterness—yet give</p> -<p class='line0'>One evidence of love, and earth has not</p> -<p class='line0'>An emblem of devotedness like hers.</p> -<p class='line0'>But, oh! estrange her once, it boots now how,</p> -<p class='line0'>By wrong or silence, anything that tells</p> -<p class='line0'>A change has come upon your tenderness—</p> -<p class='line0'>And there is not a high thing out of heaven</p> -<p class='line0'>Her pride o’ermastereth not.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>I ridiculed them when they were first pointed out to me -by St. Clair, but sad experience has taught me better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such, in brief, was the nature of the conversation -of the night. I remained until a late hour, exceedingly -anxious to see my old friend, but the clock -struck eleven, and he had not returned. Wandering -homeward, a crowd of strange thoughts pressed -upon my brain. Can he love this gentle being? I -asked. And then his whole course through life came -to my recollection, and I dismissed every doubt. -He does love her to the extent of his ability. Then -why neglect her? Why permit melancholy to prey -upon her gentle spirit? Why subject her to the -fascinations of such a man as St. Clair?—temptations -at which both would shrink with horror at first, -but which, sooner or later, with such a being, such -hearts, such sympathy of soul and of taste, must establish -a bond very like that of love! The subject -was a painful one, and I dismissed it, unwilling to -probe it to the bottom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I visited Laura repeatedly during the subsequent -six months. I became deeply interested in her position, -and more than once ventured to hint, jestingly, -to her husband the duty of watching with a vigilant -eye over so precious and delicate a flower. He appeared -perfectly insensible to all insinuations upon -the subject, and with unbounded confidence in, and -as much attachment for Laura as his nature was capable -of feeling, he became more and more wedded to -his dream of political ambition and popular applause. -He was a member of most of the societies that -were in any degree connected with philanthropy, and -of all on the political side to which he was attached; -and thus, night after night, week after week, and -month after month, he absented himself from the society -of his wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But why prolong the story? Hour after hour, the -conviction grew stronger in the mind of Laura that -she had mistaken the sentiments of her husband. He -had, she now believed, never loved her. He had -either deceived her or been himself deceived. It -was clear that he shunned her society, and although -kind and obliging, this course was attributed rather -to his tone of mind and moral principle than to a -warmer and fonder emotion of his heart. She too -had been mistaken. At least she thought so. The -feeling that had induced her to become his wife was -not love; not that deep and absorbing passion, that -flame and fire of the soul, that she now could feel and -appreciate. He was her cousin; she had known him -long; he had ever been kind to her; her parents had -urged her marriage, and she had been misled! But, -alas! how had he deserted her! How had she been -neglected! How cold had he become! How indifferent! -What a contrast to St. Clair!—St. Clair, -who even now would lay down his life for her; who -even now <span class='it'>sought</span> her society, and was never so happy -as when basking in her smile! Her heart thrilled, -her brain throbbed, and her mind almost maddened -as these wild thoughts forced themselves upon her. -I say forced themselves, for she repelled them again -and again, as fiends that would destroy her quiet, sap -her principles, and render her an object of scorn even -to herself. But night after night, and her husband -was still abroad. At first she saw him depart with -pride upon her lip and anguish in her heart. Then -sullenness followed, and indifference came after. -Then a feeling of pleasure tingled in her breast as -the door closed behind him, and a still stronger sensation -was experienced as the well known step of -St. Clair was heard upon the pavement below her -window. But why trace the progress of the weak, -the erring human heart? Why linger over the guilt-ward -progress of that neglected wife? Why harrow -the soul with her struggles between duty on the one -hand and infatuation on the other? Why point to -her fall, as, step by step, she was hurried to the -brink of ruin? Why detail the subtle sophistry of a -gifted spirit—one, too, who had persuaded himself -that he really loved with a pure and undying flame? -Why recount his many appeals to fly to some other -land, some distant shore, where the scorn of the -heartless world could not point at and exult over another -victim? Why picture the secret and agonizing -thoughts of the wretched beauty; the sorrow -that at moments fastened upon her soul, when some -heart-touching expression fell from the lips of her husband, -and she was recalled by a look or a phrase to -her early dream of home and love and happiness?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was late in the month of September, that, rambling -down Spruce street, my attention was attracted -by an unusual stir and confusion in the front parlor -of my friend Markley’s dwelling. Lights were passing -to and fro with great rapidity, and ever and anon -a shriek, as of one in mortal agony, broke upon the -night. I hurried forward, rapidly ascended the -stairs, and what a scene of horror was before me! -The slight, yet beautiful form of Laura Markley lay -upon the sofa, her hair dishevelled, her clothes in -disorder, and her features pale and cold in the solemn -aspect of death! It was almost midnight; -her husband had been sent for, but had not yet arrived. -Miserable being! Blind and misguided fool! -He came in a few minutes after, and for weeks and -weeks was little better than a maniac. The following -brief note, the last ever penned by Laura, told -the dreadful story:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me, Charles! forgive me, if I have -wronged you! I can endure it no longer. Night after -night have you neglected me for the last two years, -until my mind, maddened by doubt, despair, and -a thousand fiendish phantoms, has ventured to pause -and contemplate a deed of guilt! There is, I verily -believe, another being on the face of the earth who -loves me, and I—I—my hand trembles and my -brain reels—I am yet yours, and in honor. But I -fear I could not live, be neglected, and continue so. -Forgive me, heaven!—forgive me, my husband, and -pray for me.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<p class='pindent'>She had taken poison!</p> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='pur'></a>THE PURITAN SON.</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 “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the West Riding of Yorkshire, not many miles -removed from the line of the great North Road, singularly -and somewhat romantically situated on a -vast rocky hill, projecting sternly and abruptly into -the lovely valley of the Nid, stands the old borough -town of Knaresborough. As you approach it from -the south, the aspect it presents is singularly wild -and picturesque. A long line of steep limestone -crags, running from east to west, limits the view in -front; the river, deep, black and sullen, wheeling -along below their base in many a turbid ripple, until -it skirts their western cape, a huge and perpendicular -crag of shaley limestone, crowned by the massy -relics of an old Norman keep, rifted and gray, and -overrun with immemorial ivy, but still majestic in -their hoary grandeur. Beneath the shelter of this -formidable keep—which, in its day, before the levelling -force of gunpowder had reduced warfare to a -mere matter of scientific calculation, had been deemed -quite impregnable—the straggling country town -climbs the hill-side from the stream’s level, where -the road is carried over a narrow, high-backed bridge -of stone, in one long zigzag street, so perilously slippery -and steep that the most daring riders dismount -from their surest horses, whether ascending or descending, -until, the summit gained, it expands into a -neat borough, with market-place, and hostelries, and -banks, and churches, all overlooked, however, and -commanded by the old castle; and, in its turn, overlooking -and commanding the wide range of hilly -country of which it occupies the extreme and highest -promontory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such is the picture it presents to the traveller of -the present day, and singularly beautiful is that picture! -The huge gray ruins and the stained limestone -precipices, relieved and set off by the deep emerald -verdure of the wide pastures in the valley, and the -dark foliage of the hanging woods which skirt the -margin of the river; the stream itself here dark and -deep and silent, and there flashing like silver in the -sunlight, and brawling noisily about the base of the -great castle-rock; and, more than all, the life and -animated bustle of the modern town, contrasted with -the dim memories and solemn silence of those old -towers, which frown upon the noisy thoroughfares of -men, most like a grim and ghastly skeleton, glaring -down from the gothic niche of some cathedral church -upon the merry sports of thoughtless childhood. Far -different was the scene which Knaresborough presented -toward the middle of the seventeenth century, -Some few weeks later than the fatal field of Marston, -whereon, untimely sacrificed and vainly, by the mad -rashness of Prince Rupert, the flower of England’s -loyal chivalry lay weltering in their gore, for one who -neither prized their faith nor sorrowed at their fall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Those ruins, shapeless now, and undistinguished -from the gray crags around them, were then a proud -and lordly castle; that huge and rifted pile, that -frowns above the lesser fragments, was the square -dungeon keep, with battlemented turrets at each -aerial angle, and bartizans for shot of arquebuss and -musquetoon, and embrasures for heaviest ordnance; -while round it swept the massy flankers, with thirteen -strong round towers, well garnished with the -lighter cannon of the day, sakers and culverins and -falcons; and without these, still in concentric circles, -half moon and counterscarp and ravelin, glacis -and rock-hewn moat—a mighty fortress for the king, -whose banner, hoisted there by the fugitives from -that disastrous field, still waved defiance to his -foemen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a bright October morning with which we -have to do; the sun was pouring a broad flood of -light over the fertile vale, with its green meadowland, -its hanging woods, its ruddy cornfields, and its -bright river; over the town and castle, crowded, this -with fierce steel-clad veterans, mustered beneath the -royal standard, that with the yeomanry and burghers, -like their more regular comrades, in arms for church -and king against the leaguering hosts of Cromwell; -over the camp, the lines, the outposts of the Puritans, -which hemmed the destined town about with, as it -were, a wall of iron. Upon the heights, just to the -eastward of the town, the fierce, enthusiastic Lilburne -had fixed his quarters, and hoisted the broad -red cross of the parliament, and thence, on every -side, had drawn his lines about the borough; the -bridge and the high road, on the south side, were -kept by a brigade of pikes and two strong bands of -horse arquebusiers; the meadows and the vale were -swept by four full regiments of the far-famed invincibles, -the ironsides of Cromwell; the woods were -filled with sharp-shooters, the roads blocked up with -mounds and trenches, and all the north side of the -town exposed to a tremendous fire from fifty wide-mouthed -cannon, which, covered from the castle -guns by a projecting hillock, battered the dwellings -of the hapless burghers without remorse or respite. -Nor were the besieged passive in the mean time, or -fearful. Bright sheets of flame would leap out, ever -and anon, from the dark castle embrasures, and clouds -of snow-white smoke would swathe the giant keep in -their dense vapory shroud, and with a roar that told -the awful tale of civil warfare even to the distant -walls of York, the heavy shot would plunge into the -serried columns of the leaguers, thinning their ranks -indeed, and shaking for a moment their array, but -daunting not their fiery courage, nor damping their -enthusiastic zeal. And now, with the long roll of -drums and the soul-stirring flourish of the horn and -bugle, from this point or from that of the beleaguered -town, the cavaliers would sally out on their besiegers. -Now by some ford of the swift river, neglected because -thought impassable, a little troop of gentlemen, -superbly mounted on high blooded chargers, -fluttering with lace and waving with tall plumes and -blue embroidered scarfs, would dash upon some -picquet of the Puritans, and drive them back, scattered -and broken and cut down, to the main body; and -then, forced to retreat in turn, would fall back foot -by foot, firing their petronels and musquetoons from -every hedge and coppice, and charging again and -again on their pursuers from every spot of vantage, -till they had gained the river; then they would -wheel, throw in one shattering volley, swim through -the eddying waters, and raise their gallant cheer, -“God for King Charles!” in safety. Now it would -be a steadier and sterner effort; a heavy column -would rush out, pikemen and musqueteers and horse -in one dense body, bearing the outposts in at the -pike’s point, carrying some redoubt, and then deploying -in its front, until their pioneers and axemen -should spike its guns, fill up its ditches, and level its -defences to the ground. Incessant were alarms and -panics, sallies and feints and false attacks on the -one hand; and, on the other, strict watches, stout -resistance, guarded and sure approaches, for Lilburne -knew right well the quality of his own troops—the -nature of the force opposed to him. He had experienced -often in the field the fiery and resistless -charges of the impetuous cavaliers; he knew that in -the stoutest veterans of the Parliament, none could -be found who, for a single dash, could cope with the -high-born and chivalrous adherents of the King; but -he knew also that undisciplined and fiery gentlemen, -how gallant and how desperate soever, would not endure -the tedium of protracted operations, the dull -monotony of a long siege, where passive opposition -only can be offered, the lack of wine and the appliances -of mirth, the scarcity of food, the daily sufferings, -the daily waste, the daily growing anguish. -He knew, and acted on this knowledge. Vastly superior -in his numbers, he cared not for the loss of a -picquet; he shook not at the defeat of an outpost, the -destruction of a redoubt, or the success of a sally. -If evening saw the line of his circumvallation broken, -the morning sun beheld his working parties on the -ground repairing the defences, protected by so powerful -masses that any sally must be fruitless to annoy -them, and evening found the lines again complete, -but stronger, nearer, closer than before. Nor -was this all. With his strong cavalry, he kept the -country round in constant terror and excitement; he -cut off every convoy, before it well had left the place -from which it started; he surprised every stronghold -of the cavaliers, at miles away from his scene of operations; -he took and garrisoned the loyal house of -Ripley; he battered Spofforth Castle, the old, time-honored -dwelling of the Percies; he quelled the -risings of the Langdales, the Vavasours, the Slingsbys -and the Stourtons. He indeed bridled the bold -valor of the West Riding, as he had boasted that he -would—bridled it with a curb of iron!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet Knaresborough still held out!—castle and -town held out, though worn and wasted with fatigue -and famine. Hastily had the brave defenders thrown -themselves into that stronghold, scantily victualled -as it was, expecting succors from without, as it were, -every hour, and prepared desperately to endure the -utmost before submission to their hated foes. Hastily, -rashly had they suffered themselves to be hemmed -in, without a hope except to die, and desperately -had they borne up against the tortures which had rewarded -that hot rashness. And now the moment had -arrived. For three whole days, the castle and the -town had had no food at all! All stores had, many -days since, been exhausted; the very grass that -grew upon the ramparts had been all gathered, all -consumed! The beasts of burthen, the domestic animals, -the very vermin, had been sought eagerly for -food—had been devoured greedily—till no more -could be found at all in that most miserable town. -There was not one house but had lost some of its inmates, -by that most lingering, most terrible of -deaths, mere famine!—and it was on the youngest, -the fairest, the loveliest, the most beloved, that the -dread doom fell first. The streets were heaped with -carcasses, for now the living lacked the strength, the -energy, to bury their own dead! Thrice had the -burghers risen against the castle, to force its commandant, -by surrendering to the Puritans, to free -them from that lamentable durance; and thrice had -the gray-headed cavalier, who held that last stronghold -for an unthankful monarch—while the tears -streamed hot and heavy down his emaciated cheeks, -and his heart throbbed as if it would burst his bosom, -for very pity—ordered the castle guns to play with -grape upon the famished wretches, whose despair -would have forced him from his duty. Three times, -repulsed from the castle by their friends, had that -most hapless populace rushed out to the besieger’s -camp, throwing themselves upon the mercy of their -foes, and hoping so to force their way into the open -country, and three times, at pike’s point, had they -been driven back into that town of sepulchres and -charnel houses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the third day that no particle of food, except -some scraps of leather, roasted or sodden into -soup, had passed the lips of any of the garrison, on -which a sad deputation of the townsmen waited for -the fourth time upon the captain of the castle. They -came not now in turbulence, hoping to <span class='it'>force</span> submission, -but tearfully and on their bended knees, to beg -that stern old veteran, as they deemed him, that for -the love of God, by all his hopes of Heaven, he would -have mercy <span class='it'>not</span> on them, they said, “for we are men, -and can endure the utmost, but for our wives, our -perishing wives and children!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My friends,” he answered, “I feel for you—God -is my judge I do!—and here, here is my witness -that none hath heavier cause to feel than I -have,” and as he spoke, he opened the door of an inner -chamber, and showed to those worn deputies the -corpse of a fair, light-haired youth, stretched on a -pallet bed, emaciated beyond all conception—yea! -literally wasted to the bones! “Look there!” he -said, “look there! Six little days ago that famished, -cold, dead carcass was the most fair, the sprightliest, -the bravest, the best, the noblest boy in all -wide England! You see him, as he lies there—<span class='it'>my</span> -boy, my glorious boy!—oh, God! last pledge of my -lost angel, who, dying, left him to my paternal care, -which here is proved forever! Gentlemen, ye are -answered; when my King’s orders reach me to yield -up this hold, then will I yield it up—’till then, -please God, I shall maintain it; and so long as my -trusty fellows have boots, and sword belts, and buff -jerkins, we shall not lack a meal. So, my friends, -fare ye well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To this there was no answer; from this lay no appeal. -They went away, as they had come, despairing; -they betook themselves to their inhospitable -homes, to their wan, starving families, and sat them -down beside their fireless hearths, to pray for resignation, -and for death to put an end to tortures which -were fast becoming too terrible to bear. So the -bright hours of daylight rolled over them unheeded, -and the dark night came on—that season of repose -and quiet, season of respite from all cares, relief -from every wo—yet brought it no repose, no respite -to the mourners of that city! The groans of manly -agony, blent with the wailings of expiring infancy, -and the faint sobs of women, suppressing their own -agonies lest they should rend the hearts of others, -went up that livelong night to Heaven; and there -were humble prayers breathed out from penitent -Christian bosoms; and there were wild, impatient, -fierce ejaculations, which those who uttered them -<span class='it'>called</span> prayer; and there were desperate blasphemies -and curses, such as fiends howl out against the throne -of grace, too fearful to be written!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a low chamber of a lonely dwelling, close to the -outposts of the enemy—looking down, indeed, upon -the glacis and the dry moat of the town—there sat -an aged man, shivering above the last expiring embers -of his last brand—it was the last small fragment -of the door, that dying brand! All else, the -floor, the furniture, the casements, had been consumed -already. Upon the hearth, beside the embers, -there stood a mug of water, and a large dish, covered -with thrice gnawed bones, part of a horse’s ribs, -clean picked and broken, so as to reach the marrow. -He was a tall and stately figure, was that aged man, -and he had been strong, sinewy and vigorous even in -his old age; but now his form was bent and all his -limbs contracted; the skin, yellow as parchment, -was drawn tight across his withered brow; his nose -was terribly, unnaturally sharpened, like the nose of -a corpse; his eye was dim and lustreless; his ashy -lips were glued together with a thin frothy slaver. -Yet he had fought that morning in a fierce skirmish, -which had well-nigh brought in a drove of cattle, -and had been only driven back by a charge of the -ironsides, a troop of which, commanded, too, by his -own son, had fallen upon their flank, and borne them -back into the town when confident of victory and full -of high anticipation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His corslet and buff coat were not yet laid aside; -his plumed hat was cast listlessly beside him on the -ground, but his blue baldric still sustained his rapier, -spotted with many blood gouts, and, in the buff belt -round his waist, his pistols, with the hammers down -and the pans black with smoke, showed that he had -not removed them since he had thrust them back into -his girdle, just fired in the heat of action. There he -sat, with his hands clenched and his teeth hard set, -<span class='it'>silent</span>, yet cursing in his heart that recreant son, -whom he had never forgiven—no! never for one moment’s -space!—that he had joined the Parliament -against the King, and on whose head he now invoked -the direst of calamities, that, by his too successful -charge, he had cut off the last relief from that sad -starving city.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly a faint sound fell on his ear, as of one -clambering up the glacis. The old man listened, -acutely, breathlessly, as though life were dependant -on his sense of hearing!—again it came, clearer and -louder, <span class='it'>nearer</span> than before. Sword in hand, on the -instant the veteran sprang to the narrow casement -which overlooked the moat and glacis, and there, -scarce three feet from the window, in the steel cap -and corslet, the scarlet cassock and unshapely boots -of Cromwell’s Ironsides, stood a tall, slender figure. -The moon, which was dimly wading through the uncertain -clouds, feebly defined the outlines of his form, -and half revealed, as the old man fancied, the shapes -and weapons of a score or two of his fanatical companions -in the dark hollow of the moat below him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Treason—to arms—ho! treason!”—shouted -the wretched father, at the utmost pitch of his querulous -attenuated voice; but ere he had well syllabled -the words, a faint and well-remembered sound -responded to his high pitched clamor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hist!—Father,”—it said—“Father—it is I—I -have brought hither food and wine, at great risk of -my life—approach, quick! quick! and take them; -I will return to-morrow and crave thy blessing!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out on thee! Dog and traitor—die in thy treason, -and thy gifts perish with thee!—Ho! treason! -to arms! treason!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the cry reached wakeful ears, and was -again repeated and again—“Ho! treason! to arms! -treason!”—and lights were seen flashing along the -ramparts, and trumpets were blown through the -streets, and sentinels were heard continually challenging, -and hasty footsteps, and the clash of arms, -drew nearer every moment; and still that aged man, -implacable, and steeled against his son by bitter -hate, shouted, “to arms! to arms!” and called the -hue and cry that way with frantic energy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will not be so balked—thou wilt repent this, -father,” said the young man, advancing nearer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pray God I live to see thee hanged; I will repent -this never!—approach me not, or I will rob the -hangman of his due, and with mine own hand slay -thee!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou wilt not, father,” replied the other, as he -laid his hand on the casement, and reaching into the -chamber, set down upon the floor a small rush basket, -and a tall flask of wine,—“thou wilt not, father—seeing -that I have risked my life to bring thee meat -and wine. I knew not, till to-day, that thou wert in -this lamentable town!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At first the old man listened, and seemed even -somewhat mollified, but as his son alluded to the situation -of the town, all his old rage returned, and with -the words, “die dog!” he lunged full at his heart -with his drawn rapier—the blow took effect, full on -the polished corslet, and glanced off, inflicting a -deep wound on his left arm, and hurling him to the -ground.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! have I slain thee?—Ha! so perish all the -enemies of good king Charles!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Praised be God,” replied the Puritan, “praised -be God, <span class='it'>that</span> sin is spared to thee—farewell!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ho! guard—this way,” shouted the veteran, -now more incensed than ever, “ho! guard—this -way!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with their arquebusses lowered, and their -slow-matches lighted, a party of the night-watch -rushed in from the street—the ruthless father pointed -them to the figure of his flying son, and a quick -volley followed—another—and another!—and all -along the ramparts, from every battlement and -crenelle, the sharp, clear flashes of the random musquetry -streamed out into the midnight darkness—and -the loud rattle of the shots startled the sentinels -of Lilburne on their posts, and set the outposts and -picquets on the alert throughout the whole of the beleaguering -hosts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Escaping from the random volleys, the young man -hurried to his quarters; but ere he reached them, he -was met by the grand rounds, interrogated, seized, -dragged to head-quarters, tried for communicating -with the enemy by a drum-head court-martial, and -sentenced to be hanged upon the morrow, between the -glacis and the lines—before two hours had passed. -Meantime the old man <span class='it'>fed</span>—<span class='it'>coolly fed</span> on the meat, -and quaffed the wine his child—his betrayed child—had -brought to him—then mocked the throne of -mercy with a prayer, and lay down, and slept soundly—while -that same child, watched in a military -dungeon, and prayed for mercy to his soul, which -must be with its God, to-morrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morrow dawned, and the accursed gallows -stood there erect between the glacis and the lines—and -the death-drums were beating through the -camp—and the Parliamentarians mustered to punishment -parade, with their war weapons trailed, -and their grim visages suffused with more than their -accustomed gloom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fearful tale was known—at once, almost instinctively -it was revealed—all means were taken, -and all methods tried to preserve the victim son—threats -of retaliation—proffers of terms—entreaties—ransom—bribes—but -all were tried in vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the full blaze of noon, before the besieged town, -before the besieging army, before men, angels, God—the -son died on the gallows tree, victim of filial -piety—martyr to military discipline—and the old -ruthless man, who had consigned his own child to -that fearful doom, looked on, and strove to smile, -and would have braved it out even to the end—but -the offended majesty of nature stood forth in its -dread might!—the fierce revulsion of conflicting -passions conquered the wretched clay!—with the -sneer on his lip, and the bold evil words upon his -tongue—he staggered—fell!—they lifted him, but -he was dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That night, a courier with a white flag paused at -the outposts of the Roundheads. It was a messenger -from Charles, licensing his commander to surrender -his good and faithful town of Knaresborough—and -the next day the garrison marched out with colors -flying and drums beating, and all the honors of war -granted them,—and filed in their superb array beneath -the gibbet and the corpse of him who died a -felon’s death, for succoring a father at his need!—Ho! -the morality of warfare! The glory of the -victor!</p> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='doi'></a>O, SAY, DO I NA’ LO’E YE LASSIE.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O, say, do I na’ lo’e ye, lassie?</p> -<p class='line0'>  O, say, do I na’ lo’e ye well?</p> -<p class='line0'>Aye! mair than tongue can utter, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or mair than tender looks can tell.</p> -<p class='line0'>Ye’re i’ my dreams by night, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  An’ ye are i’ my thoughts by day,</p> -<p class='line0'>An’ ye’re the beacon star, my lassie.</p> -<p class='line0'>  That guides me through life’s troubled way.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I lo’e ye for those tresses, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That i’ bright jetty masses flow;</p> -<p class='line0'>I lo’e ye for that bosom, lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  As white an’ fair as driven snow;</p> -<p class='line0'>I lo’e ye for those cheeks, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’ sweetest tinge o’ rosy hue;</p> -<p class='line0'>An’ O, I lo’e ye, dearest lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For those twa cannie e’en o’ blue.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I lo’e ye for that form, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like to the deer’s, sae fit’ o’ grace;</p> -<p class='line0'>I lo’e ye for that smile, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That plays across thy charming face.</p> -<p class='line0'>But what I lo’e still more, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is that which is worth mair to gain:</p> -<p class='line0'>It is the bonnie min’, my lassie,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which i’ gude truth ye ca’ your ain.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                               S.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='auz'></a>AUZELLA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A LEGEND OF THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Absolution, father, for breath is fleeting fast,” -cried the dying man, in a scarce audible voice. As -the monk approached the bed, the sick man started -from his pillow, and, with clenched hands and straining -eyes, uttered, in a low, sepulchral tone, “Avaunt! -avaunt, thou damning fiend! thine hour is not yet -come. Oh, mercy! mercy!” His bosom heaved -convulsively, the dew of agony gathered thick upon -his brow, and, with a beseeching look, he pointed to -the crucifix on the wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Confession alone can save you, my son. While -there is yet time, relieve your bosom of its load of -sin, and seek for pardon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Too late!</span> oh, lost forever! The hour approaches; -come near.” Drawing from under his pillow a -parchment, he placed it in the hands of the monk. -“My confession, father; <span class='it'>now</span>, now, sign me with -the cross.” Uttering a wild cry of anguish, the dying -man, with desperate energy, flung himself towards -the monk, and attempted to grasp the symbol of salvation. -. . . . . A vivid, lurid gleam, followed by an -astounding crash, mingled with horrid yells and -piercing screams! When the monk was found by a -lay brother, he still breathed, but unconscious of external -objects, from which state he never recovered; -the bed was empty, and the bedclothes lay in wild -disorder, as if torn by a mighty struggle. In the -hand of the prostrate monk was found a manuscript:</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE CONFESSION OF THE LOST.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Upon the confines of the Hartz Mountains, in a -lowly hut, I first saw the light. My mother yielded -up her life in giving me birth, and the nourishment -of a pet goat sustained the feeble spark of infancy. -My remaining parent proved, though rough and uncultivated, -a kind nurse. The hours of childhood -were passed in assisting my father in collecting dried -wood for burning charcoal, and oft, as I penetrated -through the tangled forest, would I stand and gaze -upon the clear blue flame that night after night arose -from one of the highest peaks, and though an ague -would creep over me at the recollection of some of -the tales of horror that clothed those mountains in -such fearful dread, still an unconquerable desire to -witness their midnight orgies grew with my growth -and strengthened with my strength.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>About two hundred feet from the base of the loftiest -of that extended chain of mountains, jutted out a perpendicular -rock. Upon the summit stood the castle -of Rudolfo, whose weather-beaten battlements had -for ages frowned defiance upon the plain below. -Dark hints and mysterious whispers surrounded that -isolated spot with gloom and fear; no footsteps ever -approached its portals after sundown, and an Ave -Maria was silently, though fervently breathed, when -the benighted hunter or weary traveller caught a -glimpse of the solitary light that was ever seen in one -of the casements of the castle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Count Rudolph was a man of valor; his arm was -held invincible in the battle field; but of a temperament -morose and savage, his vassals quailed beneath -the glance of his bright gray eye, and trembled when -the sound of his loud clear voice rang through the -vaulted halls. Among the dependants that sat at his -board below the salt, or rallied around his banner, -were hearts that thirsted to bury their daggers in his -blood; but the mantle of superstitious mystery so -completely enveloped him, that the hand, however -daring, shrunk from the murderous deed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The iron-bound features of Count Rudolph never -relaxed, save when his looks rested upon his daughter. -Then would the contracted brow expand, and -those eyes so formidable emit a ray of feeling. He -seldom smiled, but the effect was startling; a meteor, -dazzling by its brightness, to render the darkness -more visible. And that daughter was a glorious creature! -The tall, graceful form, the dark hazel eyes, -commanded the allegiance of all that looked upon her. -To her father her features bore a strong resemblance, -but moulded in the most perfect female softness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady Auzella was seldom seen beyond the -boundaries of the castle, but the report of her wondrous -beauty had spread far over Germany, and many -a valiant knight had sued in vain for her fair hand, -notwithstanding the vague and strange reports that -were ever afloat about Count Rudolph and his unhallowed -deeds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was my twentieth birthday. The hours of labor -were exchanged for hunting, a pastime of which I -was most fond. So intent was I in chasing the chamois -and hungry wolves that infest those regions, I -thought not of the departure of day, until warned by -the declining sun shedding its golden rays through -the “forest’s thickening gloom.” An unconquerable -feeling of dread at being thus benighted, caused me -to hasten my footsteps towards my humble cot. -With a steady eye and nervous limbs, I bounded over -the impetuous stream that rolls down the mountain -side, and springing from crag to crag, I emerged from -the dense shadow of trees, and stood upon a platform -of rock overgrown with moss and stunted oak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Involuntarily I lingered to gaze upon the scene before -me. The whole country glowed with the effulgence -of the setting sun, whilst the amphitheatre of -hills that bounded the horizon was clothed in gorgeous -purple. On the right stood the castle, its turrets -and towers catching the lingering sunbeams, -bringing them out in bold relief from the mass of -frowning mountains that formed the back ground. -The only sound that broke upon the ear was the incessant -roar of the cataract. Whilst thus I stood -entranced, a strain of music suddenly burst through -the air, so wild, so melodious, that it seemed an echo -from the spheres. Amazed, I listened breathlessly; -again the same sweet notes were borne upon the gentle -gales. I turned, when lo! beside the rushing -torrent sat a female; her long tresses were floating -upon the breeze, and revealed the features of the -Lady Auzella! Ere the melting strains were ended -that had held bound my soul, shrieking, affrighted, -she fled towards me. With horror I beheld a huge -bear spring from the overhanging crag, and stand -within a foot of his prey. In one moment I took a -sure and deadly aim—fired—the monster rolled head-long -down the rapid stream; the next instant the -fainting form of Auzella reposed within my arms! -My fate was sealed; the past, the future, all, all -were forgotten. We met again and again; I loved, -ardently, madly, and was beloved! Yes! the high-born, -haughty damsel loved the humble youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We lived in the spring-time of love; the cold, bleak -winds of autumn had not yet chilled our hearts, when, -with the impassioned fervor of affection, I besought -the gentle Auzella to fly with me to other lands, where -with my sword I would carve for myself a name worthy -for her to share. Silently she listened, then -raising her head from my bosom, fixed her expressive -eyes upon me, and whispered, as soft as a -zephyr’s sigh—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hast thou dear Carl, resolution to win fame and -wealth, and, with my father’s consent, this hand?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Try me, beloved, and thou wilt find no braggart -in thy lover.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then, by thy vows of love, ere ‘yon moon fills -her horn,’ pluck from the mountain’s blazing pile a -firebrand; bear it with all speed to my father’s feet, -and by that token fearlessly claim the hand of Auzella!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She ceased, and fled from me. In that brief space -a new existence burst upon my senses. The voice of -love had pointed out the way to the possession of -<span class='it'>gold</span> and the hand of her whom I adored; but how? -To league myself with devils! A cold shudder crept -over me; within my breast raged a fearful struggle. -It passed away, and, with the purpose of my -soul determined, I awoke from the <span class='it'>dream</span> of life to -the reality of existence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Strange, that man should shrink in after years from -lifting the veil that has shadowed crimes recklessly -committed in youth. Does he scorn and bid defiance -to the eyes of Omnipotence, and tremble at the -opinions of his fellow worms? How incongruous, but -alas! how true!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Although years have rolled past—and time, as it -has flown onward, has hurried with them into the vast -abyss of eternity, pleasures, sins and sorrows—the -events of that <span class='it'>fearful</span> night, that fatal hour, are concentrated -in one burning spot within my brain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like king Midas, the cravings of discontent proved -my destruction. Destruction! aye, one endless chain -of wretchedness, perpetuated through life, with no -oblivion in the <span class='it'>grave</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<p class='pindent'>With desperate energy I braved the lightning’s -lurid gleam, and heeded not the tempest that raged -around me. As I bent my footsteps towards the -ever-burning flame, sounds, as if from the abyss of -Hades, burst upon my ear. I stood palsied with horror, -and as a bright flash burst through the gloom, -shrieks and wild laughter rang through the air, and -revealed my presence! “Ah! standest thou there -to mock me, thou fiend, thou devil? Hurl not reason -<span class='it'>yet</span> from its tottering throne! Begone!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The hour was past, the trophy <span class='it'>gained</span>, my bride -<span class='it'>won</span>; but an <span class='it'>oath</span> was taken that is engraved upon -my heart with a firebrand, and ever thrills my frame -with anguish—with never-ceasing torture!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How shall I unravel the tangled thread of my after -life? Shall I dwell upon the hour that called Auzella -<span class='it'>mine</span>?—the joy I felt as I clasped my beautiful, -my adored <span class='it'>wife</span> to my heart, notwithstanding the -dark flash from Count Rudolph’s eyes? A brief state -of happiness was mine—an oasis in the wilderness -of life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I <span class='it'>now</span> had gold unbounded. We left the frowning -castle for the gay metropolis. The mountain boy -was no longer the shy boor, but the wealthy <span class='it'>noble</span> -and the crafty man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once launched upon the ocean of dissipation, I -trimmed my sails to catch the breeze of pleasure, and -thought not of the whirlpools that surrounded me; -when, one night, in the midst of a gay revel, whilst -the sparkling cup and the merry jest passed freely -round the festive board, a touch of <span class='it'>fire</span>, a whisper -which penetrated my very soul, reminded me of my -<span class='it'>oath</span>—that <span class='it'>fearful oath</span>! Then fled the scene of -enchantment, the faces of beauty, the chrystal lights, -and the music, breathing its soft strains through the -fragrant air; and, in the mind’s eye, the burning -mountain, the horrid yells of demoniacal laughter, -were beheld with frightful distinctness.</p> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Murder my friend!</span>—the companion of my midnight -revels, the sharer of my pleasures—<span class='it'>never!</span> -But thine oath! Ah! then did I feel the serpent’s -sting; his envenomed coil compressed every fibre of -my defenceless body; no escape from his toils. I -had voluntarily <span class='it'>sold myself</span> to the demon of the burning -mountain!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Out upon it! why quakes this feeble frame as the -hour approaches when I shall “throw off this mortal -coil?” Can tortures be greater than what I do and -<span class='it'>ever will</span> suffer? Why not snap asunder the cord at -once?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the deed was <span class='it'>done</span>, and <span class='it'>then</span> deeper did I -plunge into the vortex of vice, for the slight barrier of -conscience was broken down, and I moved through -the gazing crowd an envied man. Ah, ah, envied! -How little dreamed the gaping fools of the livid spot -<span class='it'>within</span>. But, amidst the volcano that was consuming -me, burned one pure flame—the shrine on which it -was kindled was still unpolluted—my love for -Auzella. She was my day-star, my dream of all that -was pure. Her smile would chase the demon from -my breast, and lull me into forgetfulness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the cup of misery that I had tasted was not yet -drained. Jealousy mingled with its bitter dregs, and -poisoned my blood and shot through every vein.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly there appeared among us a youth of -striking mien and of great beauty, though of a wild -and singular aspect. He was ever with Auzella! I -chased from my breast the dark thoughts that would -sometimes enter. With the madness of despair, I -bore her to the gloomy castle where dwelt her father. -She murmured not at thus being torn from scenes of -festive mirth to hours of dreary sadness; her eyes -still sparkled with their wonted fire. We visited the -spot where first I dared breathe my aspiring hopes, -and as I folded her to my breast again, I told her -how dear she still was to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Count Rudolph had become more morose, and seldom -went beyond the castle walls. He seemed to -take no pleasure in the presence of his child, and -when I encountered the glance of his eye fixed upon -me, a strange, undefinable sensation would creep over -me: a vague recollection of scenes gone by. Thus -passed four long, weary weeks. For me were no -dreams of the future, no surveying of the past; all, -all was a chaos of guilt and dread.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Twice, in the still hour of midnight, did I miss Auzella -from my side. At first I heeded it not, but as -thought pressed upon thought, my brain became maddened; -horrible suspicions crept over me. Grasping -my pistols, I fled from the castle, and, without one -definite object, I strode hastily towards <span class='it'>that</span> fatal -spot. The same wild yells met my ear, and, by the -clear blue flame, I beheld a scene of sickening horror!—while -I think upon it, my brain becomes frenzied—but -I must relieve the tortures of this breast -by tracing my sum of misery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aye! I beheld a motley group sitting around the -fire, who, with shouts of laughter and demoniacal -gestures, were tearing asunder a human frame, a -fresh victim! There was a pause, when a voice -arose upon the stillness that sent my blood curdling -to my heart; I looked, and saw <span class='it'>my wife</span>, and by her -side that stranger youth! Slowly I moved my hand -towards my pistol, and, setting my teeth, grasped it -firmly. Another voice rang through the air, and -there sat Count Rudolph, the demon of the burning -mountain; well did I remember, by that light, those -unhallowed eyes and <span class='it'>that smile</span>. The glance was but -momentary, for revenge was heaving my bosom almost -to bursting. There sat the only object on earth -that was dear to me; for <span class='it'>her</span> I had bartered my <span class='it'>soul</span>, -and there she was, in seeming fellowship with devils. -Ages of misery were crowded in that moment. She -turned, and smiled upon the beardless boy. Nature -could endure no longer—I fired! Loud yells and -horrid imprecations mingled with the thunder’s roar; -one fierce scream was borne upon the blast, and, from -the spot where sat Auzella, up rose a <span class='it'>vulture</span>! For -a moment she hovered near me; I saw the crimson -blood stream from its breast, and casting a look upon -me, (which, by day and night, haunts the deepest -spot in memory’s waste,) flapped her broad wings, -and was soon lost in the impenetrable gloom.</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Darkness fell upon me; reason was lost amid the -breakers of despair. A wreck, deserted by Hope, -within my heart is the torch of anguish, kindled at -the funeral pile of <span class='sc'>Vice</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>E.</p> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tho'></a>THOUGHTS IN SPRING.</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 HENRY B. HIRST.</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'>It is the spring time. Varied flowers are sending</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their new-born odors on the sighing breeze,</p> -<p class='line0'>The sun its brightness from the sky is lending,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Flinging its kisses to the budding trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Nature, lovely Nature fair doth seem,</p> -<p class='line0'>As the creation of a poet’s dream.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The robin’s mellow strain in wild notes gushes</p> -<p class='line0'>  From the snow blossoms of the apple tree;</p> -<p class='line0'>The cat-bird’s scolding from the leafy bushes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The wren’s low music thrilling comes to me,</p> -<p class='line0'>Seeming the hymns of Nature freely given,</p> -<p class='line0'>As stainless offerings of its praise to Heaven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Earth is a sea of verdure. Blossoms springing</p> -<p class='line0'>  All gem-like dewy from the velvet sod,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like whispered melody their perfume flinging,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Earth’s altar’d incense rising up to God,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose word I read in there as in his book,</p> -<p class='line0'>When e’er their beauties meet my eager look.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thro’ laughing verdure silvery is straying,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Reflecting, mirror-like, the pure calm sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>A babbling stream, o’er rock and lichen playing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sweet as the softness of a loved one’s sigh—</p> -<p class='line0'>Floating along with harmony as rife</p> -<p class='line0'>As pass the hours in some bright day of life.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The river far away is calmly stealing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thro’ its green banks all glittering with light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like beaming fancies in the poet’s feeling,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who worships ever all that’s fair and bright;</p> -<p class='line0'>Creating images that living start</p> -<p class='line0'>Warm from the gushings of his burning heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yes! this is spring time, mild and glorious spring,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When earth is like a paradise, and gay</p> -<p class='line0'>With birds, and buds, and flowers, and everything,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose beauties serve to gild awhile life’s clay.</p> -<p class='line0'>Bidding hearts revel in enjoyment wild,</p> -<p class='line0'>Making one happy even as a child.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sch'></a>SCHOOL-BOY RECOLLECTIONS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A FROLIC AMONG THE LAWYERS.—A SCENE FROM LIFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY T. W. THOMAS, AUTHOR OF “HOWARD PINCKNEY,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was born in New Orleans. I had very bad health -there in my early childhood, and “My Aunt Betsey,” -of whom I have before spoken, took a voyage by sea -from Baltimore to the “crescent city,” for the purpose -of returning with me to a climate which the physicians -had said would strengthen my constitution.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She brought me up with the greatest kindness, or -rather, I should say she kept me comparatively feeble -by her over-care of my health. When I was about -fourteen years of age, my father brought my mother -and my little sister Virginia on from New Orleans to -see me. My meeting with my kind mother I shall -never forget. She held me at arms’ length for an instant, -to see if she could recognise, in the chubby, -healthy boy before her, the puny, sickly child with -whom she had parted with such fond regret on board -the Carolina, but a few years before; and when, in -memory and in heart, she recognized each lineament, -she clasped me to her bosom with a wild hysteric joy -which compensated her, more than compensated her, -she said, for all the agony which our separation had -caused her. I loved my mother devotedly, yet I wondered -at the emotion which she exhibited at our meeting, -and, child though I was, a sense of unworthiness -came over me, possibly because my affections could -not sound the depths of hers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My father’s recognition was kinder than I had expected, -from what I remembered of our parting in -New Orleans. He felt prouder of me than at our parting, -I presume, from my improved health and looks, -and this made him feel that my being tied to the -apron strings of my good old aunt would not improve -my manliness. A gentleman whom he had met at a -dinner party, who was the principal of an academy, a -kind of miniature college, some thirty miles from -Baltimore, had impressed my father, by his disquisitions, -with a profound respect for such a mode of education.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“William,” said my father, in speaking on the -subject to Mr. Stetson, “will be better there than -here among the women; he’ll be a baby forever here. -No, I must make a man of him. I shall take him -next week with me, and leave him in the charge of -Mr. Sears.” My mother insisted upon it that I should -stay awhile longer, that she might enjoy my society, -and that my sister and myself might become attached -to each other ere they returned to New Orleans. But -my father said, “No, my dear; you know it was always -agreed between us that you should bring up Virginia -as you pleased, and that I would bring up William -as I pleased.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let us take him, then, back to New Orleans,” exclaimed -my mother; “he is healthy enough now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But he would not be healthy long there, my dear. -No, I have made inquiry: Mr. Sears is an admirable -man, and under his care, which I am satisfied will be -paternal, William will improve in mind, and learn to -be a man—will you not, William?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could only cling to my mother without reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There,” exclaimed my father, exultingly, “you -see the effect of his education thus far.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The effect of his education thus far!” retorted -my aunt Betsey, who did not relish my father’s remark; -“he has been taught to say his prayers, and -to love his parents and tell the truth. You see the effects -in him now,” and she pointed to me, seated on a -stool by my mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this made no impression upon my father. He -was resolved that I should go to Belle Air, the county -town, situated twenty-five miles from Baltimore, -where the school was, the next week, and he so expressed -himself decidedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The condemned criminal, who counts the hours -that speed to his execution, scarcely feels more horror -at the rush of time than did I. One appalling -<span class='it'>now</span> seemed to possess me. I was deeply sensitive, -and the dread of my loneliness away from all I loved, -and the fear of the ridicule and tyranny of the oldsters, -haunted me so that I could not sleep, and I have lain -awake all night, picturing to myself what would be -the misery of my situation at Belle Air. In fact, -when the day arrived, I bade my mother, aunt Betsey -and my little sister Virginia farewell with scarcely a -consciousness, and was placed in the gig by my father -as the stunned criminal is assisted into the fatal cart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This over-sensitiveness—what a curse it is! I -lay no claims to genius, and yet I have often thought -it hard that I should have the quality which makes -the “fatal gift” so dangerous, and not the gift. My -little sister Virginia, who had been my playmate for -weeks, cried bitterly when I left her. I dwelt upon -her swimming eye with mine, tearless and stony as -death. The waters of bitterness had gathered around -my heart, but had not yet found an outlet from their -icy thrall, ’neath which they flowed dark and deep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Belle Air, at the time I write of, was a little village -of some twenty-five or more houses, six of which -were taverns. It was and is a county town, and court -was regularly held there, to which the Baltimore -lawyers used to flock in crowds; and many mad -pranks have I known them play there for their own -amusement, if not for the edification of the pupils of -Mr. Sears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My father drew up at Mr. Kenny’s tavern, and as it -was about twelve when we arrived, and the pupils -were dismissed to dinner, he sent his card to the principal, -who in a few minutes made his appearance. -Talk of a lover watching the movements and having -impressed upon his memory the image of her whom -he loveth!—the schoolboy has a much more vivid recollection -of his teacher. Mr. Sears was a tall, stout -man, with broad stooping shoulders, he carried a -large cane, and his step was as decided as ever was -Doctor Busby’s, who would not take his hat off when -the king visited his school, for the reason, as he told -his majesty afterwards, that if his scholars thought -that there was a greater man in the kingdom than -himself, he never could control them. The face of -Mr. Sears resembled much the likeness of Alexander -Hamilton, though his features were more contracted, -and his forehead had nothing like the expansion of the -great statesman; yet it projected very similarly at -the brows. He welcomed my father to the village -with great courtesy, and me to his pupilage with -greater dignity. He dined with my father, with me -by his side, and every now and then he would pat me -on the head and ask me a question. I stammered out -monosyllabic answers, when the gentleman would address -himself again to his plate with renewed gusto.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Sears recommended my father to board me at -the house of a Mr. Hall, who had formerly been the -sheriff of the county, and whose wife and daughters, -he said, were very fine women. He repented, he said, -when he first took charge of the academy, that there -was not some general place attached to it where the -pupils could board in common, but after reflection -had taught him that to board them about among the -towns-people would be as well. He remarked that I -was one of his smallest pupils, but that he could look -on me <span class='it'>in loco parentis</span>, and doubted not that he could -make a man of me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After dinner he escorted my father, leading me by -the hand, down to the academy, which was on the -outskirts of the town, at the other end of it from Mr. -Kenny’s. The buzz, which the usher had not the -power to control in the absence of Mr. Sears, hushed -instantly in his presence, and as he entered with my -father, the pupils all arose, and remained standing -until he ordered them to be seated. Giving my father -a seat, and placing me in the one which he designed -for me in the school, Mr. Sears called several of his -most proficient scholars in the different classes, from -Homer down to the elements of English, and examined -them. When a boy blundered, he darted at -him a look which made him shake in his shoes, and -when another boy gave a correct answer and took -his fellow’s place, and glanced up for Mr. Sears’ -smile, it was a picture which my friend Beard, of -Cincinnati, would delight to draw. The blunderer -looked like one caught in the act of sheep-stealing, -while the successful pupil took his place with an air -that would have marked one of Napoleon’s doubtful -soldiers, when the Emperor had witnessed an act of -daring on his part. As for Mr. Sears, he thought Napoleon -a common creature to himself. To kill men, -he used to say, was much more easy than to instruct -them, he felt himself to be like one of the philosophers -of old in his academy; and he considered Doctor -Parr and Doctor Busby, who boasted that they had -whipped every distinguished man in the country, much -greater than he of Pharsalia or he of Austerlitz.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the rehearsal of several classes had given -my father a due impression of Mr. Sears’ great gifts -as an instructor, and of his scholars’ proficiency, he -took my father to Mr. Hall’s, to introduce us to my -future host.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We found the family seated in the long room in -which their boarders dined. To Mr. Sears they paid -the most profound respect. Well they might, for -without his recommendation they would have been -without boarders. Hall was a tall, good humored, -careless man. His wife was older than himself, tall -too, but full of energy. He had two daughters, Harriet -and Jane. Harriet was a quick, active, lively -girl, and withal pretty, while Jane was lolling and -lazy in her motions, and without either good looks or -prettiness. The matter of my boarding was soon arranged, -and it had become time for my father to depart. -All this while the variety and excitement of -the scene had somewhat relieved my feelings, but -when my father bade me be a good boy and drove off, -I felt as if the “last link” was indeed broken, and -though I made every effort, from a sense of shame, -to repress my tears, it was in vain, and they broke -forth the wilder from their previous restraint. Harriet -Hall came up instantly to comfort me. She took -a seat beside me at the open window at which I was -looking out after my father, and with a sweet voice, -whose tones are in my memory yet, she told me not -to grieve because I was from my friends; that I -should soon see them again, and that she would think -I feared they would not be kind to me if I showed so -much sorrow. This last remark touched me, and -while I was drying my eyes, one of the larger boys, -a youth of eighteen or twenty, came up to the window—for -the academy by this time had been dismissed -for the evening—and said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Miss Harriet, is this another baby who is -crying for home?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In an instant my eyes were dried. I cast one -glance at the speaker—he was a tall, slim, reckless -looking fellow, named Prettyman—and from that -day to this I have neither forgotten it, nor, I fear, -forgiven him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the night, when we retired to our rooms, I found -that my bed was in a room with two others, Prettyman -and a country bumpkin, by the name of Muzzy. -As usual on going to bed, I kneeled down to say my -prayers, putting my hands up in the attitude of supplication. -I had scarcely uttered to myself the first -words, “Our Father,” but to the ear that heareth all -things, when Prettyman exclaimed—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s praying! ‘By the Apostle Paul!’ as Richard -the Third says, that’s against rules. Suppose we cob -him, Muzzy?” Muzzy laughed, and got into bed; -and I am ashamed to say that I arose with the -prayer dying away from my thoughts, and indignation -and shame usurping them, and sneaked into bed, -where I said my prayers in silence, and wept myself -in silence to sleep. In the morning, with a heavy -heart, and none but the kind Harriet to comfort me, -I betook myself to the academy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Parents little know what a sensitive child suffers -at a public school. I verily believe that these schools -engender often more treachery, falsehood and cruelty -than exists in West India slavery; I was about -saying even in the brains of an abolitionist. Most -tenderly nurtured, under the care of an affectionate -old aunt, who was always fixing my clothes to keep -me warm, coddling up something nice to pamper me -with, watching all my outgoings and incomings, and -seeing that everything around me conduced to my -convenience and comfort, the contrast was indeed -great when I appeared at the Belle Air academy, one -of the smallest boys there, and subjected to the -taunts and buffetings of every larger boy than myself -in the institution. My father little knew what agony -it cost me to be made a man of.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I am not certain that the good produced by such -academies is equal to their evils. I remember well -for two or three nights after Prettyman laughed at -me, that I crept into bed to say my prayers, and, at -last, under his ridicule—for he practised his gift on -me every night—I not only neglected to say them, -but began to feel angry towards my aunt that she -had ever learned them to me, as they brought so -much contempt upon me. Yet, such is the power of -conscience, at that tender age, that, when I awoke in -the morning of the first night that I had not prayed, -I felt myself guilty and unworthy, and went into the -garden and wept aloud, tears of sincere contrition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Too often, in public schools, the first thing a youth -learns from his elders, is to laugh at parental authority, -and to exhibit to the ridicule of his fellows -the letter of advice which his parent or guardian -feels it his duty to write to him, taking care, with a -jest upon them, to pocket the money they send, with -an air of incipient profligacy which, any one may see, -will soon not only be rank but prurient—such a -moral contagion should be avoided, and, I therefore -am inclined to think that the Catholic mode of tuition, -where some one of the teachers is with the -scholars, not only by day but by night, is preferable. -And, in fact, any one who has witnessed the respectful -familiarity they teach their pupils to feel and act -towards them, and the kindness with which they return -it, cannot but be impressed with the truth of my -remark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were nearly one hundred pupils at Belle Air, -at the period of which I write, and the only assistant -Mr. Sears had, was a gaunt fellow named Dogberry. -Like his illustrious namesake in Shakspeare, from -whom I believe he was a legitimate descendant, he -might truly have been “<span class='it'>written down an ass</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boys invented all sorts of annoyances to torture -Dogberry withal. A favorite one was, when -Mr. Sears was in the city, which was at periods not -unfrequent, for them to assemble in the school before -Dogberry came, and setting one by the door to give -notice when the usher was within a few feet of it, to -begin as soon as he appeared in sight, to shout, as -with one voice—first <span class='it'>Dog</span>, and then, after a pause, -by way of a chorus, <span class='it'>berry</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as notice was given by the watcher, he -leaped to his seat, and every tongue was silent, and -every eye upon the book before it. The rage of Dogberry -knew no bounds on these occasions. He did -not like to tell the principal, for the circumstance -would have proved not only his want of authority -over the boys, but the contempt in which they held -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A trick which Prettyman played him, nearly -caused his death, and, luckily for the delinquent, he -was never discovered. Dogberry was very penurious, -and he saved two-thirds of his salary; as it was not -large, he had, of course, to live humbly. He dined at -Halls and took breakfast and supper in his lodgings, -if he ever took them, and the quality of the dinner of -which he made himself the receptacle, caused it to -be doubted. His lodgings were the <span class='it'>dormant</span> story -of a log cabin, to which he had entrance by a rough -flight of stairs without the house and against its side. -Under the stairs there was a large mud-hole, and -Prettyman contrived one gusty night to pull them -down, with the intention of calling the usher in the -tone of Mr. Sears, for he was a good mimic, and -causing him to fall in the mud. Unluckily, the usher -heard the racket without, and not dreaming it was -the fall of the stairs, he leaped from his bed, and hurried -out to see what it was. He fell on them, and -though no bones were broken, he was laid up for -several weeks. The wind always had the credit of -the affair, and Prettyman won great applause for his -speedy assistance and sympathy with Dogberry, -whom he visited constantly during his confinement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night of the adjournment of court, the lawyers, -and even the judges, had what they called a -regular frolic. Mr. Sears was in Baltimore, and the -scholars were easily induced to join in it—in fact -they wanted no inducement. About twelve o’clock -at night we were aroused from our beds by a most -awful yelling for the ex-sheriff. “Hall, Hall,” was -the cry—soon the door was opened, and the trampling -of feet was heard—in a minute the frolickers -ascended the stairs, and one of the judges, with a -blanket wrapped round him, like an Indian, with -his face painted, and a red handkerchief tied round -his head, and with red slippers on, entered our room, -with a candle in one hand and a bottle in the other; -and, after making us drink all round, bade us get up. -We were nothing loath. On descending into the -dining-room, lo! there were the whole bar, dressed -off in the most fantastic style, and some of them -scarcely dressed at all. They were mad with fun -and wine. The ex-sheriff brought forth his liquors, -and was placed on his own table as a culprit, and -tried and found guilty of not having been, as in duty -bound, one of the originators of the frolic. He was, -therefore, fined glasses round for the company, and -ordered by the judges to pay it at Richardson’s bar. -To Richardson’s the order was given to repair. Accordingly, -without they formed a line, Indian file. -Two large black women carried a light in each hand -beside the first judge, and two smaller black women -carried a light in the right hand beside the next one. -The lawyers followed, each with a light in his hand, -and the procession closed with the scholars, who -each also bore a light. I, being smallest, brought up -the rear. There was neither man nor boy who was -not more or less inebriated, and the wildest pranks -were played.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When we reached Dogberry’s domicile, one of the -boys proposed to have him out with us. The question -was put by one of the judges and carried by acclamation -unanimously. It was further resolved, -that a deputation of three, each bearing a bottle of -different liquor, should be appointed to wait on him, -with the request that he would visit the Pawnee -tribe, from the far west, drink some fire-water with -them, and smoke the pipe of peace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Prettyman, whose recklessness knew no bounds, -and who, as I suppose, wished to involve me in difficulty, -moved that the smallest and tallest person in -the council be of that deputation. There happened -to be a quantity of logs, which had been gathered -there for the purpose of building a log house. Mr. -Patterson (I use here a fictitious name) was at this -time the great lawyer of Maryland. He was dressed -in a splendid Indian costume, which a western client -had given him, and he had painted himself with -care and taste. He was a fine looking man, and -stretching out his hand, he exclaimed:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers, be seated; but not on the prostrate -forms of the forest, which the ruthless white man has -felled to make unto himself a habitation. Like the -big warrior Tecumseh, in council with the great -white chief Harrison, we will sit upon the lap of our -mother the earth—upon her breast we will sleep—the -Pawnee has no roof but the blue sky, where -dwelleth the Great Spirit—and he looks up to the -shining stars, and they look down upon him—and -they count the leaves of the forest and know the -might of the Pawnees.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every one, by this time, had taken a seat upon the -ground, and all were silent. As the lights flashed -o’er the group, they formed as grotesque a scene as I -have ever witnessed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers,” he continued, “those eyes of the -Great Spirit,” pointing upwards to the stars, “behold -the rushing river, and they say to our fathers, -who are in the happy hunting grounds of the blest, -that, like it, is the might of the Pawnee when he -rushes to battle. The white men are dogs—their -carcasses drift in the tide—they are cast out on the -shore, and the prairie-wolf fattens on them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers—the eyes of the Great Spirit behold -the prairies and the forest, where the breath of -the wintry wind bears the red fire through them—where -the prairie-wolf flies, and the fire flies faster. -Brothers, the white man is the prairie-wolf, and the -Pawnee is the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers—when the forked fire from the right -arm of the Great Spirit smites the mountain’s brow, -the eagle soars upwards to his home in the clouds, -but the snake crawls over the bare rock in the blast, -and hides in the clefts and in the hollows and holes. -Behold! the forked fire strikes the rock and scatters -it as the big warrior would throw pebbles from his -hand, and the soaring eagle darts from the clouds -and the death-rattle of the snake is heard, and he -hisses no more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers—the Pawnee is the eagle, the bird of -the Great Spirit, and the white man is the crawling -snake that the Great Spirit hates.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers—the shining eyes of the Great Spirit -sees all these things, and tells them to our fathers, -who are in the happy hunting ground of the blest, -and they say that some day, wrapped in the clouds, -they will come and see us, for our land is like -theirs.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was said with so much eloquence, by the distinguished -lawyer, that there was the silence of -nearly a minute when he concluded. In the company -was a lawyer named Short, who, strange to say, -was just six feet three inches and a half high, and he -had a client—which is stranger still—named Long, -who was but five feet high.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who has precedence, Judge Willard?” called out -somebody in the crowd, breaking in upon the business -of the occasion, as upon such occasions business -always will be broken in upon—“who has precedence, -Long or Short?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Long,” exclaimed the judge, -“of course. It is a settled rule in law, that you -must take as much land as is called for in the deed—therefore -Long takes precedence of Short. May be, -Short has a remedy in equity; but this court has nothing -to do with that—so you have the <span class='it'>long</span> and -the <span class='it'>short</span> of the matter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Judge,” cried out the ex-sheriff, “we must go to -Richardson’s—you know it is my treat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Pawnee—the eagle of his race,”—exclaimed -Patterson, “the prophet of his tribe; he who is -more than warrior—whose tongue is clothed with the -Great Spirit’s thunder—who can speak with the eloquence -of the spring air when it whispers amidst -the leaves and makes the flowers open and give forth -their sweets—he, the Charming Serpent, that hath a -tongue forked with persuasion—he, even he, will -go in to the white man, and invite him to come forth -and taste the fire-water, and smoke the pipe of peace -with the Pawnee. Then, if he comes not forth when -the charming serpent takes him by the hand, and -bids him, the Pawnees shall smoke him out like a -fox, and his blazing habitation shall make night -pale, and there shall be no resting place for his foot, -and children and squaws shall whip him into the -forest, and set the dogs upon his trail, and he shall -be hunted from hill to hill, from river to river, from -prairie to prairie, from forest to forest, till, like the -frightened deer, he rushes, panting, into the great -lakes, and the waters rise over him, and cover him -from the Pawnees’ scorn.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was received with acclamation. Mr. Patterson -played the Indian so well, that he drew me one -of the closest to him, in the charmed circle that surrounded -him. His eye flashed, his lips quivered with -fiery ardor, though at the mimic scene. I was so -lost in admiration of him, that I placed myself beside -him without knowing it. He saw the effect he -had produced upon me, and was evidently gratified. -Taking me by the hand, he said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Warriors and braves, give unto me the brand, -that the Charming Serpent may light the steps of the -boy to the hiding-place of the pale-face. He shall -listen to the eloquence of the Charming Serpent when -he takes the white man by the hand—he shall learn -how to move alike the heart of the pale-face and the -red man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers—the Charming Serpent to-night,” said -he, handing me the candle, and placing himself in an -oratorial attitude, while every man lifted up his candle -so that it shone full upon him,—“Brothers, the -Charming Serpent to-night could speak unto the four -winds that are now howling in the desolate Pawnee -paths of the wilderness, and make them sink into a -low moan, and sigh themselves to silence, were he -to tell them of the many of his tribe who are now -lying mangled, unburied, and cold, beneath the -shadow of the rocky mountains—victims of the -white man’s vengeance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers: O! that the Great Spirit would give the -Charming Serpent his voice of thunder—then would -he stand upon the highest peak of the Alleghanies, -with the forked lightning in his red right hand, and -tell a listening and heart-struck world the wrong of -his race. And, when all of every tribe of every people -had come crouching in the valleys, and had filled -up the gorges of the hills, then would the Charming -Serpent hurl vengeance on the oppressor. But come,” -said he, taking the candle in one hand, and myself -by the other, “the Pawnee talks like a squaw. The -Charming Serpent will speak with the pale-face, and -lead him forth from his wigwam to the great council -fire.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Accordingly, the Charming Serpent took me by -the hand, and led me up the stairs. His steps were -steady, and it was evident that his libations had excited -his brain, and, instead of weakening him, given -him strength.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s your name?” said he to me kindly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“William Russel, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know me, my little fellow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir, you’re Mr. Patterson, the great lawyer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, ah! they call me a great lawyer, do they! -What else do they say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That you’re the greatest orator in the country,” -I replied—for what I had drank made me bold too.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They do—I know they do, my little fellow—I -believe, in fact, that I could have stood up in the -Areopagus of old, in favor of human rights, and faced -the best of them. Yes, sir, I too could have ‘fulmined -over Greece.’ But we are not Grecians now—we -are Pawnees.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stop, stop, Mr. Pawnee,” called out some one -from the crowd, “Short was to go, he is the tallest -man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The tallest man,” re-echoed Mr. Patterson, speaking -in his natural tone. “The judge, sir, has already -decided that by just legal construction, Short is -short, no matter how long he is; and, if he claims to -be long, sir, I can just inform him that Lord Bacon -says ‘that tall men are like tall houses, the upper -story is the worst furnished.’ ” Here, every eye was -turned on Short, and there was a shout of laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If,” continued Mr. Patterson—and it was evident -his potations were doing their work—“if it be true—I’ll -just say this to you, sirs. Doctor Watts was a -very small man; and, I repeat it for the benefit of all -small men—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Had I the height to reach the pole</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or meet the ocean with my span,</p> -<p class='line0'>I would be measured by my soul—</p> -<p class='line0'>  The mind’s the standard of the man.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, gentlemen of the jury; if that be true, I -opine that the tallest man in the crowd is now addressing -you. But, I forget. I am a Pawnee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers: The tall grass of the prairies is swept -by the fire, while the flint endureth the hot flames of -the stake. The loftiest trees of the forest snap like -a reed in the whirlwind, and the bird that builds -there leaves her eggs unhatched. The highest peak -of the mountain is always the bleakest and barest—in -the valley are the sweet waters and the pleasant. -Damn it,” said he, speaking in his proper person, for -he began to forget his personation, “why do we value -the gem—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Ask why God made the gem so small,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And why so huge the granite?</p> -<p class='line0'>Because he meant mankind should set</p> -<p class='line0'>  The higher value on it.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s Burns—an illustrious name, gentlemen. -When I was minister abroad, I stood beside the peasant -poet’s grave, and thanked God that he had given -me the faculties to appreciate him. Suppose that he -had been born in this land of ours, sirs; all we who -think ourselves lights in law and statesmanship, -would have seen our stars paled—paled, sirs, as the -fire of the prairie grows dim, when the eye of the -Great Spirit looks forth from the eastern gates—damn -it, that’s Ossian and not Pawnee—upon it in -its fierceness.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Thou, the bright eye of the universe,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That openest over all, and unto all</p> -<p class='line0'>  Art a delight—thou shinest not on my soul.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s Byron—I knew him well—handsome -fellow. ‘Thou shinest not on my soul’—no, but -thou shinest on the prairie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The usher—Dogberry—let’s have Dogberry,” -called out several of the students.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson; “Dogberry, -ha! He’s Goldsmith’s village teacher, that caused -the wonder</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘That one small head could carry all he knew.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Dogberry—Dogberry—but that sounds Shakspearian. -‘Reading and writing comes by Nature.’ That’s certainly -not his sentiments; were they, he should -throw away the usher’s rod and betake himself to -something else; for if these things come by nature, -then is Dogberry’s occupation gone. Yes, he had -better betake himself to the constableship. Come, -my little friend—come, son of the Pawnee, and we -will arouse the pale face.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stepping by the side of Mr. Patterson, we ascended -to the little platform in front of Dogberry’s door, -at which we rapped three times distinctly. “Who’s -there?” cried out a voice from within. Dogberry -must of course have been awake for at least half an -hour.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pale face,” said the Pawnee chief, “thou hast -not followed the example of the great chief of the -pale faces; the string of thy latch is pulled in. Upon -my word, this is certainly the attic story,” he continued -in a low voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am not very well to-night, gentlemen, unless -your business is pressing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pressing! Pale face, the Pawnees have lit their -council fire, and invite thee to drink with them the -fire-water and smoke the pipe of peace.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, gentlemen, I never drink,” responded -Dogberry, in an impatient tone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never drink! Pale face, thou liest! Who made -the fire-water, and gave it to my people, but thee and -thine? Lo! before it, though they once covered the -land, they have melted away like snow beneath the -sun.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I belong to the temperance society,” cried out -Dogberry from within.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dogberry,” exclaimed Patterson—whose patience, -like that of the crowd below, who were calling -for the usher as if they were at a town meeting, and -expected him to speak, was becoming exhausted—“Dogberry, -compel me not, as your great namesake -would say, to commit either ‘perjury’ or ‘burglary,’ -and break your door open. You remember in Marmion, -Dogberry, that the chief, speaking of the insult -which had been put upon him, said,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘I’ll right such wrongs where’er they’re given,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though in the very court of Heaven.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Now I will not say that I would make you drink -wherever the old chief would ‘right his wrongs,’ but -this I will say, that wherever I, Burbage Patterson, -get drunk, I think you can come forth and take a -stirrup cup with him; he leaves for the Supreme -Court to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Patterson,” said Dogberry, coming towards -the door, “your character can stand it—it can stand -anything—mine can’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s truth in that,” said Mr. Patterson aside -to me. “Gentlemen, let us leave the pedagogue to -his reflections; and now it occurs to me that we had -better not uncage him, for, boys, he would be a witness -against you; more, witness, judge, jury and executioner—by -the by, clear against law. Were I -in your place, I would appeal, and for every stripe -he gives you, should the judgment be reversed, do -you give him two.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here a sprightly fellow, one of the scholars, named -Morris, from Long Green, ran up the steps and said -to Mr. Patterson,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do, sir, have him out, for if we get him into the -frolic too, we are as safe, sir, as if we were all in our -beds. He has seen us all through some infernal -crack or other.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, in a low tone to -Morris, “he has been playing Cowper, has he—looking -from the loopholes of retreat, seeing the -Babel and not feeling the stir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes sir, but he’ll make a stir about it to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shall come forth, then,” said Mr. Patterson; -“Dogberry, open the door; they speak of removing -Sears, and why don’t you come forth and greet your -friends? We have an idea of getting the appointment -for you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This flattery took instant effect, for we heard Dogberry -bustling to the door, and in a moment it was -opened about half way, and the usher put his head -out, and said, but with the evident wish that his invitation -would be refused, “Will you come in sir? -Why, William Russell!” to me, in surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pale face, this is a youthful brave, whom I -want the pale face to teach the arts of his race. Behold! -I am the Charming Serpent. Come forth and -taste of the fire-water.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As Mr. Patterson spoke, he took Dogberry by the -hand, and pulled him on to the platform. The usher -was greeted with loud acclamations and laughter by -the crowd. He, however, did not relish it, and was -frightened out of his wits. He really looked the personification -of a caricature. His head was covered -with an old flannel nightcap, notwithstanding it was -warm weather, and his trousers were held up by his -hips, while his suspenders dangled about his knees. -On his right leg he had an old boot, and on his left -foot an old shoe, and was without coat or vest. As -Mr. Patterson held up the light, so that the crowd -below could see him, there was such a yelling as -had not been heard on the spot since those whose -characters the crowd were assuming had left it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dogberry hastily withdrew into his room, but followed -by Mr. Patterson and myself, each bearing a -light. When we entered, the crowd rushed up the -steps.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For God’s sake, sir, for the sake of my character -and situation, don’t let them come in here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They shall not, if you will promise to drink with -me. Pale face, speak, will you drink with the -Pawnee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes sir,” said Dogberry, faintly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Charming Serpent here went to the door, and -said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brothers, the Charming Serpent would hold a -private talk with the chief of the pale faces. Ere long, -he will be with you. Let the Big Bull (one of the -lawyers was named Bull, and he was very humorous,) -pass round the fire-water and the calumet, and by -that time the Charming Serpent will come forth. -Brothers, give unto the Charming Serpent some of -the fire-water, that he may work his spells.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A dozen handed up bottles of different wines and -liquors. The Charming Serpent gave Dogberry the -candles to hold, took a bottle of Champaigne, and -handed me another. Then shutting the door, he -said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is the fire-water that hath no evil in it. It -courses through the veins like a silvery lake through -the prairie, where the wild grass waves green and -placid, and it makes the heart merry like the merriment -of birds in the spring-time, and not with the -fierce fires of the dark lake, like the strong fire-water, -that glows red as the living coal. Brothers, we will -drink.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dogberry’s apartment was indeed an humble one. -Only in the centre of it could you stand upright. -Over our heads were the rafters and bare shingles, -formed exactly in the shape of the capital letter A -inverted, or rather V. Opposite the door was a little -window of four panes of glass, and under it, or rather -beside it, in the corner, was a little bedstead, with a -straw mattrass upon it. A small table, with a tumbler -and broken pitcher, and candle in a tin candlestick -on it, stood opposite the bed. A board, nailed -across from rafter to rafter, held a few books, and -beside it, on nails, were several articles of clothing. -There were besides in the apartment two chairs, and -a wooden chest in the corner, by the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, drink, my old boy,” exclaimed Patterson.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, your character can -stand it, I tell you, but mine can’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,” reiterated -Patterson, offering Dogberry the glass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, I would not choose -any,” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can’t but choose, Dogberry; there is no alternative. -Do you remember what the poet beautifully -says of the Roman daughter, who sustained her -imprisoned father from her own breast?—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Drink, drink and live, old man; Heaven’s realm holds no such tide.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Do you remember it? I bid you drink, then, and I -say to you, Hebe nor Ganymede ever offered to the -immortals purer wine than that. Drink! here’s to -you, Dogberry, and to your speedy promotion,” and -Mr. Patterson swallowed every drop in the glass, and -re-filling it, handed it to the usher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Without much hesitation, he drank it. He now -filled me up a glass nearly full, and I followed the -example of my preceptor, he the while looking at me -with astonishment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you like the letter, Mr. Dogberry?” -asked Mr. Patterson of the pedagogue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What letter, sir? Mr. Patterson, I must say this -is a strange proceeding. I don’t know, sir, to what -you allude.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t know to what I allude! Why, the letter -wishing to know if you would take the academy at -the same price at which Sears now holds it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir, I have received no such letter. I certainly, -sir, would, if it was thought that I was—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was competent. Merit is always modest; you’re -the most competent of the two, sir—take some.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So saying, Mr. Patterson filled up the tumbler, and -Dogberry swallowed the compliment and the wine -together, and fixed his eye on the rafters with an exulting -look. While he was so gazing, the lawyer -filled his glass, and observed, “Come, drink, and let -me open this other bottle; I want a glass myself.” -Down went the wine, and, with a smack of his lips, -Dogberry handed the glass to Mr. Patterson.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Capital, ain’t it, eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Capital,” re-echoed Dogberry. The wine and his -supposed honors had aroused the brain of the pedagogue -in a manner which seemed to awake him to a -new existence. While Mr. Patterson was striking -the top from the other bottle, Dogberry handed me -the candle which he held—the other he had put in -his candlestick, taking out his own when he first -drank—and lifting the tumbler, he stood ready.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again he quaffed a bumper. The effect of his potations -on him was electrical. He had a long face, -with a snipe-like nose, which was subjected to a nervous -twitching whenever its owner was excited. It -now danced about, seemingly, all over his face, while -his naturally cadaverous countenance, under the excitement, -turned to a glowing red, and his small ferret -eyes looked both dignified and dancing, merry and -important. “So,” exclaimed he, “I am to be principal -of the academy; ha, ha, ha! oh, Lord! William -Russell, I would reprove you on the spot, but -that you are in such distinguished company.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whether Dogberry meant only Mr. Patterson, or -included himself, I do not know, but as he spoke he -arose, and paced his humble apartment with a proud -tread, forgetting what a figure he cut, with his suspenders -dangling about his knees and his nightcap on, -and forgetting also that his attic was not high enough -to admit his head to be carried at its present altitude. -The consequence was that he struck it against one of -the rafters, with a violence that threatened injury to -the rafter, if not to the head. He stooped down to -rub the affected part, when Mr. Patterson said to him,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Pro-di-gi-ous,’ as Dominie Sampson, one of you, -said, ain’t it? Come, we’ll finish this bottle, and -then go forth. The scholars are all rejoiced at your -promotion, and are all assembled without to do you -honor. They have made complete saturnalia of it. -They marvel now why you treat them with so much -reserve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gad, I’ll do it,” exclaimed Dogberry, taking the -tumbler and swallowing the contents.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just put your blanket around you,” said Patterson -to him. “Let your nightcap remain; it becomes -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, it don’t indeed, though, eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It does, ’pon honor. That’s it. Now, pale face, -come forth; the eloquence of the Charming Serpent -has prevailed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So speaking, Mr. Patterson opened the door, and -we stepped on to the platform.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scene without was grotesque in the extreme. -In front of us, I suppose to the number of an hundred -persons, were the frolickers, composed of lawyers, -students and town’s-people, all seated in a circle, -while Mr. Patterson’s client from the West, dressed -in costume, was giving the Pawnee war dance. This -client was a rough uneducated man, but full of originality -and whim. Mr. Patterson had gained a suit -for him, in which the title to an estate in the neighborhood -was involved, worth upwards of sixty thousand -dollars. The whole bar had believed that the -suit could not be sustained by Patterson, but his luminous -mind had detected the clue through the labyrinths -of litigation, where they saw nothing but confusion -and defeat. His client was overjoyed at the -result, as every one had croaked defeat to him. He -gave Mr. Patterson fifteen thousand dollars, five -more than he had promised, and besides had made -him a present of the splendid Indian dress in which, -as a bit of fun, before the frolic commenced, he had -decked himself, under the supervision of his client, -who acted as his costumer, and afterwards dressed -himself in the same way. The client had a great -many Indian dresses with him, which he had collected -with great care, and on this occasion he threw -open his trunks, and supplied nearly the whole bar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of Mr. Patterson’s client was Blackwood, -and the admiration which he excited seemed -to give him no little pleasure. Most of the lawyers -in the circle had something Indian on them, while -the boys, who could not appear in costume, and were -determined to appear wild, had turned their jackets -wrong side out, and swapped with each other, the -big ones with the little, so that one wore his neighbor’s -jacket, the waist of which came up under his -arms, and exhibited the back of his vest, while the -other wore a coat the hip buttons of which were at -his knees.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the outskirts of this motley assembly could be -seen, here and there, a negro, who might be said at -once to contribute to the darkness that surrounded -the scene and to reflect light upon it, for their black -skins were as ebon as night, while their broad grins -certainly had something luminous about them, as -their white teeth shone forth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We stood about a minute admiring the dance, when -it was concluded, and some one espied us, and pointed -us out to the rest. We, or rather I should say -Dogberry, was greeted with three times three. I -have never seen, for the size of the assembly, such an -uproarious outbreak of bacchanalian merriment. -After the cheers were given, many of the boys threw -themselves on the grass and rolled over and over, -shouting as they rolled. Others jerked their fellows’ -hats off, and hurled them in air. Prettyman stood -with his arms folded, as if he did not know what to -make of it, and then deliberately spreading his blanket -on the ground, as deliberately took a seat in the -centre of it, as if determined to maintain the full possession -of his faculties, and, like an amateur at a -play, enjoy the scene. Morris held his sides, stooped -down his head, and glanced sideways cunningly at -Dogberry, throwing his head back every now and -then with a sudden jerk, while loud explosive bursts -of laughter, from his very heart, echoed through the -village above every other sound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A speech from Dogberry!” exclaimed Prettyman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, a speech!” shouted Morris, “a speech!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, gentlemen, not now,” exclaimed Richardson, -the proprietor of one of the hotels; “I sent down to -my house an hour ago, and have had a collation -served. Mr. Patterson, and gentlemen and students -all, I invite you to partake with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Silence!” called out Mr. Patterson. All were -silent. “Students of the Belle Air Academy and -citizens generally, I have the honor to announce to -you that my friend, Mr. Dogberry, is about to supersede -Mr. Sears. We must form a procession and -place him in our midst, the post of honor, and then -to mine host’s.” So speaking, Mr. Patterson descended, -followed by Dogberry and myself. The students -gave their candles to the negroes to hold, joined their -hands, and danced round Dogberry with the wildest -glee, while he received it all in drunken dignity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When I have seen since, in Chapman’s floating -theatre, or in a barn or shed, some lubberly, drunken -son of the sock and buskin enact Macbeth, with the -witches about him, I have recalled this scene, and -thought that the boys looked like the witches and -Dogberry like the Thane, when the witches greet -him:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The procession was at length formed. Surrounded -by the boys, who rent the air with shouts, with his -nightcap on his head and his blanket around him, -with one boot and one shoe, Dogberry, following immediately -after the judges, proceeded with them to -Richardson’s hotel. Whenever there was the silence -of a minute or two, some boy or other would ask Dogberry -not to remember on the morrow that he saw -them out that night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, boys, no, certainly not; this thing, I understand, -is done in honor of me. I shan’t take Sears in -even as an assistant. Boys, he has not used me -well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We arrived at Richardson’s as well as we could, -having business on both sides of the street. His -dining-room was a very large one, and he had a very -fine collation set out, with plenty of wines and other -liquors. Judge Willard took the head of the table -and Judge Nolan the foot. Dogberry was to the right -of Judge Willard and Mr. Patterson to the left. He -made me sit beside him. The eating was soon despatched, -and it silenced us all a little, while it laid -the groundwork for standing another supply of wine, -which was soon sparkling in our glasses, and we -were now all more excited than ever. It was amusing -to see the merry faces of my schoolmates twinkling -about among the crowd, trying to catch and comprehend -whatever was said by the lawyers, particularly -those that were distinguished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Songs were sung, sentiments given, and Indian -talks held by the quantity. Dogberry looked the -while first at the boys and then at the lawyers and -then at himself, not knowing whether or not the -scene before him was a reality or a dream. The -great respect which the boys showed him, and Patterson’s -making an occasional remark to him, seemed -at last not only fully to impress him with the reality, -but also with a full, if not a sober conviction of his -own importance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A song!—a song!” was shouted by a dozen of -the larger students; “a song from Morris. Give us -‘Down with the pedagogue Sears.’ Hurrah for old -Dogberry—Dogberry forever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” cried out others, “a speech from Mr. Patterson—no, -from the Pawnee. You’re fineable for -not speaking in character.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here Prettyman took Mr. Patterson courteously -by the hand, and said something to him in a whisper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “so shall it -be; I like Morris. Come, my good fellow, sing us -the song you wrote; come, Dogberry’s star is now in -the ascendant. ‘Down with the pedagogue Sears’—let’s -have it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nothing loth, Morris was placed on the table, -while the students gathered round him, ready to join -the chorus. Taking a preparatory glass of wine, -while Mr. Patterson rapped on the table by way of -commanding silence, Morris placed himself in an attitude -and sang the following song, which he had -written on some rebellious occasion or other:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                    SONG.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>You may talk of the study of imperial power,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tell how their subjects must fawn, cringe and cower,</p> -<p class='line0'>      And offer the incense of tears;</p> -<p class='line0'>But I tell you at once, that there’s none can compare</p> -<p class='line0'>With the tyrant that rules o’er the lads of Belle Air,</p> -<p class='line0'>      So down with the pedagogue Sears.</p> -<p class='line0'>(Chorus,) Down, down,</p> -<p class='line0'>            Down with the pedagogue Sears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The serf has his Sunday—the negroes tell o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>Their Christmas, the Fourth, aye, and many days more,</p> -<p class='line0'>      When they feel themselves any man’s peers;</p> -<p class='line0'>But we’re tasked night and day by the line and the rule,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Sunday’s no Sunday, for there’s Sunday school,</p> -<p class='line0'>      So down with the pedagogue Sears.</p> -<p class='line0'>(Chorus,) Down, down, &c.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>So here’s to the lad who can talk to his lass,</p> -<p class='line0'>And here’s to the lad who can take down his glass,</p> -<p class='line0'>      And is only a lad in his years:</p> -<p class='line0'>Who can stand up and act a bold part like a man,</p> -<p class='line0'>And do just whatever another man can,</p> -<p class='line0'>      So down with the pedagogue Sears.</p> -<p class='line0'>(Chorus,) Down, down,</p> -<p class='line0'>            Down with the pedagogue Sears—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hip, hip, hurrah—once more,” shouted Morris. -“Now then”—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                         Down, down,</p> -<p class='line0'>            So down with the pedagogue Sears.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>While the whole room was in uproarious chorusing, -who should enter but Sears himself. He looked -round with stern dignity and surprise, at first uncertain -on whom to fix his indignation, when his eye lit -on Dogberry, who, the most elated and inebriated of -all, was flourishing his nightcap over his head, and -shouting, at the top of his voice,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Down with the pedagogue Sears.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>As soon as Sears caught a view of Dogberry, he advanced -towards him, as if determined to inflict personal -chastisement on the usher. At first Dogberry -prepared again to vociferate the chorus, but when he -caught the eye of Sears, his voice failed him, and he -moved hastily towards Mr. Patterson, who slapped -him on the shoulder, and cried out,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dogberry, be true to yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am true to myself. Yes, my old boy, old Sears, -you’re no longer head devil at Belle Air Academy. -You’re no devil at all, or if you are, old boy, you’re -a poor devil, and be d—d to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re a drunken outcast, sir,” exclaimed Sears. -“Never let me see your face again; I dismiss you -from my service,” and so speaking, he took a note -book from his pocket, and began hastily to take -down the names of the students. The Big Bull saw -this, and caught it from his hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir, sir,” exclaimed Sears, enraged, “my vocation, -and not any respect I bear you, prevents my infliction -of personal chastisement upon you. Boys, -young gentlemen, leave instantly for your respective -boarding houses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During this, Patterson was clapping Dogberry on -the shoulder, evidently endeavoring to inspire him -with courage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell him yourself,” I overheard Dogberry say.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no,” replied Patterson, “it is your place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, I’ll tell you at once, Sears, you’re no -longer principal of this academy; you’re dished. -Mr. Patterson, sir, will tell you so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Patterson!” exclaimed Sears, now for the -first time recognizing, in the semblance of the Indian -chief, the distinguished lawyer and statesman. “Sir, -I am more than astonished.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir,” rejoined Patterson, drawing himself up with -dignity, “I am a Pawnee brave; more, a red man -eloquent or a pale face eloquent, as it pleases me; -but, sir, under all circumstances, I respect your craft -and calling. What more dignified than such? A -poor, unfriended boy, I was taken by the hand by -an humble teacher of a country school, and here I -stand, let me say sir, high in the councils of a great -people. Peace to old Playfair’s ashes. The old -philosopher, like Porson, loved his cups, and, like -Parr, loved his pipe; but, sir, he was a ripe scholar -and a noble spirit, and I have so said, sir, in the -humble monument which I am proud, sir, I was enabled, -through the education he gave me, to build over -him.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well.’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Yes, as some one says, he was ‘my friend before I -had flatterers.’ How proud he was of me! I remember -well catching his eye in making my first -speech, and the approving nod he gave me had more -gratification to me than the approbation of bench, -bar and audience. Glorious old Playfair! Mr. -Sears, you were his pupil too. Many a time have I -heard him speak of you; he said, of all his pupils, -you were the one to wear his mantle. And, sir, that -was the highest compliment he could pay you—the -highest, Mr. Speaker, for he esteemed himself of the -class of the philosophers, the teachers of youth. Sir, -Mr. Sears, I propose to you that in testimony of our -life-long respect for him, we drink to his memory.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was said so eloquently, and withal so naturally, -that Sears, forgetful of his whereabouts, took -the glass which Mr. Patterson offered him, and drank -its contents reverently to the memory of his old -teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir,” resumed Patterson, “how glorious is your -vocation! But tell me, do you subscribe to the sentiment -of Don Juan?—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain,</p> -<p class='line0'>I pray ye flog them upon all occasions—</p> -<p class='line0'>  It mends their morals—never mind the pain.’ ”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The appropriate quotation caused a thrill to run -through the assembled students, while they cast -ominous looks at each other. For the life of him, -Sears could not resist a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this Mr. Patterson glanced at us with a quiet -meaning, and turning to Mr. Sears, he continued: -“The elder Adams taught school—he whose eloquence -Jefferson has so loudly lauded—the man who -was for liberty or death, and so expressed himself in -that beautiful letter to his wife. Do you not remember -that passage, sir, where he speaks of the Fourth -being greeted thereafter with bonfires and illuminations? -His son, Johnny Q., taught school. My -dark-eyed friend Webster, who is now figuring so -gloriously in the halls of Congress and in the Supreme -Court, taught school. Judge Rowan, of Kentucky, -a master spirit too, taught school. Who was -that</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Who passed the flaming bounds of time and space,</p> -<p class='line0'>The living throne, the sapphire blaze,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where angels tremble as they gaze:</p> -<p class='line0'>Who saw, but, blasted with excess of light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Closed his eyes in endless night’—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Who was he? Milton, the glorious, the sublime—who, -in his aspirations for human liberty, prayed to -that great spirit who, as he himself says, “sends -forth the fire from his altar to touch and purify the -lips of whom he pleaseth”—Milton, the schoolmaster.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘If fallen in evil days on evil tongues,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Milton appealed to the avenger, Time:</p> -<p class='line0'>If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And if the word ‘Miltonic’ mean ‘sublime,’</p> -<p class='line0'>He deigned not to belie his soul in songs,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor turn his very talent to a crime;</p> -<p class='line0'>He did not loathe the sire to laud the son,</p> -<p class='line0'>But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>‘Thinkest thou, could he—the blind old man—arise,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like Samuel, from the grave, to freeze once more</p> -<p class='line0'>The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or be alive again—again, all hoar</p> -<p class='line0'>With time and trials, and those helpless eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>And heartless daughters, worn, and pale, and poor—’</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>Would he not be proud of his vocation, when he reflected -how many great spirits had followed his example? -The schoolmaster is indeed abroad. Mr. -Sears, let us drink the health of the blind old man -eloquent.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Patterson, but before -my scholars, under the circumstances, it would be -setting a bad example, when existing circumstances -prove they need a good one. Sir, it was thought that -I should not return from Baltimore until to-morrow, -and this advantage has been taken of my absence. -But, Mr. Patterson, when such distinguished gentlemen -as yourself set the example, I know not what to -say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive them, sir, forgive them,” said Patterson, -in his blandest tone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let them repair to their homes, then, instantly. -Mr. Patterson, your eloquent conversation had made -me forget myself; I don’t wonder they should have -forgotten themselves. Let them depart.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “I have -a greater opinion of my oratorical powers than ever. -Be ye all dismissed until I again appear as a Pawnee -brave, which I fear will be a long time, for ’tis -not every day that such men as my western client -are picked up. But, Mr. Sears, what do you say -about Dogberry? He must be where he was; to-morrow -must but type yesterday. Dogberry, how is -Verges?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know him,” said Dogberry, doggedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, sir, he is the associate of your namesake -in Shakspeare’s immortal page. Let this play to-night, -Mr. Sears, be like that in which Dogberry’s -namesake appeared—let it be ‘Much Ado About -Nothing.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sears smiled, and nodded his head approvingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then be the court adjourned,” exclaimed Mr. -Patterson. “Dogberry, you and my friend Sears are -still together, and you must remember in the premises -what your namesake said to Verges, ‘An’ two -men ride of a horse, one man must ride behind.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Giving three cheers for Mr. Patterson, we boys departed, -and the next day found us betimes in the -academy, where mum was the word between all -parties.</p> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wit'></a>THE WITHERED ROSE.</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 ALEX. A. IRVINE.</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'>Thou pale withered flower, oh! once thou wert fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But now ev’ry leaf has been nipped by a blight—</p> -<p class='line0'>Dost thou pine for the bosom, its fragrance to share,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whence I won thee, sweet nestler, at parting one night?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>How beauteous thy head, as it modestly stoop’d</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its blushes to hide in her bosom of snow—</p> -<p class='line0'>How sweetly above thee her fair tresses droop’d—</p> -<p class='line0'>  How pure was the heart beating stilly below!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! sweet was her smile as the first blush of Eve,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And soft was her voice as the low summer wind,</p> -<p class='line0'>When she gave thee away, half reluctant to leave,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like an angel from heaven sent down to mankind.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I have cherished thee since as if never to part,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou remindest me so of that fair girl away;—</p> -<p class='line0'>But, ah! can I banish the blight from thy heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or save thee from withering day after day?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And thus, oh! how often, the ones we love best,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drop away from our sides like the roses in June—</p> -<p class='line0'>But why should we weep? since they pass to their rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And if parted awhile, we shall follow them soon.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<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 “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CUTTING OUT.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>We had now been several months at sea, and, although -our stores had been more than once replenished -from the prizes we had taken, our provisions -began to grow scarce. The skipper accordingly announced -his intention of going into port. We bore -up, therefore, for Charleston, that being the most -convenient harbor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My emotions on approaching the place where -Beatrice resided, I shall not attempt to describe. A -full year had passed since we had parted, and in all -that time I had heard of her but once. Might she -not now be married to another? The proverbial -fickleness of her sex; the known opposition of her -family to my suit; her uncertainty whether I still -continued to care for her, or whether even I was yet -alive; and a thousand other reasons why she might -be unfaithful to me, rose up before me to torture me -with doubts. But most of all, I reflected on our different -situations in society. She was rich, courted, -allied to rank—I was poor, unknown, and a rebel -officer. Many a night as I lay in my solitary hammock, -or trod my silent watch on deck, the fear that -I might find Beatrice the wife of another, filled my -soul with agony. And yet could I doubt her faith?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length we entered Charleston harbor, and with -a gentle breeze floated up towards the town. It was -a moonless night, but the sky above was spangled -with a thousand stars, and the low outline of the -city before us glittered with myriads of lamps. The -wind just ruffled the glassy surface of the bay, fanning -us, as it swept by, with a delicious coolness. -Here and there, on either shore, a light from a solitary -house flickered through the darkness, while occasionally -a sheet of summer lightning would play -along the western firmament, where a low belt of -clouds skirted the horizon, and hung like a veil -above the city. Everything reminded me of the -night when I had sailed up this same harbor with -Beatrice. What had I not witnessed since then! -The shipwreck, the battle, the hurricane, fire and -sword, danger in every shape, almost death itself—I -had endured them all. During that period where -had been Beatrice? A few hours would determine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a beating heart, the next morning I sought -the residence of Beatrice’s uncle. How my brain -swam and my knees tottered when I came in sight of -the mansion which contained the form of her whom -I loved! I had understood that the family, except -one or two of the ladies of it, was out of town, and -I burned with impatience to ascertain whether Beatrice -was among the absentees. Yet my heart failed -me when I came in sight of the residence of her -uncle. I recollected the terms on which I had parted -with Mr. Rochester, and I scarcely thought myself -allowable in intruding on his hospitality in any -shape. But, then, how else could I obtain an interview -with Beatrice? Again and again I approached -the door, and again and again I changed my mind -and retired; but at length remembering that my -conduct was attracting attention, and unable longer -to endure my suspense, I advanced boldly to the portal, -and knocked at the hall door. It was answered -by a strange porter. With a fluttering heart I inquired -for Miss Derwent. I felt relieved from a load -of fear when informed that she was in town, and -hastily thrusting my card into the man’s hand, I followed -him eagerly into the drawing-room. He disappeared, -and I was alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who can forget his emotions, when, after a long -separation from the object of his love, he finds himself -under the same roof with his mistress, awaiting -her appearance? How he pictures to himself the -joy with which the announcement of his arrival, especially -if unexpected, will be received! He fancies -every look that will be exchanged and every -word that will be said at the moment of meeting. -As the moments elapse, he imagines, however short -the time may be, that the appearance of his mistress -is unavoidably delayed, and a hundred fears arise, -vague, unfounded, and but half believed, that perhaps -her affection has grown lukewarm. Each successive -instant of suspense increases his doubts until they -amount almost to agony; and as a light footfall—oh! -how well remembered!—breaks upon his ear, -he almost dreads to meet her whom but an hour before -he would have given worlds to behold. So was -it now with myself. As minute after minute elapsed, -and still Beatrice did not appear, my fears amounted -almost to madness; and when at length I heard her -light tread approaching, my heart began to beat so -violently that I thought I should have fainted. -Anxious to resolve my doubts, by observing her demeanor -before I should be seen myself, I sprang into -the recess of a window. As I did so, the door opened -and Beatrice entered hurriedly, looking, if possible, -more beautiful than ever. Her cheek was -flushed, her step was quick and eager, and her eyes -shone with a joy that could not be affected. She advanced -several steps into the room, when, perceiving -no one, she gazed inquiringly around, with a look, I -thought, of disappointment. I moved from the recess. -She turned quickly around at the noise, blushed -over brow, neck and bosom, and, with a faint cry -of joy, sprang forward, and was locked the next instant -in my arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beatrice—my own, my beautiful!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Harry—<span class='it'>dear</span> Harry!” were our mutual exclamations, -and then, locked in each other’s embrace, -for a moment we forgot in our rapture to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length we awoke from this trance of delight, -and found leisure for rational conversation. Sitting -side by side on the sofa, with our hands locked together, -and our eyes looking as it were into each -other’s souls, we recounted our mutual histories since -our separation. With mine the reader is already -acquainted. That of Beatrice was naturally less -chequered, but yet it was not without interest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said that an alliance had been projected between -Beatrice and her cousin, and that Mr. Rochester -had placed his whole soul on the consummation -of this project. The consciousness of my interest in -the heart of Beatrice had induced their conduct towards -myself, under the hope that if once separated -from her, I would be eventually forgotten by Miss -Derwent. Time, however, proved how false had -been this hope. Instead of prospering in his suit -from my absence, every day only seemed to make -the success of her cousin more problematical. In -vain her uncle persuaded; in vain he expostulated; -in vain he lavished all his scorn on me as a beggar -and a rebel—Beatrice continued unmoved; now defending -me from every imputation, and now with -tears giving up the contest, although unconvinced. -The letter she received from me, by acquainting her -with my projected cruise, prepared her for the long -silence on my part which had ensued; and although -reports, no doubt originating with her persecutors, -were circulated respecting my arrival in port, and -the disreputable life I was said to lead, she remained -faithful to me amid it all. Oh! what is like woman’s -love? Amid sorrow and joy; in sunshine or -storm; whether distant or near; in every varied circumstance -of life, it is the solace of our existence, -the green spot amid the arid deserts of the world. -Nothing can change it—nothing can dim its brightness. -Even injury fails to break down the love of -woman. You may neglect, you may abuse her, if -you will; but still, with a devotion not of this earth, -she clings to you, cheering you in distress, smiling -on you in joy, and amply repaid if she only win in -return one kind word, one look of approval. Thank -God! that, fallen as we are, there is left to us that -link of our diviner nature—the pure, deep, unchanging -love of woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With what joy did I hear that Beatrice was still -mine, wholly mine, and how ardently did I press her -to my bosom, invoking her again and again to repeat -the blessed words which assured me of her love! -Hours passed away as if they had been minutes. -And when at length I rose to depart, and, imprinting -another kiss on her but half averted lips, took my -leave with a promise to return again the ensuing -morning, my astonishment passed all bounds to learn -that noon had long since passed, and that the evening -was almost at hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the short time that we remained in port, -I was daily with Beatrice, and when we parted she -pledged herself to be mine at the end of another -year, come what might. My heart, I will admit, -reproached me afterwards for winning this promise -from her, and inducing her to give up wealth and -luxury for the bare comforts an officer’s pay could -afford; and yet her love was such a priceless gem, -and she looked up to me with such unreserved devotedness, -that I could not regret a vow which ensured -me the right to protect her from the cold tempests -of the world. Besides, we were both young and full -of hope, and I trusted some fortunate event might -occur which would yet allow us to be united with -the concurrence of her friends.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Uncle is suspected and watched by the colonial -authorities,” said Beatrice, as we parted, “and I -fear me that he is linked in with some of those who -have designs against the state. I tremble to think -what might be his fate if detected in any conspiracy -to restore the king’s authority.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fear not, dearest,” I replied, “I will interest -Col. Moultrie in his favor, and besides, your uncle -must see the danger of any such attempt at present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet I have fearful forebodings.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cheer up, sweet one, he has nothing to dread. But -now I must go. God bless you, Beatrice!” and I -kissed her fervently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She murmured something half inaudibly, returned -my parting embrace with a sigh, and, while a tear -stood in her eye, waved a final adieu with her kerchief. -In an hour the schooner had sailed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had been at sea but a few days, having run -down the Bahamas in that time, when we spoke a -French merchantman, and obtained from him the intelligence -that an English ship, with a valuable cargo -and a large amount of specie, was then lying at -the port of ——, in one of the smaller islands. -She was well armed, however, and carried the crew -of a letter of marque. But the skipper instantly determined -on attempting her capture. Accordingly, -we bore up for the island within an hour after we -had spoken the merchantman, and having a favorable -breeze to second our wishes, we made the low -headlands of the place of our destination just as the -sun sank behind them into the western ocean. Not -wishing to be detected, we hauled off until evening, -spending the intervening time in preparing for the -adventure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night was fortunately dark. There was no -moon, and a thick veil of vapors overhead effectually -shrouded the stars from sight. The seaboard was -lined with dusky clouds; the ocean heaved in gentle -undulations; and a light breeze murmured by, with a -low soft music in its tone, like the whisper of a -young girl to her lover. As the twilight deepened, -the shadowy outlines of the distant land became -more and more indistinct, until at length they were -merged in the obscurity of the whole western firmament. -No sound was heard over the vast expanse as -we resumed our course, and silently stretched up towards -the island.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was nearly midnight when we reached the -mouth of the harbor. All within was still. The -town lay along the edge of the water, distinguishable -by its long line of flickering lamps; while a dark -mass on the left of the harbor betrayed the position -of the battery guarding the port. One or two small -coasting vessels were moored at the quay, and, a few -cables’ length out in the harbor, rode at anchor the -merchantman. He was in part protected by the -guns of the fort; but other means of defence had not -been forgotten, for his nettings were triced up, and -he swung at his anchor as if springs were on his -cables. A solitary lantern hung at his mast-head, -throwing a faint radiance around the otherwise shadowy -ship. Not a sound arose from his decks. Occasionally -a low murmur would float down from the -far-off town, or the cry of a sentry at the fort would -rise solemnly on the still night air; but except these -faint sounds, at long intervals apart, a deep, unbroken -silence buried the whole landscape in repose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pipe away the boats’ crews,” said the skipper, -when, everything having been planned, we had steered -our craft under the shadow of the huge cape, and -now lay to in our quiet nook, hidden from observation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boatswain issued his summons almost in a -whisper, and the men answered with unusual promptness. -In a few minutes the boats were manned, and -we were waiting with muffled oars for the signal. -We lingered only a moment to receive the last orders -of the captain, when, with a whispered “give way,” -the gallant fellows bent to the oars, and we shot -from the schooner’s side. In a few moments she -was lost in the gloom. I watched her through the -gathering night, as spar after spar faded into the obscurity, -until at length nothing could be seen of her -exquisite proportions but a dark and shapeless mass -of shadow; and at length, when I turned my eyes in -her direction again, after having had my attention -for a moment called away, even the slight outline of -her form had disappeared, and nothing but the -gloomy seaboard met my eye.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night was now so dark that we could scarcely -see a fathom before us; but, guided by an old salt -who had been brought up on the island, and knew the -harbor as accurately as a scholar knows his horn -book, we boldly kept on our course. As we swept -around the headland, we perceived that the town, so -lately alive with lights, was now buried in a profound -darkness. The solitary lantern, however, still -burned at the fore-peak of the Englishman, like a -star hanging alone in the firmament, to guide us on -our way. Every eye was fixed on it as we rapidly -but noiselessly swept up towards the merchantman. -The fort was buried in gloom. The other vessels in -the harbor lay hidden in the palpable obscurity -ahead. No sound was heard, no object was seen, as -we moved on in our noiseless course. At length the -huge hull of the merchantman began to be indistinctly -visible upon our starboard bow, and, lying on our -oars for a moment, we held a short, eager consultation -on our future course. It was soon, however, -terminated. As yet we had remained undiscovered, -and as the slightest accident might betray us, not a -moment was to be lost if we would surprise the foe. -It had been arranged that I should dash into the -larboard side of the Englishman, while the two -other boats should attack him simultaneously on his -starboard bow and quarter; and accordingly, as my -companions sheered off, I gave a whispered order to -my men to pull their best, and the next instant we -were shooting with the rapidity of an arrow right on -to the foe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The instant preceding the attack is always a thrilling -one. You know not but that in a few minutes -you may be in eternity, and as yet you are not carried -away with that reckless enthusiasm which, in -the heat of the contest, makes you insensible to -every thing but the struggle. On the present occasion -I felt as I had never felt before. The odds -against us were fearful, for the ship was admirably -defended, and we had every reason to believe that -her crew outnumbered our own. As I looked around -on my men, I saw more than one hardy veteran cast -an uneasy glance at the foe. But it was no time -now to pause. We had scarcely pulled a dozen -strokes, and were yet some distance from the ship, -when the sentry from her quarter cried out, “Boat -ahoy!” and then perceiving that we still advanced, -he fired his piece and gave the alarm. I saw the -moment for action had come. Disguise was now -useless. Instantaneously I forgot the feelings which -had just been passing through my mind, and, like a -war-horse starting at a trumpet, I sprang up in the -stern sheets, and waving my sword aloft, shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give way, my lads—give way, and lay us -aboard the rascals—with a will, boys—pull!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As if fired with an enthusiasm which nothing -might resist, my gallant fellows sprang to their oars -with renewed vigor at my words, until the oaken -blades almost snapped beneath their brawny arms; -and we were already within a few fathoms of the -ship’s quarter when a volley from the merchantman -hit the stroke-oarsman in front of me, and he fell -dead across the thwart. The boat staggered in her -course. I could hear our companions surging but a -short distance behind, and I burned to be the first to -mount the enemy’s deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“On—on!” I shouted; “pull for your lives, my -lads—pull, pull!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A thundering cheer burst from the brave veterans, -as they bent with even redoubled power to their task, -and with a few gigantic strokes sent us shooting upon -the quarters of the foe. Waving my sword above -my head, I sprang at once up the ship’s side, calling -on my crew to follow me. They needed not the invocation. -The boat had scarcely touched the vessel -before every man, cutlass in hand, was clambering -over the side of the foe; and in an instant, with one -simultaneous spring, old and young, officer and men, -we tumbled in upon the enemy. And like men they -met us. It was no child’s play—that conflict! -Fearfully outnumbering us, apprised of and ready for -our onset, fighting on their own decks too, and knowing -that succor was at hand from the fort even in -case of defeat, the crew of the Englishman met our -attack with an unbroken front, giving back blow for -blow and shout for shout. Short, wild and terrific -was the conflict. Conscious of the vicinity of the -other boats, the enemy wished to overcome us before -we could be succored; while we struggled as -desperately to maintain our footing until aid should -arrive. But our efforts were in vain. Pressing on -to us in dense, overpowering numbers, and hemming -us in on every quarter but that by which we had -boarded the ship, they seemed determined to drive -us into the ocean pell-mell, or slaughter us outright. -No quarter was asked or given. Man after man fell -around me in the vain attempt to maintain our footing. -Already I had received two cutlass wounds -myself. Our ranks were fearfully thinned. Yet still -I cheered on my men, determined rather to die at -bay than surrender or retreat. But all seemed in -vain. Several men had already fallen before -my arm, and the deck was slippery with the blood -of friend and foe; yet the enemy did not appear to -lessen in numbers. As fast as one man fell, another -filled his place. Despair took possession of us. I -saw nothing before us but a glorious death, and I determined -that it should be one long after to be talked -of by my countrymen. All this, however, had passed -almost in a minute. Suddenly I heard a cheer on -the starboard bow of the enemy, and as it rose clear -and shrill over all the din of the conflict, I recognised -the Fireflies clambering over the ship’s side -in that direction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Huzza! the day’s our own!” I shouted, in the -revulsion of feeling. “Come on, my lads, and let -us hew the scoundrels to the chine!” and, with another -wild huzza, I dashed like a madman upon the -cutlasses of the foe. My men followed me with the -fury of a whirlwind. Wild, terrible, overpowering -was that charge; fierce, desperate and relentless -was the resistance. The scene that ensued eternity -will not eradicate from my memory. Hand to hand -and foot to foot we fought, each man striving with -his opponent, conscious that life or death depended -on the issue: while swords clashed, pistols exploded, -shouts rent the air, and blood flowed on every hand -as if it had been water. Now the foe yielded, and -now we retired in turn. Swaying to and fro, striking -around pell-mell, thrusting, parrying, hewing, wrestling -in the death-grip, or hurling the fallen from our -path, now clearing our way by main force, and now -breaking the enemy’s front by a deceptive retreat, -we succeeded at length in driving the foe back in a -broken mass on their assailants from the bow. Then -they rallied, and, with the fury of tigers at bay, returned -to the charge. If ever men fought like demons, -they did. As they grew more and more desperate, -they fairly howled with rage. Their curses -were terrific. God help me from ever witnessing -such a sight again! I saw that it only needed another -vigorous charge to complete their defeat, and -rallying my little band around me once more, though -every man of them was wounded, we dashed on to -the foe, determined to cut our way through to our -friends, or drive the enemy down the hatchway.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Once more, my boys, once more—huzza for -liberty!—on!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come on, ye rebel knaves!” growled the leader -of the British, and striking at me with his cutlass, to -challenge me to single combat, he roared, “Take -that, ye hell-hound.” One of my men sprang to my -aid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back—back!” I shouted, “leave him to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, God’s curse be on you—” but his words -were lost in the clash of the conflict. For a moment -I thought he was more than my match, but his very -rage overreached itself, and failing to guard himself -sufficiently, he exposed his person, and the next instant -my sword passed through his body. He fell backwards -without a groan. His men saw him fall, and -a score of weapons were pointed at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Down with him—hew him to the ground,” roared -the British.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurrah for Parker!—beat back the villains!” -thundered my own men, and the contest, which had -paused during the combat between the fallen chief -and myself, now raged with redoubled frenzy, the -whole fury of the enemy being directed against myself. -I remember shouts, curses, and groans, the -clash of cutlasses and the roar of fire-arms, and then -comes a faint memory of a sharp pain in my side, -succeeded by a reeling in my brain, and a sensation -of staggering, as if about to fall. After that all is -blank.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When I recovered my senses, I was lying on the -quarter deck, while the cool night breeze swept deliciously -over my fevered brow, and my ears were -soothed with the gentle ripple of the waters as the -ship moved on her course. A solitary star, struggling -through a rent in the clouds overhead, shone -calmly down on me. I turned uneasily around.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How are you, Parker?” said the voice of the -lieutenant, approaching me. “We are nearing the -schooner rapidly, when you’ll have your wound attended -to—I bandaged it as well as I could.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you,” I said, faintly. “But have you -really brought off the prize?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, ay,” said he, laughing, “we got off, although -they hailed cannon balls around us like sugar-plums -at a carnival in Rome. Never before did I -run such a gauntlet. But the sleepy fellows did not -get properly awake until we had made sail—had -they opened their fire at once, they might have sent -us to Davy Jones’ locker in a trice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the enemy’s crew?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All snug below hatches, every mother’s son of -them. They fought like devils, and came within an -ace of beating us. But, faith, yonder is the old -schooner. Ship, ahoy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were soon aboard. My wound proved a serious, -though not a dangerous one, and for several -weeks I was confined to my hammock.</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='nia'></a>A DAY AT NIAGARA.</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. E. C. STEDMAN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, here’s an evil of rail-road travelling that -I never thought of before!” screamed a bright girl, -with pouting, rosy lips and a dimpled chin, at the -risque of spoiling as sweet a voice as ever warbled -“Away with Melancholy,” on a May morning; addressing -her words to our good cousin, who had taken -upon himself the responsible charge of escorting a -party of ladies, (among whom were the fair speaker, -his sister, and my fortunate self,) to see the great -‘lion’ of this western world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You say that we are within five miles of Niagara, -yet I cannot hear its voice for the eternal -gabble, gabble of this locomotive. Why, all my -dreams have been associated with the geographic -recollections of childhood, which invariably said, -‘The roar of the cataract may be heard distinctly at -the distance of fifteen or twenty miles.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You forget,” replied her brother, “that it is -when those wise assurances were written, which -make the eyes of the school-girl stand out ‘as visibly -as letters on a sign,’ that this rapid, noisy mode -of travelling was unthought of: wait a little, my -sweet sis., till we reach the point of our destination, -and Niagara’s thundering bass will sound all the -mightier, for bursting suddenly upon your ear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While these remarks were passing, we were nearing -the end of our journey; and on reaching the -depot, our party was among the foremost to leave -the puffing, snorting, “black poney” behind, as we -turned our faces towards the hotel. But neither my -fair cousin nor myself seemed <span class='it'>astounded</span> at the noise -of the cataract; much to the surprise of her brother. -The truth was, that in this particular of <span class='it'>sound</span> our -“loud expectations” exceeded the reality; though it -may as well be remembered here as elsewhere, that -before leaving Niagara, our ears <span class='it'>were</span> “filled with -hearing,” no less than were our “eyes satisfied with -seeing.” The sun was first hiding his face behind -the golden curtain of a July evening, and tea already -sending its grateful fragrance from the ample board, -as we reached “The Cataract House;” so it was -agreed that we should refresh ourselves with a dish -of the green beverage, before sallying out for a peep -at the Falls:—furthermore, that until then, no one -of our party should approach a certain window which -commanded a view of the rapids, upon the penalty -of our good-natured cousin’s displeasure; and as we -had one and all promised obedience to his wishes, -each poised herself on the tip-toe of curiosity, long -enough to swallow a boiling draught, at the expense -of sore, though not <span class='it'>disabled</span> tongues, for some days -thereafter. We were, however, too unmerciful to -allow our gallant the comforts of his cigar after tea; -but by sundry hints, in the form of bonnets and -shawls, compelled his politeness to yield to our impatience -for the evening ramble. Our footsteps were -first directed to the bridge which extends over the -boiling, angry rapids, to Goat Island. Even here, it -would seem that as much of the awful, the sublime, -and the beautiful, had met together, as human eyes -could endure to look upon! As we leaned over the -railing of the bridge, (holding on instinctively with -convulsive grasp,) and surveyed the yawning whirlpools -beneath, encompassed by the ever-restless -foam, I, for one, thought I had never seen any thing -terrific before! But from the imperfect view of the -falls, which the gathering shades of twilight and the -American side gave us that evening, my “first impressions” -were those of bitter disappointment. “And -is this the end of all my vast imaginings?” said I, -in haste to myself, but breathed it not aloud; for, -indeed, even then and there, the scene was grand and -imposing: so I held my peace, resolving to await -the morning beams, for its rainbow crown, and retire -to my pillow <span class='it'>opinionless</span>, touching the glories of the -grand cataract.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun looked down upon us the next morning -without the shadow of a cloud between, and preparations -commenced at an early hour, for a day at -Niagara. Much to our delight, we found a familiar -party of ladies and gentlemen, at a sister hotel, who -had arrived during the night, and would join us in the -pleasures of the day. As it happened that the gentlemen -of said party outnumbered the ladies, the <span class='it'>fair</span> -responsibilities of our obliging cousin (who had performed -the part of “beau-general” much to the credit -of his gallantry) were <span class='it'>fairly</span> divided with the other -beaux, and all things being arranged, each lady could -boast of her own protector. I know of nothing that -quickens the pleasing excitement of these excursions -more than an unexpected recruit of acquaintances -and friends. Never was there a gayer or happier -little company than left the “Cataract House” that -shadowless summer morning, to cross the green -waters of Niagara river for the Canada side. Oh! -how those bright faces come up before me now, as -if among the vivid recollections of yesterday! There -was the brilliant Mrs. —— with her raven curls, -matchless form, and “dangerous eyes of jet,” ever -and anon returning a dazzling smile for the involuntary -gaze of admiration. And what coquette by <span class='it'>nature</span> -ever learned, until she had been the happy wife -and mother <span class='it'>more</span> than two years, to confine her favorable -glances to <span class='it'>one</span> beloved object. Albeit the -beautiful Mrs. —— is “a jewel of a wife,” though -I heard her adoring husband confess that very day, -that she “caught” him “with her eyes!” There, -too, in striking contrast, was the gentle wife of our -happy cousin, with her hazel “eyes, like shaded -water;” the carnation of modesty on her cheeks, and -“the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit” beaming -on her brow. And then the fair Miss ——, only -daughter of Mr. and Mrs. ——, from New York, who -were exposing, for the first time, their fragile flower -of sixteen summers, whose delicate complexion, and -lily hands, needed none to affirm that “the winds of -heaven never visited her too roughly;” but whose -chief attraction seemed in some way connected with -the appellation of “heiress!” So no doubt thought -a whiskered “fortune-hunter,” who, by dint of bows -and smiles, had contrived to insinuate himself into -the good graces of our party, and played the devoted -to Miss ——, after the most approved fashion. To -say nothing of the pretty sister of our cousin, with -her tiny feet—“the lightest and gentlest that ever -from the heath-flower brushed the dew!” Nor of -the radiant and fascinating belle of ——, who had -already commenced a flirtation with the rich southerner, -who was her chosen <span class='it'>knight</span> for the day. Nor -of other laughing eyes and mirth-stirring spirits that -made up the party. But, alas! the shadow of death -falls ever upon life’s retrospect picture. Of one individual, -whose gallantry, good sense and extraordinary -musical powers, rendered him a favorite of the -fair, on that occasion, may it now be said, “the -places that knew him shall know him no more.” In -early manhood, and in a stranger’s grave, sleeps he -whose active step, whose buoyant spirits, whose -melody of song and sparkling wit concealed from us -the insatiate disease, whose slow, sure worm had -even then fastened upon his vitals. Consumption sent -him to the balmy south, there to find a resting place -’mid orange groves and perpetual-blooming flowers. -Peace be with the ashes of the early, the gifted -dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No sooner was our little barge on the centre of the -rapid tide, and the eye glanced upward and round -about, than a scene of magnificence and glory burst -upon us, which it had “never entered into the heart -to conceive!” Many have attempted to describe it; -but if the ablest pen of the most ready writer hath -failed to embrace half its wondrous beauties, let not -this humble pen dare to desecrate what for sublimity -and loveliness is verily <span class='it'>indescribable</span>! To us it -seemed that “the fountains of the deep were again -broken up”—as if old <span class='it'>Ocean</span> was pouring forth his -deep green floods into that awful abyss, so wide, so -vast, so terrible was their rush to the brink—so -mighty and resistless their plunge into the boiling -chasm! There hung the rainbow, with God’s promise -in its hues of beauty—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“That arch, where angel-forms might lean,</p> -<p class='line0'>And view the wonders of the mighty scene!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>On reaching the Canada side, our first “post of observation” -was Table Rock. The picture it presents—who -shall paint it? The most striking feature -of the whole is the vast <span class='it'>quantity</span> of water which -pours unceasing and unspent, and its consequent -deeply emerald hue as it passes the rocks, before -breaking in its fall to the pure, amber-shaded foam, -which sends up an eternal incense of spray to -Heaven. Another feature of beauty which arrested -our attention was the meeting of the floods at the -termination of the “Horse-shoe Fall,” where an angle -of the rocks causes a continual <span class='it'>embrace of the -waters</span>. The eye could scarce weary in viewing this -<span class='it'>one</span> beauty of the scene; but before the mighty -<span class='it'>whole</span>, awe-struck, the heart could only bow in silent -adoration to that Great Being who made it all, for -“the spirit of <span class='sc'>God</span> moved on the face of the waters!” -We next ascended the craggy steep to a wide-extended -plain above, where are placed the barracks of -the “Forty-third regiment of Her Majesty’s troops.” -Fortunately for us, the day was one of regular review, -and the whole regiment was out on duty. As -we reached the brow of the hill, where, on the one -side, was Niagara in all its glory, and on the other -an extensive military display of red coats and arms -of steel flashing in the sunlight, I thought that Nature -and Art needed no embellishment from the pen -of Fancy—“ ’Twas like enchantment all!” While -in the full enjoyment of this glorious scene, her Majesty’s -well-disciplined band played the familiar air -of “God save the Queen!” as to <span class='it'>us</span> it was never -played before, and my heart vibrated with as much -joy as it ever felt at the sound of our national air, -“Hail Columbia!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our party returned to the hotel at sunset, all -uniting in the opinion that it is impossible to anticipate -too much of enjoyment at Niagara, so far as it -respects the marvellous and beautiful in nature, and -only regretting that we could not pass a month, instead -of a day, with its scenes around us. A few -hours, previous to our departure the following morning, -were spent in exploring Goat Island, so far as -our limited time would allow. ’Tis in sooth a “fairy -isle,” lashed day and night by the untiring rapids, -and affording various and beautiful views of the great -cataract it divides. The luxuriant foliage of its majestic -trees shelters the admirer of the scenes around -from the noonday heat, and the odors from its garden -of flowers regale his senses the while.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We bade a reluctant adieu to Niagara, calling to -mind all the imaginations that the heart had devised—all -the descriptions we had heard from -others’ lips—but with the words of “the Queen of -the East” on our own, “<span class='it'>The half was not told -me</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By way of concluding this imperfect sketch, we -add some few lines, which were written in despite of -a resolution most religiously <span class='it'>made</span> against such a -presumptive measure; for, somehow or other, the -humblest, as well as the loftiest pen, will attempt in -numbers to express the <span class='it'>un</span>numbered thoughts and -“strange, which crowd into the brain” at Niagara. -And while this prince of cataracts flows on, its terrific -beauties will be still the oft-told but unspent -theme of the “spirit-stirring muse.”</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                NIAGARA.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“How dreadful is this place!” for <span class='sc'>God</span> is here!</p> -<p class='line0'>His name is graven on th’ eternal rocks,</p> -<p class='line0'>As with an iron pen and diamond’s point:</p> -<p class='line0'>While their unceasing floods his voice proclaim,</p> -<p class='line0'>Oft as their thunder shakes the distant hills.</p> -<p class='line0'>O! if the forest-trees, which have grown old</p> -<p class='line0'>In viewing all the wonders of this scene,</p> -<p class='line0'>Do tremble still, and cast to earth their leaves—</p> -<p class='line0'>Familiar as they are with things sublime—</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall not the timid stranger here unloose</p> -<p class='line0'>His sandals, ere he treads on “holy ground,”</p> -<p class='line0'>And bow in humble worship to his God?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For unto such as do approach with awe</p> -<p class='line0'>This bright creation of th’ Immortal Mind,</p> -<p class='line0'>Methinks there comes, amid the deafening roar</p> -<p class='line0'>Of “many waters,” yet “a still, small voice,”</p> -<p class='line0'>Which saith, “Ye children of the dust, fear not—</p> -<p class='line0'>Know that this God, this awful God, is <span class='it'>yours</span>!”</p> -<p class='line0'>Yes, here have wrath and peace together met—</p> -<p class='line0'>Justice and Mercy sweetly have embraced;</p> -<p class='line0'>For, o’er the terrors of the angry floods,</p> -<p class='line0'>The bow of promise and of beauty hangs:</p> -<p class='line0'>When in the sunbeams, with its matchless hues,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or as a silver arch on evening’s brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Saying, “God’s works are marvellous and great,</p> -<p class='line0'>But ah! when understood, his name is <span class='sc'>Love</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='sc'>Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J.</span></span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><h1><a id='maj'></a>MAJOR DADE’S COMMAND.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A requiem for the gallant dead?</p> -<p class='line0'>  A dirge for those who died,</p> -<p class='line0'>With banner streaming overhead,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unsoiled, unterrified!</p> -<p class='line0'>A gallant but devoted band,</p> -<p class='line0'>They fell, unyielding, sword in hand.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>They hear not now the Indian yell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor cannon’s angry roar;</p> -<p class='line0'>The clash of arms, or ’larum bell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall startle them no more!</p> -<p class='line0'>Unlike and severed were their homes—</p> -<p class='line0'>One sepulchre contains their bones.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The spangled banner that has led</p> -<p class='line0'>  So oft to victory,</p> -<p class='line0'>Its stars undimmed, above their bed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unfolded to the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>When in the unconquered hearts below,</p> -<p class='line0'>The tide of life had ceased to flow.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No sculptured imagery on high,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Reveals their lonely grave.</p> -<p class='line0'>No epitaph can passer spy,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To tell where rest the brave!</p> -<p class='line0'>Such may become the gilded tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'>But not the stern old forest’s gloom.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Like streamers, to the passing breeze,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The unshorn grass waves here;</p> -<p class='line0'>As silent mourners, blighted trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or monuments appear;</p> -<p class='line0'>The glad, wild birds their requiem sing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And flowers around their incense fling.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The smile that struggles in the eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When withered is the heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reminding us of hopes gone by,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No joy, but gloom impart;</p> -<p class='line0'>So nature loses all its bloom,</p> -<p class='line0'>And beauty round the loved one’s tomb.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Though wild and distant is the spot,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where their bleached bones are laid,</p> -<p class='line0'>More hallowed ground is honored not</p> -<p class='line0'>  By widow, sire, or maid:</p> -<p class='line0'>And fame shall shield from vulgar tread,</p> -<p class='line0'>The ashes of the valiant dead.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And though around their lowly tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No kin or friends are found,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who weep the blight of manhood’s bloom</p> -<p class='line0'>  On valor’s sacred ground;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet loving hearts are chill with woe,</p> -<p class='line0'>And eyes are dim with sorrow’s flow.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>As to some venerated shrine,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose lights have ceased to hum,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall pilgrims here, in after time,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their wand’ring footsteps turn,</p> -<p class='line0'>And view in Fancy’s magic glass,</p> -<p class='line0'>The scene of death before them pass.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Perchance, upon the spot they fell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Some monument may then</p> -<p class='line0'>Its lofty column rear to tell</p> -<p class='line0'>  The gratitude of men;</p> -<p class='line0'>The noble dead! they need it not;</p> -<p class='line0'>Their valor consecrates the spot.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                      <span class='sc'>Conrad.</span></p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wid'></a>THE WIDOW.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There sits a mourner, solitary now</p> -<p class='line0'>With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow.</p> -<p class='line0'>Cold is the pillow where she laid her head,</p> -<p class='line0'>When last they sat beneath their favorite shade—</p> -<p class='line0'>Hushed is the voice, which ever to her own</p> -<p class='line0'>Answered in tones of tenderness alone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Stilled are the merry notes of childish glee,</p> -<p class='line0'>And she is left—of all that family!</p> -<p class='line0'>She looks abroad—and sees no welcome smile,</p> -<p class='line0'>No cheerful sounds her weary hours beguile,</p> -<p class='line0'>She looks within—and all is mute despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>She looks to Heaven—oh! joy! her all is there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                               M. S. B. D.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wil'></a>WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Since our last number went to press, we have been called -upon to mourn the death of <span class='sc'>Willis Gaylord Clark</span>, one -of the contributors to this Magazine, and a poet of unusual -sweetness, elegance, melody and pathos. He died, in his -thirty-second year, of pulmonary consumption. He had -more than once been almost prostrated by this fell disease, -but his constitution had rallied against its attacks, and he, -as well as his friends, entertained hopes of his recovery; but -about two months before his death, the disease apparently -returned with renewed violence, and, after sinking gradually -beneath its power, Mr. Clark’s life terminated on Sunday, -the 13th of June, 1841.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As a man, Mr. Clark was universally esteemed. His -warm heart, frank nature, and social qualities endeared him -to all his friends, and he has left a blank in the little circle -which he was wont to grace. To the last he enjoyed the -society of his friends. He breathed to them the wish that -no venomous tongue should be suffered to insult his fame -when he was dead, and thus rob his orphan boy of his -father’s only heritage—his name. God knows, the heart -that could entertain aught evil towards the departed deserves -not the companionship or sympathy of mankind. The -dying moments of Mr. Clark were filled with the memory of -his lost wife—to whom he has written some of the sweetest -verses in the language—and his parting request was that -he should be buried by her side, at the same hour of the day -at which she was interred. Need we say his request was -religiously fulfilled?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The closing days of the poet are finely drawn in the following -lines, for which we are indebted to Robert Morris, -Esq., another of our valued contributors, and one of the -circle of Mr. Clark’s friends. They need no eulogy at our -hands. They will commend themselves to all who loved the -departed, or admire true poetry.</p> - -<div class='dramastart'><!----></div> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'> A DEATH SCENE IN THE CHAMBER OF A POET.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Come hither, friend! My voice grows thin and weak—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>My limbs are feeble, and I feel that Death</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Will soon achieve his conquest. Look not sad!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The being best beloved has gone before—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Why should <span class='it'>I</span> tarry here? An angel form</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Beckons me on. Amid my morning dreams,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I hear <span class='it'>her</span> voice and see her starry eyes!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That voice so full of woman tenderness;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Those eyes that mirrored an unsullied soul!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Then look not sad! My peace is made with God,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And in the hope, which is the dawn of Heaven—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The Christian’s hope—I will a little hence</p> -<p class='dramaline'>On my mysterious journey. Soon—how soon!—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The truth will break upon me! The dim stars,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Which now, this mellow night, like sands of gold,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Glitter amid the distance—it may be</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That I may pass their confines on my course;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That peopled worlds may greet my spirit’s gaze!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Look, gentle friend, how brightly do they shine!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How like to living things! How beautiful!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How more than wonderful the mighty hand</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That placed them there, all radiant with light!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>  Oh, God! in whose high presence soon my soul</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Will stand uncovered, what a worm am I</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Amid thy wonders vast and infinite!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  And yet I feel th’ immortal burns within—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  The quenchless light of an eternal soul!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Yes! as the frame decays; as this frail dust</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Sinks to its native earth, the spirit’s wings</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Unfold, and all within seems eager for the flight!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>My voice is almost lost. Friend!—faithful friend,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Long tried and well beloved—before I leave</p> -<p class='dramaline'>This summer scene of earth, yon fields and flowers—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Alas! like youth and life, they soon will fade—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I have a boon to crave. My boy, my only boy,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Will soon be fatherless! Forgive this tear;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>It is among the last.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>                      Hither, my child!</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>There lives his mother’s image—her soft eyes,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>So large and full and dove-like; her brown hair,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>So rich and silken, and her cheek of rose!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Oh! what a fate was hers! But yesterday,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>All youth and hope and beauty; and to-day,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>A banquet for the cold and creeping worm!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>But far above the grave her spirit dwells,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Among the white-robed circles of the blest:</p> -<p class='dramaline'>In that bright clime where Faith and Fancy soar,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And Love and Hope and Joy walk hand in hand.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>But to the boon.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                  I would not, when my dust</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Lies still and cold, leave bitter memories.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I would not leave a wound in any breast,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>But fain with all the world would die in peace,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Forgiving all, and asking all forgiveness.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The only legacy that I may leave</p> -<p class='dramaline'>My idol boy, is a weak dream of fame:</p> -<p class='dramaline'>A phantom that has cheated me of life,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And fails me now, I fear, before the grave.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And yet, how that wild dream, tempting and bright,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Has spanned my youthful life, as does the bow</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The summer storm! And now, e’en while I gaze.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And feel the mortal passing slowly off,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>How dust still clings to dust, and a desire</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Burns at my breast, that justice may be done</p> -<p class='dramaline'>My memory!—that he, in after time—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>(Poor child, how little recks he of this scene!—)</p> -<p class='dramaline'>May speak his father’s name with love and pride.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'> * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>A hand—a friendly hand!—mine eyes grow dim—</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>  His pale lip quivered, and the hectic tinge</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Passed from his hollow cheeks. And see, he sleeps!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Alas! ’tis Death’s unchangeable repose—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  The spirit of the poet soars to God!</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Clark possessed poetic talents of no ordinary merit. -He belonged to the school of Goldsmith and Pope, rather -than to that of Byron or Coleridge. He was more remarkable -for sweetness than passion, for melody than force, for -fancy than imagination. The rank to which he belonged -was not the highest, but in that rank he occupied one of the -foremost stations. He was distinguished for his grace and -euphony. Few men have written so elegantly as Mr. Clark; -no man has excelled him in the melody of numbers. He -obviously devoted the greatest attention to the composition -of poetry, and no piece left his hand until it had received its -utmost polish. There was a deep abiding sense of religion -in his compositions which commend them to every heart. -He was indeed almost the first poet to render the poetry of -religion attractive; for Young, Cowper, Wordsworth, and -even Milton, too often fail in this. But Mr. Clark was always -successful, breathing, as he did, aspirations after a -higher and better state of being, and emulating, if that were -possible, the rapt enthusiasm of the Hebrew poet, when -dreaming of the “better land”—that land to which he has -now followed his long-wept wife. Yes! he has gone—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Gone to his Heavenly Father’s rest!</p> -<p class='line0'>  The flowers of Eden round him blowing,</p> -<p class='line0'>And on his ear the murmur blest</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of Siloa’s waters softly flowing!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Beneath that Tree of Life which gives</p> -<p class='line0'>  To all the earth its healing leaves!</p> -<p class='line0'>In the white robe of angels clad,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And wandering by that sacred river,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose streams of loveliness make glad</p> -<p class='line0'>  The city of our God forever!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Why should we mourn his loss? This is no home for the -weary spirit. Earth has nothing to satisfy the immortal -mind; but, with a reach after higher and holier things, it -struggles to be away, satisfied only when roaming free -through the wide expanse of Eternity.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div><h1><a id='fare'></a>FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER,</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A BALLAD—WRITTEN BY LORD BYRON.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>MUSIC COMPOSED BY</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>J. DODSLEY HUMPHREYS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><span class='it'>Philadelphia</span>: <span class='sc'>John F. Nunns</span>, <span class='it'>184 Chesnut Street</span>.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i089.jpg' alt='' 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'>Farewell if ever fondest prayer for others’ weal availed on high,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mine will not all be lost in air,</p> -<p class='line0'>But waft, but waft thy name beyond the sky.</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh more than</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i090.jpg' alt='' 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'>tears of blood can tell,</p> -<p class='line0'>When wrung from guilt’s expiring eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are in that word farewell.</p> -<p class='line0'>Are in that word farewell, farewell,</p> -<p class='line0'>When wrung from guilt’s expiring eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are in that word, are in that word farewell.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>These lips are mute, these eyes are dry,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But in my breast and in my brain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Awake the pangs that pass not by,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The thought, the thought that ne’er shall sleep again.</p> -<p class='line0'>My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Though grief and passion there rebel,</p> -<p class='line0'>I only know we lov’d in vain.</p> -<p class='line0'>  I only feel farewell,</p> -<p class='line0'>I only feel farewell, farewell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I only know I loved in vain,</p> -<p class='line0'>I only feel, I only feel farewell.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div><h1><a id='spor'></a>Sports and Pastimes.</h1></div> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><span class='bold'>ANGLING.</span></h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The prevailing attributes and domestic economy of fishes -may be described as exactly the reverse of those of birds. -These gay and airy creatures possess the power of surveying -distinctly, at a glance, an immeasurable extent of horizon; -their acute perception of sound appreciates all intonations, -and their glad voices are exquisitely skilled in their -production. Though their bills are hard, and their bodies -closely covered by down and feathers, they are by no means -deficient in the sense of touch. They enjoy all the delights -of conjugal and parental affection, and perform their incumbent -duties with devotedness and courage. They cherish -and defend their offspring, and will sometimes even die in -their defence; and of all the wonderful labors of instinctive -art, none is so beautiful as the formation of their mossy -dwellings. With what deep and continuous affection does -the female brood over her cherished treasures!—how unwearied -is the gallant male in his tender assiduities, and -with what melodious love does he outpour that rich and varied -song by which he seeks to soothe her sedentary task!</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>But close at hand, on that umbrageous bough, sits the fond -partner of his joys and sorrows, so that it is in no spirit of -selfish solitary musing that he ever murmurs, by woodland -stream and shadow-haunted brook, “a music sweeter than -their own.” The slender winged and glossy plumaged -swallow, which skims the verdure of the new-mown meadow, -or dimples the surface of the breezeless lake—the ponderous -but giant-pinioned eagle, winging his way from distant -isles, o’er waters glittering with redundant life—the proud, -far-sighted falcon, which, launching from some hoar cliff or -lightning-scathed peak,</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Doth dally with the wind, and scorn the sun,”—</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>the wild and fearful lapwing, with graceful crest and dark -dilated eye, are each and all enslaved for many a long-enduring -season by this love of offspring, and toil in its support -from dewy morning until latest eve.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it is far otherwise with our voiceless dwellers in the -deep, who exhibit but few attachments, are conversant with -no interchanging language, and cherish no warm affections. -Constructing no dwellings, they merely shelter themselves -from danger among the cavernous rocks of the ocean, in the -silent depths of lakes, or beneath the murky shade of the -overhanging banks of rivers; and the cravings of hunger -alone seem to exercise a frequent or influential action over -their monotonous movements. We must not, however, conceive -that the life of fishes is not one of enjoyment, for we -know that the Great Creator “careth for all his creatures;” -and it ought perhaps rather to be said that we cannot appreciate -the nature of their feelings, than that they are in any -way fore-doomed to a negation of pleasure. Assuredly, -however, the hand of nature has been most prodigal in bestowing -on their external aspect every variety of adornment. -Their special forms are infinite, their proportions often most -elegant, their colors lively and diversified—and nothing -seems wanting, either in their shape or structure, to excite -the unfeigned admiration of mankind. Indeed, it almost appears -as if this prodigality of beauty was intended solely for -such an end. The brightness of metallic splendor, the sparkling -brilliancy of precious gems, the milder effulgence of the -hues of flowers, all combine to signalize fishes as among the -most beautiful objects of creation. When newly withdrawn -from their native element, or still gliding submerged amid -its liquid coolness, their colors, fixed or iridescent, are seen -mingling in spots, or bands, or broader flashes—always elegant -and symmetrical, sometimes richly contrasted, sometimes -gradually softened into each other, and in all cases -harmonizing with a chaste fulness of effect which Titian and -Rubens might envy, but could never equal. For what reason, -then, it has been asked, has all this adornment been -bestowed on creatures which can scarcely perceive each -other amid the dim perpetual twilight of the deep? Shakspeare -has already said that there are “more things in <span class='it'>heaven</span> -and <span class='it'>earth</span> than are dreamt of in our philosophy;” and we -fear it is no answer to the foregoing question to add, that -the same observation applies with even greater truth to the -“<span class='it'>waters beneath the earth</span>.”</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>NUTRITION AND GROWTH OF FISHES.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The nutritive functions of fishes follow the same order of -progression as those of the other classes of the vertebrated -kingdom. They seize, and in some measure divide, their -food with their teeth; they digest it in the stomach, from -whence it passes into the intestinal canal, where it receives -a supply of bile from the liver, and frequently a liquid similar -to that of the pancreas; the nutritive juices, absorbed by -vessels analogous to lacteals, and probably taken up in part -also directly by the veins, are mingled with the venous -blood which is flowing towards the heart, from whence it is -pushed to the branchiæ, in which, coming in contact with -the water, it is converted into arterial blood, and then proceeds -to the nourishment of the whole body.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Fishes are in general extremely voracious, and the rule of -“eat or be eaten,” applies to them with unusual force. -They are almost constantly engaged either in the active pursuit -or patient waiting for their prey—their degree of power -in its capture depending, of course, on the dimensions of -the mouth and throat, and the strength of the teeth and jaws. -If the teeth are sharp and curved, they are capable of seizing -and securing either a large and fleshy bait, or the slenderest -and most agile animal; if these parts are broad and strong, -they are able to bruise the hardest aliment; if they are feeble -or almost wanting, they are only serviceable in procuring -some inert or unresisting prey. Fishes indeed, in most instances, -show but little choice in the selection of their food, -and their digestive powers are so strong and rapid as speedily -to dissolve all animal substances. They greedily swallow -other fishes, notwithstanding the sharp spines or bony -ridges with which they may be armed; they attack and devour -crabs and shell-fish, gulping them entire, without the -least regard to the feelings of their families; they do not object -occasionally to swallow the young even of their own -species, and the more powerful kinds carry their warfare -into other kingdoms of nature, and revel on rats, reptiles and -young ducklings, to say nothing, gentle reader, of the ferocious -shark, which not seldom makes a meal even of the -lord of the creation. A particular friend of ours has his -right leg in the West Indies, in consequence of an act of aggression -alike unpleasant and uncalled for, and which a -Christian-minded pedestrian finds it easier to forgive than -forget. The species which live chiefly on vegetables are -few in number, almost all fishes preferring pork to green -peas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The growth of these creatures depends greatly on the nature -and amount of food, different individuals of the same -species exhibiting a large disparity in their dimensions. -They grow less rapidly in small ponds or shallow streams, -than in large lakes and deep rivers. We once kept a minnow, -little more than half an inch long, in a small glass vessel -for a period of two years, during which time there was -no perceptible increase in its dimensions. Had it continued -in its native stream, subjected to the fattening influence of -a continuous flow of water, and a consequent increase in -the quantity and variety of its natural food, its cubic dimensions -would probably have been twenty times greater; yet -it must have attained, long prior to the lapse of a couple of -years, to the usual period of the adult state. The growth itself -seems to continue, under favorable circumstances, for a -length of time, and we can scarcely set bounds to, certainly -we know not with precision, the utmost range of the specific -size of fishes. Salmon sometimes attain a weight of eighty -pounds and upwards, and the giant pike of Kaiserslautern is -alleged to have measured nineteen feet, and to have weighed -350 pounds. No doubt, an incorrect allegation does not in -any way increase the actual size of fishes, and few people -now-a-days can take exact cognizance of what was done at -Mannheim in the year 1497; but, even in these degenerate -days, amid our own translucent waters, and among species -in no way remarkable for their ordinary dimensions, we ever -and anon meet with ancient individuals which vastly exceed -the usual weight and measure of their kind. But, in spite -of this, let no angler, whether in the bloom of early youth, -the power of matured manhood, or with the silver locks of -“hoar antiquity” above his wrinkled brow, ever induce -within himself, or express to others, the belief that, at all -times and places, he is perpetually catching enormous trouts -in vast numbers, because we happen to know that this is not -the case. We don’t insist upon any one weighing every -fish he captures, but we insist that no one, after jerking out -a few pair, will maintain next morning, or even that very -night, that he has had a most toilsome but very glorious day, -and has killed five dozen and four of the finest trouts the -human eye ever gazed upon. “All men are liars”—and -several anglers—is a proposition the exact import of which -depends much on the mode of construction.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE MUSCULAR MOVEMENTS OF FISHES.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The vertebral column, composed of numerous articulations, -united by cartilages which permit of certain movements, -curves with great facility from side to side; but the -vertical motion is much more restricted, chiefly in consequence -of the projection of the upper and under spiny processes -of the vertebræ. The great organ of movement in all -fishes is the tail. The muscles, by which it is brought into -play, extend in lengthened masses on either side of the vertebral -column. The body, being supported chiefly by the -swimming bladder, (which, however, is absent in several -species), is propelled forward by the rapid flexure of the extremity -acting laterally upon the resistance offered by the -water. Generally speaking, neither the pectoral nor the -ventral fins are of any material use during swift progressive -motion; they rather serve to balance the body, or to aid its -gentler movements while in a state of comparative repose. -In <span class='it'>flying fishes</span>, as they are called, the pectoral fins are of -such great length and expansion as to support these creatures -in the air; and the strength of muscular action might -probably suffice even for a longer flight, but for the necessity -of constant moisture for the purposes of respiration. The -drying of the gills in an individual of this class is attended -by results analogous to those produced in the case of a land -animal; and a flying fish is obliged to descend to respire, in -like manner as a swimming quadruped, or disguised mammiferous -animal, as we may term a whale, is under the necessity -of ascending for the same purpose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The heads of fishes exercise but a slight movement independent -of the rest of the body, but the jaws, opercular -bones, branchial arches, and other parts, are very free in -their motions. The muscles, like those of other vertebrated -animals, are composed of fleshy fibres more or less colored, -and of tendonous fibres of a white or silvery aspect. With -the exception, however, of certain spinal muscles, which -are sometimes of a deep red, the flesh of fishes is much -paler than that of quadrupeds, and still more so than that of -birds. In several species it is even entirely white.</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND SENSES OF FISHES.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>As fishes respire through the intervention of water alone, -that is, as they can scarcely avail themselves, in rendering -their blood <span class='it'>arterial</span>, of anything more than the small portion -of oxygen contained in the air which is suspended in -the water, their blood is necessarily cold, and the general -energy and activity of their senses are by no means so great -as those of quadrupeds and birds. Their brain also, though -of similar composition, is proportionally much smaller, -whether as compared with the total size of the body, with -the mass of nerves which proceed from it, or with the cavity -of the cranium in which it is contained. In the turbot -(<span class='it'>Gadus lota</span>) for example, the weight of the brain to that of -the spinal marrow is ascertained to be as 8 to 12, and to that -of the whole body as 1 to 720; and it has been ascertained -that the brain of a pike, weighed in proportion to the whole -body, is as 1 to 1305. Now, in many small birds, the brain, -viewed in relation to the rest of the body, is equal to a twentieth -part. In the generality of fishes, the spinal cord extends -along the whole of the caudal vertebræ, and it is thus -that it preponderates over the brain; but the fishing frog, or -sea devil (<span class='it'>Lophius piscatorius</span>), the moon fish (<span class='it'>Lampris -guttatus</span>), and a few others, form exceptions to this rule, -the spinal marrow disappearing before it reaches the eighth -vertebra. The brain of fishes by no means fills up the cavity -of the cranium; and the interval between the <span class='it'>pia mater</span>, -which envelopes the brain itself, and the <span class='it'>dura mater</span>, which -lines the interior of the skull, is occupied only by a loose -cellulosity, frequently impregnated by an oil, or sometimes, -as in the sturgeon and thunny, by a more compact fatty matter. -It has also been remarked that this void between the -cranium and the brain is much less in young subjects than -in adults; from which it may be inferred that the brain does -not increase in an equal proportion with the rest of the body. -Cuvier, in fact, has found its dimensions nearly the same in -different individuals—of the same species—of which the -general size of one was double that of the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Although we should be sorry to lower the subjects of our -present observation in the estimation of society, we think it -undeniable that, of all vertebrated animals, fishes exhibit -the smallest apparent symptoms of refined sensibility. -Having no elastic air to act upon, they are necessarily mute, -or nearly so, and all the sweet sensations which the delightful -faculty of voice has called into being among the higher -tribes, are to them unknown. Their glazed, immovable -eyes, their fixed and bony faces, admit of no playful range -in their physiognomical expression, of no variation connected -with emotion. Their ears, surrounded on every side by -the bones of the cranium, destitute of external conch, without -any internal cochlea, and composed merely of certain -sacks and membranous canals, scarcely suffice for the perception -of the loudest sounds. Yet they will sink affrighted -into the darksome depths of lakes, beneath the banks of -rivers, or in oceans blue profound, when the “sky lowers -and mutters thunder,” and with elemental fierceness the -sheeted lightning flashes broad and bright above their liquid -dwellings.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div><h1><a id='new'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Quacks of Helicon: A Satire. By</span> <span class='sc'>L. A. Wilmer</span>. -<span class='it'>Philadelphia: Printed by J. W. Macclefield.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>A satire, professedly such, at the present day, and especially -by an American writer, is a welcome novelty, indeed. -We have really done very little in the line upon this side of -the Atlantic—nothing, certainly, of importance—Trumbull’s -clumsy poem and Halleck’s “Croakers” to the contrary -notwithstanding. Some things we have produced, to -be sure, which were excellent in the way of burlesque, -without intending a syllable that was not utterly solemn and -serious. Odes, ballads, songs, sonnets, epics, and epigrams, -possessed of this unintentional excellence, we could have no -difficulty in designating by the dozen; but, in the matter of -directly-meant and genuine satire, it cannot be denied that -we are sadly deficient. Although, as a literary people, however, -we are not exactly Archilocuses—although we have -no pretensions to the ηχεηντες ιαμβοι—although, in short, we -are no satirists ourselves, there can be no question that we -answer sufficiently well as subjects for satire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We repeat, that we are glad to see this book of Mr. Wilmer’s; -first, because it is something new under the sun; -secondly, because, in many respects, it is well executed; -and, thirdly, because, in the universal corruption and rigmarole -amid which we gasp for breath, it is really a pleasant -thing to get even one accidental whiff of the unadulterated -air of <span class='it'>truth</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The “Quacks of Helicon,” as a poem and otherwise, has -many defects, and these we shall have no scruple in pointing -out—although Mr. Wilmer is a personal friend of our -own;<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a> and we are happy and proud to say so—but it has also -many remarkable merits—merits which it will be quite -useless for those aggrieved by the satire—quite useless for -any <span class='it'>clique</span>, or set of <span class='it'>cliques</span>, to attempt to frown down, or -to affect not to see, or to feel, or to understand.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<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'>Of Mr. Poe’s.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Its prevalent blemishes are referrible chiefly to the leading -sin of <span class='it'>imitation</span>. Had the work been composed professedly -in paraphrase of the whole manner of the sarcastic -epistles of the times of Dryden and Pope, we should have -pronounced it the most ingenious and truthful thing of the -kind upon record. So close is the copy, that it extends to -the most trivial points—for example to the old forms of -punctuation. The turns of phraseology, the tricks of rhythm, -the arrangement of the paragraphs, the general conduct of -the satire—everything—all—are Dryden’s. We cannot -deny, it is true, that the satiric model of the days in question -is insusceptible of improvement, and that the modern -author who deviates therefrom, must necessarily sacrifice -something of merit at the shrine of originality. Neither can -we shut our eyes to the fact, that the imitation, in the present -case, has conveyed, in full spirit, the higher qualities, as -well as, in rigid letter, the minor elegances and general -peculiarities of the author of “Absalom and Achitophel.” -We have here the bold, vigorous, and sonorous verse, the -biting sarcasm, the pungent epigrammatism, the unscrupulous -directness, as of old. Yet it will not do to forget that -Mr. Wilmer has been <span class='it'>shown how</span> to accomplish these things. -He is thus only entitled to the praise of a close observer, and -of a thoughtful and skilful copyist. The images are, to be -sure, his own. They are neither Pope’s, nor Dryden’s, nor -Rochester’s, nor Churchill’s—but they are moulded in the -identical mould used by these satirists.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This servility of imitation has seduced our author into -errors which his better sense should have avoided. He sometimes -mistakes intention; at other times he copies faults, -confounding them with beauties. In the opening of the -poem, for example, we find the lines—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Against usurpers, Olney, I declare</p> -<p class='line0'>A righteous, just, and patriotic war.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The rhymes <span class='it'>war</span> and <span class='it'>declare</span> are here adopted from Pope, -who employs them frequently; but it should have been remembered -that the modern relative pronunciation of the two -words differs materially from the relative pronunciation of -the era of the “Dunciad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are also sure that the gross obscenity, the filth—we -can use no gentler name—which disgraces the “Quacks of -Helicon,” cannot be the result of innate impurity in the -mind of the writer. It is but a part of the slavish and indiscriminating -imitation of the Swift and Rochester school. It -has done the book an irreparable injury, both in a moral and -pecuniary view, without effecting anything whatever on the -score of sarcasm, vigor or wit. “Let what is to be said, be -said plainly.” True; but let nothing vulgar be <span class='it'>ever</span> said, -or conceived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In asserting that this satire, even in its mannerism, has -imbued itself with the full spirit of the polish and of the -pungency of Dryden, we have already awarded it high -praise. But there remains to be mentioned the far loftier -merit of speaking fearlessly the truth, at an epoch when -truth is out of fashion, and under circumstances of social -position which would have deterred almost any man in our -community from a similar Quixotism. For the publication -of the “Quacks of Helicon,”—a poem which brings under -review, by name, most of our prominent <span class='it'>literati</span>, and treats -them, generally, as they deserve (what treatment could be -more bitter?)—for the publication of this attack, Mr. Wilmer, -whose subsistence lies in his pen, has little to look for—apart -from the silent respect of those at once honest and -timid—but the most malignant open or covert persecution. -For this reason, and because it is the truth which he has -spoken, do we say to him from the bottom of our hearts, -“God speed!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We repeat it:—<span class='it'>it is</span> the truth which he has spoken, and -who shall contradict us? He has said unscrupulously what -every reasonable man among us has long known to be “as -true as the Pentateuch”—that, as a literary people, we are -one vast perambulating humbug. He has asserted that we -are <span class='it'>clique</span>-ridden, and who does not smile at the obvious -truism of that assertion? He maintains that chicanery is, -with us, a far surer road than talent to distinction in letters. -Who gainsays this? The corrupt nature of our ordinary -criticism has become notorious. Its powers have been -prostrated by its own arm. The intercourse between critic -and publisher, as it now almost universally stands, is comprised -either in the paying and pocketing of black mail, as -the price of a simple forbearance, or in a direct system of -petty and contemptible bribery, properly so called—a system -even more injurious than the former to the true interests -of the public, and more degrading to the buyers and sellers -of good opinion, on account of the more positive character -of the service here rendered for the consideration received. -We laugh at the idea of any denial of our assertions upon -this topic; they are infamously true. In the charge of general -corruption there are undoubtedly many noble exceptions -to be made. There are, indeed, some very few editors, who, -maintaining an entire independence, will receive no books -from publishers at all, or who receive them with a perfect -understanding, on the part of these latter, that an unbiassed -<span class='it'>critique</span> will be given. But these cases are insufficient to -have much effect on the popular mistrust: a mistrust -heightened by late exposure of the machinations of <span class='it'>coteries</span> -in New York—<span class='it'>coteries</span> which, at the bidding of leading -booksellers, manufacture, as required from time to time, a -pseudo-public opinion by wholesale, for the benefit of any -little hanger on of the party, or pettifogging protector of the -firm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We speak of these things in the bitterness of scorn. It is -unnecessary to cite instances, where one is found in almost -every issue of a book. It is needless to call to mind the -desperate case of Fay—a case where the pertinacity of the -effort to gull—where the obviousness of the attempt at forestalling -a judgment—where the wofully over-done be-Mirrorment -of that man-of-straw, together with the pitiable -platitude of his production, proved a dose somewhat too -potent for even the well-prepared stomach of the mob. We -say it is supererogatory to dwell upon “Norman Leslie,” -or other by-gone follies, when we have, before our eyes, -hourly instances of the machinations in question. To so -great an extent of methodical assurance has the <span class='it'>system</span> of -puffery arrived, that publishers, of late, have made no scruple -of keeping on hand an assortment of commendatory notices, -prepared by their men of all work, and of sending -these notices around to the multitudinous papers within -their influence, done up within the fly-leaves of the book. -The grossness of these base attempts, however, has not -escaped indignant rebuke from the more honorable portion -of the press; and we hail these symptoms of restiveness -under the yoke of unprincipled ignorance and quackery -(strong only in combination) as the harbinger of a better era -for the interests of real merit, and of the national literature -as a whole.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It has become, indeed the plain duty of each individual -connected with our periodicals, heartily to give whatever -influence he possesses, to the good cause of integrity and the -truth. The results thus attainable will be found worthy his -closest attention and best efforts. We shall thus frown -down all conspiracies to foist inanity upon the public consideration -at the obvious expense of every man of talent who -is not a member of a <span class='it'>clique</span> in power. We may even arrive, -in time, at that desirable point from which a distinct view of -our men of letters may be obtained, and their respective -pretensions adjusted, by the standard of a rigorous and self-sustaining -criticism alone. That their several positions are -as yet properly settled; that the posts which a vast number -of them now hold are maintained by any better tenure than -that of the chicanery upon which we have commented, will -be asserted by none but the ignorant, or the parties who have -best right to feel an interest in the “good old condition of -things.” No two matters can be more radically different -than the reputation of some of our prominent <span class='it'>litterateurs</span>, -as gathered from the mouths of the people, (who glean it -from the paragraphs of the papers,) and the same reputation -as deduced from the private estimate of intelligent and educated -men. We do not advance this fact as a new discovery. -Its truth, on the contrary, is the subject, and has long been -so, of every-day witticism and mirth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Why not? Surely there can be few things more ridiculous -than the general character and assumptions of the ordinary -critical notices of new books! An editor, sometimes -without the shadow of the commonest attainment—often -without brains, always without time—does not scruple to -give the world to understand that he is in the <span class='it'>daily</span> habit of -critically reading and deciding upon a flood of publications -one tenth of whose title-pages he may possibly have -turned over, three fourths of whose contents would be Hebrew -to his most desperate efforts at comprehension, and -whose entire mass and amount, as might be mathematically -demonstrated, would be sufficient to occupy, in the most -cursory perusal, the attention of some ten or twenty readers -for a month! What he wants in plausibility, however, he -makes up in obsequiousness; what he lacks in time he supplies -in temper. He is the most easily pleased man in the -world. He admires everything, from the big Dictionary -of Noah Webster to the last diamond edition of Tom -Thumb. Indeed his sole difficulty is in finding tongue to express -his delight. Every pamphlet is a miracle—every -book in boards is an epoch in letters. His phrases, therefore, -get bigger and bigger every day, and, if it were not for -talking Cockney, we might call him a “regular swell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet in the attempt at getting definite information in regard -to any one portion of our literature, the merely general -reader, or the foreigner, will turn in vain from the lighter to -the heavier journals. But it is not our intention here to -dwell upon the radical, antique, and systematized rigmarole -of our Quarterlies. The articles here are anonymous. -Who writes?—who causes to be written? Who but an ass -will put faith in tirades which <span class='it'>may</span> be the result of personal -hostility, or in panegyrics which nine times out of ten may -be laid, directly or indirectly, to the charge of the author -himself? It is in the favor of these saturnine pamphlets -that they contain, now and then, a good essay <span class='it'>de omnibus -rebus et quibusdam aliis</span>, which may be looked into, without -decided somnolent consequences, at any period not immediately -subsequent to dinner. But it is useless to expect -criticism from periodicals called “Reviews” from never reviewing. -Besides, all men know, or should know, that these -books are sadly given to verbiage. It is a part of their nature, -a condition of their being, a point of their faith. A -veteran reviewer loves the safety of generalities, and is -therefore rarely particular. “Words, words, words” are -the secret of his strength. He has one or two ideas of his -own, and is both wary and fussy in giving them out. His -wit lies with his truth, in a well, and there is always a world -of trouble in getting it up. He is a sworn enemy to all -things simple and direct. He gives no ear to the advice of -the giant Moulineau—“<span class='it'>Belier, mon ami, commencez au -commencement.</span>” He either jumps at once into the middle -of his subject, or breaks in at a back door, or sidles up to it -with the gait of a crab. No other mode of approach has an -air of sufficient profundity. When fairly into it, however, -he becomes dazzled with the scintillations of his own wisdom, -and is seldom able to see his way out. Tired of laughing -at his antics, or frightened at seeing him flounder, the -reader at length shuts him up, with the book. “What song -the Syrens sang,” says Sir Thomas Browne, “or what name -Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, -though puzzling questions, are not beyond <span class='it'>all</span> conjecture”—but -it would puzzle Sir Thomas, backed by Achilles and all -the Syrens in Heathendom, to say, in nine cases out of ten, -<span class='it'>what is the object</span> of a thorough-going Quarterly Reviewer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Should the opinions promulgated by our press at large be -taken, in their wonderful aggregate, as an evidence of what -American literature absolutely is, (and it may be said that, -in general, they are really so taken,) we shall find ourselves -the most enviable set of people upon the face of the earth. -Our fine writers are legion. Our very atmosphere is redolent -of genius; and we, the nation, are a huge, well-contented -chameleon, grown pursy by inhaling it. We are <span class='it'>teretes -et rotundi</span>—enwrapped in excellence. All our poets are -Miltons, neither mute nor inglorious; all our poetesses are -“American Hemanses;” nor will it do to deny that all our -novelists are great Knowns or great Unknowns, and that -every body who writes, in every possible and impossible department, -is the admirable Crichton, or at least the admirable -Crichton’s ghost. We are thus in a glorious condition, -and will remain so until forced to disgorge our ethereal -honors. In truth, there is some danger that the jealousy of -the Old World will interfere. It cannot long submit to that -outrageous monopoly of “all the decency and all the talent” -in which the gentlemen of the press give such undoubted -assurance of our being so busily engaged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we feel angry with ourselves for the jesting tone of -our observations upon this topic. The prevalence of the -spirit of puffery is a subject far less for merriment than for -disgust. Its truckling, yet dogmatical character—its bold, -unsustained, yet self-sufficient and wholesale laudation—is -becoming, more and more, an insult to the common sense of -the community. Trivial as it essentially is, it has yet been -made the instrument of the grossest abuse in the elevation -of imbecility, to the manifest injury, to the utter ruin, of true -merit. Is there any man of good feeling and of ordinary understanding—is -there one single individual among all our -readers—who does not feel a thrill of bitter indignation, -apart from any sentiment of mirth, as he calls to mind instance -after instance of the purest, of the most unadulterated -quackery in letters, which has risen to a high post in the apparent -popular estimation, and which still maintains it, by -the sole means of a blustering arrogance, or of a busy wriggling -conceit, or of the most barefaced plagiarism, or even -through the simple immensity of its assumptions—assumptions -not only unopposed by the press at large, but absolutely -supported in proportion to the vociferous clamor with -which they are made—in exact accordance with their utter -baselessness and untenability? We should have no trouble -in pointing out, to-day, some twenty or thirty so-called literary -personages, who, if not idiots, as we half think them, -or if not hardened to all sense of shame by a long course of -disingenuousness, will now blush, in the perusal of these -words, through consciousness of the shadowy nature of that -purchased pedestal upon which they stand—will now tremble -in thinking of the feebleness of the breath which will be -adequate to the blowing it from beneath their feet. With the -help of a hearty good will, even <span class='it'>we</span> may yet tumble them -down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So firm, through a long endurance, has been the hold -taken upon the popular mind (at least so far as we may -consider the popular mind reflected in ephemeral letters) -by the laudatory system which we have deprecated, that -what is, in its own essence, a vice, has become endowed -with the appearance, and met with the reception of a -virtue. Antiquity, as usual, has lent a certain degree of -speciousness even to the absurd. So continuously have -we puffed, that we have at length come to think puffing the -duty, and plain speaking the dereliction. What we began -in gross error, we persist in through habit. Having adopted, -in the earlier days of our literature, the untenable idea -that this literature, as a whole, could be advanced by an indiscriminate -approbation bestowed on its every effort—having -adopted this idea, we say, without attention to the -obvious fact that praise of all was bitter although negative -censure to the few alone deserving, and that the only result -of the system, in the fostering way, would be the fostering -of folly—we now continue our vile practices through the -supineness of custom, even while, in our national self-conceit, -we repudiate that necessity for patronage and protection -in which originated our conduct. In a word, the press -throughout the country has not been ashamed to make head -against the very few bold attempts at independence which -have, from time to time, been made in the face of the reigning -order of things. And if, in one, or perhaps two, insulated -cases, the spirit of severe truth, sustained by an unconquerable -will, was not to be so put down, then, forthwith, were -private chicaneries set in motion; then was had resort, on -the part of those who considered themselves injured by the -severity of criticism, (and who were so, if the just contempt -of every ingenuous man is injury,) resort to arts of the most -virulent indignity, to untraceable slanders, to ruthless assassination -in the dark. We say these things were done, while -the press in general looked on, and, with a full understanding -of the wrong perpetrated, spoke not against the wrong. -The idea had absolutely gone abroad—had grown up little -by little into toleration—that attacks however just, upon a -literary reputation however obtained, however untenable, -were well retaliated by the basest and most unfounded traduction -of personal fame. But is this an age—is this a -day—in which it can be necessary even to advert to such -considerations as that the book of the author is the property -of the public, and that the issue of the book is the throwing -down of the gauntlet to the reviewer—to the reviewer -whose duty is the plainest; the duty not even of approbation, -or of censure, or of silence, at his own will, but at the -sway of those sentiments and of those opinions which are -derived from the author himself, through the medium of his -written and published words? True criticism is the reflection -of the thing criticised upon the spirit of the critic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But <span class='it'>à nos moutons</span>—to the “Quacks of Helicon.” This -satire has many faults besides those upon which we have -commented. The tide, for example, is not sufficiently distinctive, -although otherwise good. It does not confine the -subject to <span class='it'>American</span> quacks, while the work does. The two -concluding lines enfeeble instead of strengthening the <span class='it'>finale</span>, -which would have been exceedingly pungent without them. -The individual portions of the thesis are strung together too -much at random—a natural sequence is not always preserved—so -that although the lights of the picture are often -forcible, the whole has what, in artistical parlance, is termed -an accidental and spotty appearance. In truth, the parts of -the poem have evidently been composed each by each, as -separate themes, and afterwards fitted into the general satire, -in the best manner possible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But a more reprehensible sin than any or than all of these -is yet to be mentioned—the sin of indiscriminate censure. -Even here Mr. Wilmer has erred through imitation. He -has held in view the sweeping denunciations of the Dunciad, -and of the later (abortive) satire of Byron. No one in his -senses can deny the justice of the general charges of corruption -in regard to which we have just spoken from the -text of our author. But are there <span class='it'>no</span> exceptions? We -should indeed blush if there were not. And is there <span class='it'>no</span> -hope? Time will show. We cannot do everything in a -day—<span class='it'>Non se gano Zamora en un ora</span>. Again, it cannot -be gainsaid that the greater number of those who hold high -places in our poetical literature are absolute nincompoops—fellows -alike innocent of reason and of rhyme. But neither -are we <span class='it'>all</span> brainless, nor is the devil himself so black as he -is painted. Mr. Wilmer must read the chapter in Rabelais’ -<span class='it'>Gargantua</span>, “<span class='it'>de ce qu’ est signifié par les couleurs blanc -et bleu</span>”—for there is <span class='it'>some</span> difference after all. It will not -do in a civilized land to run a-muck like a Malay. Mr. -Morris <span class='it'>has</span> written good songs. Mr. Bryant is not <span class='it'>all</span> a fool. -Mr. Willis is not <span class='it'>quite</span> an ass. Mr. Longfellow <span class='it'>will</span> steal, -but perhaps he cannot help it, (for we have heard of such -things,) and then it must not be denied that <span class='it'>nil tetigit quod -non ornavit</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fact is that our author, in the rank exuberance of his -zeal, seems to think as little of discrimination as the Bishop -of Autun<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a> did of the Bible. Poetical “things in general” are -the windmills at which he spurs his rozinante. He as often -tilts at what is true as at what is false; and thus his lines -are like the mirrors of the temples of Smirna, which represent -the fairest images as deformed. But the talent, the -fearlessness, and especially the <span class='it'>design</span> of this book, will suffice -to save it even from that dreadful damnation of “silent -contempt” to which editors throughout the country, if we -are not very much mistaken, will endeavor, one and all, to -consign it.</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'>Talleyrand.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Biography and Poetical Remains of the late Margaret -Miller Davidson. By</span> <span class='sc'>Washington Irving</span>. <span class='it'>Philadelphia: -Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of Lucretia Davidson is familiar to all readers -of Poetry. Dying at the early age of seventeen, she has been -rendered famous not less, and certainly not more, by her -own precocious genius than by three memorable biographies—one -by President Morse, of the American Society of -Arts, another by Miss Sedgwick, and a third by Robert -Southey. Mr. Irving had formed an acquaintance with some -of her relatives, and thus, while, in Europe, took great interest -in all that was said or written of his young countrywoman. -Upon his return to America, he called upon Mrs. -Davidson, and then, in 1833, first saw the subject of the -memoir now before us—a fairy-like child of eleven. Three -years afterwards he met with her again, and then found her -in delicate health. Three years having again elapsed, the -MSS. which form the basis of the present volume, were -placed in his hands by Mrs. Davidson, as all that remained -of her daughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Few books have interested us more profoundly. Yet the -interest does not appertain solely to Margaret. “In fact the -narrative,” says Mr. Irving, “will be found almost as illustrative -of the character of the mother as of the child; they -were singularly identified in taste, feeling, and pursuits; -tenderly entwined together by maternal and filial affection, -they reflected an inexpressibly touching grace and interest -upon each other by this holy relationship, and, to my mind -it would be marring one of the most beautiful and affecting -groups in modern literature, to sunder them.” In these -words the biographer conveys no more than a just idea of -the exquisite loveliness of the picture here presented to -view.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The MSS. handed Mr. Irving, have been suffered, in great -measure, to tell their own thrilling tale. There has been no -injudicious attempt at mere authorship. The compiler has -confined himself to chronological arrangement of his memoranda, -and to such simple and natural comments as serve to -bind rather than to illustrate where no illustration was -needed. These memoranda consist of relations by Mrs. Davidson -of the infantine peculiarities of her daughter, and of -her habits and general thoughts in more matured life, intermingled -with letters from the young poetess to intimate -friends. There is also a letter from the bereaved mother to -Miss Sedgwick, detailing the last moments of the child—a -letter so full of all potent nature, so full of minute beauty -and truth and pathos, that to read it without tears would be to -prove one’s self less than human.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The “Poetical Remains” of this young creature, who -perished (of consumption) in her sixteenth year, occupy -about two hundred pages of a somewhat closely printed -octavo. The longest poem is called “Lenore,” and consists -of some two thousand lines, varying in metre from the ordinary -octo-syllabic, to the four-footed, or twelve-syllabled -iambic. The story, which is a romantic love-tale, not ill-conceived -in its incidents, is told with a skill which might -put more practised bards to the blush, and with occasional -bursts of the truest poetic fire. But although as indicative -of her future power, it is the most important, as it is the -longest of her productions, yet as a whole it is not equal to -some of her shorter compositions. It was written not long -before her death, at the age of fifteen, and (as we glean from -the biography) after patient reflection, with much care, and -with a high resolve to do something for fame. As the work -of so mere a child, it is unquestionably wonderful. Its -<span class='it'>length</span>, viewed in connection with its keeping, its unity, its -adaptation, and completeness, will impress the metaphysician -most forcibly, when surveying the capacities of its -author. Powers are here brought into play which are the -last to be matured. For fancy we might have looked, and -for the lower evidences of skill in a perfect versification and -the like, but hardly for what we see in Lenore.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet remarkable as this production is, from the pen of a -girl of fifteen, it is by no means so incomprehensible as are -some of the shorter pieces. We have known instances—rarely, -to be sure—but still we have known instances when -finer poems in every respect than Lenore have been written -by children of as immature age—but we look around us in -vain for anything composed at eight years, which can bear -comparison with the lines subjoined—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        “TO MAMMA.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Farewell, dear mother, for a while</p> -<p class='line0'>I must resign thy plaintive smile;</p> -<p class='line0'>May angels watch thy couch of wo,</p> -<p class='line0'>And joys unceasing round thee flow.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“May the almighty Father spread</p> -<p class='line0'>His sheltering wings above thy head.</p> -<p class='line0'>It is not long that we must part,</p> -<p class='line0'>Then cheer thy downcast drooping heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Remember, oh! remember me,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unceasing is my love for thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>When death shall sever earthly ties,</p> -<p class='line0'>When thy loved form all senseless lies,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Oh! that my form with thine could flee,</p> -<p class='line0'>And roam through wide eternity;</p> -<p class='line0'>Could tread with thee the courts of heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>And count the brilliant stars of even.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Nor are these stanzas, written at ten, in any degree less -remarkable—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>      “MY NATIVE LAKE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Thy verdant banks, thy lucid stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lit by the sun’s resplendent beam,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reflect each bending tree so light</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon thy bounding bosom bright.</p> -<p class='line0'>Could I but see thee once again,</p> -<p class='line0'>My own, my beautiful Champlain!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“The little isles that deck thy breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>And calmly on thy bosom rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>How often, in my childish glee,</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ve sported round them, bright and free!</p> -<p class='line0'>Could I but see thee once again,</p> -<p class='line0'>My own, my beautiful Champlain!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“How oft I’ve watch’d the fresh’ning shower</p> -<p class='line0'>Bending the summer tree and flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>And felt my little heart beat high</p> -<p class='line0'>As the bright rainbow graced the sky.</p> -<p class='line0'>Could I but see thee once again,</p> -<p class='line0'>My own, my beautiful Champlain!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And shall I never see thee more,</p> -<p class='line0'>My native lake, my much-loved shore</p> -<p class='line0'>And must I bid a long adieu,</p> -<p class='line0'>My dear, my infant home, to you?</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall I not see thee once again,</p> -<p class='line0'>My own, my beautiful Champlain?”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>In the way of criticism upon these extraordinary compositions, -Mr. Irving has attempted little, and, in general, he -seems more affected by the loveliness and the purity of the -child than even by the genius she has evinced—however -highly he may have estimated this latter. In respect, however, -to a poem entitled “My Sister Lucretia,”—he thus -speaks—“We have said that the example of her sister Lucretia -was incessantly before her, and no better proof can -be given of it than in the following lines, which breathe the -heavenly aspirations of her pure young spirit, <span class='it'>in strains to -us quite unearthly. We may have read poetry more</span> -<span class='it'>artificially perfect in its structure, but never any more -truly divine in its inspiration.</span>” The nature of inspiration -is disputable—and we will not pretend to assert that Mr. -Irving is in the wrong. His words, however, in their hyperbole, -do wrong to his subject, and would be hyperbole still, -if applied to the most exalted poets of all time.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Incidents of Travel in Central America, etc. By</span> <span class='sc'>John -L. Stephens</span>. <span class='it'>Two Volumes. New York: Harper and -Brothers.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Stephens’ former book, “Incidents of Travel in Egypt, -Arabia Petrea, and Palestine,” was everywhere well received, -and gained him high reputation—reputation not -altogether well deserved. No one can deny his personal -merits as a traveller, his enthusiasm, boldness, acuteness, -courage in danger, and perseverance under difficulty. His -manner of narration is also exceedingly pleasing; frank, -unembarrassed and direct, without pretension or attempt at -effect. But neither were his reflections characterised by -profundity, nor had he that degree of education which -would have enabled him to travel, with benefit to himself or -to others, through regions involving so much of historical -importance as Egypt, and especially as Arabia Petrea. -Through a deficiency of previous information in regard to -the moot points of this classical ground, he suffered many -things to pass unexamined, whose examination would have -thrown light upon history, and lustre upon his own name. -Our remarks here apply more particularly to the southern -regions of Arabia. In regard to Arabia Petrea, he committed -some errors of magnitude. Before entering upon his -travels, he had been much interested in Keith’s book upon -the literal fulfilment of the Biblical Prophecies. In this -work the predictions of Isaiah, respecting the ancient Idumea, -are especially insisted upon, and the sentence, “<span class='it'>None -shall pass through thee forever and ever</span>,” quoted as a -remarkable instance of literal fulfilment. Dr. Keith states -roundly that all attempts at passing through Idumea have actually -failed, and expresses his belief that such will always -be the case. Mr. Stephens resolved to test this point, and -congratulates himself and his readers upon the success of -his attempt at traversing the disputed region from one end -to the other. The truth is, however, that Arabia Petrea, -through which he unquestionably did pass, <span class='it'>is not at all the -Idumea alluded to in the prophecies</span>, this latter lying much -farther to the eastward. The traveller had contented himself -with the usual understanding upon this subject. In the -matter of the prophecy, both he and Dr. Keith might have -spared themselves much trouble by an examination of the -Biblical text in the original, before founding a question upon -it. In an article on this head, which appeared in the New -York Review, we pointed out an obvious mistranslation in -the Hebrew words of the prediction—a mistranslation -which proves Mr. Stephens to have thrown away his courage -and labor. The passage in Isaiah 34, 10, which is rendered -in our bibles by the sentence, “And none shall pass -through thee forever and ever,” runs in the original Hebrew -thus—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Lenetsach metsachim ein over bah.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>Literally—<span class='it'>Lenetsach</span>, for an eternity; <span class='it'>metsachim</span>, of eternities; -<span class='it'>ein</span>, not; <span class='it'>over</span>, moving about; <span class='it'>bah</span>, in it. For an -eternity of eternities (there shall) not (be any one) moving -about in it. The literal meaning of <span class='it'>bah</span> is “in it,” and not -“through it.” The participle <span class='it'>over</span>, refers to one moving to -and fro, or up and down, and is the same phrase which is -rendered “current,” as an epithet applied to money, in Genesis, -23, 16. The prophet only intends to say that there -shall be no marks of life in the land, no living being there, -no one moving up and down in it. A similar mistranslation -exists in regard to the prophecy in Ezekiel, 35, 7, where -death is threatened (according to the usual construction) to -any traveller who shall <span class='it'>pass through</span>. The words are</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Venathati eth har Seir leshimmamah ushemmamah, -vehichrati mimmennu over vasal</span>—</p> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>Literally, “And I will give the mountain Seir for a desolation -and a desolation, and I will cut off from it him that -goeth and him that returneth.” By “him that goeth and him -that returneth,” reference is had to the passers to and fro, -to the inhabitants. The prophet speaks only of the general -abandonment and desolation of the land.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are not prepared to say that misunderstandings of this -character will be found in the present “Incidents of Travel.” -Of Central America, and her antiquities, Mr. Stephens may -know, and no doubt does know, as much as the most learned -antiquarian. Here all is darkness. We have not yet received -from the Messieurs Harper a copy of the book, and -can only speak of its merits from general report, and from -the cursory perusal which has been afforded us by the politeness -of a friend. The work is certainly a magnificent -one—perhaps the most interesting book of travel ever published. -An idea has gone abroad that the narrative is confined -to descriptions and drawings of Palenque; but this is -very far from the case. Mr. S. explored no less than six -ruined cities. The “incidents,” moreover, are numerous, -and highly amusing. The traveller visited these regions at -a momentous time; during the civil war, in which Carrera -and Morazan were participants. He encountered many -dangers, and his hair-breadth escapes are particularly exciting.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Marrying Man. A Novel. By the Author of</span> “<span class='sc'>Cousin -Geoffrey</span>.” <span class='it'>Two Volumes. Philadelphia: Lea and -Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This novel is <span class='it'>inscribed</span> to Theodore Hook, who, we are -given to understand in the preface, was the <span class='it'>chaperon</span> of -“Cousin Geoffrey,” and “The Old Bachelor,”—two books -of which we indistinctly remember to have heard. The -“Marrying Man” is not badly written, and will answer sufficiently -well for the ordinary patrons of the circulating -library. Better books might have been re-published, no -doubt; but this, we presume, will sell, and thus serve its -purpose.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Poems and Prose Writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield. -Two Volumes. Vol. the First. Philadelphia. -Printed for the Proprietor.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a large octavo, embracing, we believe, the principal -poems of Mr. Fairfield, if not all of them, and to be followed -by a collection of his prose writings. His prose, so -far as we have had an opportunity of judging, is scarcely -worth reading. His poems have, in many respects, merit—in -some respects, merit of a high order. His themes are -often well selected, lofty, and giving evidence of the true -spirit. But their execution is always disfigured by a miserable -verbiage—words meaning nothing, although sounding -like sense, like the nonsense verses of Du Bartas.</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Moneyed Man. By</span> <span class='sc'>Horace Smith.</span> <span class='it'>Two Volumes. -Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a good book, and well worth the re-publication. -The story is skilfully constructed, and conveys an excellent -moral. Horace Smith is one of the authors of the “Rejected -Addresses.” He is, perhaps, the most erudite of all the -English novelists, and unquestionably one of the best in -every respect. His style is peculiarly good.</p> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Science of Government. Founded on Natural Law. -By</span> <span class='sc'>Clinton Roosevelt</span>. <span class='it'>New York: Dean and Trevett. -Philadelphia: Drew and Scammel.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Will <span class='it'>any</span> one be kind enough to tell us who is Mr. Clinton -Roosevelt? We wish to know, of course. Mr. Roosevelt -has published a little book. It consists of a hundred little -pages. Ten of these pages would make one of our own. -But a clever man may do a great thing in a small way, and -Mr. Roosevelt is unquestionably a clever man. For this we -have his own word, and who should know all about it better -than he? Hear him!—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Learned men have long contended that it was impossible -for any human intellect to grasp what has been here attempted;—that -a Cyclopædia only could embrace in one -view all the arts and sciences which minister to man’s necessity -and happiness—and <span class='it'>that</span> they give but little credit -for, as a Cyclopædia is a mere arbitary [we follow Mr. R.’s -spelling as in duty bound] alphabetical arrangement. <span class='it'>We</span> -[Mr. Roosevelt is a <span class='it'>we</span>] would not say we have done even -what we have without much toil and sacrifice. It has cost -the best ten years of the writer’s life to settle its great principles, -and give it form and substance. The great interests -of man were in a state of chaos, and this science [Mr. Roosevelt’s] -is to harmonise them, and run side by side with true -religion so far as that is meant ‘to feed the hungry, clothe -the naked, and make on earth peace and good will to -man.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ah!—we begin to breathe freely once more. We <span class='it'>had</span> -thought that the world and all in it (this hot weather) were -going to the dogs,—“proceeding to the canines,” as Bilberry -has it—but here is Mr. Roosevelt, and we feel more assured. -We entrench ourselves in security behind his little book. -“A larger work,” says he, “would have been more imposing -in appearance, but the truth is, large works and long -speeches are rarely made by men of powerful thought.” -Never was anything more true. “As to boasting,” he continues, -very continuously, “the writer is well aware that it -is the worst policy imaginable.” In this opinion we do not -so entirely acquiesce. “The little man”—says he—the -reader will perceive that we are so rapt in admiration of Mr. -Roosevelt that we quote him at random—“The little man -may say this book was not done <span class='it'>secundum artem</span>—not -nicely or critically.” He must be a <span class='it'>very</span> little man indeed, -who would say so. <span class='it'>We</span> think he has done it <span class='it'>quite</span> nicely. -“My tone”—we here go on with Mr. Roosevelt—“may -seem not strictly according to <span class='it'>bien science</span>.” Oh, yes is it, -Mr. Roosevelt; don’t distress yourself now—it is, we assure -you, very strictly according to <span class='it'>bien science</span>, (good heavens!) -and to every thing else.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These remarks,” he observes, “are made that none may -lightly damn the work.” Of course; any one who should -damn it lightly should be damned himself. “But liberal -criticism [ah! that is the thing,] will be accepted as a -favor, [the smallest favors thankfully accepted] and -writers who may undertake the task will confer an obligation -by directing a copy of their articles to the author, at -New York, from England, France or Germany, or any part -of our own country where this work may reach.” Certainly; -no critic could do less—no liberal critic. We shall -send Mr. Roosevelt a copy of our criticism from Philadelphia, -and we would do the same thing if we were living at -Timbuctoo.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L. By</span> <span class='sc'>Laman -Blanchard.</span> <span class='it'>2 vols. Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work contains the most authentic biography of the -lamented L. E. L. yet issued from the press, together with a -collection of her posthumous pieces, and several lighter effusions -already published. The volumes possess uncommon -interest. The detail of her every-day life, the picture of -her gaiety and sweetness, and the criticisms on her genius, -will commend it to all who have loved, in other days, the -poetry of this sweet writer. Nor will the details of her -melancholy death prove of less interest. After fully examining -all the evidence relating to this tragedy, the author -arrives at the conclusion that her death was natural, and instigated -neither by her own sorrows nor by the jealousy of -others. The conduct of her husband seems, in every respect, -to have been without censure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the genius of Miss Landon it is almost unnecessary to -speak. Without the elegance of Mrs. Hemans, she had considerable -grace; with a fine ear, she was often careless in -her rhythm; possessing a fancy exuberant and glowing, she -showered her metaphors too indiscriminately around her. -But few equalled her—if we may so speak—in the <span class='it'>passionate -purity</span> of her verse. Affection breathed through -every line she wrote. Perhaps there was a mannerism, certainly -an affectation, in her constant reference to love, and -blighted love especially; but even this error was made seductive -by the never-ceasing variety which she contrived to -throw around her theme, and the sweetness, richness, and enthusiasm -of her song. Her great faults were a want of -method, and a careless, rapid habit of composition. From -first to last, she was emphatically an “<span class='it'>improvisatrice</span>.” -She wrote from whim rather than from plan, and consequently -was often trite, and always careless. These observations -will apply, we think, equally to her prose. Her -“Ethell Churchill” may be taken as a specimen, and the -best specimen, of her style in romance writing. It would -be almost invidious to name any one of her long poems as -the finest. In her shorter pieces she is often more successful -than in more extended flights; and some of her most -carelessly written stanzas glitter most with the dew of Castaly. -Without fear of contradiction, we may say that she -has left no living female poet to compete with her in fame, -unless Mrs. Norton may be said to be her rival; and even -with Mrs. Norton, so different are the two writers, no parallel -can be drawn. Let us be contented with placing Hemans, -Landon and Norton together in one glorious trio—the sweetest, -brightest, loftiest of the female poets of the present generation.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Lectures on the Sphere and Character of Woman, and -Other Subjects. By</span> <span class='sc'>George W. Burnap</span>, <span class='it'>Pastor of the -First Independent Church of Baltimore. Philadelphia: -Kay and Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>These lectures are designed as a <span class='it'>pendant</span> to a course delivered -to the Young Men of Baltimore, last winter, by Mr. -Burnap. From the “Sphere and Duties” of Woman the author -has excluded all allusion to her physical education and -her political rights—regarding the first as a topic for the -physician, the last for the jurist. Perhaps this subdivision -is injudicious. At all events, from what we here know of -Mr. Burnap, we should have been pleased to have his subject -extended to Woman in all her relations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume appears to us not only well written, but forcibly -original in many of its views and illustrations. A passage, -at page 50, in which the lecturer suggests the idea of -an instinctive reverence in which each sex holds the other, -is not only new, but embodies a truth of important result. -Mr. B. justly styles the feeling a human religion. Its moral -effects are unquestionably great. The deterioration of every -community which isolates the sexes, or prevents their free -intercommunication, is here traced to a distinct and sufficient -cause.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These lectures are handsomely printed and bound, and -would form an appropriate present to any lady.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Lady of Refinement in Manners, Morals and Religion. -By</span> <span class='sc'>Mrs. Sandford</span>, <span class='it'>Author of “Woman in her -Social and Domestic Character.” James Loring: -Boston.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Sandford is the wife of an English clergyman, and -has given frequent evidences of her capacity. Her former -work, “Woman in her Social and Domestic Character,” -was well received in her own country. Whether it has -been re-published here we cannot say. “The Lady of Refinement” -is well written, and appears to be carefully matured -in its opinions.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sec'></a>SECRET WRITING.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Our remarks on this head, in the July number, have excited -much interest. The subject is unquestionably one of -importance, when we regard cryptography as an exercise for -the analytical faculties. In this view, men of the finest abilities -have given it much of their attention; and the invention -of a perfect cipher was a point to which Lord Chancellor -Bacon devoted many months;—devoted them in vain, -for the cryptograph which he has thought worthy a place -in his <span class='it'>De Augmentis</span>, is one which can be solved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just as we were going to press with the last sheet of this -number, we received the following letter from F. W. Thomas, -Esq., (of Washington,) the well-known author of “Clinton -Bradshawe,” “Howard Pinckney,” &c. &c.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>My Dear Sir</span>:—The enclosed cryptograph is from a -friend of mine (Dr. Frailey,) who thinks he can puzzle you. -If you decipher it, then are you a magician, for he has used, -as I think, the greatest art in making it.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:5em;'>Your friend,</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'><span class='sc'>F. W. Thomas</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/crypto.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This cipher is printed precisely as we received it, with -the exception that we have substituted, for convenience sake, -in some instances, characters that we have in the office, for -others that we have not. Of course, as these characters are -substituted <span class='it'>throughout</span>, the cryptograph is not affected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By return of mail we sent the solution to Mr. Thomas; but -as the cipher is an exceedingly ingenious one, we forbear -publishing its translation here, and prefer testing the ability -of our readers to solve it. <span class='it'>We will give a year’s subscription -to the Magazine, and also a year’s subscription to -the Saturday Evening Post, to any person, or rather to -the first person who shall read us this riddle.</span> We have -no expectation that it will be read; and, therefore, should -the month pass without an answer forthcoming, we will -furnish the key to the cipher, and again offer a year’s subscription -to the Magazine, to any person who shall solve it -<span class='it'>with the key</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lest the tenor of our observations on Cryptography should -be misunderstood, and especially lest the nature of our challenge -should be misconceived, we take occasion to refer to -our Review of Mr. Walsh’s “Sketches of Conspicuous -Living Characters of France,” published in the April number -of the Magazine. M. Berryer, the French Minister, is -there said to have displayed the highest ingenuity in the solution -of a cipher addressed by the Duchess of Berri to the -legitimists of Paris, but of which she had neglected to furnish -the key. Berryer discovered this to be the phrase “Le -gouvernement provisoire.” Beneath this sentence the alphabet -had been placed, letter for letter; and thus when <span class='it'>a</span> -was intended <span class='it'>l</span> was written, when <span class='it'>b</span> was meant <span class='it'>e</span> was substituted, -and so on throughout. This species of cryptograph -is justly considered very difficult. We remarked, however, -that we would engage to read any one <span class='it'>of the kind</span>; and to -this limit our correspondents must confine themselves. To -be sure, we said, in our last number, that “human ingenuity -could not construct a cipher which human ingenuity could -not resolve”—but then we do not propose, just now, to -make ourselves individually the test of “human ingenuity” -in general. We do not propose to solve <span class='it'>all</span> ciphers. -Whether we can or cannot do this is a question for another -day—a day when we have more leisure than at present we -have any hope of enjoying. The most simple cryptograph -requires, in its solution, labor, patience, and much time. -We therefore abide by the limits of our cartel. It is true -that in attempting the perusal of Dr. Frailey’s we have exceeded -these limits by very much; but we were seduced -into the endeavor to read it by the decided manner in which -an opinion was expressed that we could not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>E. St. J. will observe that his cipher includes <span class='it'>every</span> letter -of the natural alphabet. Then (admitting it to be a cipher -of the kind proposed) his key-phrase must contain every -letter of the natural alphabet. In such case no letter of the -phrase can stand <span class='it'>for more than one</span> of the alphabet, and the -whole would be nothing more than a simple cipher, where -the natural characters are represented, invariably and respectively, -by arbitrary ones. But in this supposition there -could be no such words as <span class='it'>ll</span>, &c.—words seen in the cryptograph. -<span class='it'>Therefore</span>, his cipher is <span class='it'>not</span> within the limits -prescribed—Q. E. D. We do not say that we <span class='it'>cannot</span> solve -it, but that we will not make the attempt. This for the obvious -reasons above assigned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>P. S. We have just received the annexed letter from Mr. -Thomas, enclosing one from Dr. Frailey:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'><span class='sc'>Washington</span>, July 6th, 1841.</p> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>My Dear Sir</span>,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This morning I received yours of yesterday, deciphering -the “cryptograph” which I sent you last week, from my -friend, Doctor Frailey. You request that I would obtain the -Doctor’s acknowledgment of your solution. I have just received -the enclosed from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Doctor Frailey had heard me speak of your having deciphered -a letter which our mutual friend, Dow, wrote upon -a challenge from you last year, at my lodgings in your city, -when Aaron Burr’s correspondence in cipher was the subject -of our conversation. You laughed at what you termed -Burr’s shallow artifice, and said you could decipher any -such cryptography easily. To test you on the spot, Dow -withdrew to the corner of the room, and wrote a letter in -cipher, which you solved in a much shorter time than it -took him to indite it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As Doctor Frailey seemed to doubt your skill to the extent -of my belief in it, when your article on “Secret Writing” -appeared in the last number of your Magazine, I showed it -to him. After reading it, he remarked that he thought he -could puzzle you, and the next day he handed me the cryptograph -which I transmitted to you. He did not tell me the -key. The uncommon nature of his article, of which I gave -you not the slightest hint, made me express to you my strong -doubts of your ability to make the solution. I confess that -your solution, so speedily and correctly made, surprised me. -I congratulate myself that I do not live in an age when the -black art is believed in, for, innocent as I am of all knowledge -of cryptography, I should be arrested as an accessory -before the fact, and, though I escaped, it is certain that you -would have to die the death, and, alas! I fear upon my testimony.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:5em;'>Your friend,</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'><span class='sc'>F. W. Thomas</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:1.5em;margin-top:0.5em;margin-bottom:2em;'>Edgar A. Poe, Esq.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'><span class='sc'>Washington</span>, July 6th, 1841.</p> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Dear Sir</span>,</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. I am the more astonished -at this since—— [We omit the remainder of the letter, -since it enters into details which would give our readers -some clue to the cipher.]</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em;'>As ever, yours, &c.,</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'><span class='sc'>Chas. S. Frailey</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:1.5em;margin-top:0.5em;'>F. W. Thomas, Esq.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i109.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0006' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'>LATEST FASHIONS, AUGUST 1841. FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<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. -Archaic spellings and inconsistencies in 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. 2, August 1841</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. 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