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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..34f9179 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67450 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67450) diff --git a/old/67450-0.txt b/old/67450-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bca579f..0000000 --- a/old/67450-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6993 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, -March 1842, 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. XX, No. 3, March 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: February 20, 2022 [eBook #67450] - -Language: English - -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 - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, -NO. 3, MARCH 1842 *** - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XX. March, 1842 No. 3. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Crowning of Powhatan - German Writers, Heinrich Heine - The Two Dukes - May Evelyn - The Doom of the Traitress - The First Step - Dreams of the Land and Sea - The Lady and the Page - Imagination - Harry Cavendish continued - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - To One Departed - The Young Widow - The Freshet - Marches for the Dead - To Isa in Heaven - An Epistle to Fanny - The Stranger’s Funeral - Agathè.—A Necromaunt - Western hospitality - Fancies About a Rosebud - A Lady Heard a Minstrel Sing - Spring Fashions - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: J. G. Chapman, R. Hinshelwood. _The Crowning of -Powhatan._ _Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from an Original Picture_] - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XX. PHILADELPHIA: MARCH, 1842. No. 3. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE CROWNING OF POWHATAN. - - -The settlement at Jamestown was begun in 1606. Among the earliest of the -adventurers was the chivalrous Captain Smith, whose life was a romance -even in those romantic days. He soon came to be the leader of the -colonists, and it was through his exertions that the settlement was kept -up, amid privations and dangers almost incredible. The story of his -capture by the Indians, and his preservation from death by Pocahontas, -has become a national tradition, and poets have sung, orators declaimed, -and novelists penned volumes to record the bravery of the Captain, and -the love of the Indian maid. But, perhaps, nowhere is the story told -with such effect as in the “Generall Historie” of the gallant Smith -himself, a work published in 1624, and still to be met with in the -libraries of the curious. The book is a rarity. It is adorned with -maps,—not the most correct, to be sure—and with engravings setting -forth the various perilous situations of the author, over which a -book-worm would gloat for a month. The narrative is written in a plain, -frank, unassuming style, and the author is always spoken of in the third -person. To this book we are indebted for an account of the crowning of -Powhatan, and our only regret is that our limits will not suffer us to -give the quaint language of Smith. - -This singular ceremony took place in 1608, and was performed at the -instigation of the council at home, who sent over the necessary insignia -by Capt. Newport from London. The object of the ceremony was to -propitiate Powhatan, and induce him to guide the colonists to the -country of the _Monacons_, whom the dreamy adventurers, exaggerating the -casual hints of the Indians, had pictured to themselves as a people of -boundless wealth. It is evident, from the “Generall Historie,” that -Smith did not approve of the measure, for he says appositely—“As for -the coronation of Powhatan, and his presents of Basin and Ewer, Bed, -Bedstead, Clothes, &c., and such costly novelties, they had been much -better spared than so ill spent, for we had his favor much better only -for a plain piece of copper.” The measure had been resolved on at home, -however, and Captain Smith had no alternative but to obey. Accordingly, -he sent a messenger to Powhatan to come and receive his presents; but -the Indian monarch, with the spirit of an Alexander, replied, “If your -King have sent me presents, I also am a King, and this is my land: eight -days I will stay to receive them. Your father is to come to me, not I to -him.” The Captain now sent the presents “a hundred miles by river,” as -he tells us, to Powhatan. Here a masked ball and other festivities came -off, in which the Captain seems to have been quite a favorite with the -Indian belles. At length the ceremony of the coronation was performed, -but, if the bold Captain speaks aright, it must have been a sorry -crowning. He says, “But a sore trouble there was to make him kneel to -receive his crown, he neither knowing the majesty nor meaning of a -crown, nor bending of the knee, endured as many persuasions, examples -and instructions as enraged them all. At last, _by bearing hard on his -shoulders_, he a little stooped, and those having the crown in their -hands put it on his head, when by the warning of a pistol, the boats -were prepared with such a volley of shot, that the King started up with -a horrible fear, till he saw all was well.” A graphic picture. A sturdy -old republican was Powhatan, having no notion of their crown! We imagine -we can see the perturbation of the good Captain and his followers when -they found that the old warrior would not kneel, and the glee with which -they regarded their success, when, by pressing hard on the royal -shoulders, they surprised him into being duly crowned. - -The honor, however, failed of its object. Powhatan would give no aid to -the colonists in their designs on the Monacons, although that people was -a sworn enemy to his race. He proudly said that he needed no ally—that -he could conquer his foes alone. The only return he made for the gifts -of the council was a present of an old pair of slippers and a mantle to -Capt. Newport. The picture, by Chapman, graphically pourtrays the -ceremony. - - * * * * * - - - - - GERMAN WRITERS. - - - HEINRICH HEINE. - - - BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. - - -Ludwig Börne, the well-known author of _Letters from Paris_, once said, -that Voltaire was only the John the Baptist of Antichrist, but that -Heine was Antichrist himself. Perhaps he paid Heine too great a -compliment yet the remark is true so far as this, that it points him out -as the leader of that new school in Germany which is seeking to -establish a religion of sensuality, and to build a palace of Pleasure on -the ruins of the church. - -This school is known under the name of Young Germany. It is skeptical, -and sensual; and seems desirous of trying again the experiment so often -tried before, but never with any success, of living without a God. Heine -expresses this in phrases too blasphemous or too voluptuous to repeat; -and Gutzkow, his follower exclaims: “Let the only Priest, that weds our -hearts, be a moment of rapture, not the church, with her ceremonies, and -her servants with parted hair;” and again with a sigh: “Alas! had the -world known nothing of God, it would have been happier!” - -Thus the old and oft-repeated follies of mankind come up and are lived -over again by young men, who despise the wisdom of the Past, and imagine -themselves wiser than their own generation. Nor are these young men -without their admirers and advocates. Madame Dacier, of classic memory, -defended Sappho’s morals, and in reply to the hereditary scandal against -her, coldly said: “Sappho had her enemies.” Nearly in the same way is -Young Germany defended; and even theologians have not been wanting, to -palliate, excuse and justify. - -In this country, there are certain persons, who seem disposed to enact -this same tragic farce; for we too, have our Young America, which mocks -the elder prophets, and cries “Go up, bald-head!”—Young ladies read -with delight such books as _Festus_, and think the _Elective Affinities_ -“religious almost to piety.” Young men, who profess to be Christians, -like the Pagan of Lafontaine, believe in God by a kind of -patent-right,—_par bénéfice d’inventaire_. Nature, we are told, must -not be interfered with in any way, at any time; and so much is said -about this, that many respectable people begin to say with old Voss, -“Dear Nature! thou seemest to me quite too natural!” - -I do not, however, propose to discuss these points in the following -sketch; nor to consider Heine’s plans for regenerating society, which, -at best, are but vague opinions thrown out recklessly and at random, -like fire-brands, that set in a flame whatever light matter they fall -upon. It is the Author only, that I shall attempt to sketch. - -Henry Heine was born in 1797 at Düsseldorf on the Rhine; and studied at -the Universities of Bonn, Berlin, and Göttingen. He afterwards resided -in Hamburg, Berlin and Munich; and since 1830 has lived in Paris. His -principal writings are _Buch der Lieder_, a collection of lyrical poems; -two tragedies, _Almansor_ and _Radcliff_; the four volumes of -_Reisebilder_; the _Beiträge zur Geschichte der neuern schönen Literatur -in Deutschland_; the _Frangësische Zustände_; and _Der Salon_,—the last -two being collections of his various contributions to the German -newspapers. The most popular of his writings is the _Reisebilder_, -(Pictures of Travel.) The _Beiträge_ has been translated into English, -by Geo. W. Haven, under the title of _Letters auxiliary to the History -of modern Polite Literature in Germany, Boston, 1836_. The same work, -with many additions, has been published in Paris, under the title of _De -l’Allemagne_. - -The style of Heine is remarkable for vigor, wit and brilliancy; but is -wanting in taste and refinement. To the recklessness of Byron he adds -the sentimentality of Sterne. The _Reisebilder_ is a kind of _Don Juan_ -in prose, with passages from the _Sentimental Journey_. He is always in -extremes, either of praise or censure; setting at nought the decencies -of life, and treating the most sacred things with frivolity. Throughout -his writings you see traces of a morbid, ill-regulated mind; of deep -feeling, disappointment and suffering. His sympathies seem to have died -within him, like Ugolino’s children in the tower of Famine. With all his -various powers, he wants the one great power—the power of truth! He -wants, too, that ennobling principle of all human endeavors, the -aspiration “after an ideal standard, that is higher than himself.” In a -word, he wants sincerity and spirituality. - -In the highest degree reprehensible, too, is the fierce, implacable -hatred with which Heine pursues his foes. No man should write of another -as he permits himself to do at times. In speaking of Schlegel, as he -does in his _German Literature_, he is utterly without apology. And yet -to such remorseless invectives, to such witty sarcasms, he is indebted -in a great degree for his popularity. It was not till after he had -bitten the heel of Hercules, that the Crab was placed among the -constellations. - -The following passages from the _Reisebilder_, will give the reader a -general idea of Heine’s style; exhibiting at once his beauties and -defects—his poetic feeling—his spirit—his wit—his want of taste. The -first is from his description of a _Tour to the Harz Mountains_; the -second from his _Journey from Munich to Genoa_. - - - SCENE ON THE BROCKEN. - -In the dining-room of the inn I found all life and motion; students from -various Universities; some just arrived, are refreshing themselves, -others are preparing for their departure, buckling their knapsacks, -writing their names in the Album, receiving _Brocken-bouquets_ from the -servant girl; there is pinching of cheeks, singing, dancing, shouting; -questions are asked, answers given,—fine weather,—footpath,—God bless -you—good bye. Some of the departing are a little jolly, and take double -delight in the beautiful view, because a man when he is drunk sees all -things double. - -When I had somewhat refreshed myself, I ascended the observatory, and -found there a little gentleman with two ladies, one of them young, the -other oldish. The young lady was very beautiful. A glorious -figure,—upon her curling tresses a helm-like hat of black satin, with -whose white feathers the wind sported;—her delicate limbs so closely -wrapped in a black silk mantle, that the noble outlines were distinctly -seen;—and her free, large eye quietly gazing forth into the free, large -world. - -I sought without more ado to engage the beautiful lady in conversation; -for one does not truly enjoy the beauties of Nature, unless he can -express his feelings at the moment. She was not intellectual, but -attentive, sensible. Of a truth, most aristocratic features. I do not -mean that common, stiff, negative aristocratic bearing, that knows -exactly what must be let alone; but that rare, free, positive -aristocratic bearing, which tells us clearly what we may do, and gives -us with the greatest freedom of manners, the greatest social security. -To my own astonishment, I displayed considerable geographical knowledge; -told the curious fair one all the names of the towns that lay before us; -found and showed her the same on my map, which I unfolded with true -professional dignity, upon the stone table in the middle of the -platform. Many of the towns I could not find, perhaps because I looked -for them rather with my fingers, than with my eyes, which meanwhile were -investigating the face of the gentle lady, and found more beautiful -excursions there than _Schierke_ and _Elend_. It was one of those faces -that never excite, seldom fascinate, and always please. I love such -faces, because they smile to sleep my turbulent heart. - -In what relation the little gentleman, who accompanied the ladies, stood -to them I could not guess. He was a thin, curious-looking figure; a -little head, sparingly covered with little grey hairs, that came down -over his narrow forehead as far as his green dragon-fly eyes, his -crooked nose projecting to a great length, and his mouth and chin -retreating anxiously towards the ears. This funny little face seemed to -be made of a soft, yellowish clay, such as sculptors use in forming -their first models, and when the thin lips were pressed together, a -thousand fine, semi-circular wrinkles covered his cheeks. Not one word -did the little gentleman say; and only now and then, when the elderly -lady whispered something pleasant in his ear, he smiled like a -poodle-dog with a cold in his head. - -The elderly lady was the mother of the younger, and likewise possessed -the most aristocratic form and feature. Her eye betrayed a morbid, -sentimental melancholy; about her mouth was an expression of rigid -piety; and yet it seemed to me, as if once it had been very beautiful, -had laughed much, and taken and given many a kiss. Her face resembled a -_Codex palympsestus_, where, beneath the recent, black, monkish copy of -a homily of one of the Fathers of the Church, peeped forth the half -effaced verses of some ancient Greek love-poet. Both of the ladies, with -their companion, had been that year in Italy, and told me all kinds of -pretty things about Rome, Florence and Venice. The mother had a great -deal to say of Raphael’s paintings at St. Peter’s; the daughter talked -more about the opera and the _Teatro Fenice_. - -While we were speaking it began to grow dark; the air grew colder, the -sun sank lower, and the platform was filled with students, mechanics, -and some respectable cockneys, with their wives and daughters, all of -whom had come to see the sun set. It is a sublime spectacle, which -attunes the soul to prayer. A full quarter of an hour stood we all -solemnly silent, and saw how that beauteous ball of fire by slow degrees -sank in the west; our faces were lighted by the ruddy glow of -evening,—our hands folded themselves involuntarily;—it was as if we -stood there, a silent congregation in the nave of a vast cathedral, and -the Priest were elevating the Body of the Lord, and the eternal choral -of Palestrina flowing down from the organ! - -As I stood thus absorbed in devotion, I heard some one say close beside -me, - -“Generally speaking, how very beautiful nature is!” - -These words came from the tender heart of my fellow lodger, the young -shop-keeper. They brought me back again to my work-day mood, and I was -just in the humor to say several very polite things to the ladies about -the sunset, and quietly conduct them back to their room, as if nothing -had happened. They permitted me to sit and talk with them another hour. -As the earth itself, so revolved our conversation round the sun. The -mother remarked, that the sun, sinking in vapors, had looked like a red, -blushing rose, which the Heaven in its gallantry had thrown down upon -the broad-spreading, white bridal veil of his beloved Earth! The -daughter smiled, and expressed herself of the opinion, that too great -familiarity with the appearances of nature weakened their effect. The -mother corrected this erroneous view by a passage from Göthe’s -_Reisebriefen_, and asked me if I had read the _Sorrows of Werther_. I -believe we talked also about Angola cats, Etruscan vases, Cashmire -shawls, macaroni and Lord Byron, from whose poems the elderly lady, -prettily lisping and sighing, recited some passages on sunsets. To the -younger lady, who did not understand English, but wanted to read Byron, -I recommended the translations of my fair and gifted country-woman, the -Baronese Elise von Hohenhausen; and availed myself of the opportunity, -as I always do with young ladies, to express myself with warmth upon -Byron’s ungodliness, unloveliness and unhappiness. - - _Reisebilder, Vol. 1._ - - - STREET MUSICIANS. - -When I returned to the _Locanda della Grande Europa_, when I had ordered -a good _Pranzo_, I was so sad at heart that I could not eat,—and that -means a great deal. I seated myself before the door of the neighboring -_Botega_, refreshed myself with an ice, and said within myself: - -“Capricious Heart! thou art now forsooth in Italy—why singest thou not -like the lark? Perhaps the old German Sorrows, the little serpents, that -hid themselves deep within thee have come with us into Italy, and are -making merry now, and their common jubilee awakens in my breast that -picturesque sorrow, which so strangely stings and dances and whistles? -And why should not the old sorrows make merry for once? Here in Italy it -is indeed so beautiful, suffering itself is here so beautiful,—in these -ruinous marble palaces sighs sound far more romantically, than in our -neat brick houses,—beneath yon laurel trees one can weep far more -voluptuously, than under our surly, jagged pines,—and gaze with looks -of far sweeter longing at the ideal cloud-landscapes of celestial Italy, -than at the ash-gray, German work-day heaven, where the very clouds wear -the looks of decent burghers, and yawn so tediously down upon us! Stay -then in my heart, ye sorrows! Nowhere will you find a better lodging. -You are dear and precious to me; and no man knows better how to father -and cherish you, than I; and I confess to you, you give me pleasure. And -after all, what is pleasure? Pleasure is nothing else than a highly -agreeable Pain.” - -I believe that the music, which, without my taking note of it, sounded -before the _Botega_, and had already drawn round itself a circle of -spectators, had melo-dramatically accompanied this monologue. It was a -strange trio, consisting of two men, and a young girl, who played the -harp. One of the men, warmly clad in a white shaggy coat, was a robust -fellow, with a dark-red bandit-face, that gleamed from his black hair -and beard, like a portentous comet; and between his legs he held a -monstrous bass-viol, upon which he sawed as furiously, as if he had -thrown down a poor traveller in the Abruzzi, and was in haste to fiddle -his windpipe in two. The other was a tall, meagre graybeard, whose -mouldering bones shook in their thread-bare, black garments, and whose -snow-white hair formed a lamentable contrast with his _buffo_ song and -his foolish capers. It is sad enough, when an old man must barter for -bread the respect we owe to his years, and give himself up to -buffoonery; but more melancholy still, when he does this before or with -his own child! For that girl was the daughter of the old _Buffo_, and -accompanied with the harp the lowest jests of her gray-headed father; -or, laying her harp aside sang with him a comic duet, in which he -represented an amorous old dotard and she the young coquettish -_inamorata_. Moreover the girl seemed hardly to have passed the -threshold of childhood; as if the child, before it had grown to -maidenhood, had been made a woman, and not an honest woman. Hence that -pallid, faded look, and the expression of nervous discontent in her -beautiful face, whose proudly rounded features as it were disdained all -show of compassion;—hence the secret sorrowfulness of the eyes, that -from beneath their black, triumphal arches flashed forth such -challenges;—hence the deep mournful voice, that so strangely contrasted -with the laughing, beautiful lips, from which it fell;—hence the -debility of those too delicate limbs, around which a short, -anxious-looking robe of violet-colored silk, fluttered as low as it -possibly could. In addition to this, gay, variegated satin ribbands -flaunted from her faded straw hat, and emblematic of herself, her breast -was adorned with an open rose-bud, which seemed rather to have been -rudely torn open, than to have bloomed forth from its green sheath by -its own natural growth. Still in this unhappy girl, in this Spring which -Death had already breathed upon and blasted,—lay an indescribable -charm, a grace, which revealed itself in every look, in every motion, in -every tone. The bolder her gestures became, the deeper grew my -compassion; and when her voice rose from her breast so weak and -wondrous, and as it were implored forgiveness; then triumphed in my -breast the little serpents, and bit their tails for joy. The Rose -likewise seemed to look at me imploringly; once I saw it tremble and -grow pale,—but at the same moment rose the trills of the girl so much -the more laughingly aloft, the old man wooed still more amorously, and -the red comet-face murdered his viol so grimly, that it uttered the most -terrifically droll sounds, and the spectators shouted more madly than -ever. - - * * * * - -The little harper must have remarked, that while she was singing and -playing, I looked often at the rose upon her breast; and as I afterwards -threw upon the tin plate, with which she collected her honorarium, a -piece of gold, and not of the smallest, she smiled slily, and asked me -secretly, if I wanted her rose. - - * * * * - -Think no evil, dear reader. It had grown dark, and the stars looked so -pure and pious down into my heart. In that heart itself, however, -trembled the memory of the dead Maria. I thought again of that night, -when I stood beside the bed, where lay her beautiful, pale form, with -soft, still lips—I thought again of the strange look the old woman cast -at me, who was to watch by the dead body, and surrendered her charge to -me for a few hours—I thought again of the night-violet, that stood in a -glass upon the table, and smelt so strangely. Again I shuddered with the -doubt, whether it were really a draft of wind, that blew the lamp -out?—or whether there were a third person in the chamber! - - _Reisebilder, Vol. 3._ - -The minor poems of Heine, like most of his prose writings, are but a -portrait of himself. The same melancholy tone,—the same endless -sigh,—pervades them. Though they possess the highest lyric merit they -are for the most part fragmentary;—expressions of some momentary state -of feeling,—sudden ejaculations of pain or pleasure, of restlessness, -impatience, regret, longing, love. They profess to be songs, and as -songs must they be judged, and as German Songs. Then these imperfect -expressions of feeling,—these mere suggestions of thought,—this -“luminous mist,” that half reveals, half hides the sense,—this -selection of topics from scenes of every day life, and in fine this -prevailing tone of sentimental sadness, will not seem affected, -misplaced nor exaggerated. At the same time it must be confessed that -the trivial and common-place recur too frequently in these songs. Here, -likewise, as in the prose of Heine, the lofty aim is wanting; we listen -in vain for the spirit-stirring note—for the word of power—for those -ancestral melodies, which, amid the uproar of the world, breathe in our -ears forever-more the voices of consolation, encouragement and warning. -Heine is not sufficiently in earnest to be a great poet. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO ONE DEPARTED. - - - BY EDGAR A. POE. - - - Seraph! thy memory is to me - Like some enchanted far-off isle - In some tumultuous sea— - Some ocean vexed as it may be - With storms; but where, meanwhile, - Serenest skies continually - Just o’er that one bright island smile. - For ’mid the earnest cares and woes - That crowd around my earthly path, - (Sad path, alas, where grows - Not even one lonely rose!) - My soul at least a solace hath - In dreams of _thee_; and therein knows - An Eden of bland repose. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _DRAWN BY T. HAYTER_, _ENGRAVED BY H. S. SADD, N.Y._ _THE -YOUNG WIDOW._ _Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine_] - - * * * * * - - - - - THE YOUNG WIDOW. - - - LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A MINIATURE. - - - By the splendor of thine eyes, - Flashing in their ebon light - As a star across the skies - On the sable noon of night! - By the glory of that brow, - In its calm sublimity,— - With thee, or away, as now, - I worship thee! - - Sorrow has been thine, alas! - Once thou wert a happy bride; - Joy is like a brittle glass: - It was shivered at thy side. - Shall I love thee less for this? - Only be as true to me, - And I’ll glory in the bliss, - The bliss of thee! - - Are thy lashes wet with tears? - Canst thou never more be gay? - Chase afar these foolish fears— - I will kiss thy dread away! - We are parted—’till we meet, - Time shall pass how wearily! - Yet I’ll make each hour more fleet - By thoughts of thee! - - In the solitude of night, - In the tumult of the day, - By the gloamin’ fire’s light, - In the mazy dance and gay, - By the silver-sounding streams, - Underneath the rustling tree, - In my waking, or in dreams, - I’ll think of thee! - - When in ev’ry flower cup - Fairies dance the night away, - When the queenly moon is up, - Moving on her stately way, - When the stars upon the shore - Silence e’en the sounding sea— - Ever till we part no more, - I’ll think of thee! - A. A. I. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FRESHET. - - - A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARE. - - - BY ALFRED B. STREET. - - - March hath unlocked stern Winter’s chain, - Nature is wrapp’d in misty shrouds, - And ceaselessly the drenching rain - Drips from the gray sky-mantling clouds; - The deep snows melt, and swelling rills - Pour through each hollow of the hills; - The river from its rest hath risen, - And bounded from its shattered prison; - The huge ice-fragments onward dash - With grinding roar and splintering crash; - Swift leap the floods upon their way, - Like war-steeds thundering on their path, - With hoofs of waves and manes of spray - Restrainless in their mighty wrath. - - Wild mountains stretch in towering pride - Along the river’s either side; - Leaving between it and their walls - Narrow and level intervals. - When Summer glows, how sweet and bright - The landscape smiles upon the sight! - Here, the deep golden wheat-fields vie - With the rich carpets of the rye, - The buckwheat’s snowy mantles, there, - Shed honied fragrance on the air; - In long straight ranks, the maize uprears - Its silken plumes and pennon’d spears, - The yellow melon, underneath, - Plump, ripening, in its viny wreath: - Here, the thick rows of new-mown grass, - There, the potato-plant’s green mass; - All framed by woods—each limit shown - By zigzag rail, or wall of stone; - Contrasting here, within the shade, - The axe a space hath open laid - Cumber’d with trees hurl’d blended down, - Their verdure chang’d to wither’d brown; - There, the soil ashes-strew’d, and black, - Shows the red flame’s devouring track; - The fire-weed shooting thick where stood - The leafy monarchs of the wood: - A scene peculiar to one land - Which Freedom with her magic wand - Hath touch’d, to clothe with bloom, and bless - With peace, and joy, and plenteousness. - - The rains have ceas’d—the struggling glare - Of sunset lights the misty air, - The fierce wind sweeps the myriad throng - Of broken ragged clouds along, - From the rough saw-mill, where hath rung - Through all the hours, its grating tongue, - The raftsman sallies, as the gray - Of evening tells the flight of day: - And slowly seeks with loitering stride, - His cabin by the river-side. - As twilight darkens into night, - Still dash the waters in their flight, - Still the ice-fragments, thick and fast, - Shoot like the clouds before the blast. - - Beyond—the sinuous channel wends - Through a deep narrow gorge, and bends - With curve so sharp, the drilling ice, - Hurl’d by the flood’s tremendous might, - Piles the opposing precipice, - And every fragment swells the height; - Hour after hour uprears the wall, - Until a barrier huge and tall - Breasts the wild waves that vain upswell - To overwhelm the obstacle: - They bathe the alder on the verge, - The leaning hemlock now they merge, - The stately elm is dwindling low - Within the deep engulfing flow, - Till curb’d thus in its headlong flight, - With its accumulated might, - The river turning on its track, - Rolls its wide-spreading volumes back. - - Slumbers the raftsman—through his dream - Distorted visions wildly stream, - Now in the wood his axe he swings, - And now his sawmill’s jarring rings; - Now his huge raft is shooting swift - Cochecton’s white tumultuous rift, - Now floats it on the ebon lap - Of the grim shadow’d Water Gap, - And now it’s tossing on the swells - Fierce dashing down the slope of Wells, - The rapids crash upon his ear, - The deep sounds roll more loud and near, - They fill his dream—he starts—he wakes! - The moonlight through the casement falls, - Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks, - The floods sweep round his cabin-walls, - Beneath their bounding thundering shocks, - The frail log fabric groans and rocks; - Crash, crash! the ice-bolts round it shiver, - The walls like blast-swept branches quiver, - His wife is clinging to his breast, - The child within his arms is prest, - He staggers through the chilly flood - That numbs his limbs, and checks his blood, - On, on, he strives—the waters lave - Higher his form with every wave, - They steep his breast, on each side dash - The splinter’d ice with thundering crash - A fragment strikes him—ha! he reels, - That shock in every nerve he feels, - Faster, bold raftsman, speed thy way, - The waves roar round thee for their prey, - Thy cabin totters—sinks—the flood - Rolls its mad surges where it stood: - Before thy straining sight, the hill - Sleeps in the moonlight, bright and still, - Falter not, falter not, struggle on, - That goal of safety may be won, - Heavily droops thy wife with fear, - Thy boy’s shrill shriekings fill thine ear; - Urge, urge thy strength to where out-fling - Yon cedar branches for thy cling. - Joy, raftsman joy! thy need is past, - The wish’d for goal is won at last, - Joy, raftsman joy! thy quick foot now - Is resting on the hill’s steep brow: - Praise to high heaven, each knee is bending, - Each heart’s warm incense is ascending, - Praise to high heaven, each humble prayer - Oh, finds it not acceptance there? - - * * * * * - - - - - MARCHES FOR THE DEAD. - - - BY WM. WALLACE, AUTHOR OF “JERUSALEM,” “STAR LYRA,” ETC. - - - A march for the Dead—the _dreamless_ Dead - Of the tomb and the chancel aisle, - Where the cypress bends or the banner-spread - Waves round in the holy pile:— - Let the chimes be low as the awful breath - Of the midnight winds that creep, - With a pulse as faint as the step of Death, - O’er the chambers of the deep, - When the stars are in a solemn noon - Like o’er-wearied watchers there, - And a seraph-glory from the moon - Floats down through the sleeping air. - - A march for the Dead—the _lovely_ Dead - Whose voices still we hear, - Like a spirit-anthem, mournfully - Around a brother’s bier: - Their eyes still beam, as of old, on ours— - And their words still cheer the soul— - And their smiles still shine, like star-lit bow’rs, - Where the tides of Being roll. - Then, oh! minstrel strike your sweetest lyre, - Let its notes to feeling true, - Be warm as the sacred Eastern fire, - But, still, as chastened too: - And Sorrow there will incline her head, - While Hope sits fondly by— - With _one_ hand pointing to the Dead, - The _other_ to the sky. - - A march for the Dead—the _holy_ Dead— - They hallowed every sod - Like the rainbows _resting on our earth_— - _But soaring towards God_. - But, oh! what a diapason there - From the thrilling chords should start! - Like the lightning leaping from its lair - To wither Nature’s heart? - Like the Thunder when the Tempest’s hand - Unveils his giant form, - And strikes, with all his cloudy band, - The organs of the storm? - Ah, no! Let the march be soft, but glad - As a Sabbath evening’s breeze,— - For why should the heart of man be sad - When he thinks of these? _Of these?_ - - A march for the Dead—the _awful_ Dead— - Like mountain peaks, sublime, - Which show, as they rise, some River’s length, - They mark the stream of Time. - How dread they appear as each lies in his tomb, - With the earthy worm revelling there— - While the grim, hairless skulls from the terrible gloom - Are gleaming so ghastly and bare. - - Solemn and slow, with many a wail between, - Harp give thy song the deepest, grandest flow, - While yonder moon, so dim, so cold, serene, - Lights up the burial march of those below: - And from afar the billows of the Main - Send forth their long-drawn, melancholy moan— - Most fitting chorus, for this fearful strain - Breathed in the Temples of the Night alone. - - A march for the Dead—the _mighty_ Dead, - Whose mind like oceans hurl’d - Along the trembling Alps, have shook - A myriad-peopled world. - They were the links of that mighty chain, - Which the heaven unites to man, - Since first from its realm the morning strain - Of the minstrel-stars began: - And along them have flashed for six thousand years - A flame to this lowly sod, - (Oh! holier far than the light of the spheres,) - From the mighty heart of God! - Yet once more, oh! Bard—yet once more re-illume - The song-god’s olden fire, - And shed o’er the depths of the terrible tomb - The beauty of the lyre. - Give its full notes abroad—let its anthem ring out - Through the aisles of the blue-beaming air— - Wild, joyous and loud as the rapturous shout - When a great host of angels are there, - And the Heavens are all glad and wide-arching above. - Kiss the far-distant hills, like the warm lips of Love, - When she cradles the stars and the earth on her breast, - While the waters lie still in their sleep, - And the banners of Evening, unfurl’d in the west, - Pavilion her Deity’s sleep. - - It is well!— - Lo, the spell! - It shakes every shroud! - How they rise!—How they rise!— - The Great and the Proud— - Each a God, as you see by their glorious eyes! - ’Tis a terrible throng!— - And Thought from her Pyramid splendidly bows - And sits like a glory-wreathed crown on their brows,— - As they thunder along. - Hurry on! Hurry on!—ye have not lived in vain - As we see by each radiant head!— - Oh, minstrel still utter that sonorous strain— - ’Tis the march of _the mighty_—the Dead! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE TWO DUKES. - - - BY ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - (Continued from page 82.) - -The princely pile, known as Somerset House, remains even to this day -unfinished, and at the time of our story was, with the exception of one -block, scarcely raised above its foundations. The large square court and -every empty space, for many rods around its site, were cumbered with -building materials. Piles of rude stone—beds of newly made -mortar—window-sashes, with the lead and rich glass that composed them, -crushed together from the carelessness with which they had been flung -down—cornices with the gilding yet fresh upon them—great fragments of -carved oak—beams of timber with flags of marble, and even images of -saints, broken as they were torn from their niches, lay heaped together -promiscuously and with a kind of sacrilegious carelessness. That block -of the building, which runs parallel with the river, alone was -completed, while that portion of the square, which forms its angle on -the strand, was built to the second story so far as the great arched -entrance. But all the rest was only massed out by a line of rough stones -sunk into the earth, and in places almost concealed by the heaps of -rubbish which we have described. - -Notwithstanding the unfinished state of his palace the Lord Protector -had taken possession of that portion already completed, and from the -sumptuous—nay, almost regal magnificence of its adornments, seemed -determined to rival his royal nephew and king, in state, as he had -already done in power. - -We have been particular in describing the Lord Protector’s residence, -for, at the time our story resumes its thread, it contained the leading -personages who rendered themselves conspicuous in the St. Margaret’s -riot. - -Once more the gray of morning hung over the city of London, a faint hum -of voices and the sound of busy feet rose gradually within its bosom. -With the earliest glimmer a host of workmen came to their daily toil -upon the palace, and were seen in the yet dim light swarming upon the -heaps of material gathered in the court, and creeping, like ants drawn -from their mound, along the damp walls and the scaffolding that bristled -over them. - -Though the hum and bustle of busy life swelled and deepened in the -streets the light was not yet strong enough to penetrate the masses of -heavy velvet which muffled three tall windows of a chamber overlooking -the Thames, and a slope of rich, but trampled sward that rolled greenly -down to its brink. So thick and deeply folded were the curtains that it -was broad day in the streets, though the sun had not yet risen, before -sufficient light penetrated the chamber to draw out the objects which it -contained from the deep tranquil gloom that surrounded them. By degrees -a soft, warm light came stealing through a fold or two of the crimson -drapery as if a shower of wine were dashed against them, very faint and -rich it was, but sufficient to reveal a mantelpiece of clouded marble -surmounting an immense fire-place at one end of the room—tall chairs of -dark wood, heavily covered with cushions of crimson leather enveloped -with gold, standing in solemn magnificence around, and a massive bed -supported by immense posts of ebony, each carved like the stems of a -great vine twisted together and coiling upward to the ceiling, where -they branched off and twined together, a superb cornice of foliage cut -from the polished wood, and intermingled with clusters of fruit so -roundly carved that they seemed ready to break loose from the rich -workmanship of tendrils and leaves which bedded them. The broad -footboard was carved to a perfect net-work; its glittering black only -relieved by the Somerset crest exquisitely emblazoned in the centre. The -head was surmounted by a slab of broad ebony even more elaborately -wrought than the other, more nicely touched and interworked like a -specimen of Chinese ivory. In the centre, just over the pillows, a -basket of golden apples gleamed through the delicate dark tracery, which -seemed to prison it, and caught the first faint light that struggled -through the windows. As this light deepened and grew stronger within the -room, a counterpane of purple velvet sweeping over the bed began to -glow, as if the grapes above were red, and had been shaken during the -night over the lovely girl who lay in an unquiet slumber beneath it. The -counterpane was disturbed and lay in purple waves over the bed—for the -Lady Jane Seymour had started up more than once during the morning, and -after gazing wildly about in the dim light, sunk to her pillow again, in -that state of unquiet drowsiness, which is neither wakefulness nor -repose. Now and then, as she seemed most soundly asleep, her lips moved -with restless murmurs, and her fair brow was knitted as if in pain -beneath the crushed lace of her night-coif. She was lying thus with -closed eyes, and yet scarcely asleep, when a door opened, and the old -woman who had escaped from the riot on the previous day, stole softly -into the chamber, bearing in her arms a bundle of green rushes and a -basket of flowers—humble things, but fresh and with the night dew yet -upon them. She laid her burthen on the floor, and approaching the bed on -tipt-toe, bent down and kissed the small hand which crept out from a -fold of the counterpane, as if the beautiful sleeper had been half aware -of her approach. More than once did the kind nurse bend over and caress -her charge, but timidly and as if fearful of arousing her. At length she -went to her basket, took a bunch of wild violets from the blossoms it -contained and laid them upon the pillow. A faint smile beamed over that -fair face as the perfume stole over it, and Lady Jane murmured softly as -one who received pleasure in a dream. - -The nurse hurried away, and untying her rushes, began to scatter them -over the oaken floor. After casting down a few of the flowers upon the -fragrant carpet, she selected others to fill an antique little vase -which stood on a table richly wrought, like everything in the chamber, -and surmounted by a mirror which hung against the wall, in a frame of -ebony and gold, twined and drawn heavily together. The light was yet -very dim, so the good nurse cautiously drew back a fold of the -window-curtain. A sun-beam shot through and broke over the steel mirror -plate, as if a golden arrow had been shivered there. A flood of light, -more than she had intended to admit, filled the chamber and completely -aroused the Lady Jane. She started up in her couch, gazed wildly upon -her nurse, who stood almost terrified by what she had done, with the -half filled vase suspended over the table, and then bending her head -down upon her hand, seemed lost in thought, which ended in a fit of -weeping. - -“Nurse,” she said at last, but without lifting her face. - -The old woman set down her vase, and moving to the bed drew the young -girl to her bosom, and putting back her night-cap, affectionately -smoothed the bright hair gathered beneath it, with her hand. - -“Tell me all that happened, good nurse,” said the Lady at length, “I -know that something is wrong, that I have been in strange places, and -amid a host of people, but it all seems very long since, and strange, -like the dreams that haunt one in sickness.” She paused awhile, very -thoughtfully, and resumed what she was saying. - -“You were with me, and I remember now! they whirled you away in the -crowd. There was a little evil looking man came to me after that. He -rode by them. The church! the altar! that window! and Lord Dudley in the -grasp of rude soldiers! Nurse—tell me, where is the Duke? where is my -father? I must see my father! Go to him, and say that his daughter has -been ill, very ill, and would speak with him before he rides forth for -the morning. Go quickly, I am very well, and can robe myself.” - -As she uttered these hasty directions, the Lady Jane flung back the -bed-drapery, and springing to the floor, snatched a robe from the chair -to which it had been flung on the previous night, and thrusting her arms -into the loose sleeves, began eagerly and with trembling fingers, to -knot the silken cord which bound it to her waist. All at once her hands -dropped from the task, and her exalted features contracted with a sudden -and most painful thought. - -“Do not go,” she said in a stifled voice, but without lifting her face, -“It was my father who bade them tear the church down upon me. It was he -who flung Lord Dudley back among those bad men. Do not go.” - -The nurse, who had seemed reluctant to perform the mission desired of -her, returned, and taking up her young lady’s slippers, knelt down to -place them on her feet, which were heedlessly pressing the chill floor, -but putting the good woman gently aside, Lady Jane began to pace slowly -up and down the apartment, sweeping the rushes with her loose robe, and -crushing beneath her small white feet, the wild blossoms that had been -scattered among them. At length she stopped suddenly and clasping her -hands, turned a look full of wild anguish upon the good woman, who stood -meekly by the bed, with the rejected slippers in her hand. - -“Did you think that my father would ever have cursed _me_?” she said. -“That he would revile the bravest and most noble being in all England, -before a mob of riotous men; that he would let them seize him and -trample me to the earth; _me_, his youngest child—who loved him so.” - -“Nay, sweet Lady—you have been ill, and all this is a feverish fancy. -You should have seen with what tenderness my Lord The Duke, bore you up -from the barge, in his own arms, and would not rest till we brought him -word that you were safe in bed here, and asleep,” replied the nurse. - -Lady Jane shook her head and smiled sadly. “It was no dream,” she said, -“dreams are of the fancy, but such things as happened yesterday, sink -into the soul, and will not pass away.” - -“And yet,” replied the dame, “it was but now the Lord Duke took such -care of your repose, my gentle Lady, that he forbade the workmen -wielding a hammer or crowbar in the court, lest your rest might be -disturbed too early. I met him scarcely ten minutes since, on the way to -his closet, where he is about to examine my Lord Dudley, and that -strange looking man who was brought here on his lordship’s horse, while -the brave young gentleman came by water with a pack of soldiers at his -heels. The Duke, your father, was in haste, but he took occasion to -inquire after your welfare, and bade me observe that no one entered this -chamber, or disturbed you in the least, till you were quite restored.” - -Lady Jane took the slippers from her attendant’s hand, and hastily -thrusting her feet into them, began to arrange her dress once more. - -“Said you that Lord Dudley was with my father now?” she enquired, -turning from the steel mirror, before which she was hurriedly twisting -up her hair. - -“He may not have left his prisoner in the new rooms near the arch yet,” -replied the dame, “but I heard the Duke give orders that he should be -brought out directly with that fellow in the sheep-skin cap. If we were -but on the other side, nothing would be easier than to see them with the -guard, filing through the court.” - -“And has my father gone so far? Lord Dudley imprisoned in our own -dwelling with a felon knave like that?” murmured Lady Jane, folding her -arms and looking almost sternly upon the floor, “alas, what is his -offence, what is mine, that a parent, once so good and kind should deal -thus cruelly with us!” Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke, and -advancing to the nurse she took her arm, and moved resolutely toward the -door. - -“Whither are you going my lady?” said the nurse, turning pale with -apprehension. - -“To my father,” replied Lady Jane calmly, “I would learn the nature of -my offence, and if accusation is brought against my affianced husband I -would stand by his side. Do not turn pale and tremble, nurse, I am not -the child which I went forth yesterday, though but a day older; intense -suffering is more powerful than time, and I almost think that my youth -has departed forever. Let us go!” - -“I dare not,” replied the old woman, “the duke has forbidden it.” - -“Am I also a prisoner, and in my father’s house?” demanded the lady, -“well, be it so! When the falcon is caged the poor dove should but peck -idly against her wires,” and sitting down the unhappy girl folded her -arms on the dressing-table, where she wept in bitterness of heart. The -noise of heavy feet passing along the corridor to which her chamber -opened aroused her. - -“It is the soldiers with Lord Dudley in charge,” said the nurse in reply -to her questioning look, “I will go and see.” The good woman arose and -softly opening the door looked out. Lady Jane gazed after her with -intense earnestness. When she stepped into the passage and the sound of -low voices came into the room the anxious young creature could restrain -herself no longer, for the tones were familiar and made her heart -thrill, burthened as it was with sorrow. She moved eagerly toward the -door, and, as it was swung open by the returning nurse, caught one -glance of Lord Dudley’s face. It was stern and pale as death. He saw her -and tried to smile, but the rude voice of a soldier bade him move on; he -was hereby excited and the effort was lost in a proud curve of the lips, -which chilled the unhappy young creature who gazed so breathlessly upon -him. It was the first time that she had ever seen a shadow of bitterness -on those lips, for her presence had always a power to bring sunshine to -them in his sternest mood. - -“Oh, what changes has one day brought,” she murmured, burying her face -once more upon the table, “my father’s curse upon me—Dudley, my Dudley, -estranged. My mother—alas! when has the morning dawned that her kiss -failed to greet me. Now, on this wretched day,” she broke off, locked -the small hands which covered her face more firmly together, and again -murmured, “Heaven help me, for I am alone!” - -“No, not alone—is your old nurse of no account? If they have made her -your jailor is she not a kind one?” said the good-hearted attendant, -bending over her weeping charge. “Come, take heart, lady-bird, dark days -cannot last forever; the stars, so beautiful and bright, are sometimes -lost in black clouds, but they always find a time to shine out again. -The duke cannot intend to deal harshly with you or he would never have -appointed your own fond old nurse keeper to your prison. Besides, Lord -Dudley will be set free directly; he bade me tell you that a messenger -had been sent to the staunch old earl, his father, and that another -night would not find him submitting to insult and confinement like the -last.” - -Lady Jane ceased to weep, but still remained sad and thoughtful; she was -troubled and grieved by the absence of her mother. It seemed as if every -thing she loved had deserted her, save the good old nurse. But she was -naturally a cheerful light-hearted creature, and storms must sweep over -such hearts again and again before hope is entirely driven forth. She -was even smiling with some degree of her old mischievous playfulness at -the pompous way in which the good nurse flourished her badge of office, -a huge key which had not yet been put in requisition, when the door was -pushed gently open and a lady of mature but delicate loveliness entered -the room. She was very pale. Her eyes, naturally dark and mild, were -full of troubled light, and flushed a little, as if she had just been -weeping. Her morning robe was slightly disordered, and the head dress of -jewels and velvet, which ornamented, without concealing her beautiful -hair, was placed a little too much on one side, a sure sign of agitation -in one usually so fastidious regarding her toilet. - -Lady Jane was still listening with a languid smile to the well-intended -prattle of her nurse, and the door opened, so quietly that she was not -apprised of her approach, till the duchess stood close by her side. - -With a glad exclamation, and like an infant pining for its mother’s -presence, she started up with an affectionate impulse, and flung her -arms around the lady, then bending her head back, and looking fondly in -her face, murmured— - -“Dear mother, have you come at last?” - -The duchess bent her face to that of the affectionate creature clinging -to her neck, but there was constraint in the action, and no kiss -followed it. Her daughter felt this as a repulse, and gently unclasping -her hands, stood without support, looking with a kind of regretful -fondness in the face which had never dwelt frowningly on her before. - -“Oh! mother, how can you look upon me thus—how have I deserved it!” she -said at last, striving to check the tears which would spring to her -eyes; “How is it that every one turns coldly from me. You, my kind and -gentle mother,—you, that have never sent me to rest without a blessing, -who scarce would let the light kiss my forehead till your lips had -pressed it in the morning. You are growing distrustful like the rest. I -did not think a mother’s love would chill so easily—that _my_ mother -could even find it in her heart to look harshly on her child. Nay, -mother,—dear, dear, mother, do not weep so—I did not think to grieve -you thus deeply. Why do your lips tremble? Why do you wring my hand so? -What wrong have I done? I entreat you tell me all—my heart will break -unless you love me as of old.” - -The duchess was much affected, but still maintained the severity of -manner which she had brought into the room, though it evidently cost her -a strong effort to resist the appeal of her child. She sat down upon the -bed, and, drawing Lady Jane before her, took the small hands, clasped -together, in both hers, and looked searchingly into the soft brown eyes -that met her gaze, not without anxiety, but still with a trustful -fondness that would have disarmed a firmer heart than that which beat so -full of generous and affectionate impulses in the bosom of that noble -lady. - -“Jane,” she said at last, glancing at the slender fingers locked in her -own, “where is the ring which I gave you on the duke’s last birth-day?” - -Lady Jane started at the question, and withdrawing her hand, cast a -quick glance upon it, and then turned anxiously to the old woman. - -“My careful nurse here, must have taken it from my finger as I slept,” -she said, doubtingly. - -The old woman shook her head, and Lady Jane turned earnestly to her -mother, perplexed alike by the loss of her ring, and the strange effect -which it produced on the duchess. - -“When did you wear it last?” enquired the lady. - -The young lady mused for a few moments, and then mentioned the previous -day as that when she remembered to have seen it on her finger. - -“Ay, I remember well,” said the nurse. “It was on my lady’s hand when -she lifted it to chide Richard for his outcry in the crowd. Just then I -was carried off by the mob, and jostled about till it seemed a miracle -that I ever reached the barge again. I mind now that Richard saw the -ring also, for when we all met at the landing, and sat waiting, hour -after hour, in hopes that some blessed chance would direct the poor lady -how to find us, I would have gone back in search of her, but he forbade -me, saying, that no harm would befall a lady of her high condition while -she carried on her fingers the power to purchase protection; so, when -the night closed in, we rowed down the river, just in time to see the -sweet child borne to her chamber, more dead than alive, with the -ill-treatment she had received.” - -The duchess turned her eyes earnestly on the nurse as she spoke, but if -she thought to detect anything but an honest spirit of truth in those -withered features, her scrutiny was unrewarded. - -“How chanced it,” she said, turning again to her daughter, “how chanced -it that you were entangled in the mob near St. Margaret’s, when you went -forth to enjoy the morning breeze upon the river?” - -Lady Jane looked surprised at the question, but answered it without -hesitation. - -“It was very early,” she said, “and the air blew chill on the water, so -I bade the men pull up at Westminster Bridge, intending to take a walk -in the Park, and return home, but as we were crossing up from the river, -the crowd came upon us, and in my terror I was separated from my -attendants and sought shelter as I best could.” Lady Jane then proceeded -to inform her mother of the events which we have already described in -two previous chapters; but she had been so dreadfully terrified that her -narrative was confused, and though it possessed all the simplicity and -force of truth, the disappearance of the ring still appeared a mystery, -for she could in no way account for the manner in which it had left her -possession, but stood pale and utterly overwhelmed with astonishment -when informed of the charge brought against her by the artisan. - -“And did my father believe this of me?” she said, turning to the duchess -in the anguish of an upright spirit unjustly accused. “I could not -suspect any one I loved of a base thing! Yet has my father, whom I -honored and worshipped so, not only condemned but reviled me in the -presence of my affianced husband, and all on the word of a base man, -more despicable far, than the rudest workman who breaks stone in his -court yonder.” - -There was a newly aroused pride in the young girl’s bosom that gave -dignity to the words she uttered. A rich color broke over her cheek, -and, for the first time, those soft eyes kindled with indignation as -they fell upon her mother. - -“Let me go,” she continued, “let me stand face to face with my accuser. -It is not well that the daughter of a noble house—the cousin of an -English Monarch, should be tried and condemned, without hearing, on the -word of a base varlet picked up amid the dregs of a mob.” - -The Duchess gazed upon the excited young creature before her with -mingled feelings of surprise, regret, and, perhaps, some little share of -anger, that she could so easily depart from the humility of her usual -deportment, for though a fond parent, she had even been rigid in her -exactions of deference and respect from her children. The love of a -mother is very powerful, but the pride of a high born English-woman, -educated for her station, is, perhaps, the strongest feeling of her -nature. The duchess felt the truth of all that her daughter had said, -but she felt its boldness also, and her nice feelings were shocked by -it. - -“Your father had other reasons for doubting the integrity of Lord -Dudley—for it would seem that this strange outbreak is occasioned as -much by his imprisonment as your own,” said the lady in a tone of grave -reproof, dropping her daughter’s hand. “We have good cause to fear that -the earl, his father, has been tampering with the young king, and that -he is using all secret means to supplant my noble lord in the power and -station which he now fills. He has left no means untried to gain -popularity in the city. That Lord Dudley has dared to appear against the -Lord Protector, heading a mob almost in open rebellion, is proof that -evil exists, and is spreading through the court. My lord has taken -prompt measures, and in this should not be arraigned by his own child. -If the Lord of Warwick and his son are still loyal to the Protector let -them prove it before the king. But from this hour it is the duke’s -pleasure that the contract existing between the two houses be at an end -forever.” - -Lady Jane stood perfectly motionless and pale as marble when her mother -finished speaking, but after a moment she moved across the room and -glided through the door without speaking a word, and, as if unconscious -of the presence she had left. - -“Poor young lady,” muttered the nurse, wiping her eyes and casting a -look, which would have been reproachful but for awe, upon the -duchess—“her heart was almost broken before, but this will be the death -of her.” - -“Peace, good dame, peace,” said the Duchess of Somerset, in her usual -calm and dignified manner. “My daughter must learn to make sacrifices -when the honor of her house is concerned. From the first I acquitted her -of all wrong intention regarding the diamond, and I deeply grieve at the -annoyance it has produced both to her and us. But regarding Lord Dudley -and his alliance with your young mistress—it can never be thought of -again. Let it be your duty, good dame, as the most cherished attendant -of my child, to reconcile her to the change.” - -With these words the Duchess of Somerset left the chamber just in time -to see the Lady Jane disappear from the extreme end of the corridor -which led to the duke’s closet. - - (To be continued.) - - * * * * * - - - - - TO ISA IN HEAVEN. - - - BY THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D. - - - Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, - She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven! - —_Young._ - - Where is she now? - Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art? - If death has laid his hand upon thy brow, - Has he not touched my heart? - Has he not laid it in the grave with thine, - And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine! - - If thou wert dead, - I would not ask thee to reply; - But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled - To heaven, where it can never die! - Then why not come to me? Return—return, - And comfort me, for I have much to mourn! - - I sigh all day! - I mourn for thee the livelong night! - And when the next night comes, thou art away, - And so is absent my delight! - Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate, - So is my soul for thee disconsolate! - - I long for death— - For any thing—to be with thee! - I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath, - That it might have some power on me - To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead! - And I am here!—it strengthened me instead! - - Joy there is none— - It went into the grave with thee! - And grief, because my spirit is alone, - Is all that comes to comfort me! - The very air I breathe is turned to sighs, - And all mine soul is melting from mine eyes! - - I hear, at even, - The liquid carol of the birds; - Their music makes me think of thee in heaven, - It is so much like thy sweet words. - The brooklet whispers, as it runs along, - Our first love-story with its liquid tongue. - - Wake, Isa! wake! - And come back in this world again! - Oh! come down to me, for my soul’s dear sake, - And cure me of this trying pain! - I would give all that earth to man can be, - If thou wert only in this world with me! - - Day after day - I seek thee, but thou art not near! - I sit down on thy grave in the cold clay, - And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear! - And when some withered leaf falls from the tree, - I start as if thy soul had spoke to me! - - And so it is, - And so it ever more must be - To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss - He ever knew, by loving thee! - For misery, in thine absence, is my wife! - What joy had been, hadst thou remained in life! - - It is now even; - The birds have sung themselves to sleep; - And all the stars seem coming out of heaven, - As if to look upon me weep!— - Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain, - But come back to me in this world again! - - * * * * * - - - - - MAY EVELYN. - - - BY FRANCES OSGOOD. - - -Beautiful, bewitching May! How shall I describe her? As the fanciful -village-poet, her devoted adorer, declared;—“The pencil that would -paint her charms should be made of sunbeams and dipped in the dewy heart -of a fresh moss-rose.” Whether this same bundle of beams and fragrant -rose-dew would have done full justice to her eloquent loveliness, I -cannot pretend to say—having never attempted the use of any brush less -earthly than are made of hog’s bristles, nor any color more refined than -a preparation from cochineal. Her eyes were “blue as Heaven,” the heaven -of midsummer—when its warm, intense and glorious hue seems deepening as -you gaze, and laughing in the joyous light of day. Her hair, I could -never guess its true color; it was always floating in such exquisite -disorder over her happy face and round white shoulders—now glistening, -glowing in the sunshine, like wreaths of glossy gold, and now, in -shadow, bathing her graceful neck with soft brown waves, that looked -like silken floss, changing forever and lovely in each change. Blushes -and dimples played hide and seek on her face. Her lip—her rich sweet -lip was slightly curved—just enough to show that there was pride as -well as love in her heart. She was, indeed, a spirited creature. Her -form was of fairy moulding, but perfect though “petite!” and her motions -graceful as those of the Alpine chamois. - -Reader, if I have failed in my attempt to convey to you an image of -youthful grace, beauty and sweetness, I pray you repair my deficiency -from the stores of your own lively imagination, and fancy our dear May -Evelyn the loveliest girl in the universe. - -And now for her history. Her father, of an ancient and noble family, had -married, in early life, a beautiful but extravagant woman, who died a -few years after their union, leaving him with two lovely children and an -all but exhausted fortune. On her death he retired from the gay world, -and settled with his infant treasures in Wales, and there, husbanding -his scanty means, he contrived to live in comfort if not in luxury. -There, too, brooding over the changes of human life—the fallacy of -human foresight, and the fickleness of human friendship, he became “a -sadder and a wiser man.” His two beautiful children, Lionel and May, -were the idols of his heart, and well did they repay his love. - -May’s first serious trouble arose from hearing her father express one -day his desire to purchase for Lionel a commission in the army. The boy -was high-spirited and intelligent, and had cherished from childhood an -ardent desire for military life; but there was no possibility of raising -sufficient money for the purpose, without sacrificing many of their -daily comforts. - -At this time May was just sixteen; but there was in her face a childlike -purity and innocence, which, combined with her playful simplicity of -manner, made her appear even younger than she was. She hated study, -except in the volume of nature; there indeed she was an apt and willing -pupil. Birds and streams and flowers were her favorite books; but though -little versed in the lore of her father’s well-stored library—she had -undoubted genius, and whenever she did apply herself, could learn with -wonderful rapidity. - -The only science, however, in which she was a proficient, was -music:—for this she had an excellent ear and, when a mere child, ere -her father’s removal to Wales, had been under the tuition of a -celebrated master. Her voice was rich, sweet and powerful, and her -execution on the guitar, piano and harp, was at once brilliant and -expressive. She had, also, a pretty talent for versifying, and often -composed music for words, which, if not remarkable for power or polish, -were certainly bewitching when sung by their youthful authoress. - -During most of the day, on the morning of which Mr. Evelyn first -mentioned his wishes with regard to Lionel, the sunny face of our -heroine was clouded with sorrowful thought; but towards evening, as her -father sat alone in his library, the door suddenly opened, and May, -bounding in, her eyes beaming with enthusiasm, exclaimed—“Papa! papa! I -have just thought—I know what I’ll do!—I’ll be a governess.” Her -father gazed at her in astonishment. - -“A governess, May! What can have put such an idea into your head? Why -should you be a governess?” - -“Oh! for Lionel, you know. I can soon earn enough to buy his -commission.” - -“And it is this then, my child,” said Mr. Evelyn, tenderly, “that has so -repressed your usual spirits!” But while he spoke seriously, he could -scarcely repress a smile at the thought of the wild, childlike being -before him, transformed into a staid, dignified teacher. - -During the six weeks following, the devoted girl deprived herself of all -her usual outdoor amusements, and, with wonderful energy applied, under -her father’s guidance, to study. At the end of that time, she laughingly -declared that she knew a little of everything; but still her passion for -birds and flowers was far greater than for books. - -Ere the six weeks had well expired, she heard from some young friends, -who were on a visit to Wales, from London, that the earl of —— was in -want of a governess for his four children. She begged them, on their -return, to mention her. This they did, and with youthful exaggeration -extolled her talents to the skies. - -The Earl understanding that she was the accomplished and amiable -daughter of an aged naval officer, saw, in his mind’s eye, a learned -lady of a certain age, who would, perhaps, prove a mother in kindness -and usefulness to his orphan children, and gladly acceded to the desire -of his young friends, that he should make trial of her. - -The poor things were not aware what a little ignoramus they were -recommending; for the youthful Lionel, who, sometimes took a peep into -the library, and stared in surprise at the various apparatus for study, -had boasted all over the village in which they resided, that his sister -knew everything under the sun, and had mentioned, in corroboration of -this sweeping declaration, that she was always poring over French, -Spanish, Greek or Latin books. This, her enthusiastic young friends, -who, by the way, had only known her a fortnight, took care to make the -most of—and the result was, that May was considered, by the Earl, as a -most fitting instructress for his children, and dreaded by them as a -prim and severe restraint upon their hitherto unchecked amusements. - - - CHAPTER II. - -It was the morning of the day on which the dreaded governess was -expected, Julia, Elizabeth, Georgiana and William—the first 15, the -second 10, the third 8, and the fourth 7 years of age, were at play in -the garden of the Earl’s country seat. They had heard awful things of -governesses from some of their young companions, and the younger -children had been whispering to each other their dread of the expected -tyrant. They had, however, resumed their gambols, and forgotten the -matter, with that charming versatility which makes them so interesting, -when their nurse appeared with the news that the governess had arrived, -and was waiting to be introduced to her young charge in the school-room. -A sudden change was observable on the countenances of all. It was -amusing to watch the expression on each of those young faces. Julia—the -pensive and graceful Julia sighed, and bent her soft eyes sadly on the -ground, as she instantly turned her steps towards the house. The little -wilful and spirited Willie began to strut manfully backward and forward, -declaring that the others might do as they liked, but that _he_ would -not go near the ugly old woman. Georgy pouted—and Lizzie burst into -tears. At the sound of weeping, Julia turned back—soothed and cheered -them all by turns—kissed away the tears of one sister—smoothed the -other’s frowning brow with her soft and loving hand, and laughed at -Willie till he was fain to join in the laugh in spite of himself. She -then desired them to follow her to the school-room—which they -did—clinging to her dress, however, as if they expected to see a -monster in the shape of a governess; but as they reached the flight of -steps which led from the lawn to the house, their courage failed, and, -leaving Julia to ascend alone, they suddenly and simultaneously turned -to escape, and hurrying away, concealed themselves in the garden, where -they soon resumed their sports. - -In the meantime Julia had ascended the steps and stood gazing in silent -astonishment through the glass door opening into the school-room. The -object of her dread was there—but not as she had pictured her—a prim, -severe old-maid. A girl apparently younger than herself, with a sweet -glowing face, shaded by a profusion of lovely hair,—her straw bonnet -flung on the floor, and her simple white dress looking anything but -old-maidish—was stooping to caress their favorite dog, Carlo, while the -pet-parrot sat perched on her shoulder, mingling his gorgeous plumage -with her light brown curls, and crying with all his might, “old-maid -governess! old-maid governess!” As our heroine raised her head, -wondering at the strange salutation, (which, by the way, master Willie -had been maliciously teaching him for some time previous,) her eyes -encountered those of the smiling Julia, who, equally surprised and -delighted at the scene, already saw, in Miss Evelyn, a friend after her -own heart, such an one as she had long ardently desired. - -At this critical moment, the good old nurse entered from the lawn, and -seeing the mutual embarrassment of the parties, said simply to -May—“This is your oldest pupil, madam.” At the words “madam” and -“pupil,” both May and Julia tried hard to repress the smiles which would -peep through their eyes and lips—in vain. The dimples on the cheek of -the youthful governess grew deeper and deeper—Julia’s dark eyes flashed -through their drooping fringes more and more brightly, and, at length, -the smothered merriment burst irresistibly forth. No sooner had the -latter’s eye caught the arch glance and her ear the musical laugh of -May, than she sprang forward to clasp her readily extended hand, -exclaiming, “I am sure you will be my friend!” - -“That I will,” said May, “if you won’t call me ‘old-maid governess’ -again.” - -“Old-maid governess, old-maid governess,” screamed the parrot from his -cage. - -May began to look grave, and Julia, blushing with vexation, led her -gently to the cage, outside of the door, and pointed to the bird in -silence. “How stupid I was!” exclaimed May; “I quite forgot the parrot -when I saw that beautiful dog. I do so love dogs—don’t you?” - -“Yes! but I love you better,” said Julia, affectionately, throwing her -arm around her new friend’s neck, and sealing her avowal with a kiss. - -At this moment, Willie was seen peeping and stealing slyly round the -shrubbery—his roguish face subdued to as demure a look as it could -possibly assume. For a moment he stared at the pair in amazement, and -then clapping his hands, he shouted, - -“Georgy! Lizzie! Georgy! come and see Julia kissing the governess!” - -“Oh! you lovely boy!” exclaimed May—bounding down the steps, “I must -have a kiss!” and away she flew after the little rosy rogue—he laughing -so heartily as to impede his progress, till at last helpless, from very -glee, he fell into her arms, and allowed her to kiss him half a dozen -times before he remembered that she was the teacher so dreaded by them -all. When he did recollect, he looked up half incredulously in her face. - -“You are not old!” said he,—“no, nor yet prim, nor cross. I don’t think -you are so very ugly either, and maybe you don’t know much after all. I -say, governess, if you please, ma’am, can you spin a top?” - -“No!” said May. - -“Hurrah! I thought so—hurrah, Georgy! she don’t know so much as I do -now—hurrah! hurrah! I’ll stand by her for one!” and, tossing his hat in -the air, he sprang into the lap of May, who had sank into a low rustic -seat, quite exhausted from her exercise—her cheeks glowing—her hair in -disorder, and her lips parted with smiling delight. - -By this time the two little girls, who had been peeping a long while, -ventured, followed by Julia, to approach;—Georgiana leading, or rather -dragging the shy but lovely little Lizzie in one hand, and holding in -the other a freshly gathered rose-bud, which she timidly presented to -our heroine, as if to bribe her not to be harsh with them. May stooped -to kiss the intelligent face whose dark and eloquent eyes looked so -pleadingly into hers; while Julia, who stood behind her, stole the rose -from her hand. “Let me wreathe it in your hair,” she said. At that -moment, while she was yet engaged in her graceful task, the Earl -suddenly appeared before them. It must be remembered that he had seen, -from his library window, the before-mentioned chase, and rather curious -to know who the beautiful visiter could be, (not having been apprised of -Miss Evelyn’s arrival,) he had followed them to the spot on which they -were now assembled—May on the seat, parting the dark curls from -Lizzie’s bashful and downcast brow; Willie on her knee; Georgy gazing up -in her face, and Julia placing the rose-bud in her hair. All started at -the sudden appearance of the Earl. Willie sprang to his arms, and little -Lizzie, afraid of every new comer, laid her curly head on the knee of -her newly-found friend, and turned up her bright eyes inquiringly to her -father’s face. - -“Do not let me disturb your play, my children,” said the Earl. “I only -come to remind you, that your governess will soon be here, and that you -must welcome her with respect and attention. But, Julia, you must -introduce me to this merry young friend of yours, who runs as if her -heart were in her feet;” and so saying, he playfully patted the drooping -head of the blushing and embarrassed girl, who, all this while, had been -striving to hide her fears and her confusion by pretending to be deeply -occupied in twisting Lizzie’s silken ringlets round her little taper -finger. The moment she had heard Willie exclaim, “papa!” all her former -dread of that awful personage returned, and, with it, for the first -time, a full sense of her own inefficiency to perform the task she had -undertaken. His voice so deep and yet so sweet and playful, banished -half her dread, but only increased her confusion. - -Julia, however, came instantly to her relief, with a tact and delicacy -uncommon in one so young—saying simply and seriously, “This is our -governess, papa. Miss Evelyn, this is our dear papa.” - -The Earl started back,—tried to repress his smiles, bowed low to -conceal them, and then taking her hand respectfully in his, bade her -welcome to the castle. - -The word “governess” had acted like a spell upon May’s faculties; it -restored her to a sense of the dignity of her situation, and rising -instantly and drawing her beautiful form to its full height, she -received and returned the compliments of the Earl with a graceful -dignity and self-possession, that astonished him, as much as it awed the -poor children. And when, in his courteous reply, he begged her pardon -for his mistake, in a tone at once gentle and deferential, she found -courage, for the first time, to raise her eyes. It was no stern, old, -pompous nobleman, such as her fears had portrayed, who stood before her, -but an elegant man, in the prime of life, with a noble figure and -singularly handsome face, full of genius and feeling. - -His dark eyes were bent upon her with a gaze of mingled curiosity and -admiration; but, as they met hers, he recollected himself, and wishing -her and his children good morning, and resigning Willie, as if it were a -thing of course, to her arms, (a circumstance, by the way, which he -could not help smiling at half an hour afterwards,) he passed on and -left them. - -And now came innumerable questions from all but the silent Georgy, who -contented herself with nestling close to the side of our heroine as they -wandered through the grounds—and gazing with her large soft eyes into -her face, now dimpled with the light of mirth, now softening into -tenderness, and now shadowed by a passing thought of “papa, and Lionel, -and home.” - -“And oh!” said Lizzie, “you won’t take away my doll and make me study -all the time, will you?” - -“No, indeed, darling! I would much rather help you dress your doll.” - -“And I may spin my top all day if I like—may I not?” asked Willie. - -“Yes, if papa is willing.” - -“Oh! but papa told us to obey all your commands.” - -“Commands,” thought May, “oh, dear, I shall never do for a governess!” - -The day passed on in sport. Our heroine’s duties were to commence on the -next; but she would not allow her fears for the morrow to interfere with -her present delight. In the meantime, the Earl, amid his important -duties, was haunted all day by one bewitching image;—a fair sweet face -glanced brightly up from every book he opened, from every paper to which -he referred; and, in his dreams that night, he led to the altar a second -bride, more lovely, more beloved than the first. - - - CHAPTER III. - -Early the next morning, as May sat teaching Willie to read, with a -demure face, through which the rebel dimples would peep in spite of her -assumed dignity; while Julia, with a look equally demure, was bending -over an Italian book; Georgy drawing, and Lizzie hemming a wee bit -’kerchief for her doll—the Earl entered the school-room from the lawn. - -Unseen, he paused at the open door to contemplate the lovely tableau -within;—the governess in her pretty girlish morning dress, with her -long ringlets shadowing half her face and neck, as she bent over the -boy, pointing out to him the word;—Willie by her side—one hand holding -the book, the other his top, kicking the chair impatiently—first with -one foot, then with the other, and looking round every minute to see -what his sisters were doing;—Georgy smiling as she drew; Lizzie sitting -upright in her little chair, with a doll almost as large as herself on -her lap, ever and anon trying the ’kerchief round its neck to see the -effect; and the simple, modest Julia, looking even older than May, with -her dark hair smoothly parted—raising at times her eyes with looks of -loving sympathy to those of the youthful teacher. - -It was indeed a sunny scene; but the silence was broken by the voice of -Georgy requesting assistance in her drawing. The young governess rose, -and taking her offered pencil, retouched the sketch in a few places, at -the same time giving the child directions how to finish it. Suddenly the -pencil trembled in her hand,—the sweet low voice stopped—went -on—faltered—ceased again, and May burst into tears! The Earl had -stolen behind them to watch the progress of the drawing. May had felt, -rather than heard, his approach,—and confused by his presence, half -suspecting her own deficiency in the art, yet afraid to discontinue her -directions at once, her face suffused with blushes, she tried in vain to -proceed. Little Lizzie saw her tears, and springing from her seat, -climbed a chair to caress her, exclaiming, “Don’t cry! papa won’t hurt -you! Papa loves you dearly—don’t you, papa?” - -Here was a situation! It was now the Earl’s turn to color; but the -artless and innocent May, who had as yet known only a father’s and a -brother’s love, did not dream of any other in the present case; on the -contrary, she was soothed by the affectionate assurances of the child, -and, smiling through her tears, looked up confidingly in the Earl’s -face. Charmed with the childlike sweetness of her expression he could -not resist taking her hand, with almost paternal tenderness, in his, -while May, reassured by the gentleness of his manner, ventured to -acknowledge her own ignorance, and to request his assistance in the -sketch before them. This, to the delight of all, he willingly consented -to give, and when, at two o’clock, the nurse came to take the children -to dinner, she found May seated alone at the table, intent on a newly -commenced drawing—the Earl leaning over her chair and instructing her -in its progress—Julia singing “Love’s Young Dream,” and the three -children gone no one knew where. - -The next day, and the next, the Earl was still to be found in the -school-room, sometimes spinning Willie’s top, sometimes reading an -Italian author aloud to his daughter and her governess—often sharing -the book with the latter, and oftener still, blending his rich and manly -voice with hers as she sang to the harp or piano. One day a visiter -asked Willie how he liked his new governess? “Oh!” said the boy, “_papa_ -is governess now. May is only our sister, and we are all _so_ happy!” - -Thus passed a year—Julia and May daily improving under their indulgent -and unwearied teacher—and imparting in their turn instruction to the -younger branches of the family. May had confided to Julia all her little -history. She had written often to her father, and had received many -letters in return. From one of them she learned, to her great joy and -surprise, that Lionel had received his commission from some unknown -friend. At the same time, her father advised her, as she had engaged for -a year, to be contented until the expiration of it. “Contented!” - -The last day of the year had arrived—May had lately been so happy that -she had forgotten to think of being separated from the family she loved -so much. - -On the morning of the day, the Earl was in his library, Julia making -tea, and May on a low ottoman at his feet, reading aloud the morning -paper. Suddenly she paused, dropped the paper, and covered her face with -her hands. The Earl, alarmed, bent tenderly over her, and Julia was by -her side in a moment. - -“What is it, dear May?” she said. - -“Oh, the paper—look at the paper, Julia!” - -The Earl caught it up—“Where—tell me where to look, May?” - -“At the date—the date!” - -“The date—it is the first of June—and what then?” - -“Oh! did I not _come_ the first of June and must I not go to-morrow? I -am sure I shall never do for a governess!” and she hid her face on -Julia’s shoulder, and wept afresh. - -The Earl raised her gently—“Perhaps not; but you will do for something -else, sweet May!” - -“For what?” she asked earnestly—half wondering whether he could mean -_housekeeper_! - -“Come into the garden with me, dear, dear May, and I will tell you,” he -whispered in her ear. - -At once the whole truth flashed upon her heart. “She loved—she was -beloved!” She was no longer a child—that moment transformed her; and -shrinking instantly from his embrace and blushing till her very temples -glowed again—she said in a low and timid voice, “I think I had better -go home to-morrow—perhaps to-day: my father will expect me.” - -“Julia,” said the Earl, “run into the garden, love, and see to -Willie—he is in mischief, I dare say.” His daughter was out of sight in -a moment. May stood shrinking and trembling, but unable to move. The -Earl gazed, with a feeling bordering upon reverence, at the young girl, -as she stood alone in her innocence. He drew slowly towards -her—hesitated—again approached, and taking her hand with respectful -tenderness, he said—“You know that I love you, May—how fondly—how -fervently—time must show for language cannot:—will you—_say_ you will -be mine—with your father’s consent, dear May—or say that I may hope!” - -Her whole soul was in her eyes as she raised them slowly to his and -dropped them instantly again beneath his ardent gaze. “But—papa!” she -murmured. - -“We will all go together, and ask ‘papa,’ dearest; and now for a turn in -the garden. You will not refuse now, love?” And May Evelyn, blushing and -smiling, took his offered arm, wondering what “dear papa and Lionel” -would say to all this. - -It was a lovely evening in the early part of June, that, while Mr. -Evelyn sat dozing in his arm chair and dreaming of his absent children, -a light form stole over the threshold, and when he awoke, his gray hair -was mingled with the glistening locks of his own beautiful and beloved -May—his head resting on her shoulder, and her kiss warm upon his cheek! - -“My Lord,” said May, demurely, as she entered, with her father, the -drawing-room in which the Earl awaited them—“papa is very glad that I -have _given satisfaction_;—he thinks your visit a proof of it—although -he could hardly have expected so much from his little ignoramus, as he -will persist in calling me.” - -“My dear sir,” said the Earl, cordially pressing the offered hand of his -host, “she has given _so much satisfaction_, that I wish, with your -consent, to retain her as _governess_ for life, not for my children, but -myself.” - -The reader has already foreseen the conclusion. Mr. Evelyn’s consent was -obtained;—Lionel was sent for to be present at the wedding;—the -ceremony was quietly performed in the little church of the village;—and -for many succeeding seasons in London, the graceful and elegant wife of -the Earl of —— was “the observed of all observers,” “the cynosure of -neighboring eyes.” - - * * * * * - - - - - AN EPISTLE TO FANNY. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - - Sweet Fanny, though I know you not, - And I have never seen the splendor - That flashes from your hazel eyes - To make the souls of men surrender; - Though, when they ask me how you look, - I’m forced to say “I never met her,” - I hope you will not deem it wrong - If I address to you a letter. - - Here in mine own secluded room, - Forgetful of life’s sober duty, - Lapped in the stillness of repose, - I sit and muse and dream of beauty; - I picture all that’s fair and bright - Which poets sometimes call Elysian, - And, ’mid the shapes that round me throng, - Behold one soft, enchanting vision. - - A lady—lovely as the morn - When Night her starry mansion closes, - And gentle winds with fairy feet - Toss the sweet dew from blushing roses— - A lady—to whose lip and cheek - Some twenty summer suns have given - Colors as rich as those that melt - Along the evening clouds of Heaven. - - Her stature tall, her tresses dark, - Her brow like light in ambush lying, - Her hand—the very hand I’d give - The world to clasp if I were dying! - Her eyes, the glowing types of love, - Upon the heart they print their meaning— - How mild they shine as o’er them fall - Those lashes long their lustre screening! - - Sweet Fanny, can you not divine - The form that floats before my dreaming, - And whose the pictured smiles I see - This moment on my canvass beaming? - You cannot! then I’ve failed indeed, - To paint a single look I cherish— - So, you may cast my lines aside, - And bid them like my memory perish. - - My memory! what am I to thee, - Oh purest, gentlest, fairest, dearest! - Yes, _dearest_, though thy glance be cold - When first my humble name thou hearest. - Though I am nothing, thou to me - Art Fancy’s best beloved ideal; - And well I know the form she paints - Is far less charming than the real. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DOOM OF THE TRAITRESS.[1] - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CROMWELL,” “THE BROTHERS,” ETC. - - -A cold and dark northeaster had swept together a host of straggling -vapors and thin lowering clouds over the French metropolis—the course -of the Seine might be traced easily among the grotesque roofs and gothic -towers which at that day adorned its banks, by the gray ghostly mist -which seethed up from its sluggish waters—a small fine rain was falling -noiselessly and almost imperceptibly, by its own weight as it were, from -the surcharged and watery atmosphere—the air was keenly cold and -piercing, although the seasons had not crept far as yet beyond the -confines of the summer. The trees, for there were many in the streets of -Paris and still more in the fauxbourgs and gardens of the haute -noblesse, were thickly covered with white rime, as were the manes and -frontlets of the horses, the clothes, and hair, and eyebrows of the -human beings who ventured forth in spite of the inclement weather. A -sadder and more gloomy scene can scarcely be conceived than is presented -by the streets of a large city in such a time as that I have attempted -to describe. But this peculiar sadness was, on the day of which I write, -augmented and exaggerated by the continual tolling of the great bell of -St. Germain Auxerrois, replying to the iron din which arose from the -gray towers of Notre Dâme. From an early hour of the day the people had -been congregating in the streets and about the bridges leading to the -precincts of the royal palace, the Chateau des Tournelles, which then -stood—long since obliterated almost from the memory of men—upon the -Isle de Paris, the greater part of which was covered then with the -courts, and terraces, and gardens of that princely pile. - -Strong bodies of the household troops were posted here and there about -the avenues and gates of the royal demesne, and several large -detachments of the archers of the prevôt’s guard—still called so from -the arms which they had long since ceased to carry—might be seen every -where on duty. Yet there were no symptoms of an émeute among the -populace, nor any signs of angry feeling or excitement in the features -of the loitering crowd, which was increasing every moment as the day -waxed toward noon. Some feeling certainly there was—some dark and -earnest interest, as might be judged from the knit brows, clinched -hands, and anxious whispers which every where attended the exchange of -thought throughout the concourse—but it was by no means of an alarming -or an angry character. Grief, wonder, expectation, and a sort of half -doubtful pity, as far as might be gathered from the words of the passing -speakers, were the more prominent ingredients of the common feeling, -which had called out so large a portion of the city’s population on a -day so unsuited to any spectacle of interest. For several hours this -mob, increasing as it has been described from hour to hour, varied but -little in its character, save that as the day wore it became more and -more respectable in the appearance of its members. At first it had been -composed almost without exception of artisans and shop boys, and -mechanics of the lowest order, with not a few of the cheats, bravoes, -pickpockets, and similar ruffians, who then as now formed a fraternity -of no mean size in the Parisian world. As the morning advanced, however, -many of the burghers of the city, and respectable craftsmen, might be -seen among the crowd; and a little later many of the secondary gentry -and petite noblesse, with well-dressed women and even children, all -showing the same symptoms of sad yet eager expectation. Now, when it -lacked but a few minutes of noon, long trains of courtiers with their -retinues and armed attendants, many a head of a renowned and ancient -house, many a warrior famous for valor and for conduct might be seen -threading the mazes of the crowded thoroughfares toward the royal -palace. - -A double ceremony of singular and solemn nature was soon to be enacted -there—the interment of a noble soldier, slain lately in an unjust -quarrel, and the investiture of an unwilling woman with the robes of a -holy sisterhood preparatory to her lifelong interment in that sepulchre -of the living body—sepulchre of the pining soul—the convent cloisters. -Armand de Laguy!—Marguerite de Vaudreuil! - -Many circumstances had united in this matter to call forth much -excitement, much grave interest in the minds of all who had heard tell -of it!—the singular and wild romance of the story, the furious and -cruel combat which had resulted from it—and last not least, the -violent, and, as it was generally considered, unnatural resentment of -the King toward the guilty victim who survived the ruin she had wrought. - -The story was in truth, then, but little understood—a thousand rumors -were abroad, and of course no one accurately true—yet in each there was -a share of truth, and the amount of the whole was, perhaps, less wide of -the mark than is usual in matters of the kind. And thus they ran. -Marguerite de Vaudreuil had been betrothed to the youngest of France’s -famous warriors, Charles de La-Hirè, who after a time fell—as it was -related by his young friend and kinsman, Armand de Laguy—covered with -wounds and honor. The body had been found outstretched beneath the -surviver, who, himself desperately hurt, had alone witnessed, and in -vain endeavored to prevent, his cousin’s slaughter. The face of Charles -de La-Hirè, as all men deemed the corpse to be, was mangled and defaced -so frightfully as to render recognition by the features utterly -hopeless—yet from the emblazoned surcoat which it bore, the well-known -armor on the limbs, the signet ring upon the finger, and the accustomed -sword clenched in the dead right hand, none doubted the identity of the -body, or questioned the truth of Armand’s story. - -Armand de Laguy, succeeding by his cousin’s death to all his lands and -lordships, returned to the metropolis, mixed in the gayeties of that gay -period, when all the court of France was revelling in the celebration of -the union of the Dauphin with the lovely Mary Stuart, in after days the -hapless queen of Scotland. - -He wore no decent and accustomed garb of mourning—he suffered no -interval, however brief, due to decorum at least if not to kindly -feeling, to elapse before it was announced that Marguerite de Vaudreuil, -the dead man’s late betrothed, was instantly to wed his living cousin. -Her wondrous beauty, her all-seductive manners, her extreme youth had in -vain pleaded against the general censure of the court—the world! Men -had frowned on her for awhile, and women sneered and slandered!—but -after a little while, as the novelty of the story wore away, the -indignation against her inconstancy ceased, and she was once again -installed the leader of the court’s unwedded beauties. - -Suddenly, on the very eve of her intended nuptials, Charles de La-Hirè -returned—ransomed, as it turned out, by Brissac, from the Italian -dungeons of the Prince of Parma, and making fearful charges of treason -and intended murder against Armand de Laguy. The King had commanded that -the truth should be proved by a solemn combat, had sworn to execute upon -the felon’s block whichever of the two should yield or confess -falsehood, had sworn that the inconstant Marguerite, who, on the return -of De La-Hirè, had returned instantly to her former feelings, asserting -her perfect confidence in the truth of Charles, the treachery of Armand, -should either wed the victor, or live and die the inmate of the most -rigorous convent in his realm. - -The battle had been fought yesterday!—Armand de Laguy fell, mortally -wounded by his wronged cousin’s hand, and with his latest breath -declared his treasons, and implored pardon from his King, his kinsman, -and his God—happy to perish by a brave man’s sword not by a headsman’s -axe. And Marguerite—the victor’s prize—rejected by the man she had -betrayed—herself refusing, even if he were willing, to wed with him -whom she could but dishonor—had now no option save death or the -detested cloister. - -And now men pitied—women wept—all frowned and wondered and kept -silence. That a young, vain, capricious beauty—the pet and spoiled -child from her very cradle of a gay and luxurious court—worshipped for -her charms like a second Aphrodite—intoxicated with the love of -admiration—that such an one should be inconstant, fickle!—should -swerve from her fealty to the dead!—a questionable fealty always!—and -be won to a rash second love by the falsehood and treasons of a man, -young and brave and handsome—falsehood which had deceived wise -men—that such should be the course of events, men said, was neither -strange nor monstrous! It was a fault, a lapse of which she had been -guilty, which might indeed make her future faith suspected, which would -surely justify Charles de La-Hirè in casting back her proffered hand, -but which at the worst was venial, and deserving no such doom as the -soul-chilling cloister. - -She had, they said, in no respect participated in the guilt, or shared -the treacheries of Armand—on the contrary—she, the victim of his -fraud, had been the first to denounce, to spit at, to defy him. - -Moreover it was understood that although de La-Hirè had refused her -hand, several of equal and even higher birth than he had offered to -redeem her from the cloister by taking her to wife of their free -choice—Jarnac had claimed the beauty—and it was whispered that the -Duke de Nevers had sued to Henry vainly for the fair hand of the -unwilling novice. - -But the King was relentless. “Either the wife of De La-Hirè!—or the -bride of God in the cloister!” was his unvarying reply. No farther -answer would he give—no disclosure of his motives would he make even to -his wisest councillors. Some indeed augured that the good monarch’s -anger was but feigned, and that deeming her sufficiently punished -already he was desirous still of forcing her to be the bride of him to -whom she had been destined, and whom she still, despite her brief -inconstancy, unquestionably worshipped in her heart. For all men still -supposed that at the last Charles would forgive the hapless girl, and so -relieve her from the living tomb that even now seemed yawning to enclose -her. But others—and they were those who understood the best mood of -France’s second Henry—vowed that the wrath was real; and felt, that, -though no man could fathom the cause of his stern ire, he never would -forgive the guilty girl, whose frailty, as he swore, had caused such -strife and bloodshed. - -But now it was high noon, and forth filed from the palace gates a long -and glittering train—Henry and all his court, with all the rank and -beauty of the realm, knights, nobles, peers and princes, damsels and -dames—the pride of France and Europe. But at the monarch’s right walked -one, clad in no gay attire—pale, languid, wounded and warworn—Charles -de La-Hirè, the victor. A sad deep gloom o’ercast his large dark eye, -and threw a shadow over his massy forehead—his lip had forgot to smile! -his glance to lighten! yet was there no remorse, no doubt, no wavering -in his calm, noble features—only fixed, settled sorrow. His long and -waving hair of the darkest chesnut, evenly parted on his crown, fell -down on either cheek, and flowed over the broad plain collar of his -shirt which, decked with no embroidery lace, was folded back over the -cape of a plain black pourpoint, made of fine cloth indeed, but neither -laced nor passemented, nor even slashed with velvet—a broad scarf of -black taffeta supported his weapon—a heavy double-edged straight -broadsword, and served at the same time to support his left arm, the -sleeve of which hung open, tied in with points of ribbon. His trunk-hose -and his nether stocks of plain black silk, black velvet shoes and a -slouched hat, with neither feather nor cockade, completed the suit of -melancholy mourning which he wore. In the midst of the train was a yet -sadder sight, Marguerite de Vaudreuil, robed in the snow-white vestments -of a novice, with all her glorious ringlets flowing in loose redundance -over her shoulders and her bosom, soon to be cut close by the fatal -scissors—pale as the monumental stone and only not as rigid. A -hard-featured gray-headed monk, supported her on either hand—and a long -train of priests swept after with crucifix and rosary and censer. - -Scarce had this strange procession issued from the great gates of les -Tournelles, the death-bells tolling still from every tower and steeple, -before another train, gloomier yet and sadder, filed out from the gate -of the royal tilt-yard, at the farther end of which stood a superb -pavilion. Sixteen black Benedictine monks led the array chanting the -mournful _miserere_—next behind these, strange contrast!—strode on the -grim gaunt form, clad in his blood-stained tabard, and bearing full -displayed his broad two-handed axe—fell emblem of his odious -calling!—the public executioner of Paris. Immediately in the rear of -this dark functionary, not borne by his bold captains, nor followed by -his gallant vassals with arms reversed and signs of martial sorrow, but -ignominiously supported by the grim-visaged ministers of the law, came -on the bier of Armand, the last Count de Laguy. - -Stretched in a coffin of the rudest material and construction, with his -pale visage bare, displaying still in its distorted lines and sharpened -features the agonies of mind and body which had preceded his untimely -dissolution, the bad but haughty noble was borne to his long home in the -grave-yard of Notre Dâme. His sword, broken in twain, was laid across -his breast, his spurs had been hacked from his heels by the base cleaver -of the scullion, and his reversed escutcheon was hung above his head. - -Narrowly saved by his wronged kinsman’s intercession from dying by the -headsman’s weapon ere yet his mortal wounds should have let out his -spirit—he was yet destined to the shame of a dishonored sepulchre—such -was the King’s decree, alas! inexorable. - -The funeral train proceeded—the King and his court followed. They -reached the grave-yard, hard beneath those superb gray towers!—they -reached the grave, in a remote and gloomy corner, where, in -unconsecrated earth, reposed the executed felon—the priests attended -not the corpse beyond the precincts of that unholy spot—their solemn -chant died mournfully away—no rites were done, no prayers were said -above the senseless clay—but in silence was it lowered into the ready -pit—silence disturbed only by the deep hollow sound of the clods that -fell fast and heavy on the breast of the guilty noble! For many a day a -headstone might be seen—not raised by the kind hands of sorrowing -friends nor watered by the tears of kinsmen—but planted there, to tell -of his disgraceful doom—amid the nameless graves of the self-slain—and -the recorded resting-places of well-known thieves and felons. It was of -dark gray free-stone, and it bore these brief words—brief words, but in -that situation speaking the voice of volumes. - - Ci git Armand - Le Dernier Comte de Laguy. - -Three forms stood by the grave—stood till the last clod had been heaped -upon its kindred clay, and the dark headstone planted. Henry, the King! -and Charles, the Baron De La-Hirè; and Marguerite de Vaudreuil. - -And as the last clod was flattened down upon the dead, after the stone -was fixed, De La-Hirè crossed the grave to the despairing girl, where -she had stood gazing with a fixed rayless eye on the sad ceremony and -took her by the hand, and spoke so loud that all might hear his words, -while Henry looked on calmly but not without an air of wondering -excitement. - -“Not that I did not love thee,” he said, “Marguerite! Not that I did not -pardon thee thy brief inconstancy, caused as it was by evil arts of -which we will say nothing now—since he who plotted them hath suffered -even above his merits, and is—we trust—now pardoned! Not for these -causes, nor for any of them—have I declined thine hand thus far—but -that the King commanded, judging it in his wisdom best for both of us. -Now Armand is gone hence—and let all doubt and sorrow go hence with -him! Let all your tears, all my suspicions be buried in his grave -forever. I take your hand, dear Marguerite—I take you as mine honored -and loved bride—I claim you mine forever!” - -Thus far the girl had listened to him, not blushingly, nor with a -melting eye; nor with any sign of renewed hope or rekindled happiness in -her pale features—but with cold resolute attention—but now she put -away his hand very steadily, and spoke with a firm unfaltering voice. - -“Be not so weak!” she said. “Be not so weak, Charles de La-Hirè!—nor -fancy me so vain! The weight and wisdom of years have passed above my -head since yester morning—then was I a vain, thoughtless girl—now am I -a stern wise woman. That I have sinned is very true—that I have -betrayed thee—wronged thee! It may be, had you spoke pardon -yesterday—it might have been all well! It may be it _had been_ dishonor -in you to take me to your arms—but if to do so had been dishonor -yesterday, by what is it made honor now? No! no! Charles de La-Hirè—no! -no!—I had refused thee yesterday, hadst thou been willing to redeem me, -by self-sacrifice, _then_ from the convent walls!—I had refused thee -_then_, with love warming my heart toward thee—in all honor! Force me -not to reject thee _now_ with scorn and hatred. Nor dare to think that -Marguerite de Vaudreuil will owe to man’s compassion, what she owes not -to love! Peace! Charles de La-Hirè—I say, peace! my last words to thee -have been spoken, and never will I hear more from thee! And now, Sir -King, hear thou—may God judge between thee and me, as thou hast judged. -If I _was_ frail and fickle, nature and God made woman weak and -credulous—but made man _not_ wise, to deceive and ruin her. If I sinned -deeply against this Baron De La-Hirè—I sinned not knowingly, nor of -premeditation! If I sinned deeply, more deeply was I sinned -against—more deeply was I left to suffer!—even hadst thou heaped no -more brands upon the burning. If to bear hopeless love—to pine with -unavailing sorrow—to repent with continual remorse—to writhe with -trampled pride!—if these things be to suffer, then, Sir King, had I -enough suffered without thy _just_ interposition!” As she spoke, a -bitter sneer curled her lip for a moment; but as she saw Henry again -about to speak, a wilder and higher expression flashed over all her -features—her form appeared to distend—her bosom heaved—her eye -glared—her ringlets seemed to stiffen, as if instinct with life “Nay!” -she cried, in a voice clear as the strain of a silver trumpet—“nay! -thou _shalt_ hear me out—and thou didst swear yesterday I should live -in a cloister cell forever!—and I replied to thy words _then_, ‘not -long!’—I have thought better _now_—and _now_ I answer ‘_never_!’ Lo -here!—lo here! ye who have marked the doom of Armand—mark now the doom -of Marguerite! Ye who have judged the treason, mark the doom of the -traitress!” And with the words, before any one could interfere, even had -they suspected her intentions, she raised her right hand on high, and -all then saw the quick twinkle of a weapon, and struck herself, as it -seemed, a quick slight blow immediately under the left bosom! It seemed -a quick slight blow! but it had been so accurately studied—so steadily -aimed and fatally—that the keen blade, scarcely three inches long and -very slender, of the best of Milan steel, with nearly a third of the -hilt, was driven home into her very heart—she spoke no syllable -again!—nor uttered any cry!—nor did a single spasm contract her pallid -features, a single convulsion distort her shapely limbs! but she leaped -forward, and fell upon her face, quite dead, at the King’s feet! - -Henry smiled not again for many a day thereafter—Charles De La Hirè -died very old, a Carthusian monk of the strictest order, having mourned -sixty years and prayed in silence for the sorrows and the sins of that -most hapless being. - ------ - -[1] See the Duello, page 85. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE STRANGER’S FUNERAL. - - - BY N. C. BROOKS. - - - A solitary hearse without mourner or friend wheeled by me with - unceremonious speed. It filled my heart with feelings of the - most chilling desolation, which were augmented perhaps by the - peculiar gloom of the evening. I reached the rude grave in which - the corpse was deposited, and learned from the menial who was - performing the last rites that it was a young German of fine - talents, with whom I had travelled a few months before, who, far - from his home and friends, had fallen a victim to the prevailing - epidemic.—Letter of a Friend. - - No solemn bell pealed on the air, - No train in sable gloom - Moved slow with the holy man of prayer - To stand around his tomb; - The hearse rolled on without sign of love - To the church, in lonely woe, - Where bent the solemn heavens above - The opened grave below: - But he recked not of the heavens o’ercast, - Or the yawning gulf of death; - For with him Earth’s bitterness had passed, - Ere passed his fleeting breath. - - The stranger pressed a lonely bed, - No smiles dispelled the gloom - Of the dark and funeral shades that spread - Around his dying room; - And his heart with grief did melt, - And he wandered in fevered dreams - To the home where the loved of his youth still dwelt, - By the side of his own blue streams: - His heart for their voices yearned, - And the warm tears fell like rain, - As his dying eyes to the home were turned - That he ne’er should see again. - - The stranger’s griefs are o’er, - And his body lies alone, - From his friends afar on a foreign shore - Without a funeral stone; - And long shall voices call, - And midnight tapers burn - For him that is bound in death’s cold thrall, - But he shall no more return: - He shall return no more - From his lowly sleep in dust, - ’Till the trump announce death’s bondage o’er, - And the “rising of the just.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FIRST STEP. - - - BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. - - -“Well met, Harry,” exclaimed Edward Morton, as he encountered his friend -Wilford in Broadway, “I have two questions to ask you. In the first -place, what do you call that odd-looking vehicle in which I saw you -riding yesterday? and in the second, who was that pretty little sister -Ruth seated so demurely beside you?” - -“My new carriage,” said Harry, laughing, “having been invented by -myself, has the honor to bear my name; it is called a Wilford; I will -sell it to you cheap, if you like it, for that booby Danforth has -ordered one of the same pattern, and I will never sport mine after he -comes out with his.” - -“And so because a fool follows your lead you throw up your cards; you -will have enough to do if you carry out that rule in all your actions. -Thank you for your kind offer; but really I am neither rich nor -fashionable enough to drive about town in such a Welsh butter-tub. Now, -answer my second question; who is the lady;—has she been named in honor -of the vehicle?” - -“No, but she will probably bear the name of its inventor in due time.” - -“Can it be possible, Harry? have you really determined to turn Benedict -before the pleasures of freedom have palled upon your taste? Have you -seriously reflected upon all you are about to relinquish? Have you -thought upon the pleasant _tête-à-têtes_, the agreeable flirtations, the -many delicious ‘love-passages’ which the admired Harry Wilford is -privileged to enjoy while he roves at large, but which will hereafter be -denied to him who wears the clanking fetters of matrimony?” - -“I have thought of every thing, Ned; and, to tell you the truth, I am -beginning to get tired of the aimless, profitless life I now lead.” - -“And, therefore, you are going to turn merchant and marry; you will have -a considerable amount to add to profit and loss by these experiments. -Pray who is the enchantress that has woven so wondrous a spell of -transformation?” - -“She bears the primitive name of Rachel, and was both born and bred in -the little village of Westbury, where, as I am told, a fashionably cut -coat or one of Leary’s hats would be regarded as a foreign curiosity. -She has never stirred beyond the precincts of her native place until -this spring, when she accompanied a newly married relative to our gay -city. Indeed she has been kept so strictly within the pale of her -society, that if her cousin had not fortunately married out of it, the -lovely Rachel would probably have walked quietly to meeting with some -grave young broad-brim, and contented herself with a drab bonnet all her -life.” - -“So your inamorata is country bred. By Jupiter I shall begin to believe -in the revival of witchcraft. Is she rich, Harry?” - -“I see the drift of your question, Ned; but you are mistaken if you -think I have looked on her through golden spectacles. She is an orphan -with sufficient property to render her independent of relatives, but not -enough to entice a fortune-hunter.” - -“Well, if any one but yourself had told me that Harry Wilford, with all -his advantages of _purse_ and _person_, had made choice of a little -rusticated Quakeress to be his bride, I could not have believed it,” -said Morton; “pray do you expect this pretty Lady Gravely to preside at -the exquisite dinners for which your bachelor’s establishment has long -been famous? or do you intend to forego such vulgar enjoyments for the -superior pleasures of playing Darby to Mrs. Wilford’s Joan in your -chimney corner?” - -“No quizzing, Ned,” said Wilford, smiling, “Rachel has been well -educated, and the staid decorum of the sect has not destroyed her native -elegance of manner.” - -“But the _drab bonnet_, Harry:—can _you_, the pride of your tailor and -the envy of your less tasteful friends,—_you_, the very prince of -Broadway exquisites,—you, the American Brummel, who would as willingly -have been caught picking a pocket, as wearing a glove two days, a hat -two weeks, or a coat two months,—can you venture to destroy the -reputation which you have acquired at such cost, by introducing a drab -bonnet to the acquaintance of your be-plumed and be-flowered female -friends?” - -“Wait awhile, Edward; Rachel has not yet learned to admire the gayeties -of our city; her eyes have been too long accustomed to the ‘sober -twilight gray,’ and she is rather dazzled than pleased with the splendor -of fashionable society, but she has too much of womanly feelings to -continue long insensible to womanly vanity.” - -“Well, success to you, Harry, but let me beg you to lay an interdict on -that ugly bonnet as soon as you have a right to exercise your marital -authority.” - -Wilford laughed, and the two gentlemen parted; the one to fulfil an -engagement with the pretty Quakeress, and the other to smoke a cigar, -drink a mint julep, and laugh at his friend’s folly. - -Harry Wilford had been so unlucky as to come into possession of a large -fortune as soon as he attained his majority. I am not in error, gentle -reader, when I say he was _unlucky_, for daily experience bears witness -to the fact, that in this country, at least in nine cases out of ten, a -large inheritance is a great misfortune. The records of gay life in -every large city prove that the most useless, most ignorant, most -vicious, and often the most degraded among the youth, are usually the -sons of plodding and hoarding parents, who have pawned health and -happiness, aye, and sometimes _integrity_—the very life of the soul—to -procure the gold which brings the destruction of their children. Wilford -had passed through college with the reputation of being one of the most -gifted and most indolent of scholars, while his eccentric fits of study, -which served to give him the highest rank in his class, only showed how -much more he might have done, if industry and perseverance had been -allowed to direct his pursuits. Like his career in the university had -been his course through life. With much latent energy of character he -was too infirm of purpose to become distinguished either for virtue or -talent. The curse of Ephraim seemed to have fallen upon the child of -prosperity, and the impressive words of the ancient Patriarch: “Unstable -as water, thou shalt not excel,” might have shadowed forth his destiny. -His fine talents were wasted in empty witticisms; his classical taste -only served to direct his lavish expenditure, and his really noble -feelings were frittered away in hollow friendship, or in transitory -attachments. Handsome, brilliant, and, above all, rich, he became the -idol of a coterie, and intoxicated by the incense which smoked before -him, he did not perceive that its subtle influence enervated all his -nobler faculties. Yet Wilford had escaped the contagion of vice. The -dark stain of criminal excess, which too often sullies the cloth of gold -more deeply than it does the coat of frieze, had never fallen upon his -garments. He could not forget the trembling hand which had been laid -upon his infant head when he offered up his innocent prayers at a -mother’s knee. He remembered her dying supplication that her child might -be kept “unspotted from the world,” and her gentle face, beaming with -unutterable purity and love, often interposed itself between his and his -tempter, when his heart would have failed from very weakness. - -Harry Wilford had completed his thirtieth summer and yet he was a -bachelor. The artillery of bright eyes and brighter smiles had been -levelled at him in vain; the gentler weapons of sweet words and soft -glances had been equally ineffectual. His heart had been captured again -and again, but it was a far easier task to _gain_ than to _keep_ it. -Indeed it was like an ill-garrisoned border fortress, and generally -surrendered at discretion to the first enemy that sat down before it, -who was sure to be soon driven out in turn by another victorious -assailant. He was too universal a lover, and until, like Apelles, he -could unite in one woman the charms which he admired in twenty, there -seemed little probability of his ever being won to wear the chain. The -truth was, that of the many who courted the attentions of the handsome -Mr. Wilford, there was none that seemed to have discovered the fine gold -which lay beneath the surface of his character. The very exuberance of -flowers and fruit which the soil produced, prevented one from expecting -any hidden treasure, for it is not often that the precious things of -earth are found beneath its gay adornments. We look for the diamond, not -under the bank of violets but in the rugged bosom of the mountain, and -thus Wilford’s friends, content with the beautiful blossoms of fancy and -wit which he lavishly flung around, suspected not the noble gifts of -intellect which he possessed. - -Wilford had frequently imagined himself in love, but something had -always occurred to undeceive him and to resolve his pleasant fancies -with very disagreeable facts. He had learned that the demon of -selfishness often lurks under the form of an angel of light, and he -began to distrust many of the fair beings who bestowed upon him their -gentle smiles. He had received more than one severe lesson in human -nature, and it was very soon after officiating as groomsman at the -bridal of a lovely girl whose faith had once been pledged to him, that -he first met the young and guileless Quakeress. There was something so -pure and vestal-like in the delicate complexion, soft blue eye, and -simply braided hair of the gentle Rachel, that Wilford was instantly -charmed. His eye, so long dazzled with the gorgeous draperies, -glittering jewels, and well-displayed beauties of fashionable belles, -rested with a sense of relief on the sober French gray silk, and -transparent lawn neckerchief which so carefully shaded the charms of the -fair rustic. He saw the prettiest of tiny feet peeping from beneath a -robe of far more decorous length than the laws of fashion then -allowed—the whitest of white hands were unadorned by a single -jewel—and the most snowy of necks was only discovered by the swan-like -grace which rendered it visible above its envious screen of muslin. Even -in the society of Friends, where a beautiful complexion is almost as -common to the females as a pair of eyes to each face, Rachel was -remarkable for the peculiar delicacy of hers. It was not of that waxy, -creamy tint, so often considered the true fashionable and aristocratic -complexion, because supposed to be an evidence that the “winds of -heaven” have never visited the face except through the blinds of a -carriage; nor was it the flake-white and carmine-red which often claims -for its possessor the reputation of a brilliant tincture of the skin. -Even the old and worn-out similes of the lily and the rose, would have -failed to give an idea of the delicate hues which added such a charm to -Rachel’s countenance, for the changing glow of her soft cheek, and the -tracery of blue veins which adorned her snowy brow could never be imaged -by a flower of the field. Harry Wilford thought he had never seen -anything so exquisitely lovely, so purely fair, as that sweet face when -in perfect repose, or so vividly bright as it seemed when lighted by the -blush of modesty. There are some faces which require shadows to perfect -their beauty; the eye, though bright, must flash beneath jetty lashes; -the brow, though white, must gleam amid raven tresses or half the effect -is lost. But Rachel’s face, like that of joyous childhood, was all -light. Her hair was silky and soft as an infant’s, her eyes blue as the -summer heaven, her lips like an opening rose-bud—it was a face like -spring sunshine, all brightness and all beauty. - -Rachel had been left an orphan in her infancy, and the relatives to whom -she was indebted for her early nurture were among the straitest of a -strait sect, consequently she had imbibed their rigid ideas of dress and -manners. Indeed she had never wasted a thought upon the pomps and -vanities of the ‘world’s people,’ until she visited the gay metropolis. -The sneers which her plain dress occasioned in the circle where she now -moved, and the merry jibes which young and thoughtless companions cast -upon her peculiar tenets of faith, aroused all the latent pride of her -nature, until she actually felt a degree of triumph in exhibiting her -quaint costume in society. - -If Wilford had been charmed with her beauty, he was in raptures with her -unsophisticated character. After ringing the changes on _sentiment_ -until his feelings were ‘like sweet bells jangled out of tune,’ it was -absolutely refreshing to find a damsel who had never hung enraptured -over the passionate pages of Byron, nor breathed the voluptuous songs of -Moore, but who, in the simplicity of her heart, admired and quoted the -gentle Cowper, as the prince of poets. “She has much to learn in the -heart’s lore,” said Wilford to himself, “and what pleasure it will be to -develop her innocent affections.” So he offered his hand to the pretty -Quakeress, and she, little versed in the arts of coquetry, modestly -accepted the gift. - -One morning Rachel sat by the window, looking out upon the gay throng in -Broadway, when her cousin entered with a small packet in her hand. - -“Here is something for you, Rachel, a love token I suppose,” said Mrs. -Hadley. Rachel blushed as she opened the envelope, but her color -deepened to an almost angry hue when she unclosed a morocco box, and -beheld an exquisite set of pearls. - -“Beautiful!” exclaimed Mrs. Hadley. - -“I shall not keep them,” said Rachel quietly. - -“Not keep them! pray why?” asked her cousin. - -“Because I should never wear them, and because Mr. Wilford has not kept -his word with me. He promised never to interfere with what he called my -style of dress, and I told him I would never lay aside my plain costume, -though I was willing to modify it a little for his sake.” - -“Here he comes to answer for himself,” said Mrs. Hadley as Wilford -entered. “You are just in time,” she continued, “for Rachel is very -angry with you.” - -Rachel could not repress a feeling of pride and pleasure as she looked -on the graceful form of her lover, who, taking a seat beside her, -whispered, “Are you indeed displeased with me, dearest? Pray what is my -offence?” - -She replied by placing in his hand the box of pearls. - -“Do you then reject so simple an offering of affection, Rachel?” said -Harry, “you should regard these gems not as the vain ornaments of -fashion, but as the most delicate and beautiful productions of the -wonderful world of ocean. Look, can any thing be more emblematical of -purity?” and as he spoke he placed a pearl rose upon the soft golden -hair which was folded above her white forehead. - -Rachel did look, and, as the large mirror reflected her beautiful face, -she was conscious of an impulse, (almost her very first) of womanly -vanity. - -“I cannot wear them, Harry,” said she, “necklace and bracelets would be -very useless to one who never unveils either neck or arms, and such -costly head-gear would be ill suited to my plain silk dress, and lawn -cape.” - -Wilford had too much tact to press the subject. The box was consigned to -his pocket, and the offence was forgiven. - -“_Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute_,” said he, as he walked home, -“my fifteen hundred dollars has been thrown away for the present; I must -proceed more cautiously in my work of reform.” - -The morning fixed for the marriage at length arrived. Rachel was in her -apartment, surrounded by her friends, and had just commenced her toilet, -when a small parcel, accompanied by a delicate rose-colored note, was -placed in her hands. She, of course, opened the note first; it was as -follows: - -“Forgive me, my sweet Rachel, if on this morning I venture to suggest a -single addition to your simple dress. There are always idle persons -standing about the church door on such an occasion as a wedding, and I -am foolish enough to be unwilling that the careless eye of every -indifferent spectator should scan the exquisite beauty of your face -to-day. There is something extremely painful to me in the thought that -the blushing cheek of my fair bride should be the subject of cold -remark. Will you not, for my sake, dearest, veil the rich treasure of -your loveliness for one brief hour? I know I am selfish in making the -request, but for once forgive my jealousy, and shade your brightness -from the stranger’s gaze.” - -The parcel contained a Brussels lace veil of surpassing richness, so -delicate in its texture, so magnificent in its pattern that Rachel could -not repress an exclamation of pleasure at the sight. - -Her toilet was at length completed. A dress of plain white satin, -finished at the neck by a chemisette of simple lace, her hair folded -plainly around her small head and plaited in a single braid -behind:—such was the bridal attire of the rigid little Quakeress. - -“And the veil, Rachel,” whispered her cousin. - -“Why, rather than shock Harry’s delicacy,” said she, half smiling, “I -believe I will wear it, but I shall look very ridiculous in it.” - -The veil fell in rich folds nearly to her feet, and nothing could be -imagined more beautiful than her whole appearance in this plain but -magnificent costume. - -“You want a pearl comb, or something of the kind, to fasten this veil -properly,” said one of the bridesmaids. - -“What a pity you had not kept the box,” whispered her cousin. Rachel -smiled as she replied, “if I had ever dreamed of wearing such an unusual -appendage as this perhaps I might have retained the rose at least.” - -Rachel had taken the _first_ step when she consented to adopt the veil, -the second would have cost her less trouble. - -Immediately after the ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. Wilford set off for the -Springs. A servant had preceded them with their baggage, and Rachel soon -found herself in the midst of a more brilliant circle than she had yet -seen. The day after their arrival she was preparing for a ride, and a -crowd had collected on the piazza to admire Wilford’s elegant equipage -and fine blood-horses. But an unforeseen annoyance had occurred to -disturb the bride’s feelings. Attired in a dress of dark -lavender-colored silk, she folded her white cashmere around her -shoulders, and opened the band-box which contained her bridal hat. This -had only been sent home on the morning of her marriage, and having been -instantly forwarded with the other baggage, she had not yet seen it. How -was she startled therefore to find, instead of the close cottage hat -which she had ordered, as the nearest possible approach to her Quaker -bonnet, a gay-looking French affair, trimmed with a wreath of lilies of -the valley. What was to be done? it was impossible to procure another, -and to despoil the bonnet of its flowers gave it an unfinished and -slovenly appearance. Harry affected to condole with her, and finally -persuaded her to wear it rather than expose herself to the charge of -affectation by assuming her travelling calash. - -“_Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute_,” said he, to himself, as he -saw the blush mantle her lovely cheek when she contemplated her -reflection in the mirror. - -“What shall I do?” exclaimed Rachel, “it does not half cover my head; I -never wore such a flaunting, flaring thing in my life: I wish I had my -veil, for I am actually ashamed of myself: ah, here it is, coz must have -put it into the box, and I dare say it is she who has played me this -trick about my bonnet.” - -So, throwing on her splendid veil to hide her unwonted finery, Rachel -took her husband’s arm and entered the carriage, leaving the gentlemen -to admire her beauty and the ladies to talk about her magnificent -Brussels. - -Six months after her marriage Mrs. Wilford was dressing for a party; -Monsieur Frisette had arranged her beautiful hair in superb ringlets and -braids, and was just completing his task when the maid accidentally -removing her embroidered handkerchief from the dressing-table discovered -beneath it the box of pearls. - -“Ah voilà Madame, de very ting—dat leetle rose vill just do for fix -dese curl,” said Monsieur. - -As she continued her toilet she found that Madame M*** had trimmed the -corsage of her dress in such a manner as to preclude the possibility of -wearing either cape or scarf according to her usual habit. She could not -appear with her neck quite bare, and nothing remained but to cover it -with the massy medallions of her pearl necklace. In short, when fully -dressed for the party, some good reason had been found for adopting -every ornament which the box contained. - -“Just as I expected,” said Wilford, mentally, as he conducted her to the -carriage, “Rachel has taken the _first step_, she will never put on the -drab bonnet again.” - - * * * * * - -Three years after the events just recorded, the fatal red flag of the -auctioneer was seen projecting from one of the upper windows of a -stately house, and crowds of the idle, the curious, and the speculating -were entering the open door. It was the residence of Harry Wilford. - -“Well, how things will turn out,” said a fat, frowsy dame, as she seated -herself on a velvet sofa and drew a chair in front of her to keep off -the throng, “sit down Charlotte,” continued she, addressing a newly -married niece, “sit down and let us make ourselves comfortable until the -auctioneer has done selling the kitchen furniture. Only think—the last -time I was here before Mrs. Wilford had a great party, and the young -folks all came in fancy dresses, and I sat on this very sofa. That is -only three months ago, and now everything has gone to rack and ruin.” - -“How did it all happen?” asked a pleasant-looking woman who stood near. - -“Oh, Mrs. Wilford was awfully extravagant, and her husband thought there -was no bounds to his riches, so they lived too fast; ‘burnt their candle -at both ends,’ as the saying is. They say Mrs. Wilford hurried on her -husband’s ruin, for he had been speculating too deeply, and was in debt, -but his creditors would have waited if she had not given that last -dashing party.” - -“How do you know that fact!” asked the other. - -“Oh, from the best authority, my husband is one of the principal -creditors,” replied the dame with a look of dignity, “he told me the -whole story as we were going to the party, and declared that he would -not stand such dishonest dealings, so the very next morning he was down -upon Mr. Wilford, and before twelve o’clock he had compelled him to make -an assignment.” - -And it was among such people—men and women who would sit at the -hospitable board with murder in their hearts—who would share in the -festivities of a household even while meditating the destruction of that -pleasant home—it was among such as these that Wilford had lived—it was -for such as these that he had striven to change the simple habits and -artless manners of his true-hearted Rachel. It was the dread laugh of -such as these which had led him to waste her energies as well as his own -in the pursuit of fashion and folly. - -Wilford had succeeded even beyond his intentions in imbuing his gentle -bride with a love for worldly vanities. His wishes delicately but -earnestly expressed, together with the new-born vanity which her -unwonted adornments engendered in the bosom of Rachel, gradually -overcame her early habits. One by one the insignia of her simple faith -were thrown aside. Her beautiful neck was unveiled to the admiring -eye—her ungraceful sleeve receded until the rounded arm was visible in -its full proportions—the skirt, following the laws of fashion, lost -several degrees of longitude, until the beauty of Mrs. Wilford’s foot -was no longer a disputable fact. In short, in little more than two years -after her marriage, her wealth, her beauty, her elegance of manners, and -her costly dress made her decidedly a leader of ton. Wilford could not -but regret the change. She was ever affectionate and devoted to him with -all the earnestness of womanly tenderness, but he was ashamed to tell -her that in obeying his wishes she had actually gone beyond them. He -hoped that it was only the novelty of her position which had thus -fascinated her, and yet he often found himself regretting that he had -ever exposed her to such temptations. - -But new and unlooked-for trials were in store for both. The estate of -Mr. Wilford had always been managed by his uncle, a careful merchant, -who, through the course of his whole life, had seemed to possess the -Midas-like faculty of converting every thing he touched into gold; and -satisfied that, as he was the old man’s only heir, the property would be -carefully husbanded, Wilford gave himself no trouble about the matter. -But the mania for real estate speculation had now infected the whole -nation. The old gentleman found himself the ridiculed of many a bold -spirit who had dashed into the stream and gathered the gold dust which -it bore along; he had long withstood the sneers of those who considered -themselves wise in their generation, because they were pursuing a -gambling scheme of wealth; but at length he could no longer resist the -influence! He obtained the concurrence of his nephew, and thus furnished -with double means struck boldly out from the safe haven where he had -been ensconced. Every thing went on swimmingly for a time; his gains -were immense—_upon paper_, but the tide turned, and the result was -total wreck. - -It was long ere Wilford became aware of his misfortunes. Accustomed to -rely implicitly on his uncle’s judgment, he reposed in indolent security -until the tidings of the old man’s bankruptcy and his own consequent -ruin came upon him like a thunderbolt. He had been too long the child of -prosperity to bear reverses with fortitude. He had no profession, no -knowledge of business, nothing by which he could obtain a future -livelihood; and now, when habits of luxury had enervated both mind and -body, he found himself utterly beggared. He brooded over his losses in -moody bitterness of spirit long before the world became acquainted with -his situation. He even concealed them from his wife, from that mistaken -and cruel kindness which thinks to lighten the blow by keeping it long -suspended. “How can I overwhelm her with sorrow and mortification by -telling her we are beggars?” he cried, in anguish. “How can I bid her -descend from the lofty eminence of wealth and fashion and retire to -obscurity and seclusion? How can I be sure that she will bear the -tidings with a patient spirit? I have sown within her young heart the -seeds of vanity, and how can I hope to eradicate now the evils which -have sprang from them? Her own little fortune is all that is now left, -and how we are to live on that I cannot tell. Rachel cannot bear it—I -know she cannot!” - -His thoughts added new anguish to his regrets, and months of harrowing -dread and anxiety passed away before Wilford could summon courage to -face manfully his increasing misfortunes. - -Mrs. Wilford had long intended to celebrate her husband’s birth-day by a -brilliant party, and, quite unconscious of the storm which impended over -her, she issued her cards nearly a month previous to the appointed -evening. Harry Wilford knew that the party ought not to be given; he -knew that it would bring discredit upon him, and perhaps censure upon -his wife, for he was conscious that his affairs were rapidly approaching -a fatal crisis; but he had not courage to own the truth. He watched the -preparations for the party with a boding spirit; he looked sadly and -fondly upon the brilliant attire of his young wife as she glided about -the gorgeous apartments, and he felt that he was taking his last glance -at happiness and comfort. The very next day his principal creditor, a -fat, oily-faced, well-fed individual, remarkable for the regularity of -his attendance, and the loudness of his responses at church—a man whose -piety was carried to such lengths that in the fear lest his left hand -should know the good which his right hand did, he was particularly -careful never to do _any_—a man who would sit first at a feast and -store up the careless sayings of convivial frankness to serve his own -interest in the mart and the market-place—this man, after pledging him -in the wine-cup and parting from him with the cordial grasp of -friendship, met him with a legal demand for that which he knew would -ruin him. - -The fatal tidings could no longer be withheld from Mrs. Wilford, and she -was roused from the languor which the fatigue of the preceding evening -had left both on mind and body, by the tidings of her husband’s -misfortunes. - -“It is as I feared,” thought Wilford, as he observed her overwhelming -emotion, “she cannot bear the degradation.” - -But he was mistaken. There is a hidden strength of character which can -only be developed by the stroke of calamity, and such was possessed by -Rachel Wilford. A moment, and but a moment, she faltered; then she was -prepared to brave the worst evils of her altered fortunes. Wilford soon -found that she had both mind to comprehend and judgment to counsel. Ere -the morrow had passed half his sorrow was assuaged, for he had found -comfort and even hope in the bosom of his young and devoted wife. There -was only one thing over which she still deeply grieved, and this was her -fatal party. - -“Had you only confided in me, Harry,” said she, “worlds would not have -tempted me to place you and myself in so dishonorable a light. How could -you see me so unconscious of danger and treading so heedlessly on the -verge of ruin without withdrawing me from it? Your own good name, Harry, -aye, and _mine_ too, have suffered. Our integrity has been doubted.” - -“I did it for the best, Rachel; I would have spared you as long as -possible.” - -“It was most ill-judged kindness, Harry; it has ruined you and deeply -injured me. Believe me, a wife is infinitely happier in the -consciousness that she possesses her husband’s confidence, than in the -discovery that she has been treated like a petted child; a being of -powers too limited to understand his affairs or to be admitted to his -councils.” - -Mrs. Wilford did not merely meet her reverses with fortitude. She was -resolved to act as became a high-minded woman. Her jewels were -immediately disposed of, not stealthily, and as if she dreaded exposure, -but by going openly to the persons from whom they were purchased; and -thus realizing at least two-thirds of their original cost. This sum she -immediately appropriated to the payment of household debts; and with it -she satisfied the claims of all those who had supplied them with daily -comforts. “I could not rest,” she said, “if I felt there was one person -living who might say I wronged him out of the very bread I have eaten.” -The furniture was next given up—nothing was reserved—not even the -plate presented by her own friends, nor the work-box, the gift of Harry. -Lodgings quiet and respectable but plain and cheap were taken in a -private boarding-house. Every vestige of their former splendor was gone, -and when all was over, it was with a feeling of relief that the husband -and wife sat down together to form plans for the future. The past seemed -like a troubled dream. Scarcely six months had elapsed since their -stately mansion had been the scene of joyous festivity, and the very -suddenness with which distress had come seemed to have paralysed their -sense of suffering. - -“I received a proposal to-day, Rachel, which I would not accept without -consulting you,” said Harry, as they sat together in their neatly -furnished apartment. “Edward Morton offers me the situation of -book-keeper, with a salary of a thousand dollars per annum.” - -“Take it, by all means, dear Harry,” said his wife, “constant employment -will make you forget your troubles, and a thousand dollars,” added she, -with a bright smile, “will be a fortune to us.” - -“I suppose I had better accept his offer,” said Wilford, gloomily, “but -it cuts down a man’s pride to be reduced to the condition of a -hireling.” - -“Do not make me ashamed of my husband, dear Harry,” was the earnest -reply, “do not suffer me to blush for the weakness and false pride which -can think only of external show. We can live very comfortably on your -salary, especially when we have the consciousness of integrity to -sweeten our privations.” - -“You forget that you are not quite so much a beggar as your husband, -Rachel. The interest of your twenty thousand dollars, added to my -salary, will give us something more than the mere comforts of life.” - -“What do you mean, Harry?” asked his wife, turning very pale. - -“Why you do not suppose I was scoundrel enough to risk your little -property, Rachel; that was secured you by a marriage settlement, and no -creditor can touch it unless you should assign it.” - -Rachel made no reply but fell into a long fit of musing. - -It was but a few days after this conversation that Wilford, conquering -his false pride, entered upon his duties in the counting-room of his old -friend Morton. He returned early in the evening, wearied, sad, and -dispirited, but his wife met him with a face so bright that he almost -forgot the annoyances of the day. - -“How happy you look, Rachel,” said he, as she drew her chair beside his -and laid her hand upon his arm. - -“I am indeed happy, dear Harry, for I am now no richer than yourself.” - -“I don’t understand you,” replied Wilford with a puzzled look. - -“You gave me a most unpleasant piece of news yesterday, Harry, when you -told me that my paltry little fortune had been preserved from your -creditors, and now I am happy in the consciousness that no such reproach -can attach to us. I have been closeted with your lawyer this morning; he -told me about twenty thousand dollars would clear off all claims against -you, and by this time I suppose you are free.” - -“What have you done?” - -“Handed over my marriage settlement to your assignees, Harry”— - -“And reduced yourself to a bare subsistence, Rachel, to satisfy a group -of gaping creditors who would swallow my last morsel if they knew I was -left to starve.” - -“The debts were justly due, Harry, and I would rather that the charge of -illiberality should attach to them than of dishonesty to us.” - -“You have never known the evils of poverty, my poor child,” said -Wilford, despondingly. - -“Nor do I mean to experience them now, dear husband; you will not let me -want for comforts, and you seem to forget that, though you have tried to -spoil me, my early habits were those of economy and frugality.” - -“So you mean to adopt your simple Quaker habits again, Rachel,” said -Wilford, more cheerfully; “will they include the drab bonnet also?” - -“No,” returned the young wife, her face dimpled with joyous smiles, “I -believe now that as much vanity lurked under my plain bonnet as ever -sported on the wave of a jewelled plume; and yet,” said she, after a -moment’s pause, “when I threw off my Quaker garb I took my first step in -error, for I can trace all my folly, and extravagance, and waste of time -to the moment when I first looked with pleasure in that little mirror at -Saratoga.” - -“Well, well, dearest, your first step has not led you so far astray but -that you have been able most nobly to retrace your path. I am poorer -than I ever expected to be, yet richer than I could ever have hoped, for -had I never experienced a reverse of fortune, I should never have -learned the worth of my own sweet wife.” - -Harry Wilford was right, and the felicity which he now enjoys in his own -quiet and cheerful home—a home won by his own industry and -diligence—is well worth all the price at which it was purchased, even -though it cost him his whole estate. - - * * * * * - - - - - AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT. - - - IN THREE CHIMERAS. - - - BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO. - - - CHIMERA II. (Continued.) - - The ship! that self-same ship, that Julio knew - Had passed him, with her panic-stricken crew, - She gleams amid the storm, a shatter’d thing - Of pride and lordly beauty; her fair wing - Of sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone! - Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on - Through waters that are battling to and fro, - And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow - Over her deck.—Ahead, and there is seen - A black, strange line of breakers, down between - The awful surges, lifting up their manes - Like great sea-lions. Quick and high she strains - Her foaming keel—that solitary ship! - As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap - The cursed barrier: forward, fast and fast— - Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mast - Split in a thousand shivers! A white spring - Of the exulting sea rose bantering - Over her ruin; and the mighty crew - That mann’d her deck, were seen, a straggling few, - Far scatter’d on the surges. Julio felt - The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt, - Within his own light bark—a pray’rful man! - And clasp’d his lifeless bride; and to her wan, - Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.— - “Save thou a mariner!” he starteth now - To hear that dying cry; and there is one, - All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon, - Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea, - A fair-hair’d mariner! But suddenly - He saw the pale dead ladye by a flame - Of blue and livid lightning, and there came - Over his features blindness, and the power - Of his strong hands grew weak,—a giant shower - Of foam rose up, and swept him far along; - And Julio saw him buffetting the throng - Of the great eddying waters, till they went - Over him—a wind-shaken cerement! - - Then terribly he laugh’d, and rose above - His soulless bride—the ladye of his love! - Lifting him up in all his wizard glee; - And he did wave, before the frantic sea, - His wasted arm.—“Adieu! adieu! adieu! - Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too, - Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrine - Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine. - And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foam - And music-murmurs to thy blessed home— - Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that she - Sleeps in her holy beauty tranquilly: - And when the fair and floating vision breaks - From her pure brow, and Agathè awakes— - Till then, we meet not; so, adieu, adieu!” - Still on before the sullen tempest flew, - Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark; - And Julio bent over to the dark, - The solitary sea, for close beside - Floated the stringed harp of one that died, - In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home - With madness to his bosom; the white foam - Was o’er its strings; and on the streaming sail - He wiped them, running with his fingers pale, - Along the tuneless notes, that only gave - Seldom responses to his wandering stave! - - O THE HARP. - - Jewel! that lay before the heart - Of some romantic boy, - And startled music in her home, - Of mystery and joy! - - The image of his love was there; - And, with her golden wings, - She swept their tone of sorrow from - Thy melancholy strings! - - We drew thee, as an orphan one, - From waters that had cast - No music round thee, as they went - In their pale beauty past. - - No music but the changeless sigh— - That murmur of their own, - That loves not blending in the thrill - Of thine aerial tone. - - The girl that slumbers at our side - Will dream how they are bent, - That love her even as they love - Thy blessed instrument. - - And music, like a flood, will break - Upon the fairy throne - Of her pure heart, all glowing, like - A morning star, alone! - - Alone, but for the song of him - That waketh by her side, - And strikes thy chords of silver to - His fair and sea-borne bride. - - Jewel! that hung before the heart - Of some romantic boy: - Like him, I sweep thee with a storm - Of music and of joy! - - And Julio placed the trembling harp before - The ladye; till the minstrel winds came o’er - Its moisten’d strings, and tuned them with a sigh. - “I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by, - In music and in love. Oh, Agathè! - Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will say - That seek thee,—‘she is dead—she is no more!’ - But thou art cold, and I will throw before - Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet.” - And he did lift it from her marble feet, - The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silently - Over her brow—the brow of Agathè! - - But, as a passion from the mooded mind, - The storm had died, and wearily the wind - Fell fast asleep at evening, like one - That hath been toiling in the fiery sun. - And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing - Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring - Unto the mast—it was a deathly calm, - And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam - All over the wide sea, and the boat stood, - Like her of Sodom, in the solitude, - A snowy pillow, looking on the waste. - And there was nothing but the azure breast - Of ocean and the sky—the sea and sky. - And the lone bark; no clouds were floating by - Where the sun set, but his great seraph light, - Went down alone, in majesty and might; - And the stars came again, a silver troop, - Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop - Before the radiance of these holy gems, - That bear the images of diadems! - - And Julio fancied of a form that rose - Before him from the desolate repose - Of the deep waters—a huge ghastly form, - As of one lightning-stricken in a storm; - And leprosy cadaverous was hung - Before his brow, and awful terror flung - Around him like a pall—a solemn shroud!— - A drapery of darkness and of cloud! - And agony was writhing on his lip, - Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep, - Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain, - And ague, and the palsy of the brain— - A weird and yellow spectre! and his eyes - Were orbless and unpupil’d, as the skies - Without the sun, or moon, or any star: - And he was like the wreck of what men are,— - A wasted skeleton, that held the crest - Of time, and bore his motto on his breast! - - There came a group before of maladies, - And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,— - A double monster, with a gloating leer - Fix’d on his other half. They drew them near, - One after one, led onward by Despair, - That like the last of winter glimmer’d there,— - A dismal prologue to his brother Death, - Which was behind; and, with the horrid breath - Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on. - And often as they saw the skeleton - Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies - Grew mad and howl’d; the fever of disease - Became wild frenzy—very terrible! - And, for a hell of agony—a hell - Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things, - On dreams, ideas, and imaginings. - - And some were raving on philosophy, - And some on love, and some on jealousy, - And some upon the moon, and these were they - That were the wildest; and anon alway - Julio knew them by a something dim - About their wasted features like to him! - - But Death was by, like shell of pyramid - Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head - Shook o’er the wry ribs, where darkness lay - The image of a heart—she is away! - And Julio is watching, like Remorse, - Over the pale and solitary corse. - - Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew - From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too, - Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen! - That hast a slave and votary within - The great rock-fetter’d deep, and hearest cry - To thee the hungry surges, rushing by - Like a vast herd of wolves,—fall full and fair - On Julio as he sleepeth, even there, - Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!— - Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee - With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain - Of this death-lover?—still the eyes do strain - Their orbs on Agathè—those raven eyes! - All earnest on the ladye as she lies - In her white shroud. They see not, though they are - As if they saw; no splendour like a star - Is under their dark lashes: they are full - Of dream and slumber—melancholy, dull! - - * * * * * * - - A wide, wide sea! and on it rear and van - Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran - All that still night, and Julio with a cry - Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by. - - * * * * * * - - Full three times three, its awful veil of night - Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light; - And a fair breeze falls o’er the sleeping sea, - When Julio is watching Agathè! - By sun and darkness hath he bent him over— - A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover! - And hardly hath he tasted, night or day, - Of drink or food, because of Agathè! - He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood, - Like statue in a ruin’d solitude, - Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade, - Over the marble of some colonnade. - - The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue - Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew - Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness, - That once were floating in the pure recess - Of her bright soul. These are not as they were; - But are as weeds above a sepulchre, - Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are now - Sunk deeply under the discolor’d brow, - That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue - Unnaturally blending. The same hue - Is on her cheek. It is the early breath - Of cold corruption, the ban-dog of death, - Falling upon her features. Let it be, - And gaze awhile on Julio, as he - Is gazing on the corse of Agathè! - - In truth, he seemeth like no living one, - But is the image of a skeleton: - A fearful portrait from the artist tool - Of madness—terrible and wonderful! - - There was no passion there—no feeling traced - Under those eyelids, where had run to waste - All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright; - A very cloud was cast upon their light, - That gave to them the heavy hue of lead; - And they were lorn, lustreless, and dead! - - He sate like vulture from the mountains gray, - Unsated, that had flown full many a day - O’er distant land and sea, and was in pride - Alighted by the lonely ladye’s side. - - He sat like winter o’er the wasted year— - Like melancholy winter, drawing near - To its own death. “Oh me! the worm at last - Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast - Howl by!—Where?—where?—there is no worm to creep - Amid the waters of the lonely deep; - But I will take me Agathè upon - This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon, - Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go, - Unepitaph’d, to cities far below; - Where the sea Triton, with his winding shell, - Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell - With many a mariner in his pearly home, - In bowers of amber weed and silver foam, - Amid the crimson corals; we shall be - Together, Agathè! fair Agathè!— - But thou art sickly, ladye—thou art sad; - And I am weary, ladye—I am mad! - They bring no food to feed us, and I feel - A frost upon my vitals, very chill, - Like winter breaking on the golden year - Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier, - And the dark waves our mourners; and the white, - Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright - On some fair isle, shall sorrowfully pour - Their wail of melancholy o’er and o’er, - At evening, on the waters of the sea,— - While, with its solemn burden, silently, - Floats forward our lone bark.—Oh, Agathè! - Methinks that I shall meet thee far away, - Within the awful centre of the earth, - Where, earliest, we had our holy birth, - In some huge cavern, arching wide below, - Upon whose airy pivot, years ago, - The world went round: ’tis infinitely deep, - But never dismal; for above it sleep, - And under it, blue waters, hung aloof, - And held below,—an amethystine roof, - A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun, - Afar, looks through alternately, like one - That watches round some treasure: often, too, - Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through, - Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously, - Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea! - - “And there are shafted pillars, that beyond, - Are ranged before a rook of diamond, - Awfully heaving its eternal heights, - From base of silver strewn with chrysolites; - And over it are chasms of glory seen, - With crimson rubies clustering between, - On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl, - And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl, - So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad, - And tellest me, poor Julio is mad,— - Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he swore - A vow to Heaven? Was there no madness then, - That he should do—for why?—a holy string - Of penances? No penances will bring - The stricken conscience to the blessed light - Of peace.—Oh! I am lost, and there is night, - Despair, and darkness, darkness and despair, - And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair - Of wild perdition: and I hear them all— - All cursing me! The very sun-rays fall - In curses, and the shadow of the moon, - And the pale star-light, and the winds that tune - Their voices to the music of the sea, - And thou,—yes, thou! my gentle Agathè!— - All curse me!—oh! that I were never, never! - Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever - Adrift upon the wilderness of Time, - That knew no impulse, but was left sublime - To play at its own will!—that I were hush’d - At night by silver cataracts, that gush’d - Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die - Away, with all before me passing by. - Like a fair vision I had lived to see, - And died to see no more!—it cannot be! - By this right hand! I feel it is not so, - And by the beating of a heart below, - That strangely feareth for eternity!” - - He said, and gazing on the lonely sea, - Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud, - To westward, a bright island, lifted proud - Amid the struggling waters, and the light - Of the great sun was on its clifted height, - Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror; - But the gigantic billows sprung in terror - Upon its rock-built and eternal shore, - With silver foams, that fell in fury o’er - A thousand sunny breakers. Far above, - There stood a wild and solitary grove - Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows, - Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughs - Was waving now and then, and to and fro, - And the pale moss was clustering below. - - Then Julio saw, and bent his head away - To the cold wasted corse of Agathè, - And sigh’d; but ever he would turn again - A gaze to that green island on the main. - - The bark is drifting through the surf, beside - Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide; - And lightly is it stranded on the shore - Of purest silver shells, that lie before, - Glittering in the glory of the sun; - And Julio hath landed him, like one - That aileth of some wild and weary pest; - And Agathè is folded on his breast, - A faded flower! with all the vernal dews - From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues - Become as colorless as twilight air— - I marvel much, that she was ever fair! - - (End of the second Chimera.) - - * * * * * - - - - - DREAMS OF THE LAND AND SEA. - - - TAKE ME HOME. - - - BY DR. REYNELD COATES. - - - “And all for thee! vile yellow fiend!” - - -I was wandering in the streets of a populous city—thousands crowded the -thronged thoroughfares—jarring and jostling along,—each intent on his -own petty schemes. Here, a merchant rushed onward with a rapid step—for -it wanted but five minutes of three o’clock! If clouds had overspread -his countenance an hour before, they had given place to a determined -expression, that seemed to say, “safe till to-morrow, anyhow!” There, a -belle flaunted in costly attire, with a curl on her lip and pride in her -tread that spoke, more plainly than words, “conquest is my right! for my -beauty and wealth are alike undisputed, I have but to smile and win!” - -At one moment, my eye was attracted by a young couple in the spring-tide -of their promise, associated by that magic feeling which comes over us -but once in a life-time. At the next, it rested on a pair of -unfortunates with locked arms but gloomy brows and half averted faces, -convinced, by twenty years of bitter experience, that _it is wise to -preserve appearances_, even when doing penance for that most common, but -most fatal indiscretion of youth—an ill-assorted marriage! - -A little girl, upon the door-step of an elegant mansion, stood gazing -upon the passing crowd and the unbroken line of splendid equipages -hurrying by, glancing her eye occasionally upward at the tall trees that -shielded her from the sunshine, or the bright blue sky and fleecy vapor -which seemed to rest upon their summits. The breezes of May waved the -translucent ringlets athwart her snowy shoulders, while the leaves -danced and rustled mirthfully in the wind, and a little bird, upon a -neighboring bough, poured out its joyous song! The child threw back her -head and laughed long and merrily: yet there was nothing in view to -awaken laughter! - -Guarded, and clad,—and nourished,—and incognisant of care,—the -bounding pulse of youth felt keenly in every fibre,—existence itself, -with her, became delight! and she laughed in the fulness of -irrepressible joy—_that the skies were bright and the leaves were -green!_—On the pavement beside her, a barefoot and ragged boy leaned -for support against a post. Famine and fatigue were legibly stampt upon -his sunken cheek and attenuated limbs. The sound of merriment awakened -him, and he turned his dull eye in wonder upon the beautiful object -before him!—But he comprehended it not!—joy was to him a stranger! - -These, and a hundred other episodes in the selfish history of common -life claimed, in turn, my attention;—and each might have furnished -subject matter for a month of thought or a volume of moral deduction. -But there was one group so peculiarly striking that it still dwells upon -my memory with more than usual vividness of coloring. - -In the most luxurious portion of the city, where palaces of marble and -granite rose on every hand, and the very air was redolent of the incense -of exotic flowers, a coach, dusty with travel, suddenly drew up before -one of the most conspicuous residences. The liveried footman instantly -threw open the door, and a delicate young girl, with a highly -intellectual, but care-worn and sorrowful expression of countenance, -began to descend the steps. But, before she could reach the pavement a -masculine arm was projected from the vehicle to arrest her progress, and -a voice, tremulous with age and grief, exclaimed, “No! no! not here! not -here!—Why will you not take me home!—I must go home!—I am old and -sick!—Do take me home at once!” - -The attempt to draw the young lady back within the coach endangered her -foot-hold, and courtesy obliged me to spring to her assistance, lest she -should fall beneath the wheels. Adroitly lifting her from the carriage -while the footman hastened to ring the bell, I obtained a view of all -the parties interested in this little incident. - -The half fainting girl, still leaning upon my arm, might have numbered -about fourteen summers, and within the coach were two other individuals, -in both of whom the same family traits were visible. One of these, a -woman about thirty-five years of age, was evidently the mother. She was -still beautiful, though strong traces of habitual thought and mental -suffering were perceptible upon her brow. The other was a man of noble -figure, probably advanced to seventy years, with locks of snowy -whiteness, but dressed with a degree of richness and precision, not -usually observed among the old. It was evident that he had been familiar -with the world—that wealth and luxury were no novelties to him. The -forms of society had been his study, if not the business of his life. -Yet, what a satire upon the vulgar misconceptions of the means of -happiness was the aspect of that face! The broad brow was furrowed with -deep lines of mental distress. The boldly chiselled nose was thinned, -rather by muscular contraction than by age. The model of the lip still -presented the curve of pride and habitual authority, contrasting most -painfully with the tremor of helpless suspicion and childish anxiety. - -“Why will you not take me home?” he exclaimed again—and his eye -wandered restlessly from side to side, peering through the door and -windows of the coach, as if in search of some object once familiar—with -an expression of hopeless distress that it was difficult even to witness -with fortitude. - -To one familiar with large hospitals, the scene was clearly -intelligible. Insanity from disappointed hope was mingled with the -fatuity of premature old age. - -Propriety would have dictated my immediate retreat, after the necessary -care of the ladies in alighting; but perceiving that the united -persuasions of mother and daughter were likely to fail in inducing the -grandfather to quit the coach without too strongly inviting public -attention towards a private misfortune, I felt bound to inquire, “May I -not save you, madam! from some embarrassment by begging you to enter the -house? I will engage myself to place your father under the protection of -your roof, in a very few minutes, and without annoyance.” Nothing -insures such instantaneous confidence with the gentler sex as -self-dependence in a man, and grave, though courteous authority of -manner. The offer was accepted with a glance of mute thankfulness, and -handing the ladies to the door, I returned to the carriage. - -“Come, my dear sir,” I said to the elderly gentleman, “allow me the -pleasure of assisting you to alight! your horses are a little restive.” - -“No, sir!” he replied; “you are in league with them!—You lead me from -place to place, and every where you tell me I am at home!—Oh! I shall -never find it!—I wish to repose in my own house, and my own -garden!—_my mother’s house!_—and you bring me here and tell me _this_ -is my house!—Do you think I have grown so weak and imbecile as not to -know the chamber where I was born?—the garden where I played when a -child?—No!—I will not go in!—They are kind to me here, but I am not -at home!—Do, take me home!—You seem to think that I cannot tell the -difference between this great palace, with its rich carpets and its -marble columns, and our own little cottage, with its arbor of -grape-vines and wild-creepers, where my mother used to nurse me to sleep -in the old carved rocking-chair!—Oh! take me home!” - -Long habituated to the management of lunatics, I had learned to guide -the tangled reins of a disordered mind, and found but little difficulty -in persuading the old man to rest awhile in the parlor on the plea of -examining whether his granddaughter, to whom he was much attached, had -not received some injury by stumbling in her descent from the coach. -Seating him upon an ottoman, it was easy, by the same innocent deception -to withdraw to another apartment in company with the ladies: and there, -after tendering any further services which their affliction might render -desirable, I heard, with deep attention, the history of their woes. - -Mr. A——, the old gentleman, was, as I had inferred, the father of the -elder and the grandsire of the younger lady. At an early age he came -into hereditary possession of a handsome capital, and a range of ample -stores near the centre of the commercial mart of ——. - -His mother, who was esteemed rich in those early times (soon after the -revolutionary war) retained the family homestead in addition to her -dower; and, in this venerable mansion, distant about a mile from the -borders of the _then_ small, but flourishing city, her son continued to -reside; for he preferred the society of his remaining parent, and the -quietude of rural life in the intervals of business, to the gayer scenes -and more luxurious habits of the town. Thither, he soon conveyed a young -and beautiful wife; and there his happiest years were spent in the midst -of a family circle bound together by ties of the warmest -affection.—Even their dead were gathered around them:—for the white -monuments of their departed friends peered over the stone wall of the -family grave-yard, from the grove of funereal pines behind the garden. - -But this peaceful life of domestic enjoyment was not destined to -continue. Within a few years subsequent to his marriage, there occurred -one of those sudden revolutions in trade which periodically sweep, with -the force of a deluge, over the commercial interests of our -country.—Mr. A—— was ruined!—He became dependent upon the resources -of his parent for the support of his wife; but pride would not permit -him to grant the urgent request of his mother that he would share that -support himself; and he fled his native country for a time, to woo the -breeze of Fortune beneath other stars. - -After two long years of toil and danger among the furs of the -North-West, the hides of California, the _biche-le-mer_ and birds-nests -of the Eastern Archipelagoes, he arrived at the great entrepot of the -Celestial Empire with a cargo insuring him an ample competence, just in -time to receive intelligence of the death of his wife, leaving to his -charge an only child! She had been the star of his destiny!—That star -was set, and darkness enshrouded his soul! - -Recovering from this terrible shock, he shunned the very idea of -returning to the scene of his former happiness. She for whom he had -braved the deep!—had toiled—had grappled with the sun of the -tropics,—the ice of the pole—had left him desolate!—the infant, whom -no parent welcomed to this world of trial, was a stranger to him!—one -whom he had never beheld! and the only remaining link which bound him to -his country was his affection for an aged mother. - -But who is not aware that the noon of manhood—its mid-day strife and -bustle—are unfavorable to the glow of filial affection? Maternal -love,—the deepest—the purest—the least selfish of human -emotions!—knows no ebb—no diminution on this side the grave! Time, -which may sap or shatter every other sympathy, adds strength to this at -every revolution of its fatal glass! - -Not so the attachment of the offspring!—Like a delicate flower which -sheds its fragrance freely on the morning or the evening air, but denies -all sweetness to the bold glance of noon, this feeling flourishes only -at the commencement and the close of our career. When, at length, in the -decline of our energies, both mind and body verge once more towards the -feebleness of infancy, how painfully the affections of earlier years -flow back upon us!—Then would we gladly repose our aching -temples—aching with the memory of many an unkind word or action—upon -the bosom from which we first drew sustenance! and we yearn after a -mother’s love with a longing that will not be repressed! - -It is not surprising that Mr. A——, thus suddenly cut off by death from -her whose welfare had been the chief purpose of his life, should have -buried his gloom in the cares of business. Such is the usual resource of -those who bound their vision, as, alas! too many are prone to do! within -the narrow limits of this sublunary theatre of action! For thirty years -he pursued the search of wealth beneath the burning skies of India, with -singleness of purpose and untiring zeal. - -He remitted large sums, from time to time, for the convenience of a -mother to whom he was ever dutiful, and a daughter that he had never -seen; but his letters were cold and formal. His child was married,—he -congratulated her. A grand-child was born to him;—he sent her his -blessing. His daughter became a widow;—he condoled with her upon her -loss. But nothing could arouse him from his bootless labor for -superfluous gold! - -At length, as age approached, he felt wearied with his monotonous -existence. With the decline of his bodily powers came the desire for -rest:—with the weakening of his mental energies, the longing for -sympathy grew stronger and stronger. _He did not wish to die alone!_ -Dreams of his juvenile days came over him, and he sighed for the -quietude of the old family mansion, and the warm welcome of his mother -on his return from the cares of business. When the sudden twilight of -the tropics sunk abruptly into night, he dreamed of the lingering -glories of an American evening. When he heard the cry of the bramin -kite, the harsh call of the adjutant crane, and the chattering of a -thousand obscene birds retiring to their roosts, gorged with their -horrible repast on the corpses that pollute the Ganges, he longed for -the wild notes of the whip-poor-will, the rushing sound of the -night-hawk, and the melancholy hooting of the owl, that render night -musical in the bright green woods of his native land. - -He knew that the growing city had swept far beyond the retreat of his -earlier days—that many magnificent residences had risen over the site -of his boyish play-grounds, and that even the relics of his dead had -been removed from their original resting-place, to make room for the -house of the stranger. He had permitted—_he had even advised these -changes_, but, he could not realize them! The old mansion with its broad -elms, the garden, and the pine-grove with the monuments beneath its -shade, were ever present to his mind, and his letters were painfully -charged with allusions to scenes and persons whose existence was blotted -from the page of history. - -With every year, these feelings became more and more intense, until -incipient childishness made its appearance, and he became affected with -a confirmed nostalogia. At length he closed his concerns, remitted the -unappropriated balance of his earnings, and launched himself once more -upon the ocean, on his homeward route. - -As he drew near his native shore, memory retraced more and more vividly, -the scenes of other days, until his failing intellect began to confuse -the present with the past, and, at times, he dreamed of once more -welcoming the little circle of the loved and cherished, in the same old -wainscotted parlor,—around the same wide, hospitable, antique -fire-place, where he slept with head reclined upon his mother’s knee -when the presence of company obtained him the privilege of sitting up an -hour beyond his usual bed time. - -The vessel neared the port. The pilot, ever the first to welcome the -wanderer home, ascended the deck and distributed the “papers” of the -previous day. With one of these, Mr. A—— hastily retired to the cabin. -Not even the blue hills of his native land, now full in sight, could -wean him from the fatal record. His eye glanced rapidly over the leading -article, but the struggle of contending candidates had no charm for him. -He furtively regarded the items of foreign news;—was shocked at the -long record of crimes and casualties made piquant and racy with details -and comments which the purer manners of his early years would not have -tolerated; and, for the first time in his life, he turned from the -_price current_ in disgust, but why did he start, turn pale, and tremble -when his eye rested upon the ominous black lines that cross the final -column of the second page? The identical paper is still preserved, and I -extract the notice!—Read! - - * * * * * - -Died, suddenly, of apoplexy, on the 29th inst., in the 96th year of her -age, Mrs. C—— A——, the venerable relict of the late Hon. W—— -A——, and mother of Mr. H—— A——, the distinguished American -merchant at ——. - - * * * * * - -The cup was full! There breathed not in the land of his birth one -kindred being to unite him with the past!—His daughter!—she was a -stranger! How should he recognise her in the stranger crowd!—The mind, -already weakened, was crushed!—The cracked vase was shivered! - -The moment the anchor dropped, he leaped into a boat, and hurried on -shore. Calling the nearest coach he ordered it in haste and sternly, “To -——’s lane, half a mile from the turnpike gate of the —— road!” - -The astonished driver stared as he replied, “There’s no such lane now, -sir! I heard of it when I was a boy, but it’s all built up long ago, and -I never knew even where it was!” - -“Then drive me to my mother’s,” cried Mr. A——, in a voice almost of -fury; and holding forth the paper, which had never left his hand, he -pointed to the notice. An old man, standing by, struck by the haggard -and maniacal look, perused the article and simply said, “Drive to the -marble building, No. 20 —— Place.” - -The grieving survivers of the family of Mrs. A—— were sitting silently -in the darkened parlor, on the morning after the funeral, when a loud -appeal at the bell startled the whole household—so ill did it accord -with the silence of grief brooding over all who had lived under the mild -influence of the departed! A female attendant hurried to the door, and -was instantly thrust to the wall by one who rushed furiously past her, -crying aloud and wildly, “Where is my wife!—my mother!” Mr. A—— -actually sprang into the presence of the ladies; for he was endowed for -the moment with unnatural strength by the intensity of feeling. The -figure of the elder lady, as she started to her feet in terror on the -sudden intrusion, appeared to awaken some long dormant recollection, for -he checked, on the instant, his precipitate advance, regarded her -intently for a moment, and approaching gently, but before her alarm -permitted her to move, he laid his hands upon her shoulders, and read -her features with a steady and protracted gaze that seemed to search her -very soul! “No! no!” he cried, “You are not my Jane!” and fainted at her -feet. - - * * * * * - -In the cemetery of ——, where the eye stretches wide and far over -beautiful wooded slopes and a broad expanse of water—rock, ravine, -spire, hamlet, and the distant city—where all is peace, and the weary -soul is tempted to covet the repose of those who wait beneath,—now rest -the remains of Mr. A——. - - “After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well!” - -Standing beside his grave, as the moon-beams flickered on the marble, -contending with the shadows of o’erhanging leaves that rustled in the -night-breeze, I thought how rapidly every haunt of my own bright, -holiday youth was yielding to the inroads of another populous capital. -The pond on which we used to ply the armed heel when winter ruled the -year, has disappeared.—Its site is occupied with civic palaces. The -shady glen where the winged hours of starry summer nights flew all -unheeded by in converse with the loved who are no more, lies bare and -sered beneath the August sun!—The very stream that wound so gracefully -among the trees is dry!—The dews of heaven that fed its crystal sources -fall now in vain upon a mountain mass of marble—column,—plynth and -dome—rising in mockery of _posthumous benevolence_,—a long enduring -witness of perverted trust! Where are the few and fondly cherished who -shared the converse of those happy hours?—One lies deep in the coral -groves of the Hesperides!—One fell a victim to a philanthropic spirit -when the plague of Indoostan ravaged the vallies of the -West!—Another!—Strangers tread lightly round his narrow house in the -gardens of Père-la-Chaise!—The last— - - “Peace to thy broken heart and early grave!” - -But why repeat these woes that are the lot of all?—Who is there that -has learned the value of the baubles that entice us _here_—Wealth! -Fame! Power! or sublunary Love!—but will join in the secret aspiration -with which I left the silent resting-place of a perturbed spirit—“Take! -oh! Take me home!” - - * * * * * - - - - - WESTERN HOSPITALITY. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - Hard by I’ve a cottage that stands near a wood, - A stream glides in peace at the door, - Where all who are weary, ’tis well understood, - Receive hospitality’s store. - To cheer that the brook and the thicket afford, - The stranger we freely invite: - You’re welcome to come and partake at the board, - And afterwards rest for the night. - - The birds in the morning will sing from the trees, - And herald the young god of day; - Then with him uprising, depart if you please, - We’ll set you refresh’d on your way. - Your coin for this service we sternly reject, - No traffic for gain we pursue, - And all the reward that we wish or expect, - We take in the good that we do. - - Mankind are all travellers on life’s rugged road, - And myriads would wander astray - In seeking eternity’s silent abode - Did mercy not point out the way. - If all would their duty discharge as they should, - To those that are helpless and poor, - The world would resemble my cot near the wood, - And life the sweet stream at my door. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE LADY AND THE PAGE. - - - A STORY OF MOORISH SPAIN. - - - BY MARY S. PEASE. - - -Many years ago there dwelt, not far from Seville, in a castle so old it -was a wonder what kept it from tumbling down, a Spanish hidalgo, -remarkable for but two things—a very beautiful daughter, and the very -strict manner in which he secluded her from the world. In every other -respect this hidalgo was like other hidalgos, full of pride, sporting a -pair of Spanish mustachios, and wearing a stiletto by his side. - -The wonderful beauty of his daughter, the Doña Ysabel, had somehow—in -spite of the seclusion in which she was kept—become proverbial, and the -fame thereof had spread from Gibraltar to the Pyrenees. Not a caballero -of that chivalric country but would have given his best steed for one -glance from the eyes of the hidalgo’s daughter—eyes which shrouded -under their long lashes, were like diamonds winning across the midnight. -Her hair was silky and soft, darker and more glossy than the raven’s -wing—and in such luxuriance did it grow that she might almost have hid -herself in it, as did “the lady of the golden locks” in the fairy tale. -Her face was fitful as an April day. It was the clear and faithful -mirror to the warmest, purest heart in all Spain. And never did a young -heart beat within a lighter and more graceful form than that of the Doña -Ysabel. - -The castle where the hidalgo resided with his daughter was built on a -rocky eminence, in one of the wildest parts of the country. Tradition -said it had been erected by a powerful and wealthy Moor, from whom it -had been conquered by the strong arm of one of the present occupant’s -ancestors. The father of Ysabel had resided there but rarely until the -death of his wife; but, after that event, he had retired almost -broken-hearted to this wild retreat. Here, from early childhood, the -Lady Ysabel had been brought up. Wanting the care of a mother, she had -always been left to have her own way, and a more self-willed, impetuous -sylph never dashed the dew from the wild flowers that grew so -luxuriantly around the Moorish castle. - -One day, when the Doña Ysabel had nearly attained her sevententh year, -the Count de Llenaro, her father, stood within the deep embrasure of the -richly carved corridor, absorbed in thought. His eyes were fixed on the -shadows that played so fancifully on the rocks below. A light step was -heard and a fairy form entered the apartment. - -“_Bella mi cara nina_, I was thinking of thee, I would speak with thee.” -And the gentle girl stood beside the proud lord. “What wouldst thou my -father?” The maiden’s voice was low and silvery soft. Her dark eye -looked up into her father’s with an expression soft and confiding as -childhood. One little snow-white hand rested upon his shoulder, while -the other nestled within his own. - -“How old are you, Ysy?” - -“I shall be seventeen come next Michaelmas.” - -“’Tis even as I thought. Thou art getting to be a great girl, Belle,—I -have something to say to thee; wilt thou listen?” - -“Dear papa, thy word is my law.” - -“Is it so?” and the father fixed his eyes upon the girl with a look so -penetrating that her own eye fell, and the rich warm blood rushed from -her young heart and burnt upon her brow. - -Llenaro seated himself upon a low _turco_, and drawing his child towards -him, he fondly kissed her glowing cheek. - -“I fear, Belle,” said he, putting back the world of curls that had -fallen over her brow, “thy will hath never yet been broken. Thou art but -a wild one.” Count Alcaros fell into a long fit of musing. The silver -breathing tones of the Doña’s soft voice broke the stillness. - -“What wouldst thou with thy child, papa? my birds, and young flowers, -even now mourn my absence.” - -“And canst thou not give one hour unto thy father, Ysy? What will thy -birds and flowers do when I bring thee a right noble bird, an eagle -among birds, for thine own? Wilt thou then give up all others and love -but only that?” - -“What does my papa mean?” tremblingly replied the maiden. - -“I mean that thou art to be a child no longer.” - -“But, papa, all my pretty birds and—” - -“Thou shalt have a bird worth the whole, a right proud gallant bird. -Ysy, dost thou remember the Marquis of Talavera?” - -“What of him, dearest papa?” - -“Dost thou remember him?” - -“Yes, papa.” - -“This Marquis hath sought thee, Belle, in marriage, and I have said thou -shalt be his bride.” - -The girl started to the ground in unfeigned surprise. - -“Why, papa! he is old enough to be my grandfather, and besides, he is -ugly enough to—” - -“He is just the age of thy father, Ysabel. His years will serve to guide -thy wayward ones. He is all that is brave and noble, besides being one -of the richest, and most powerful lords in Spain. You may know, Belle, -how well I think of him—he is almost the only one of my many _friends_, -that I admit into this our wild retreat.” - -“But, papa—” - -“Nay, Belle, I will have no buts. It must be as I say.” - -“But, papa.” The Count’s brow darkened. “But, papa, I do not love him.” - -“Love—pah!” - -“Papa, I _cannot_ love him.” - -“Pah!” - -“Papa, I _will not_ love him!” and the Doña’s eyes grew bright and -large. - -“Ysabel!” - -“Dear papa,—I mean I cannot—” and the little lady burst into tears. - -“Ysabel,—hear me—I have said thou shalt become the bride of the -Marquis of Talavera. What I say I never unsay—that thou knowest. Two -weeks from this. The day thou art seventeen—is the day decided upon. It -_must, it shall be so_! Wilt thou do thy father’s bidding, Belle?” - -The girl answered not a word but her eye lit up and her little mouth was -tightly compressed. Every line of her statue-like form expressed -firmness and resolution. - -“Wilt thou do thy father’s bidding, Ysabel?” again demanded the Count. - -“Thou hast ever been an indulgent father to me, never hast thou crossed -my slightest wish, and now, father, I must say firmly _no_! I never can -become the bride of him thou namest.” - -“Girl! thou shalt not even be consulted. Thou hast had thine own way -seventeen years, _now_ I will have mine. Thou shalt wed the Talavera if -I have to drag thee to the altar. Nay, no fawning.” The girl had twined -her soft round arms about her father’s neck—her eyes looked -beseechingly into his. But he pushed her from him, saying—“Go to thy -room, Ysabel, and there remain until thy reason comes to thee. Dost thou -hear me?” - -The Spaniard strode from the room, and the weeping lady sought, with a -heavy heart, her own turret. - -It was the first time her father had been unkind to her, and she threw -herself down, on a low couch, in all that utter hopelessness of grief -youth alone can feel. It was her first sorrow. - -There came a soft rap at the door,—but she heeded it not;—and not -until a hand, soft as woman’s, held her own,—and a voice, whose deep, -low tones were breathing music, whispered in her ear, did she know her -father’s handsome page was kneeling by her. - -“Weep not, mi cara Ysabel,” soothingly said he, “or rather let me share -thy grief. I know it all—thy father hath told me, and sent me here to -bring thee to reason, as he said. Can I do it sweet lady?” and the -handsome page smiled. - -It was wicked in him to smile when her heart was so full of grief—and -so the lady thought. But she had learned to love, and when love is warm -and new, all the loved one says or does is more than right. - - “Love flings a halo round the dear one’s head, - Faultless, immortal”—— - -The Doña Ysabel loved her father’s page,—loved him as an ardent-souled -daughter of sunny Spain knows how to love. The father!——he did not -even dream of such wickedness. (If he had he could not have slept for at -least six months)—the unpardonable wickedness of a daughter of his—his -bright, beautiful Ysabel—the high born lady of Llenaro,—loving her -father’s page!—a nameless page!—and so he slept secure. The thought -was too preposterous. And the Doña Ysabel loved. Love is all -trustfulness, all watchfulness, all hopefulness. The page was handsome; -the page was graceful, witty, accomplished. He was indeed an uncommon -page;—and so thought the Doña’s father,—and _so_ thought her father’s -daughter. He could sing to the music of Ysabel’s guitar, most divinely; -he could dance, fence, was perfectly skilled in all horsemanship, -moreover he was acquainted with all the then lore of bright Spain. He -wrote poetry too; and sang the words of his own composing. In sooth he -was a most marvellous page—a perfect paragon of a page; and then his -eye—why it was wilder than lightning shot from a midnight sky. The -servants all feared and hated him. To Ysabel alone was he all that was -gentle,—and to her father, for her sake. He was her teacher; her -patient, faithful, untiring teacher. They drank together at the pure -well of learning—a well too often untasted in those days of fair Spain. - -“Weep not, sweetest; thy noble father would see thee wed with the -Marquis of Talavera, and thou canst not love him. And it is for that -thou weepest. Is it not so sweet lady?” - -“I was happy,” replied the sorrowing girl. “I did not dream of love, or -that I had a heart. I only felt that I was happy. And now—” - -“And now, my gentle Ysabel?” - -“And now,” said the Señorita, deeply blushing, “now I feel I have no -heart to give.” - -“Bless thee, dearest, for those words. Ysabel hear me for I must speak. -I love thee Ysabel—I am other than I seem. I am no hireling—I am the -heir to a noble house. One year ago, having heard so much of thy -wondrous beauty, and full of curiosity and daring, I contrived to get -admitted into the castle as thy father’s page. To see, is to love -thee—but to be near thee day after day—to read thy gentle thoughts—to -gaze in thy liquid, truthful, soul-beaming eyes—to feel thy soft hand -within my own. Ysabel, a being cut from granite to see thee thus could -not help loving thee. I love _a soul_—a soul thou hast sweet Ysabel—a -reflecting, gentle, trustful, ardent, heart-ful soul. Ysabel I love -thee, wilt thou love me?” - -“Jose, I will, I do love thee”—and the girl’s eyes were soft as she -rested them in his. - -He took her hand—her little, warm, white hand, and covered it with -kisses. Then drawing her gently towards him, he clasped her silently to -his heart. She nestled like a bird in his bosom—and rested her head -there. At intervals a low sob swelled her little heart, like that of a -wearied infant, worn out with much crying. At length her sighs came less -and less frequent; and when the page bent over to gaze upon her face, -she had sunk into a calm, gentle sleep. A bright tear still glistened on -her silky lash—that long black fringe that reposed so quietly on her -pale, fair cheek. - -There is something inexpressibly touching in the quiet and calm repose -of a beautiful girl. And when we feel that that youth and beauty is all -we love on earth—that it is near us—nestling in sweet trust within our -arms—our all—our own—life of our life—heart of our heart—soul of -our soul—what other happiness can earth give more pure, more holy, more -unalloyed? - -The page Jose almost wished the Doña might never awake—but she did -awake. And when she did, she looked up in his eyes and smiled. There was -everything in that smile, love, hope, faith, gentleness, truth, trust, -joy. It was a droll smile too; there was archness in it—Jose never -forgot that smile!—Strange, that an outward symbol of the inner world -can express so much. - -The page attempted to kiss the bright smile into his own heart—but the -lady’s mood had changed. Half ashamed, half in sport, she broke from him -with a laugh—her own peculiar laugh—bird-like in its silvery -clearness; and like a bird, as wild, and sweet. - -“Sit down, dear Ysabel—I would talk with thee calmly—wilt thou be -mine? Ysabel, I love thee. Oh! how I love thee. Naught on earth is half -so dear as thou—life—ten thousand lives, were they mine, would I give -for thy love. Wilt thou be mine? my own?” - -The girl put both her little hands in his—that was her only answer. And -then the page drew her again to his heart and kissed her brow and lips. -And then—and then—and then—why then, and there, right up before -them—with curled lip and cloudy brow—stood the castle’s lord!—the -proud hidalgo!—the Count Alcaros de Llenaro!—the Doña Ysabel’s -father!—the handsome page’s master! - -“Ha!” exclaimed he, “is this the way ye obey my commands? Ah, I see! -Thou’rt doing my bidding, sir page. Hast thou won the self-willed lady -to think as I do? Away, girl!—Back, I say! Away with thee, page!” - -Pale, drooping, quailing beneath her father’s angry glance, the gentle -girl silently twined her arms around his frame, and strove to kiss away -the angry spot upon his brow. - -“Back! Judas!” exclaimed he, pushing her rudely from him. “When thou -hast learned to do thy father’s wishes, _then_ will he accept thy -caresses.” - -Frightened—crushed—she shrunk within herself, like the sensitive plant -at some rude touch, nor dared to raise her gentle eye to the -fire-darting ones of her angry sire. - -And the page? - -The father glanced from the drooping form of his daughter to the -unbending one of the presumptuous lover. - -“And so, sir menial, thou art aspiring—we like ambition. Thou thinkest -to love my daughter—the daughter of the noble house of Llenaro—good!” - -“Count of Llenaro—hear me. I ask of thee thy daughter. My house, proud -lord, is full as noble as thine own—perhaps more ancient. I am no -page—I am the only son of——” - -“I will not even hear who thou art—wert thou the monarch of the -universe, thou shouldst not wed my daughter. I have sworn she shall -become the bride of the Talavera—I never recall an oath.” - -The group as they stood there would have made a picture for the pencil -of a Salvator. The proud, determined figure of Llenaro, standing with -his arms folded, looking lightning on the no less proud form of the -handsome page, as he stood in the glow of his young manhood’s strength -and beauty. Then the shrinking form of the Doña Ysabel—slightly leaning -forward, with clasped hands—her head partly raised—the speechless, -imploring agony of her lovely face. - -The room contributed not a little to the scene—all around was purely, -beautifully feminine. The low damask ottomans—the bright-eyed birds in -their glittering gold cages—the rich, mellow paintings hanging around -the room. Among them was her own soft eyed mother. The sweet, dreamy -eyes of the Italian seemed to look down on the father of her daughter -reproachfully for his harshness to that daughter. The parting beams of -the sun, as he bade adieu to his love the fair earth, streamed in the -room, gilding with their warm glow the expressive faces of the three. A -ray more softened fell on the calm, angel face of the wife,—the mother. - -“Alcaros de Llenaro, I entreat thee to listen to me. On my knees I -supplicate thee to give me thy daughter. Doom her not to misery. She -loves me. Think upon thy child’s mother—on the love vows given and -taken before thy child was born. When she—the mother, the wife, was all -in all to thee. Thou _didst_ love once, and she thou didst love, was the -mother of the child thou’rt dooming to wretchedness—and now that mother -looks down upon thee, imploring happiness on her child.” - -Alcaros glanced at the image of his wife. He fancied, as the warm, red -sunlight fell upon it, the gentle eyes looked a reproachful gaze on him. -He was not a hard-hearted man. Pride was his ruling passion. False pride -it might have been; whether false or true, it fastened on him then, -driving back the kindlier feelings the memory of his wife had roused -within him. He checked the tear before it came to his eyes, and putting -on a heavy frown— - -“Rise, sir minion,” said he, “I have told thee my daughter shall wed the -Talavera—_and she shall!_” - -“_Never!_ as I live, never!” said the girl. “Never shall a Llenaro -become the bride of the man she cannot love!—never!” - -The lady looked her father’s child—as though she had been born to be -obeyed. The softness of the mother had gone. Her slight, round figure, -straight as a young Indian’s, had risen to its full height. Her eyes -dilated—those eyes, where shone her soul—those warm, black eyes, whose -every glance kept time to the throbbings of her impulsive heart. - -“Ysabel,” said Llenaro, sadly, after a pause, “thou forgetest I am thy -father.” - -“My father! dearest papa!—my own father, forgive me. Thou _art_ my -father! but do not,” her tones were low and earnest, “oh! do not force -this hated match on thy child. She will do anything—_all_ thou -wishest—but oh! do not seal her misery forever.” - -The count permitted the ardent caresses of the maiden, then putting her -gently from him, he told her to remain in her turret. He had much to say -to her. He would seek her when he was ready to tell her what he had to -say. Then turning to Jose, he added, “Follow me, sir page, I have -somewhat to say to thee also.” - -The maiden watched the receding forms of the two until they had -disappeared, and then she murmured, “He spoke kindly to me,” and _Hope_ -warmed her heart. A bright Hope! Hope the deceiver! What would the world -be without thee, fairy Hope? Thou comest like a dream, whispering in our -soul’s ear thy witching fancies, until they seem realities—and the _is -to be_, stands before us a living _now_! Great is thy power, fair -Hope—and thou knowest it,—and so thou goest on deluding -mortals,—making the dim shadowy perspective a glorious foreground. So, -when our hearts feel sad and weary, and long to burst the chain that -binds them to this dark earth, thou comest with the dews of heaven fresh -glistening on thy lips—and tellest us fairy tales, and singest us fairy -songs—and kissest our hearts with thy cool, dewy lips. And we believe -thee, syren, and let thee deceive us again and again. - -The Lady Ysabel rested her wild, black eyes—beaming with a thousand -thoughts—upon her mother’s picture, and kneeling before it, she clasped -her little hands and implored her gentle mother to look down kindly on -her daughter. “And, mother,” continued she—her lute-like voice scarce -audible—“ask _Him_, the mighty one—whose throne is in high heaven—to -forgive thy erring child, if she forgets, in her love for the creature, -the Creator. God forgive me if I love _him_ more than I ought, for I -cannot love him less.” - -The Lady Ysabel watched all that evening for her father, and the next -day—and the next—and the next—and then her cheek began to pale, and -her eye grew dim with weeping. For Hope had grown weary and fled. She -could not dream either why the page came not—a little indignation -mingled with her sorrow. - -The duenna did all she could to restore her young lady to her right -mind, as she said. At length she brought her a letter—saying— - -“Take it, _mi_ señorita, a holy friar gave it me for thee. Learn from -it, Señorita Ysabel, to control thy too great grief. It is sinful and -wrong to indulge in sorrow as thou dost.” - -The Lady Ysabel knew the writing—tremblingly she broke the seal, and -read, - - “_My gentle Ysabel_—Thy father hath forbidden me the castle, or - ever to see thee again—but fear not, dearest, thy father cannot - withstand thy gentleness—thy goodness. Thou wert not made to be - unhappy—thou art too good—too kind—too true. God will not see - thee made wretched. He watches over thee. He will not desert - thee—and, dearest, remember there is one heart that beats for - thee—and thee alone—whose every pulse is thine. Sunshine is - midnight without the light of thine eyes to tell where shineth - the sun, and when, gentlest, I would see thee, I would press thy - hands upon my heart—that its wild throbbings might be stilled. - I would look into the clear depths of thy truthful eyes, and - learn there a lesson of calmness—of faith to bear, and hope to - look beyond. Thy duenna, sweetest, more than mistrusts my - disguise—but a golden bait has lured stronger minds than hers - from the clear waters of truth. I cannot quit the castle - grounds, for in it is all that is dear to me on earth. Write, - dearest, if thou canst, to thine own - - Jose.” - -The lady sat before her scrutoire to write to him she loved, when she -heard her father’s step. She had only time to crumple his letter in her -bosom as the father entered. Ever obedient to her heart’s impulse, she -sprang towards him, and throwing her white arms about his neck, she -called him her dear, _dear_ papa, and burst into tears. - -“Calm thyself, my Ysabel. I would tell thee frankly why I ask thee to -sacrifice thyself—to seal thy misery, as thou sayest.” He led her -gently to an ottoman, and seated himself beside her. - -“Ysabel, wouldst thou see thy father penniless, homeless, a beggar?” - -“Papa!” looked the wondering eyes of Ysabel. - -“I repeat it, Ysy, wouldst thou see thy father resign all these fair -acres, and starve a houseless beggar? Wouldst thou, Ysy?” - -“What meanest thou, papa? in mercy tell me.” - -“If by one act of thine, it were in thy power to make thy father’s -happiness, wouldst thou not do that act?” - -“Dear papa, thou knowest I would—but oh! tell me all. What am I to do? -And yet I know—but _why_? tell me why”— - -“Ysabel, by becoming his bride, thou canst save thy father from becoming -a beggar.” - -The girl shuddered but said in a low calm voice, - -“Father, tell me why—tell me _all_. Make a confidant of thy child. I -can bear anything. See! I am calm.” - -“Ysabel, I will! in as few words as possible. A year ago, you may -remember, Talavera was here. He has not been here since. A short time -after that, his last visit, the page came—though it is not of him I -would speak. We played—Talavera and I. At first I won—in the success -of the moment I staked high—and lost. I still played on—every throw -swept off acre after acre of the lands my fathers owned. Midnight saw me -without a farthing—and without a foot of earth to call my own. Then -came a bond. I signed it. It gave me back my broad lands—my wealth—but -it deprived me of the only thing I had on earth to love—of you, my -Ysabel! See! here is the bond.” - -The lady’s heart was still—very still—so still it almost frightened -her. Her cheek, lips, hands, were cold and bloodless. It seemed as -though her blood had all gone to her heart—and frozen there! Her eye -was passionless, it was so calm. She held the open paper before her, and -without reading or seeing, she read and saw enough to know that the fair -grounds and castle of Ysolo-Rosse—where she had lived from her -infancy—where her father had loved her mother—were to go into the -hands of the Talavera, unless she became his bride. - -“Ysabel, I have sworn thou shalt be his bride, but I will recall my oath -if thou sayest so. What is thy decision?” - -“I will wed him,” replied the girl. - -Llenaro clasped her to his heart, and kissing her cold brow, he added, - -“The day thou art seventeen was the day decided upon—it will be here in -a week. But if ’twill be too soon, no doubt the Marquis will”— - -“’Twill not be too soon.” - -“Ysabel, thou frightenest me, thou art so pale—I will not force thee -into what would be thy unhappiness.” - -“Nay, papa, I had much rather be unhappy myself than to see thee so. But -I will not be. To-morrow thou shalt see me more cheerful.” - -The wily lord had learned the way to make his daughter’s will his own. -He loved that daughter, and felt a father’s pity for her. But he thought -although she suffered then—and it pained him to the soul to see it—she -would soon forget her youthful passion, and, as the wife of the -Talavera, she would gradually learn to be happy. Her future husband was -all that was noble and good—all this thought the father—and then he -thought “the Castle of Ysolo-Rosse will still be mine.” The father’s -conscience was _almost_ quieted. - -“I have foresworn playing, Belle,” said he, sadly, “never, should I live -forever, will another card pass through my hands. Ysabel, my darling -child! do not look so sad,—seek the cool air, it will revive thee. Go -and gather thy favorite wild flowers: they will divert thy mind from its -sorrow. My noble, generous girl.” He fondly kissed his child and then -withdrew. - -Ysabel left to herself mechanically sought the garden. She wandered over -her favorite haunts, scarce knowing what she did. Her heart, her -thoughts were still as the grave. She reached her bower—the little -vine-clad bower, where the page and she had so often sat listening to -the music of each other’s voices. And there, on the very seat where they -were wont to sit—was Jose! the page! - -“Ysabel! beloved!” exclaimed he in unfeigned delight—and the girl was -in his arms. - -“Dearest, best, my gentle Ysabel! am I once more permitted to see -thee?—to clasp thee to my heart? But, sweetest, how thou hast changed. -How pale thou art. Go with me dearest, I will be thy father, brother, -husband, friend. Leave this hated castle—now—speak, dear one, wilt -thou go with me? Dear, _dear_ Ysabel, tell me.” - -“Jose, I cannot—I have promised to become his bride!” - -“But, dearest, they shall not force thee to do what thou dost not wish.” - -“Jose, I had my own free choice.” - -“And thou didst choose—” - -“To become his bride.” - -“Will nothing induce thee to alter thy determination?” - -“_Nothing!_” - -“Good bye, Ysabel.” - -“Jose! Dear Jose—” but the page was gone. - -The next morning found the lady Ysabel in the spot where the page had -left her. Then followed many days of sickness. Her life was despaired -of. Day after day she lay, pale, cold, insensible. Reason had forsaken -her throne. Her sweet smiles were gone; and the speaking glances of her -dewy eyes had fled. Her voice too—for she had not spoken since that -night. Even the pulsations of her heart were silent. Life alone -remained—life without its light. And how her father watched over -her—and how bitterly he lamented, and cursed himself for having brought -her thus. At length light shone in her eyes—the light of life. Morning -dawned in upon the darkness of her soul. - -“_Good bye, Ysabel_,” said she. - -“My own child, what dost thou say?” asked the father, bending anxiously -over her. - -“Good bye, Ysabel—” and she looked up in her father’s face and -smiled.—_That smile!_ it haunted him to his grave! - -“Are you better, my own Ysabel? my dearest child?” - -“Yes papa,—I am well. What a strange dream I have had. Ah! now I -recollect—” and she sunk into a gentle sleep. - -Day by day she gained health and strength. The father never left her -side. - -“Papa,” said she one day, “will you let me see that paper again? you -know the one I mean.” - -“No, my child, you never need see or think of it.” - -“Do let me take it, papa—you do not know how well and strong I am—do, -dearest papa?” And the father was prevailed upon. She saw she could save -her father from ruin, and her mind was made. - -“How old am I, papa?” - -“Three weeks ago saw you seventeen.” - -“Does the—does my future husband know of my illness?” - -“He has sent repeatedly to inquire after your health. His courier was -here this morning.” - -“Will you send him word I am well—and am ready in two weeks from now to -become his wife?” - -“Are you in earnest, Ysabel?” - -“Perfectly so.” - -“Is it of your own free will you speak?” - -“It is, papa.” And the father was deceived—perhaps too willingly so. - -The Lady Ysabel was able now to revisit her favorite haunts. Every thing -she saw brought the page vividly before her eyes. Sometimes an -inscription on a tree—the walks, the flowers, the bower where last they -met—all, all brought with them the memory of _him_. She strove to -banish, as high treason to her happiness, all thoughts of him—and the -firmness of her nature conquered. She familiarised herself to all the -old spots where she had loved to be with him—and she thought she was -happy—almost—happy. - -The day at length came—clear—cloudless—sun-bright. And then the -lady’s heart misgave her—she said not a word, however, but let them -deck her in her bridal gear, scarce knowing or caring what they did. - -Evening came. The chapel was brilliantly lighted. The bright red wine -flowed freely—and joy danced in all hearts, save one. - -Ysabel was pale, very, very pale when she entered the chapel. The orange -buds that wreathed her hair were not more pale. - -The Talavera had not yet come. All was ready. The priest in his long -flowing robes—the father—the bridesmaid—the guests; for the father -had invited many a noble house to witness his daughter’s nuptials. All -were ready, and still the bridegroom came not. At length was heard a -confused movement, and, in the midst of that joyous mass of life, the -Marquis of Talavera had been thrown from his carriage, and the servants, -in their fright and dismay, scarce knowing what they did, had borne him -in his litter to the chapel. - -The Lady Ysabel grew even more pale, as she looked upon the bier. There -lay the lord who was to have been her husband! She gazed on him in a -sort of nightmare fascination—a weight seemed taken from her heart—a -feeling of relief mingled with the horror of the hour. - -The Doña Ysabel enjoyed one short month of tranquillity—and then came -news from the castle of Talavera. The will of the marquis had been read. -He had bequeathed to his son and heir all his vast estates together with -the Lady Ysabel, should he himself die before the marriage took place. -The _bond_ still held good! - -A letter came from the young marquis to the count, demanding his -daughter’s hand in marriage. The letter was gracefully written, and told -how he had long heard of the wondrous beauty of the Doña Ysabel, and how -ardently he desired to become the possessor of it. - -Again the lady yielded to her father’s persuasion. The present marquis -was young and handsome—so the objection of age was removed. All Spain -knew he was noble, and brave—and all the bright-eyed daughters of Spain -might well look envy on the favored Ysabel, that the young Talavera had -chosen her. - -He was then travelling in the interior of Europe. His letter was dated, -Vienna. One year from the day of the elder Talavera’s death was the day -fixed upon to celebrate the bridals of the bravest cavalier and -loveliest flower in all Spain. - -Ysabel yielded, and tried to seem cheerful, but her step grew slower and -slower, and her fair face paler and more pale. As her days went on did -she each day lose some part of this earth, earthy. So very gradual was -the change that neither her father nor those around her seemed to -observe it. So passed seven months. Four months more were to find her a -new home in the heart of the Talavera. - -She daily visited the spot where she had last seen _him_, in the hope -of——she knew not what. - -The Doña Ysabel was in her bower—neither reading, nor sewing, nor -watching her flowers—but in a state of listlessness, half reclining on -the cushioned seat, when suddenly her name was spoken! It was not her -father’s voice. The next instant saw the Doña close to the heart of the -page, Jose! Neither spoke—the heart of each was too full for -words—dull words cannot express our strongest emotions, when the heart -is too big for utterance, speech is but a mockery. Words came at length, -and the page told her how much anguish he had suffered, and how he could -no longer stay away from her he loved. That he came, hardly expecting to -see her, and if he did see her, he feared he should find her changed. - -“And, dearest Ysabel, thou art changed—not in thy love—but thou art -but the shadow of the Ysabel that in days syne, bounded so joyfully over -these hills.” He held up her hand— - - “It was so thin and transparent of hue, - You might have seen the moon shine through!” - -The Lady Ysabel told the page _all_. How that she had consented to -become the bride of the young Talavera. The page learned the reason from -her too, why she had consented to become the wife of one she could not -love. He smiled when he heard that the Talavera must become master, -either of the castle and property of Ysolo-Rosse, or of the lovely Lady -Ysabel. - -When Ysabel retired to rest that night, it was with a light heart. Day -after day witnessed the meetings of the lady and the page—and day after -day witnessed her returning bloom of face and buoyancy of heart. She was -once more that glad, bright Ysabel as when the page first came to her -father’s castle. - -The father, without inquiring the cause, saw his child happy and -smiling, and he was satisfied. And she _was_ happy and smiling—the -smiles never left her little dimpled mouth—soon as one went another -came. Even in her sleep, her joyous heart beamed from her face. - -The morning came bright and sunshiny as it had done just one year -before. The chapel was again illuminated—again were the guests -assembled—and again, surrounded by her bridesmaids, came the Lady -Ysabel into the chapel. But oh! what a different Lady Ysabel from the -one of the year ago. The bridal wreath encircled her brow—and below -that fair brow beamed out the _happiest_ pair of eyes imaginable! What -could it mean? - -There was heard among the guests a universal murmur of admiration as she -made her appearance. So beautiful, so bright, so radiant a being they -had never seen. Her face appeared actually to _emit light_—so truly did -the bright sunshine of her glad young heart shine through. - -A slight movement at the great double door of the chapel—and the -bridegroom, the Marquis of Talavera was announced! - -Quite as great a sensation did the noble, manly figure of the young -marquis create, as had the softer and more gentle one of the Lady -Ysabel. - -The father seemed struck dumb in sudden surprise!—at length, burst from -his lips—“The page!” - -Any of the old gossips of Spain will tell you the rest of the story—and -what a joyous wedding there was—and how every one said there never was -so well matched—so noble a pair, as Don Jose, Marquis of Talavera, and -his gentle bride, Ysabel! They will tell you, too, that the honey-moon, -instead of lasting but thirty-one days, did outlast thirty-one -years!—and the love that was true to the sire could not but bless the -son. - - * * * * * - -So endeth the story of “The Lady and the Page.” - - * * * * * - - - - - FANCIES ABOUT A ROSEBUD, - - - PRESSED IN AN OLD COPY OF SPENSER. - - - BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - - - Who prest you here? The Past can tell, - When summer skies were bright above, - And some full heart did leap and swell - Beneath the white new moon of love. - - Some Poet, haply, when the world - Showed like a calm sea, grand and blue, - Ere its cold, inky waves had curled - O’er the numb heart once warm and true; - - When, with his soul brimful of morn, - He looked beyond the vale of Time, - Nor saw therein the dullard scorn - That made his heavenliness a crime; - - When, musing o’er the Poets olden, - His soul did like a sun upstart - To shoot its arrows, clear and golden, - Through slavery’s cold and darksome heart. - - Alas! too soon the veil is lifted - That hangs between the soul and pain, - Too soon the morning-red hath drifted - Into dull cloud, or fallen in rain! - - Or were you prest by one who nurst - Bleak memories of love gone by, - Whose heart, like a star fallen, burst - In dark and erring vacancy? - - To him you still were fresh and green - As when you grew upon the stalk, - And many a breezy summer scene - Came back—and many a moonlit walk; - - And there would be a hum of bees, - A smell of childhood in the air, - And old, fresh feelings cooled the breeze - That, like loved fingers, stirred his hair! - - Then would you suddenly be blasted - By the keen wind of one dark thought, - One nameless woe, that had outlasted - The sudden blow whereby ’twas brought. - - Or were you pressed here by two lovers - Who seemed to read these verses rare, - But found between the antique covers - What Spenser could not prison there: - - Songs which his glorious soul had heard, - But his dull pen could never write, - Which flew, like some gold-winged bird, - Through the blue heaven out of sight? - - My heart is with them as they sit, - I see the rose-bud in her breast, - I see her small hand taking it - From out its odorous, snowy nest; - - I hear him swear that he will keep it, - In memory of that blessed day, - To smile on it or over-weep it - When she and spring are far away. - - Ah me! I needs must droop my head, - And brush away a happy tear, - For they are gone, and, dry and dead, - The rose-bud lies before me here. - - Yet is it in no stranger’s hand, - For I will guard it tenderly, - And it shall be a magic wand - To bring mine own true love to me. - - My heart runs o’er with sweet surmises, - The while my fancy weaves her rhyme, - Kind hopes and musical surprises - Throng round me from the olden time. - - I do not care to know who prest you: - Enough for me to feel and know - That some heart’s love and longing blest you, - Knitting to-day with long-ago. - - * * * * * - - - - - IMAGINATION.[2] - - -It is so long a time since a poem of any serious pretensions has made -its appearance before the British or American public, that we have -almost ceased to look for new metrical productions, divided into books -or cantos. We have been contented with the light, fugitive strains of -the periodicals, and have not asked for grand overtures—such as used to -absorb the whole interest of the reading public, twenty, thirty, fifty -and more years ago. In the middle of the last century, a man, to be -recognised as a poet, was required to issue some single work of a -thousand lines. Quantity was more considered than quality; intellectual -labor was judged of rather by the amount of its achievements than by -their kind. - -Poetry has at times been criticised by a different rule than Painting. -That age never was, when an artist acquired a reputation in consequence -of the number of his pictures: one gem of art has always been more -highly esteemed than a million crystals. In all days past, as in the day -present, it might be said of a single head by a master, small, faded, -stained, yet beautiful through the rust of age,—“that little bit of -canvass is worth more than a whole gallery of fresh portraits, though -after living models, as beautiful as Aspasia, or as stately as -Alcibiades.” But a solitary brief poem was never so valued in comparison -with a voluminous production. Even now, formed and polished as the -public taste pretends itself to be, there lurks with us that prejudice -which more highly ranks the author of a book of verses than the author -of a sonnet. Though the book may be as negative in merit as the correct -hand of gentle dullness could make it, and the sonnet as perfect as the -best that Petrarch wrote, in the intensest glow of his love and his -genius—except by the few, the former would be regarded as the more -arduous, the more commendable performance. - -The philosophy of this prejudice, is a sort of respect mankind -entertains for a constant fulfilment of the original curse. We love to -see hard work done or indicated. We look at a mass of printed leaves and -exclaim, “Goodness! what an industrious individual the writer must have -been! How much he has accomplished!” It may be that, upon examination, -his work may have added nothing to the available stock of literature; it -may be that it will prove useless lumber, destined to dust and obscurity -in men’s garrets, and not worth the corners it will encumber. “What of -that? the author had to work hard to do it—didn’t he?” Yes! such is the -question put by people who seem to love labor for its own sake. They -look upon men of talent very much in the same light that old Girard of -Philadelphia considered poor people who existed by the employment of -their arms and legs. - -At a season of distress, some day-laborers applied to Girard for -assistance. There was a huge pile of bricks lying in the vicinity of the -house of Dives. “Take up those bricks,” said he, “and place them yonder, -and then I will pay you for the task.” The men obeyed; the bricks—to -use a verb for which we are indebted to Dr. Noah Webster and the Georgia -negroes—were _toted_ from one position to another, and the stipulated -price demanded. Girard paid it cheerfully. “But,” said the laborers, -“what are we to do now? Must we be idle while we spend this money, and -starve by and by? We shall come to you again in a week. Keep us -employed—bid us perform another task.” “Yes,” said Girard. “Take up -those bricks from the place where you have put them, and carry them back -to the place whence you removed them.” Pretty much as Girard used the -poor _operatives_ does the public treat the man of genius. Let him write -the immortal sonnet, bright and beautiful, to be fixed hereafter, a star -in the firmament of fame, and his contemporaries, in reply to his demand -for praise, will say, “What has he done? What book has he written? What -is he the author of?”—They want to see work—honest labor, and plenty -of it, though that labor be as useless as the _toting_ of the bricks. - -Not without some qualifications must these remarks be considered -strictly true, with regard to the present age, or to our own country. -There are facts to the contrary, though not sufficient to disprove the -general truth of what we say. We have no poet, who is more generally, or -more highly esteemed, than Halleck; and yet his truly great reputation -has been built up on some four or six short pieces of verse. On the -other hand, Mr. Sumner Lincoln Fairfield, has lumbered the bookseller’s -lofts with ream after ream of printed paper, and nobody but an -occasional crazy reviewer, calls such a dunce, a poet. Nevertheless, we -maintain the verity of the general observation, that those poets have -heretofore been most esteemed, who have done the most work. It is -downright astonishing, how much some of them did _do_. We look over -their long poems, with a sentiment of wonder, and reverence, and we are -awfully perplexed to determine, how vast a length of time it must have -taken these modern Cheopses, to build their pyramids. Hamlet’s account -to Polonius, of the graybeard’s book he was reading, appears to us a -pretty comprehensive description of many of these vast metrical -diffusions—“words, words, words.” It exceeds our powers of conjecture, -how the writers could have completed their whole task, so labors the -line and so slow runs the verse. We have seen a sturdy blacksmith pound -a piece of iron, for hours and hours, till it became as malleable as -lead; we have seen a woodsawyer saw, and saw, and saw, up and down, down -and up, till the very sight of him made us ready to drop with imaginary -fatigue; thy still-beginning, never ending whirl, oh weary -knife-grinder, have we also contemplated with feverish melancholy—still -for the endurance of all these, have we been able satisfactorily to -account; drilled by habit, ruled by habit, habit is to them a second -nature. But for the perpetration of a long, tedious poem for the -manufacture of verse after verse, the last drier and duller than the -preceding, there is no possible manner of accounting. It is an -infliction, which can be borne by neither gods, men nor columns. Your -_médiocre_ man may be forgiven for talking one into a paralysis, or -writing prose, till every word acts like a mesmerist and puts you to -sleep; but for his writing verses, there can be, there ought to be no -forgiveness; he should be consigned to the cave of perpetual oblivion, -and over its entrance should be inscribed, “Hope never enters here.” - -Were we to follow in the track of reviewers in the Quarterlies, who -always seem to think it necessary to make a considerable preliminary -flourish to the solemn common-places they are about to utter, we should -observe that the foregoing remarks had been elicited by a work on our -table, entitled “Imagination, a poem in two parts, with other poems, by -Louisa Frances Poulter.” But as the work did not call forth the remarks, -we shall observe nothing of the kind. The moment we wrote the title of -the poem, and saw that it consisted of nearly eleven hundred lines, we -began to reflect that very few long poems had been written lately, and -our pen scampered over the paper at a rail-road rate, till we reached -the _dépôt_ at the end of this paragraph. - -Pausing here, we first look back over what we have said; it pleases -us—let it stand, therefore, and let us now employ ourselves with -reading Miss Poulter’s poem in two cantos. We have not the slightest -dread of it—no! it seems a pleasant land, of which we have had -delightful glimpses in a transient survey. With these glimpses we mean -to entertain the reader, besides giving him an idea of the face of the -country. - -_In limine_, we ought to confess ourselves amiable critics, when we are -called upon to pronounce on the works of a female writer, and more -particularly of one who is a new claimant for distinction. It is our -desire to encourage the intellectual efforts of the gentle sex, if for -no better purpose, at least for that of inciting women to assert their -claims to the honors and the rewards of authorship. These pages are -scrutinized by many a brilliant pair of eyes, ready to flash indignation -upon the slightest disparagement of female genius. Far be it from us to -evoke from those mortal stars any other beams than those of softness and -serenity. Lovely readers! smile therefore upon this article as kindly as -upon the prettiest story in the Magazine, and think well of him who -seeks to win no better guerdon than your approbation. - -Miss Poulter has put upon her title-page a striking passage in French -from some essay of _Bernardin de St. Pierre_, which may be thus -literally translated. “Tasso, while travelling with a friend, one day -ascended a very high mountain. When he had reached the summit, he -exclaimed: ‘Seest thou these rugged rocks, these wild forests, this -brook bordered with flowers, which winds through the valley, this -majestic river, which rolls onward and onward till it bathes the walls -of a hundred cities? Well, these rocks, these mountains, these walls, -these cities, gods, men—lo! these are my poem!’” On the page -immediately preceding the principal poem in the volume, “Imagination,” -there appears the following from _Stewart’s Outlines of Moral -Philosophy_, “One of the principal effects of a liberal education is to -accustom us to withdraw our attention from the objects of our present -perceptions, and to dwell at pleasure on the past, the absent and the -future. How much it must enlarge in this way the sphere of our enjoyment -or suffering is obvious: for (not to mention the recollection of the -past) all that part of our happiness or misery, which arises from our -hopes or our fears, derives its existence entirely from the power of our -imagination.” - -We are pleased with these quotations. They augur well for the original -words that are to follow. They prepare the mind of the reader for -something almost as good as they are. The talent, or rather tact of -quoting well is no mean one; it is not possessed by many, scarcely -possessed at all by those who say that a quotation should be as strictly -appropriate as a title. It is enough that a quotation be one naturally -appertaining to or suggestive _per se_ of the subject matter. Mottoes, -it should be remembered, are not texts, but simply prefixes, intended -rather as ornaments than things of use. They are to books, chapters, and -cantos, what jewels are to the clasps of a fair lady’s girdle, not -indispensable to the clasps, but decorating them. In the choice of the -jewels and the style of their setting the taste of the wearer is -manifested. - -The reflection which first suggests itself to us after a consideration -of this poem, is that the author preferred rather to indulge her -inclination for roving from topic to topic, than to confine herself to -any exact method. She does not so much consider the power of imagination -or its effect upon life as she does the places and persons upon which -this faculty of the mind would choose to expand itself. The single word, -therefore, which constitutes the title, might be regarded as too -pretensive, as demanding too much, more than it is within the capacity -or education of the writer to give. Her modes of thought seem to be too -independent of the influence of “Association,” and it would confuse a -philosophical thinker to follow the diversities of her fancy. Perhaps, -however, the person who reads only to be amused, would derive more -gratification from Miss Poulter’s disregard of rules than were she more -correct and less fervid. - -The poem opens with a picture of sunset after a storm, and this affords -an apt and natural illustration for the Power of the Imagination. The -first topic pursued is the fact that childhood is but little under the -influence of Imagination, being led away by the pleasures of the present -moment and apt to resign itself wholly to the object by which it is -temporarily attracted. Illustrative of this is the following admirably -drawn scene— - - See, from his sheltering roof, the infant boy - Rush with delight, to snatch the promised joy; - Allowed for once to stray where’er he please, - And live one day of liberty and ease. - His frugal basket to his girdle hung, - His little rod across his shoulder flung, - With eager haste he starts at dawn of day, - Yet every trifle lures him from his way; - An opening rose, a gaudy butterfly, - Turn his light steps and fix his wandering eye; - He plucks ripe berries blushing in the hedge, - And pungent cresses from the watery sedge. - At length he gains the bank, and seeks to fill - His little scrip, and prove his infant skill; - He marks the fish approach in long array— - Then, stamps the ground, to see them glide away. - But lo! one speckled wanderer lurks behind, - ’Mid the tall reeds that skirt the stream confined: - It comes—it bites—he finds himself possest - Of one small trout, less wary than the rest: - With trembling hands he grasps his finny spoil, - The rich reward of one long day of toil. - For some short moments yet he keeps his seat - Close to the brook, and laves his weary feet; - Wide from his face his auburn locks he throws, - That playful airs may fan his little brows; - Then upward springs, and hums a blithesome lay, - To cheat fatigue, and charm his lengthened way. - Hark! while across the verdant lawn he skips, - The half-told tale is muttered from his lips; - With bounding heart he shows his spotted prize, - And marks, exulting, the well-feigned surprise. - A second moment sees him locked in sleep, - And placid slumbers o’er his senses creep; - In dreams he rests along some river’s side, - Where giant trout beneath clear waters glide. - -The following figure illustrates the toilsome ascent of youth to -Greatness: - - So up yon cliffs that frown in stern array, - The hardy pilgrim climbs his painful way; - His form bends forward—see! how he expands - O’er each frail mountain-shrub his fearful hands; - Will it resist?—or, from the rocky steep, - Whirl him below unnumbered fathoms deep? - He grasps it firm—he keeps his dizzy ground— - Though blasts and foaming torrents roar around; - Soon from the summit, views, with raptured eye, - The lovely scenes that far extended lie; - The smiling hamlet; the deep-tangled grove; - The lake whose breast reflects the hills above; - The lowing herds that through green pastures stray, - Where limpid streams pursue their pebbled way. - -After showing that imagination is most powerful in youth, and the -different manner in which it operates upon men, leading some to public -life, and some to retirement; after drawing a picture of domestic -felicity, and dwelling upon the question whether the happiness derived -from the indulgence of an ardent fancy is not ill exchanged for a -reasonable view of human life,—the poet speaks of the moral influence -of a fine imagination; and here occur these lines— - - Shall the pale Autumn shed his leaves in vain, - Sear the green woods, and all their glories stain? - Shall Winter clouds and bitter frosts impart, - Yet force no saddening moral on the heart? - Oh! let the warning past one thought employ! - Have not our projects, marked by grief or joy, - And all that we call beauty, talent, worth, - Mimicked the transient fashion of the Earth? - The fragile bloom has withered in the storm— - The pride of better years now feeds the worm! - -The next subject of contemplation is the death of a beloved and -distinguished friend; afterwards the poet goes on to describe the -influence of sublime scenery in awakening corresponding sensations in -the mind. An address to the Deity is attempted: next it is shown that -external beauties alone cannot soothe a wounded heart; a fact happily -illustrated by the disappointment of Tasso on his return to his native -Sorrento— - - Tasso, the pride, the victim of the Great, - Who learned the value of their smile too late. - Had shone in courts resplendent, and beneath - A prison’s wall had drawn his painful breath, - Sought his beloved Sorrento; for he fed - A wild delirious hope that bade him tread, - In search of peace, her groves, her spicy hills, - And woo the balsam her soft air distils. - Impetuous passion in his mind had wrought, - And trenched it deep with many a bitter thought; - Perchance the breeze that fans her rocky shore, - The mournful measure of the plashing oar, - Her blooming gardens that expanded lie, - Breathing their citron fragrance to the sky, - Her clustered almond trees, her sighing pines, - Her founts of crystal, and her palmy wines, - May lull its throb, its languid tone restore, - And charm it back to all it was before. - -The poetess then describes the anguish he endured. - -This is all that we can extract for the reader’s recreation from the -first Part or Canto of this meritorious poem, with the exception of a -very touching ballad. The verses are supposed to be repeated by an -Indian mother, over the grave of her departed child. Let us call them - - THE INDIAN MOTHER’S LAMENT. - - Twice falling snows have clad the earth; - Twice hath the fly-bird weaved his nest; - Since first I smiled upon thy birth, - And felt thee breathing on my breast. - - Now snowy wreaths will melt away, - And buds of red will shine around; - But, heedless of the sunny ray, - Thy form shall wither in the ground. - - Oft hath thy father dared the foe, - And, while their arrows drank his blood, - And round him lay his brothers low, - Careless ’mid thousand darts he stood. - - But when he saw thee droop thy head, - Thy little limbs grow stiff and cold, - And from thy lip the scarlet fled, - Fast down his cheek the tear-drops rolled. - - The land of souls lies distant far, - And dark and lonely is the road; - No ghost of night, no shining star, - Shall guide me to thy new abode. - - Will some good Spirit to thee bring - The milky fruits of cocoa-tree? - To shield thee stretch his pitying wing? - Or spread the beaver’s skin for thee? - - Oh! in the blue-bird’s shape descend, - When broad magnolias shut their leaves! - With evening airs thy lisping blend, - And watch the tomb thy mother weaves! - - I’ve marked the lily’s silken vest, - When winds blew fresh and sunbeams shine - On Mississippi’s furrowed breast, - By many a watery wreath entwined. - - But soon they rippled down the stream, - To lave the stranger’s distant shore; - One moment sparkled in the beam— - Then saw their native banks no more. - -Of the second Part or Canto, the following is a brief analysis. The poet -first addresses the Spirit of Ruin; then displays various forms of -destruction—a shipwreck: the descent of an avalanche. The topics next -treated are intellectual decay; the fatal effects of an ill-regulated -and warm Imagination; the power of Love in youth; the influence of -Imagination in our choice of life; the love of Fame; an active life -necessary to a person of vivid Imagination; the thirst of some -overcoming the love of life. Next occurs an apostrophe to the noble and -patriotic and sainted spirits of the heroes of Switzerland and -America—Arnold de Winkelried and George Washington. It is then shown -that Imagination represents them as still living; the power of -Imagination in old age is portrayed, and the poem concludes. - -From this part, we regret that we have room but for two extracts; for -these are of so excellent a character that the reader, like Oliver -Twist, will be certain to ask for more. - -Our first extract is a description of the life of an Alpine shepherd. -The lines are eminently good. - - Track thou my path where Alpine winters shed - Their lingering snows o’er bare St. Gothard’s head, - Ghastly his savage aspect; there recline - Rocks piled on rocks, and shagg’d with stunted pine; - Yet touched with beauty, when the purple haze - Its softening shadows o’er their summit lays; - Then melts in air, while wandering sunbeams streak, - With tints of rose, each ridge and frozen peak. - From cliff to cliff hoarse cataracts pursue - Their shattered course; now stained with lovely hue, - Lovely, and yet more transient, while a ray - Athwart the shivered waters cuts its way; - Now whirling in black eddies, as they lash - The darkened precipice with hideous crash. - But see! with trees and freshest verdure bright, - A lonely valley starts upon the sight, - Whose peaceful hamlet clinging to their side, - And sweet retirements, beetling mountains hide. - Their fury spent, o’er dell and grassy knoll - The lucid streams in crystal bubbles roll, - Whose gentle gushings break the deep repose, - As down steep, pebbled banks, the current flows. - Here, free from Passion’s storm and splendid Care, - A hardy race Life’s simple blessings share. - Breathes there on Earth who boasts a happier lot, - Than the rude owner of yon smiling cot? - Sighs he for joys by Nature’s hand denied? - Feels he a want by labor unsupplied? - The flock which oft his children’s pranks disturb, - The goats delighting in the sprouted herb, - The sleepy cows aroused by sauntering flies, - His verdant paddock with sweet food supplies. - Vigorous from rest, not weak with slothful ease, - At dawn he scents the sharp reviving breeze; - With eager industry and rustic skill - First prunes his purple vine, then hastes to till - His garden, freshened by the chills of night, - Where many a grateful tribute cheers his sight; - The jasmine bent beneath his clustering bees, - The green retiring herb, the lofty trees, - That, gemmed with blooms and dew drops, on the air - Waft their sweet incense to the God of pray’r. - But noon advances, and he drives his flocks - Where spots of verdure brighten ’mid the rocks; - There spends the day; and, far above, inhales - The love of Freedom with his mountain gales. - Hark! to those sounds, which now the herds invite, - Slow pacing homeward from the dizzy height; - The shepherd’s evening call—and in each dell - Tinkles the music of the pastoral bell. - His labor done, a frugal meal prepared - By her he loves, recruits his strength impaired; - Breathing a pious prayer he sinks to rest, - And rural visions charm his peaceful breast. - -Our second, and last, extract is one the spirit and force of which every -devotee of Freedom, every true American heart cannot fail to -acknowledge. - - Spirits of noble beings, who, arrayed - In mortal clothing, once a proud part played - Upon this nether orb! If ye retain - No human sense of honor, joy, or pain; - If, fixed in seats of blessedness, ye deem - Earth’s goodliest pageantries an idiot’s dream; - Yet in your bosoms not in vain was sown - Deep as Life’s pulse the love of fair Renown; - For still as Age to fleeting Age succeeds, - Your track of Glory, your remembered deeds, - A spark of fire ethereal shall impart, - To rouse each godlike passion in the heart. - Still, gallant Arnold! while the Switzer fights - E’en to his blood’s last drop, to guard his rights; - The right to tread his hills begirt with storm, - Free as the winds that brace his nervous form; - Your dying words, invincible he hears; - When with gored bosom, grasping Austria’s spears, - To glorious death you singly forced the way, - And bade forever live red Sempach’s day; - “The ranks are broken! charge! the cowards yield! - My little orphans, Oh my Country! shield.” - And You! in whose unconquerable mind - The wide-expanded wish to serve Mankind - Ruled as a master-passion; whether laid - At ease, you wooed Mount Vernon’s pleasant shade, - And the pure luxury of rural life; - Or plunged, reluctant, into desperate strife, - To breast the weight of tyrannous command. - And stamp the badge of Freedom on your Land; - Shall You, the meteor of a fickle day, - Blaze for one moment, strike, and pass away? - No—to her sons unborn shall cling your name, - Linked to their country’s proudest hour of Fame; - Till private, public worth, to Ruin hurled, - Shall leave not e’en their shadow in the World; - _Then_ must the Slave, the Patriot, share one lot— - And He, and Washington, shall be forgot. - -From the remarks, with which this article began, it is clearly enough to -be inferred that we are no admirers of long poems, unless they be of -extraordinary and sustained merit. This praise cannot be awarded to Miss -Poulter’s production: We believe that we have taken pretty much all that -is excellent, though a fine passage or two may be left in the exquisite -volume which we have just now cut to pieces—not metaphorically, but -literally. It was sad to destroy so charming a library book; but what -were the exquisite typography and clear white paper of one of Saunders & -Otley’s editions, when compared with the amusement of the friends of -Graham’s Magazine? Nothing. Moreover, we should not have quoted so -largely as we have, had we not felt assured of the fact that the volume -to which we refer was the only copy of Miss Poulter’s poem in America. -Such works are not in the least likely to be reprinted here; and our -readers would therefore know nothing about them, were it not for the -pains we are happy to take in their behalf. - ------ - -[2] Imagination: a Poem in two parts, with other poems, by Louisa -Frances Poulter, London: Saunders and Otley, Conduit Street. - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - ETC. - - - A DASH AT A CONVOY. - -It was the second night after our brush with the corvette, when a party, -composed of Mr. St. Clair, his niece and daughter, together with several -of the officers, stood at the side of the ship. It was a lovely evening. -The moon was high in heaven, sailing on in cloudless splendor; her -silvery light tipping the tops of the billows, and stretching in a long -line of effulgence across the waters. A gentle breeze was singing, with -a clear musical intonation, among the thousand tiny threads of the -rigging. The water rippled pleasantly against the sides of the ship. Not -far off lay a small rakish schooner, from which the sound of a bugle, -borne gently on the night air, floated in delicious melody to our ears. -The decks were noiseless. The quiet moon seemed as if, by some magic -spell, she had hushed the deep into silence, for scarcely a sound rose -up from the heaving waves, which, glittering now in the wake of the -moon, and now sinking into sudden shadow, stretched away in the distance -until they faded into the dim mystic haze of the distant seaboard. The -whole scene was like a vision of romance. - -The group which I have mentioned stood at the gangway of the ship. A -boat was rocking gently below. The passengers, whom we had rescued from -the brig, were about transferring themselves to the schooner lying-to a -short distance off, which we had spoken about an hour before, and which -proved to be a small privateer bound in for Newport. As we were off -Block Island, and the run would consequently be a short one, Mr. St. -Clair had resolved to avail himself of this opportunity to place his -daughter and niece safely on shore. The party were now about to embark. - -“I shall never forget your kindness,” said Mr. St. Clair, addressing the -captain, “and I am sure that my daughter and niece will give you their -especial prayers, as the best return they can make for the obligations -they owe you. And as for my friend, Mr. Cavendish—I hardly know how to -express my thanks. You will come and see us,” he continued, turning -frankly to me, and taking both my hands, “Pomfret Hall will always open -its doors gladly to welcome the preserver of its owner.” - -I promised that I would not forget it, and turned away to hide the -emotion occasioned by the kind tone of Mr. St. Clair. As I moved away my -eyes fell on Annette. Her gaze was fixed on me with an expression I -shall never forget, but which I would have given the world to have been -able to interpret. There was an expression of the deepest interest in -that look, and the eyes, I fancied, were partially humid. As soon as she -caught my gaze, she blushed deeply, and looked down. What meant that -earnest gaze—this sudden embarrassment? Did she then really love me? My -heart beat fast, my brain fairly swam around, my emotion, for an -instant, almost overpowered me. I could, if no one had been present, -have rushed to her feet and told my suit. But a moment’s reflection -changed the current of my thoughts. Perhaps she had noticed my feelings -while her father had been speaking. If so, her subsequent emotion arose -from being detected in observing me. I ran over everything which had -happened since she had been on board, and could find nothing -corroborating, directly, the idea that she loved me. Her manner had -always been frank and kind; but what had she said or done to give me -hope? As these thoughts rushed through my mind my towering hopes fell. -The revulsion was extreme. I despaired now as much as I had exulted but -a moment before. I was about to turn gloomily away, when the voice of -Isabel called me. I looked up. She was beckoning me gayly toward her as -she leaned on Annette’s arm. - -“Why, I declare, Mr. Cavendish,” she said laughingly, “you seem to be -determined to leave us depart without even saying ‘adieu’—a pretty -gallant you are, to be sure! Here is Annette really displeased at your -coldness.” - -A look of silent reproach was the only reply of her cousin, who dared -not raise her eyes to mine. With the vacillation of a lover my -sentiments again underwent a change. Had Annette really been wondering -at my coldness? How unjust then had been my suspicions. I advanced -eagerly to her side. Yet when I had done so I knew not what to say. -Isabel seemed not only to see my embarrassment but to enjoy it. She -continued gayly— - -“There, now, do your _devoir_ like a gallant knight and soldier—coz, -have you no glove or other favor for him to wear on his bosom in battle? -Ah! me, the days of courtesy and chivalry have gone forever. But there I -see uncle ordering down my package, I must see that he does not let it -drop clumsily over-board,” and she tripped laughingly away. - -Left almost _tête-à-tête_ with Annette—for every eye was that moment -turned to the gangway where some of the passengers were already -embarking, I yet felt unable to avail myself of an opportunity for which -I had longed. A single word would decide my fate, and yet that word I -could not pronounce. My boldness had all disappeared, and I stood before -that fair girl equally agitated with herself. At length I looked up. She -stole a furtive glance at me as I did so, and blushed again to the very -brow. I took her hand, it was not withdrawn. Words of fire were already -on my lips when her father turned toward us, saying— - -“Annie, my love, they wait for you—Mr. Cavendish, a last good-bye”—and -as he spoke every eye was turned toward us. The precious moment was -past. I could do nothing but lead Annette forward. Yet I ventured to -press her hand. My senses deceived me, or it was faintly, though very -faintly, returned. I would have given worlds, if I had them, for the -delay of a minute, that I might learn my fate from the lips of that fair -girl. But it was not to be. We were already in the centre of the group. -Mr. St. Clair took his daughter and lifted her into the chair, and in -another moment her white dress fluttered in its descent to the boat. My -heart died within me. The golden moment had passed, perhaps forever; for -when should we meet again? New scenes, new friends would in all -probability drive me from Annette’s remembrance before we should next -see each other. These thoughts filled my mind as I leaned over the -bulwark and waved my hand while the boat put off. Mr. St. Clair stood up -in the barge and bowed in return, while I thought I could see, through -the shadowy moonlight, the fair hand of Annette returning my parting -adieus. - -I watched the receding figures until they reached the schooner, and even -after they had ascended the deck, and the two vessels had parted each on -its own way, I continued gazing on the white dress of Annette until I -could no longer detect the faintest shadow of it. When at length it -disappeared totally in the distance, I felt a loneliness of the heart, -such as no language can express. To a late hour I continued pensively -walking the deck, unable to shake off this feeling, and it was only a -gay remark of one of my messmates that finally aroused me from my -abstraction. I shook off my pensiveness by an effort, laughed gayly in -reply, and soon sought my hammock, as my spirits would not permit me -much longer to carry on this double game. - -For a week we cruized in the track of the homeward bound fleet from the -West Indies, but without success. During this time Annette was -constantly in my thoughts. Her last look—that gentle pressure of her -hand thrilled through every vein, as often as they recurred to me. Never -could I forget her—would she continue to think of me? - -More than a week had passed, as I have said, since we had parted from -the St. Clairs, yet still we had not spoken a sail. At length one day, -when I had the morning watch, the lookout hailed from the cross-trees, -that a sail was down on the seaboard to leeward. Chase was instantly -given to the stranger. The breeze was fresh, and we were in consequence -soon close enough to discern the character of our neighbor. She had not -from the first appeared to avoid us, and no sooner did we show our -colors, than she ran up the ensign of France. We were going on different -tacks, and, as we approached, both ships lay-to for a moment’s -conversation. The French merchantman was a noble ship, and as she came -up gallantly towards us, her long bowsprit sunk far down into the trough -of the wave, and then, with a slow swan-like motion she rose on the -ensuing swell until her bows were elevated almost clear of the water, -while the bright copper dripping with brine glistened gloriously in the -sunbeams. - -The Frenchman backed his topsails as he drew near, and the two vessels -stood head on, while we sent a boat on board. The merchantman proved to -be upon her homeward passage, and had consequently no intelligence from -Europe to furnish us. But the French skipper told us what was far more -interesting to us. He mentioned that he had, but the day before, fallen -in with the homeward bound English fleet, from the West Indies, -amounting to some sixty sail. The fleet was convoyed by four men-of-war. -Our captain, however, resolved to have a dash at the convoy. He -conceived the daring project of cutting off a portion of the fleet, -under the very batteries of the men-of-war. The French skipper wished us -a “_bon voyage_,” and the two vessels parted company. - -We cracked on all sail, during the whole of the day and night. The next -morning, at the dawn of day, our lookout descried the English fleet, on -our larboard-side. Luckily, we had the weather-gauge. We kept crowding -on our canvass, however, during the whole forenoon, and as we gained on -the convoy, we saw sail after sail rising in the seaboard, until the -whole horizon was dotted with them, and the lookout reported more than -fifty, in sight. By this the men-of-war had caught the alarm, and were -firing guns to keep their flock around them. The dull sailers, however, -fell rapidly behind. This forced one of the English frigates to leave -the advance, and run astern of the fleet. During the whole day we kept -coquetting to windward of the fleet, but no demonstrations against us -were made on the part of the men-of-war. - -“A cowardly set, by the Lord Harry,” said our old boatswain, who often -beguiled a dull hour with a yarn, “here are we giving them a chance for -a fair stand-up fight, and the cowardly lubbers haven’t the pluck to -come up and take or give a thrashing. I can’t stand such sneaking -scoundrels—by St. George,” and the old fellow energetically squirted a -stream of tobacco-juice from his mouth, as if from a force-pump. - -“We’ll have a brush with them, nevertheless, Hinton,” said I, “or I know -nothing of the captain. He has got his eye on more than one rich prize -in that fleet, and depend upon it, he’ll make a dash for it before -long.” - -“Ay! ay! you’re right,” answered the boatswain “and he’ll do it, too, -before two bells have struck in the morning watch.” - -The night shut in squally and dark. The fleet was some three miles to -leeward, for during the whole day we had carefully maintained the -weather gauge. As the darkness increased we lost sight of the enemy’s -ships, but their numerous lights glistening like stars along the -seaboard, still pointed out to us their position. The wind was -uncertain, now coming in fitful puffs, and then blowing steadily for a -quarter of an hour, when it would again die away and sweep in squalls -across the waste of waters. Scud clouds began to fly across the face of -the heavens, obscuring the few stars, and giving a wild and ominous -appearance to the firmament. Down to the west the seaboard was covered -by a dense bank of clouds, out of which occasionally a flash of -lightning would zig-zag, followed by a low hoarse growl of distant -thunder. It was evident that a tempest was raging, far down in that -quarter. On the opposite horizon, however, the sky was nearly free from -clouds, only a few fleecy vapors being discernible in that quarter, -through which the bright stars twinkled clear and lustrous. The English -fleet lay between these two opposite quarters of the horizon—the right -wing of the convoy stretching down almost into the utter darkness in -that direction, and the left wing skirting along the horizon to the -eastward. Along the whole expanse of seaboard, more than fifty lights -were now glittering, like so many fire-flies winging through the gloom -along the edge of a forest, on a summer eve. The scene was one of -surpassing novelty, and drew forth the admiration even of our veteran -tars. Now and then the vapors in the east would clear entirely away, -leaving the firmament in that direction, sparkling with thousands of -stars; and then again the murky shroud would enclose them in nearly -total darkness. Occasionally, as if in contrast to this, a brighter -flash of lightning would gleam, or a louder burst of thunder roll up -from the dark bank of clouds enclosing the tempest to the westward. - -The night had scarcely settled down before the ship’s course was altered -and we bore down upon the fleet—taking the precaution, however, to put -out all the lights on board except the one at the binnacle. Meantime the -men were called to quarters, the tompions of the guns removed, the -ammunition served out, pikes, cutlasses and fire arms distributed among -the crew, and every preparation made for action. As we drew nearer to -the convoy the darkness of the night increased, until, at length, we -could see but a few fathoms ahead into the gloom. The eastern firmament -now became wholly obscured. Not a star shone on high to guide us on our -way. Had it not been for the long line of lights sparkling along the -seaboard, betraying the positions occupied by the various vessels in the -convoy, we should have possessed no guide to our prey,—and nothing but -the confidence felt by the enemy in his superior force could have -induced him to continue his lights aboard, when otherwise he might have -run a chance of dropping us in the darkness. But he never dreamed of the -bold swoop which we projected, into the very midst of his flock. He -would as soon have thought of our blockading the Thames, or burning the -English fleet at Portsmouth. - -The plan of Captain Smythe was indeed a bold one. Bearing right onwards -into the very centre of the fleet, he intended to cut off one of the -wings from the main body, and then board and take possession of as many -of the merchantmen as he could carry in the obscurity. We judged that -the men-of-war were in the van, with the exception of a frigate which we -had seen before nightfall hovering in the rear of the fleet to cover the -lagging merchantmen. This frigate, however, we supposed to be on the -extreme right of the enemy. We therefore bore down for the opposite -extremity of the fleet. - -For more than an hour, while, with every rag of canvass abroad, we were -hastening to overtake the enemy, scarcely a word was spoken by the -crew,—but each man remained at his station eagerly watching the gradual -diminution of the distance betwixt us and the convoy. Indeed silence -was, in some measure, necessary to the success of our plot. Even the -orders of the officers therefore were given and executed with as little -bustle as possible. As the darkness increased we noticed that the lights -ahead began to diminish in number, and it was not long before we became -satisfied that the foe had at length awoke to the probability of our -being in the vicinity. At length scarcely more than half a dozen lights -could be seen. These we judged to belong to the men-of-war, being kept -aloft for the convoy to steer by. - -The difficulty of our enterprise was now redoubled, for, if the darkness -should increase, there would be great danger of a collision with one or -another of the fleet. This peril, however, we shared in common with the -merchantmen composing the convoy. Our only precaution consisted in -doubling our look-outs. - -Another hour passed, during which we steered by the lights of the -men-of-war. By the end of that period we had run, according to our -calculation, into the very heart of the fleet, leaving a man-of-war -broad on our larboard beam, a mile or two distant. This latter vessel we -fancied to be the frigate which had been hovering towards nightfall in -the rear of the fleet. Our anxiety now increased. We were surrounded, on -every side, by the vessels of the convoy, and the obscurity was so -profound that we could not see a pistol shot on any hand. Our progress, -meantime, was continued in utter silence. The only sound we heard was -the singing of the wind through the rigging, the occasional cheeping of -a block, or the rushing of the water along our sides. Suddenly, however, -I thought I heard a sound as of the bracing of a yard right over our -starboard bow. - -“Hist!” I said to the boatswain, who happened that moment to be passing, -“hist! do you hear that?” - -The old fellow stopped, listened a moment, and then shaking his head, -said, - -“I hear nothing. What did _you_ hear?” - -“Hark! there it goes again,” I said, as the sound of a sail flapping -against a mast came distinctly out of the gloom. - -“By St. George, you are right,” exclaimed the old water-rat, “ay! ay! -young ears are arter-all the sharpest!” - -He had scarcely spoken before the tall masts of a ship, like a spectre -rising through the night, lifted themselves up out of the obscurity in -the direction whence the sound had proceeded, and instantaneously we -heard the tramping of many feet on the decks of the stranger, the rapid -orders of the officers, the running of ropes, the creaking of yards, and -the dull flapping of sails in the wind. At the same time a voice hailed, - -“Luff up or you’ll be into us,” and then the same voice spoke as if -addressing the helmsman on board the stranger, “up with your -helm—around, around with her—my God! we’ll be afoul.” - -The consternation of the British skipper was not without cause. No -sooner had Capt. Smythe discovered our proximity to the stranger, than -he formed the determination of running her aboard, taking her by a sally -of our brave fellows, and then, after throwing into her a party -sufficiently strong to maintain possession of her, keeping on his way. -During the minute therefore that elapsed betwixt the discovery of the -merchantman, and the hail of her affrighted skipper, the boarders had -been called away and the quartermaster ordered to run us bows on to the -quarter of the stranger. Instead of luffing, therefore, we kept straight -on in our course, and as a score of lanterns were instantly shown on -board both ships, sufficient light was thrown over the scene to guide us -in our manœuvre. As the English ship wore around, bringing the wind on -her starboard quarter, our helm was jammed to port, and swinging around -almost on our heel we shot upon the foe, striking her in the stern -galley, which we crushed as we would have crushed an egg-shell. The -English ship was heavily loaded, and in consequence our bowsprit ran -high above her decks, affording a bridge on which our brave tars might -easily pass on board. At the moment we struck, the captain dashed -forward, and summoning the boarders to follow him, had leaped, sword in -hand, into the centre of the enemy’s crew, before her skipper had ceased -giving orders to the perplexed seamen, who were running to and fro on -her decks, in the vain hope of preventing any damage resulting to them -from this collision, with, as they thought, a sister vessel. The -consternation of the master may well be conceived when he found his ship -in possession of an enemy. For some minutes he imagined it to be a jest, -for he could not conceive how any foe would have the audacity to cut him -out from the very heart of the fleet. His rueful countenance when he -discovered his error, I shall never forget, nor the bad grace with which -he consented to be transferred with a portion of his men to the Aurora. -In less than five minutes, however, this necessary precaution had been -carried into effect, and a prize-crew left in possession of the -merchantman. The officer in command was ordered to haul out of the -fleet, and gain a position as speedily as possible to windward. Then the -two ships were parted, and we stood away as before on the larboard tack, -while the prize braced sharp up, hauled her bowlines, and went off close -into the wind’s eye. - -“By Jove,” said a reefer, elated with the part he had acted among the -boarders, for he had been one of the first to step on the decks of the -merchantman, “by Jupiter, but that was neatly done—eh! don’t you think -so, Hinton, my old boy?” - -“Shut your dead-lights, you young jackanapes,” growled the old -boatswain, by no means pleased with such a salutation, “and keep your -tongue for cheering against the enemy: you’ll have enough of it to do -yet before you turn in. Avast! there! I say,” he continued, perceiving -that the youngster was about to interrupt him, “go to your post, or I’ll -report you, you young whelp. None of your blarney, as your thick-tongued -Irish messmate would say—away with you.” - -When Hinton’s ire was up the safest plan was to retreat, for he would -brook no retort unless from the captain or lieutenant. Over the young -reefers, especially those who were in disfavor with him, he domineered -with a rod of iron. The youngster who had forgotten for a moment, in the -elation of his first victory, the awe in which he held the boatswain, -was recalled by these words to a sense of the authority of the old tar, -and he shrunk accordingly away, disdaining to reply. - -“Ay! go, you varmint,” chuckled Hinton, as the reefer walked to his -post, “and give none of your long shore palaver to a man who had learned -before you were born to hold his tongue before an enemy as his first -duty. Isn’t it so, Mr. Cavendish?” - -I was a great favorite of the old fellow, and always made a point of -humoring him, so I nodded an assent to his remark, although I was -tempted to ask him how long since he had forgotten this important duty -of silence. I restrained, however, my question, and the smile which -would fain have preceded it: and listened for several minutes in return -for this complaisance to a long philippic on the part of the old fellow, -against what he chose to call the almost universal presumption of -midshipmen. From this tirade, however, the boatswain condescended to -exempt me. How long he would have dilated upon this favorite subject, I -know not; but, at this moment, a hail came out of the gloom ahead, and -every eye was instantly attracted in the direction from which the voice -proceeded. - -“Ship ahoy!” shouted a herculean voice, “what craft is that?” - -The tone of the speaker betrayed a latent suspicion that all was not -right with us. Indeed he must have been so close to us in our late -encounter with the merchantman, that he necessarily heard many things to -awaken his doubts. As he spoke, too, the tall figure of a heavy craft -loomed out from the obscurity, and while we were yet speculating as to -the answer the captain would make, a dozen lanterns flashing through as -many open port-holes, revealed that our neighbor was a man-of-war. - -“What ship is that?” thundered the voice again, “answer, or I’ll fire -into you!” - -Our dauntless captain waved his hand for the batteries to be unmasked, -and springing into the mizzen rigging, while a neighboring -battle-lantern now disclosed to the night, flung its light full upon his -form, he shouted in an equally stentorian voice— - -“This is the Aurora—commissioned by the good commonwealth of——” - -“Give it to the canting rebel,” roared the British officer, breaking in -on this reply, “fire—for God and St. George—FIRE!” - -“Ay! fire my brave boys,” thundered our leader, “one and all, for the -old thirteen—FIRE!” - -From the moment when the enemy had disclosed his lighted ports, our -gallant tars had been waiting, like hounds in the leash, for the signal -which was to let them loose upon the foe. The silent gesture of the -captain, when he sprung into the mizzen rigging, had been intuitively -understood by the crew, and the orders of the proper officers were -scarcely waited for, before the ports were opened, the battle lanterns -unmasked, the guns run out, and the whole deck changed, as if by magic, -from a scene of almost Egyptian darkness to one of comparative light. -Nor were the men less ready to discover the moment when to open their -fire. The first word of the British officer’s haughty interruption had -scarcely been spoken, when the gunners began to pat their pieces and -squint knowingly along them, so that, when the command to fire was -given, our whole broadside went off at once, like a volcano, and with -deadly effect. Every gun had been accurately aimed, every shot was sent -crashing into the foe. Not so the enemy. Although the British captain -had certainly viewed us with suspicion, his crew had apparently thought -us deserving of little caution; and the reply of our leader, and the -order of their own to fire, took them, after all, with surprise. Nearly -a minute accordingly elapsed before they delivered their broadside, and -then it was done hurriedly and with little certainty of aim. The first -fire is always more effective than the ensuing six; and the advantage of -the surprise was decided; for while we could hear the crashing of -timbers, and the shrieks of the wounded, following our discharge, the -shot of the enemy passed mostly over our heads, and, in my vicinity, not -a man of our crew was killed. One poor fellow, however, fell wounded at -the gun next to mine. - -“Huzza!” roared Hinton, leaping like a lion to fill the place of the -injured man, “they’ve got their grog already. Have at ’em, my brave -fellows, again, and revenge your messmate. Never mind, Jack,” he said, -turning to the bleeding man, “every one must have a kick sometime in his -life, and the sooner its over, my hearty, the better. Bouse her out, -shipmates! Huzza for old Nantucket—the varmints have it again on full -allowance!” - -For ten minutes the fight was maintained on our side without cessation. -The enemy, at first, rallied and attempted to return our broadsides -promptly, but the injuries she had suffered from our first discharge had -disheartened her men, and, when they found the spirit with which we -maintained our fire, they soon gave up the contest and deserted their -arms. Still, however, the enemy did not strike. One or two of her -forward guns were occasionally and suddenly discharged at us, but all -systematic resistance had ceased in less than five minutes. - -By this time, however, the whole fleet was in an uproar. Lights were -dashing in every quarter of the horizon, and, as the darkness had been -clearing away since our brush with the merchantman, our lookout aloft -could see through the faint, misty distance, more than one vessel -bearing down toward us. The majority, however, of the fleet, seemed to -be struck with a complete panic, and, like a flock of startled -partridges, were hurrying from us in every direction. It soon became -apparent that the ships, bearing down upon us, were armed; and before we -had been engaged ten minutes with our antagonist, no less than three -men-of-war, from as many quarters of the horizon, had opened a -concentric fire on us, regardless of the damage they would do their -consort. Still, however, unwilling to leave his antagonist without -compelling her to strike, our leader maintained his position and poured -in a series of rapid broadsides which cut the foe up fearfully. Yet she -would not strike. On the other hand, reanimated by the approach of her -consorts, her men rallied to her guns and began again to reply to our -broadsides. Meanwhile the hostile frigates were coming up to us, hand -over hand, increasing the rapidity of their cannonade as the distance -betwixt us lessened. Our situation was becoming momentarily more -critical. Yet even amid our peril my eye was attracted by the sublimity -of the scene. - -The night, I have said, had partially cleared away, but the darkness was -still sufficiently intense to render the approaching frigates but dimly -visible, except when a gush of fire would stream from their ports, -lighting up, for the moment, with a ghastly glare, the smoke-encircled -hull, the tall masts, and the thousand mazes of the hamper. Often the -whole three vessels would discharge their broadsides at once, when it -would seem for an instant as if we were girdled by fire. Then, as the -smoke settled on their decks, they would disappear wholly from our -sight, and only become again distinguishable, when they belched forth -their sulphureous flame once more. In the west, the scene was even more -magnificent, for in that quarter, was unexpectedly the nearest of the -three men-of-war, and as she came up to us close-hauled, she yawed -whenever she fired, and then steadily discharged her pieces, doing more -damage than all her other consorts. The gallant manner in which she -delivered her fire—the measured, distinct booming of her long -twenty-fours—and more than all, the inky hue of the sky, in the -background, brought out into the boldest relief, by the light of her -guns, made up a picture of gloomy grandeur, which the imagination can -compare to nothing, except the fitful, ghastly gleams of light shooting -across the darkness of that infernal realm, which Dante has painted with -his pen of horror. While, however, I was gazing awe-struck, on this -scene, I noticed that the dark bank of clouds behind the frigate, was -visibly in motion, rolling up towards us. Our superior officer had, -perhaps, noticed the same phenomenon, and knowing what it portended, had -remained by his antagonist, when otherwise, our only chance of escape -would have been in an early flight. Some of the older tars now perceived -the approaching tempest, and paused instantaneously from the combat. -Indeed, not a moment was to be lost. I had scarcely time to look once -more in the direction of the other frigates, and then turn again to the -westward, before our antagonist in that quarter, was completely shut in -by the squall. The wind had, meantime, died away, leaving us rocking -unquietly in the swell. A pause of a minute ensued, a pause of the most -breathless suspense. The men had instinctively left their guns, and -stood awaiting the directions of their leaders to whom they looked in -this emergency. We were happily nearly before the wind, which could now -be seen lashing the foam from the billows, and driving down upon us with -the speed of a race-horse. Another instant and the squall would be upon -us. All this, however, had passed, in less time than is occupied in the -relation, for scarcely a minute had elapsed, since I first saw the -approaching squall, before Captain Smythe shouted, - -“Stand by to clew down—quick there all!” - -The command was not an instant too soon. His opening words were heard -distinctly in the boding calm that preceded the squall, but the -concluding sentence was lost in the hissing and roaring of the hurricane -that now swept across our decks. The captain saw that it was useless to -attempt to speak in the uproar, and waving his hand for the -quartermaster to keep her away, while the men instinctively clewed down -the topsail-yards, and hauled out the reef-tackles, he awaited the -subsidence of the squall. For five minutes we went skimming before the -tempest, like a snow-flake in a storm. On—on—on, we drove, the fine -spray hissing past us on the gale, and the shrill scream of the wind -through our hamper deafening our ears. Whither we were going, or what -perils might meet us in our mad career, we knew not. We were flying -helplessly onward, enclosed by the mist, at the mercy of the winds. Even -if the intensity of the squall would have allowed us to bring by the -wind and reef, prudence would dictate that we should run before the -hurricane, as the only chance of escaping from the clutches of our foes. -Yet, surrounded as we were by the merchantmen of the fleet, we knew not -but the next moment, we might run down some luckless craft, and perhaps -by the collision, sink both them and ourselves. - -For nearly half an hour we drove thus before the hurricane. More than -once we fancied that we heard the shrieks of drowning men, rising high -over all the uproar of the tempest, but whether they were in reality the -cries of the dying or only the sounds created by an overheated -imagination and having no existence except in the brain of the hearer, -God only knows! A thousand ships might have sunk within a cable’s length -of us, and not a prayer of the sufferers, not a shriek of despair have -met our ears. There was a fearfulness in that palpable darkness, which -struck the most veteran heart with an awe akin to fear. When men can -look abroad and see the real extent of the peril which surrounds them -they can dare almost anything; but when surrounded by darkness their -imaginations conjure up dangers in every strange intonation of the -tempest, in every new outbreak of the surge. They tremble at what they -cannot behold; in the language of the scripture “their joints are loosed -with fear.” - -At length the fury of the squall began to subside, and the dark bank of -clouds which had encircled us, undulated, rolled to and fro, and finally -flew in ragged vapors away, flitting wildly past the stars that once -more twinkled in the sky. As the prospect brightened, we looked eagerly -around to see what damage the squall had occasioned. The fleet was -scattered hither and thither over the horizon, torn, shattered, -dismantled, powerless. Far up in the quarter from whence the hurricane -had burst could be faintly seen the body of the convoy; but on every -hand around some of the less fortunate ships were discoverable. Whether, -however, most of the merchantmen had attempted to lie-to, or whether we -had scudded before the gale with a velocity which none could rival, it -was evident that we had passed away like a thunderbolt from the rest of -the fleet, leaving them at a hopeless distance astern. - -Owing to the rapidity with which our canvass had been got in, we -suffered no material injury; and, when the gale subsided and the wind -came out again from the north, we lost no time in hauling up and getting -the weather-gauge of the convoy. The ship was put once more in trim—the -crew then turned in, and the watches were left in undisturbed possession -of the decks. As I stood at my post and watched the bright stars -overhead, shining placidly upon me, or listened to the cry of “All’s -well!” passed from lookout to lookout across the deck, I could not help -contrasting the peace and silence of the scene with the fearful uproar -of the preceding hour. - -When morning dawned, not a vestige of the fleet remained on the southern -seaboard. Our anxiety was now turned to the fate of the merchantman we -had captured and that of the prize-crew we had thrown into her. But -toward the afternoon watch, a sail was discovered on the horizon to -windward, and when we had approached within a proper distance we -recognized our prize. Our joy at rejoining may well be imagined. - -The prize proved to be laden with a valuable cargo, and, as this was the -first capture of any moment we had made, it raised the spirits of the -men in a commensurate degree. The skipper of the merchantman could never -comprehend the justice of his capture. Like the generals whom Napoleon -has been beating at a later day, he protested that he had been taken -against all the rules of war. - -After keeping company with us for a few days, the prize hauled up for -the coast with the intention of going into Newport. We subsequently -learned that she accomplished her aim, but not until she had run the -gauntlet of an English fleet. As for ourselves, we stood towards the -south on the look out for a new prize. - - * * * * * - - - - - A LADY HEARD A MINSTREL SING. - - - BALLAD. - - THE POETRY BY T. HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ. - - THE MUSIC BY J. P. KNIGHT. - - _Philadelphia_: John F. Nunns, _184 Chesnut Street_. - - -[Illustration: musical score] - -[Illustration: musical score] - - A Lady heard a Minstrel sing, - One night beneath her bower, - In wrath she cried, “oh! what can bring - A stranger at this hour?” - She clos’d the casement,— veil’d the lamp, - The Minstrel paus’d in sorrow, - Yet said, “tho’ now I must decamp, - I’ll try again to-morrow.” - - The minstrel came again next night, - The lady was not sleeping! - She slily (tho’ she veil’d the light) - Was thro’ her casement peeping. - She heard him fondly breathe her name, - Then saw him go with sorrow; - And cried, “I wonder whence he came? - Perhaps he’ll come to-morrow.” - - Again she heard the sweet guitar,— - But soon the song was broken: - Tho’ songs are sweet, oh! sweeter far - Are words in kindness spoken: - She loves him for himself alone, - Disguise no more he’ll borrow, - The minstrel’s rank at length is known,— - She’ll grace a court to-morrow. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Charles O’Malley, The Irish Dragoon. By Harry Lorrequer. With - Forty Illustrations by Phiz. Complete in One Volume. Carey & - Hart: Philadelphia._ - -The first point to be observed in the consideration of “Charles -O’Malley” is the great _popularity_ of the work. We believe that in this -respect it has surpassed even the inimitable compositions of Mr. -Dickens. At all events it has met with a most extensive sale; and, -although the graver journals have avoided its discussion, the ephemeral -press has been nearly if not quite unanimous in its praise. To be sure, -the commendation, although unqualified, cannot be said to have abounded -in specification, or to have been, in any regard, of a satisfactory -character to one seeking precise ideas on the topic of the book’s -particular merit. It appears to us, in fact, that the cabalistical words -“fun,” “rollicking” and “devil-may-care,” if indeed words they be, have -been made to stand in good stead of all critical comment in the case of -the work now under review. We first saw these dexterous expressions in a -fly-leaf of “Opinions of the Press” appended to the renowned “Harry -Lorrequer” by his publisher in Dublin. Thence transmitted, with -complacent echo, from critic to critic, through daily, weekly and -monthly journals without number, they have come at length to form a -pendant and a portion of our author’s celebrity—have come to be -regarded as sufficient response to the few ignoramuses who, obstinate as -ignorant, and fool-hardy as obstinate, venture to propound a question or -two about the true claims of “Harry Lorrequer” or the justice of the -pretensions of “Charles O’Malley.” - -We shall not insult our readers by supposing any one of them unaware of -the fact, that a book may be even exceedingly _popular_ without _any_ -legitimate literary merit. This fact can be proven by numerous examples -which, now and here, it will be unnecessary and perhaps indecorous to -mention. The dogma, then, is absurdly false, that the popularity of a -work is _primâ facie_ evidence of its excellence in some respects; that -is to say, the dogma is false if we confine the meaning of excellence -(as here of course it must be confined) to excellence in a literary -sense. The truth is, that the popularity of a book is _primâ facie_ -evidence of just the converse of the proposition—it is evidence of the -book’s _demerit_, inasmuch as it shows a “stooping to conquer”—inasmuch -as it shows that the author has dealt largely, if not altogether, in -matters which are susceptible of appreciation by the mass of mankind—by -uneducated thought, by uncultivated taste, by unrefined and unguided -passion. So long as the world retains its present point of civilization, -so long will it be almost an axiom that no extensively _popular_ book, -in the right application of the term, can be a work of high merit, _as -regards those particulars of the work which are popular_. A book may be -readily sold, may be universally read, for the sake of some half or -two-thirds of its matter, which half or two-thirds may be susceptible of -popular appreciation, while the one-half or one-third remaining may be -the delight of the highest intellect and genius, and absolute _caviare_ -to the rabble. And just as - - _Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci_, - -so will the writer of fiction, who looks most sagaciously to his own -_interest_, combine all votes by intermingling with his loftier efforts -such amount of less ethereal matter as will give general currency to his -composition. And here we shall be pardoned for quoting some observations -of the English artist, H. Howard. Speaking of _imitation_, he says: - - The pleasure which results from it, even when employed upon the - most ordinary materials, will always render that property of our - art the most attractive with the majority, because it may be - enjoyed with the least mental exertion. _All_ men are in some - degree judges of it. The cobbler in his own line may criticize - Apelles; and popular opinions are never to be wholly disregarded - concerning that which is addressed to the public—who, to a - certain extent, are generally right; although as the language of - the refined can never be intelligible to the uneducated, so the - higher styles of art can never be acceptable to the multitude. - In proportion as a work rises in the scale of intellect, it must - necessarily become limited in the number of its admirers. For - this reason the judicious artist, even in his loftiest efforts, - will endeavor to introduce some of those qualities which are - interesting to all, as a passport for those of a more - intellectual character. - -And these remarks upon painting—remarks which are mere truisms in -themselves—embody nearly the whole _rationale_ of the topic now under -discussion. It may be added, however, that the _skill_ with which the -author addresses the lower taste of the populace, is often a source of -pleasure because of admiration, to a taste higher and more refined, and -may be made a point of comment and of commendation by the critic. - -In our review, last month, of “Barnaby Rudge,” we were prevented, -through want of space, from showing how Mr. Dickens had so well -succeeded in uniting all suffrages. What we have just said, however, -will suffice upon this point. While he has appealed, in innumerable -regards, to the most exalted intellect, he has meanwhile invariably -touched a certain string whose vibrations are omni-prevalent. We allude -to his powers of _imitation_—that species of imitation to which Mr. -Howard has reference—the _faithful_ depicting of what is called -still-life, and particularly of _character_ in humble condition. It is -his close observation and imitation of nature here which have rendered -him popular, while his higher qualities, with the ingenuity evinced in -addressing the general taste, have secured him the good word of the -informed and intellectual. - -But this is an important point upon which we desire to be distinctly -understood. We wish here to record our positive dissent (be that dissent -worth what it may) from a very usual opinion—the opinion that Mr. -Dickens has done justice to his own genius—that any man ever failed to -do grievous wrong to his own genius—in appealing to the popular -judgment _at all_. As a matter of pecuniary policy alone, is any such -appeal defensible. But we speak, of course, in relation to fame—in -regard to that - - ——spur which the true spirit doth raise - To scorn delight and live laborious days. - -That a perfume should be found by any “true spirit” in the incense of -mere popular applause, is, to our own apprehension at least, a thing -inconceivable, inappreciable,—a paradox which gives the lie unto -itself—a mystery more profound than the well of Democritus. Mr. Dickens -has no more business with the rabble than a seraph with a _chapeau de -bras_. What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba? What is he to Jacques -Bonhomme[3] or Jacques Bonhomme to him? The higher genius is a rare gift -and divine. Ὡπόλλων ου παντι φαεινεται, ος μιν ιδη, μεγας ουτος—not to -all men Apollo shows himself; _he_ is _alone great_ who beholds him.[4] -And his greatness has its office God-assigned. But that office is not a -low communion with low, or even with ordinary intellect. The holy—the -electric spark of genius is the medium of intercourse between the noble -and more noble mind. For lesser purposes there are humbler agents. There -are puppets enough, able enough, willing enough, to perform in -literature the little things to which we have had reference. For one -Fouqué there are fifty Molières. For one Angelo there are five hundred -Jan Steens. For one Dickens there are five million Smolletts, Fieldings, -Marryatts, Arthurs, Cocktons, Bogtons and Frogtons. - -It is, in brief, the duty of all whom circumstances have led into -criticism—it is, at least, a duty from which _we_ individually shall -never shrink—to uphold the true dignity of genius, to combat its -degradation, to plead for the exercise of its powers in those bright -fields which are its legitimate and peculiar province, and which for it -alone lie gloriously outspread. - -But to return to “Charles O’Malley,” and its popularity. We have -endeavored to show that this latter must not be considered in any degree -as the measure of its merit, but should rather be understood as -indicating a deficiency in this respect, when we bear in mind, as we -should do, the highest aims of intellect in fiction. A slight -examination of the work, (for in truth it is worth no more,) will -sustain us in what we have said. The plot is exceedingly meagre. Charles -O’Malley, the hero, is a young orphan Irishman, living in Galway county, -Ireland, in the house of his uncle, Godfrey, to whose sadly encumbered -estates the youth is heir apparent and presumptive. He becomes -enamoured, while on a visit to a neighbor, of Miss Lucy Dashwood, and -finds a rival in a Captain Hammersley. Some words carelessly spoken by -Lucy, inspire him with a desire for military renown. After sojourning, -therefore, for a brief period, at Dublin University, he obtains a -commission and proceeds to the Peninsula, with the British army under -Wellington. Here he distinguishes himself; is promoted; and meets -frequently with Miss Dashwood, whom obstinately, and in spite of the -lady’s own acknowledgment of love for himself, he supposes in love with -Hammersley. Upon the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo he returns home; finds -his uncle, of course, _just_ dead; and sells his commission to -disencumber the estate. Presently Napoleon escapes from Elba, and our -hero, obtaining a staff appointment under Picton, returns to the -Peninsula, is present at Waterloo, (where Hammersley is killed) saves -the life of Lucy’s father, for the second time, as he has already twice -saved that of Lucy herself; is rewarded by the hand of the latter; and, -making his way back to O’Malley Castle, “lives happily all the rest of -his days.” - -In and about this plot (if such it may be called) there are more -absurdities than we have patience to enumerate. The author, or narrator, -for example, is supposed to be Harry Lorrequer as far as the end of the -preface, which by the way, is one of the best portions of the book. -O’Malley then tells his own story. But the publishing office of the -“Dublin University Magazine” (in which the narrative originally -appeared) having been burned down, there ensues a sad confusion of -identity between O’Malley and Lorrequer, so that it is difficult, for -the nonce, to say which is which. In the want of copy consequent upon -the disaster, James, the novelist, comes in to the relief of Lorrequer, -or perhaps of O’Malley, with one of the flattest and most irrelevant of -love-tales. Meantime, in the story proper are repetitions without end. -We have already said that the hero _saves the life of his mistress -twice, and of her father twice_. But not content with this, he has _two_ -mistresses, and _saves the life of both, at different periods, in -precisely the same manner_—that is to say, by causing his horse, in -each instance, to perform a Munchausen side-leap, at the moment when a -spring forward would have impelled him upon his beloved. And then we -have one unending, undeviating succession of junketings, in which -“devilled kidneys” are never by any accident found wanting. The unction -and pertinacity with which the author discusses what he chooses to -denominate “devilled kidneys” are indeed edifying, to say no more. The -truth is, that drinking wine, telling anecdotes, and devouring “devilled -kidneys” may be considered as the sum total, as the _thesis_ of the -book. Never in the whole course of his eventful life, does Mr. O’Malley -get “two or three assembled together” without seducing them forthwith to -a table, and placing before them a dozen of wine and a dish of “devilled -kidneys.” This accomplished, the parties begin what seems to be the -business of the author’s existence—the narration of unusually _broad -tales_—like those of the Southdown mutton. And here, in fact, we have -the _plan_ of that whole work of which the “United Service Gazette” has -been pleased to vow it “would rather be the author than of all the -‘Pickwicks’ and ‘Nicklebys’ in the world”—a sentiment which we really -blush to say has been echoed by many respectable members of our own -press. The general plot or narrative is a mere thread upon which -after-dinner anecdotes, some good, some bad, some utterly worthless, and -_not one truly original_, are strung with about as much method, and -about half as much dexterity, as we see ragged urchins employ in -stringing the kernels of nuts. - -It would, indeed, be difficult to convey to one who has not examined -this production for himself, any idea of the exceedingly rough, clumsy, -and inartistical manner in which even this bald conception is carried -out. The stories are absolutely dragged in by the ears. So far from -finding them result naturally or plausibly from the conversation of the -interlocutors, even the blindest reader may perceive the author’s -struggling and blundering effort to introduce them. It is rendered quite -evident that they were originally “on hand,” and that “O’Malley” has -been concocted for their introduction. Among other _niaïseries_ we -observe the silly trick of whetting appetite by delay. The conversation -over the “kidneys” is brought, for example, to such a pass that one of -the speakers is called upon for a story, which he forthwith declines for -any reason, or for none. At a subsequent “broil” he is again pressed, -and again refuses, and it is not until the reader’s patience is fairly -exhausted, and he has consigned both the story and its author to Hades, -that the gentleman in question is prevailed upon to discourse. The only -conceivable result of this _fanfarronade_ is the ruin of the tale when -told, through exaggerating anticipation respecting it. - -The anecdotes thus narrated being the staple of the book, and the -awkward manner of their interlocution having been pointed out, it but -remains to be seen what the anecdotes are, in themselves, and what is -the merit of their narration. And here, let it not be supposed that we -have any design to deprive the devil of his due. There are several very -excellent anecdotes in “Charles O’Malley” very cleverly and pungently -told. Many of the scenes in which Monsoon figures are rich—less, -however, from the scenes themselves than from the piquant, but by no -means original character of Monsoon—a drunken, maudlin, dishonest old -Major, given to communicativeness and mock morality over his cups, and -not over careful in detailing adventures which tell against himself. One -or two of the college pictures are unquestionably good—but might have -been better. In general, the reader is made to feel that fine subjects -have fallen into unskilful hands. By way of instancing this assertion, -and at the same time of conveying an idea of the tone and character of -the stories, we will quote one of the shortest, and assuredly one of the -best. - - “Ah, by-the-by, how’s the Major?” - - “Charmingly: only a little bit in a scrape just now. Sir - Arthur—Lord Wellington, I mean—had him up for his fellows - being caught pillaging, and gave him a devil of a rowing a few - days ago. - - “‘Very disorderly corps yours, Major O’Shaughnessy,’ said the - general; ‘more men up for punishment than any regiment in the - service.’ - - “Shaugh muttered something, but his voice was lost in a loud - cock-a-doo-doo-doo, that some bold chanticleer set up at the - moment. - - “‘If the officers do their duty Major O’Shaughnessy, these acts - of insubordination do not occur.’ - - “‘Cock-a-doo-doo-doo,’ was the reply. Some of the staff found it - hard not to laugh; but the general went on— - - “‘If, therefore, the practice does not cease, I’ll draft the men - into West India regiments.’ - - “‘Cock-a-doo-doo-doo!’ - - “‘And if any articles pillaged from the inhabitants are detected - in the quarters, or about the persons of the troops—’ - - “‘Cock-a-doo-doo-_doo_!’ screamed louder here than ever. - - “‘Damn that cock—where is it?’ - - “There was a general look around on all sides, which seemed in - vain; when a tremendous repetition of the cry resounded from - O’Shaughnessy’s coat-pocket: thus detecting the valiant Major - himself in the very practice of his corps. There was no standing - this: every one burst out into a peal of laughter; and Lord - Wellington himself could not resist, but turned away, muttering - to himself as he went—‘Damned robbers every man of them,’ while - a final war-note from the Major’s pocket closed the interview.” - -Now this is an anecdote at which every one will laugh; but its effect -might have been vastly heightened by putting a few words of grave -morality and reprobation of the conduct of his troops, into the mouth of -O’Shaughnessy, upon whose character they would have told well. The cock, -in interrupting the thread of his discourse, would thus have afforded an -excellent context. We have scarcely a reader, moreover, who will fail to -perceive the want of _tact_ shown in dwelling upon the _mirth_ which the -anecdote occasioned. The error here is precisely like that of a man’s -laughing at his own spoken jokes. Our author is uniformly guilty of this -mistake. He has an absurd fashion, also, of informing the reader, at the -conclusion of each of his anecdotes, that, however good the anecdote -might be, he (the reader) cannot enjoy it to the full extent in default -of the _manner_ in which it was orally narrated. He has no business to -say anything of this kind. It is his duty to convey the manner not less -than the matter of his narratives. - -But we may say of these latter that, in general, they have the air of -being _remembered_ rather than invented. No man who has seen much of the -rough life of the camp will fail to recognize among them many very old -acquaintances. Some of them are as ancient as the hills, and have been, -time out of mind, the common property of the bivouac. They have been -narrated orally all the world over. The chief merit of the writer is, -that he has been the first to collect and to print them. It is -observable, in fact, that the second volume of the work is very far -inferior to the first. The author seems to have exhausted his whole -hoarded store in the beginning. His conclusion is barren indeed, and but -for the historical details (for which he has no claim to merit) would be -especially prosy and dull. _Now the true invention never exhausts -itself._ It is mere cant and ignorance to talk of the possibility of the -really imaginative man’s “writing himself out.” His soul but derives -nourishment from the streams that flow therefrom. As well prate about -the aridity of the eternal ocean εξ ουπερ παντες ποταμοι. So long as the -universe of thought shall furnish matter for novel combinations, so long -will the spirit of true genius be original, be exhaustless—be itself. - -A few cursory observations. The book is filled to over-flowing with -songs of very doubtful excellence, the most at which are put into the -mouth of one Micky Free, an amusing Irish servant of O’Malley’s, and are -given as his impromptu effusions. The subject of the improvisos is -always the matter in hand at the moment of composition. The author -evidently prides himself upon his poetical powers, about which the less -we say the better; but if anything were wanting to assure us of his -absurd ignorance and inappreciation of Art, we should find the fullest -assurance in the mode in which these doggrel verses are introduced. - -The occasional sentiment with which the volumes are interspersed there -is an absolute necessity for skipping. - -Can anybody tell us what is meant by the affectation of the word -_L’envoy_ which is made the heading of two prefaces? - -That portion of the account of the battle of Waterloo which gives -O’Malley’s experiences while a prisoner, and in close juxta-position to -Napoleon, bears evident traces of having been translated, and very -literally too, from a French manuscript. - -The English of the work is sometimes even amusing. We have continually, -for example, _eat_, the present, for _ate_, the perfect—see page 17. At -page 16, we have this delightful sentence—“Captain Hammersley, however, -_never_ took further notice of me, but continued to recount, for the -amusement of those _about_, several excellent stories of his military -career, which I confess were heard with every _test_ of delight by all -save me.” At page 357 we have some sage talk about “the entire of the -army;” and at page 368, the accomplished O’Malley speaks of “_drawing_ a -last look upon his sweetheart.” These things arrest our attention as we -open the book at random. It abounds in them, and in vulgarisms even much -worse than they. - -But why speak of vulgarisms of language? There is a disgusting vulgarism -of thought which pervades and contaminates this whole production, and -from which a delicate or lofty mind will shrink as from a pestilence. -Not the least repulsive manifestation of this leprosy is to be found in -the author’s blind and grovelling worship of mere rank. Of the Prince -Regent, that filthy compound of all that is bestial—that lazar-house of -all moral corruption—he scruples not to speak in terms of the grossest -adulation—sneering at Edmund Burke in the same villainous breath in -which he extols the talents, the graces and _the virtues_ of George the -Fourth! That any man, to-day, can be found so degraded in heart as to -style this reprobate, “one who, in every feeling of his nature, and in -every feature of his deportment was every inch a prince”—is matter for -grave reflection and sorrowful debate. The American, at least, who shall -peruse the concluding pages of the book now under review, and not turn -in disgust from the base sycophancy which infects them, is unworthy of -his country and his name. But the truth is, that a gross and contracted -soul renders itself unquestionably manifest in almost every line of the -composition. - -And this—_this_ is the _work_, in respect to which its author, aping -the airs of intellect, prates about his “haggard cheek,” his “sunken -eye,” his “aching and tired head,” his “nights of toil” and (Good -Heavens!) his “days of _thought_!” That the thing is popular we -grant—while that we cannot deny the fact, we grieve. But the career of -true taste is onward—and now more vigorously onward than ever—and the -period, perhaps, is not hopelessly distant, when, in decrying the mere -balderdash of such matters as “Charles O’Malley,” we shall do less -violence to the feelings and judgment even of the populace, than, we -much fear, has been done to-day. - ------ - -[3] Nickname for the populace in the middle ages - -[4] Callimachus—_Hymn to Apollo_. - - * * * * * - - _Ballads and other Poems. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Author - of “Voices of the Night,” “Hyperion,” etc.: Second Edition. John - Owen: Cambridge._ - -“_Il y a à parier_,” says Chamfort, “_que toute idée publique, toute -convention reçue, est une sottise, car elle a convenue au plus grand -nombre_.”—One would be safe in wagering that any given public idea is -erroneous, for it has been yielded to the clamor of the majority;—and -this strictly philosophical, although somewhat French assertion has -especial bearing upon the whole race of what are termed maxims and -popular proverbs; nine-tenths of which are the quintessence of folly. -One of the most deplorably false of them is the antique adage, _De -gustibus non est disputandum_—there should be no disputing about taste. -Here the idea designed to be conveyed is that any one person has as just -right to consider his own taste _the true_, as has any one other—that -taste itself, in short, is an arbitrary something, amenable to no law, -and measurable by no definite rules. It must be confessed, however, that -the exceedingly vague and impotent treatises which are alone extant, -have much to answer for as regards confirming the general error. Not the -least important service which, hereafter, mankind will owe to -_Phrenology_, may perhaps, be recognised in an analysis of the real -principles, and a digest of the resulting laws of taste. These -principles, in fact, are as clearly traceable, and these laws as readily -susceptible of system as are any whatever. - -In the meantime, the inane adage above mentioned is in no respect more -generally, more stupidly, and more pertinaciously quoted than by the -admirers of what is termed the “good old Pope,” or the “good old -Goldsmith school” of poetry, in reference to the bolder, more natural, -and _more ideal_ compositions of such authors as Coëtlogon and -Lamartine[5] in France; Herder, Körner, and Uhland in Germany; Brun and -Baggesen in Denmark; Bellman, Tegnér, and Nyberg[6] in Sweden; Keats, -Shelley, Coleridge, and Tennyson in England; Lowell and Longfellow in -America. “_De gustibus non_,” say these “good-old-school” fellows; and -we have no doubt that their mental translation of the phrase is—“We -pity your taste—we pity every body’s taste but our own.” - -It is our purpose, hereafter, when occasion shall be afforded us, to -controvert in an article of some length, the popular idea that the poets -just mentioned owe to novelty, to trickeries of expression, and to other -meretricious effects, their appreciation by certain readers:—to -demonstrate (for the matter is susceptible of demonstration) that such -poetry and _such alone_ has fulfilled the legitimate office of the muse; -has thoroughly satisfied an earnest and unquenchable desire existing in -the heart of man. In the present number of our Magazine we have left -ourselves barely room to say a few random words of welcome to these -“Ballads,” by Longfellow, and to tender him, and all such as he, the -homage of our most earnest love and admiration. - -The volume before us (in whose outward appearance the keen “taste” of -genius is evinced with nearly as much precision as in its internal soul) -includes, with several brief original pieces, a translation from the -Swedish of Tegnér. In attempting (what never should be attempted) a -literal version of both the words and the metre of this poem, Professor -Longfellow has failed to do justice either to his author or himself. He -has striven to do what no man ever did well and what, from the nature of -language itself, never _can_ be well done. Unless, for example, we shall -come to have an influx of _spondees_ in our English tongue, it will -always be impossible to construct an English hexameter. Our spondees, -or, we should say, our spondaic words, are rare. In the Swedish they are -nearly as abundant as in the Latin and Greek. We have only “_compound_,” -“_context_,” “_footfall_,” and a few other similar ones. This is the -difficulty; and that it _is_ so will become evident upon reading “The -Children of the Lord’s Supper,” where the sole _readable_ verses are -those in which we meet with the rare spondaic dissyllables. We mean to -say _readable as Hexameters_; for many of them will read very well as -mere English Dactylics with certain irregularities. - -But within the narrow compass now left us we must not indulge in -anything like critical comment. Our readers will be better satisfied -perhaps with a few brief extracts from the original poems of the -volume—which we give for their rare excellence, without pausing now to -say in what particulars this excellence exists. - - And, like the water’s flow - Under December’s snow - Came a dull voice of woe, - From the heart’s chamber. - - So the loud laugh of scorn, - Out of those lips unshorn - From the deep drinking-horn - Blew the foam lightly. - - As with his wings aslant - Sails the fierce cormorant - Seeking some rocky haunt, - With his prey laden, - So toward the open main, - Beating to sea again, - Through the wild hurricane, - Bore I the maiden. - - Down came the storm and smote amain - The vessel in its strength; - She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed - Then leaped her cable’s length. - - She drifted a dreary wreck, - And a whooping billow swept the crew - Like icicles from her deck. - - He hears the parson pray and preach, - He hears his daughter’s voice, - Singing in the village choir, - And it makes his heart rejoice. - It sounds to him like her mother’s voice - Singing in Paradise! - He needs must think of her once more - How in the grave she lies; - And with his hard rough hand he wipes - A tear out of his eyes. - - Thus at the flaming forge of life - Our fortunes must be wrought; - Thus on its sounding anvil shaped - Each burning deed and thought. - - The rising moon has hid the stars - Her level rays like golden bars - Lie on the landscape green - With shadows brown between. - - Love lifts the boughs whose shadows deep - Are life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep, - And kisses the closed eyes - Of him who slumbering lies. - - Friends my soul with joy remembers! - How like quivering flames they start, - When I fan the living embers - On the hearth-stone of my heart. - - Hearest thou voices on the shore, - That our ears perceive no more - Deafened by the cataract’s roar? - - And from the sky, serene and far, - A voice fell like a falling star. - -Some of these passages cannot be fully appreciated apart from the -context—but we address these who have read the book. Of the -translations we have not spoken. It is but right to say, however, that -“The Luck of Edenhall” is a far finer poem, in every respect, than any -of the original pieces. Nor would we have our previous observations -misunderstood. Much as we admire the genius of Mr. Longfellow, we are -fully sensible of his many errors of affectation and imitation. His -artistical skill is great, and his ideality high. But his conception of -the _aims_ of poesy _is all wrong_; and this we shall prove at some -future day—to our own satisfaction, at least. His didactics are all -_out of place_. He has written brilliant poems—by accident; that is to -say when permitting his genius to get the better of his conventional -habit of thinking—a habit deduced from German study. We do not mean to -say that a didactic moral may not be well made the _under-current_ of a -poetical thesis; but that it can never be well put so obtrusively forth, -as in the majority of his compositions. There is a young American who, -with ideality not richer than that of Longfellow and with less -artistical knowledge, has yet composed far truer poems, merely through -the greater propriety of his themes. We allude to James Russel Lowell; -and in the number of this Magazine for last month, will be found a -ballad entitled “Rosaline,” affording excellent exemplification of our -meaning. This composition has unquestionably its defects, and the very -defects which are never perceptible in Mr. Longfellow—but we sincerely -think that _no American poem equals it_ in the higher elements of song. - ------ - -[5] We allude here chiefly to the “David” of Coëtlogon, and _only_ to -the “_Chûte d’un Ange_” of Lamartine. - -[6] C. Julia Nyberg, author of the “Dikter von Euphrosyne.” - - * * * * * - - _The Critical and Miscellaneous Writings of Henry Lord Brougham, - to which is Prefixed a Sketch of his Character. Two volumes. Lea - and Blanchard._ - -That Lord Brougham _was_ an extraordinary man no one in his senses will -deny. An intellect of unusual capacity, goaded into diseased action by -passions nearly ferocious, enabled him to astonish the world, and -especially the “hero-worshippers,” as the author of Sartor-Resartus has -it, by the combined extent and variety of his mental triumphs. -Attempting many things, it may at least be said that he egregiously -failed in none. But that he pre-eminently excelled in any cannot be -affirmed with truth, and might well be denied _à priori_. We have no -faith in admirable Crichtons, and this merely because we have implicit -faith in Nature and her laws. “He that is born to be a man,” says -Wieland, in his ‘Peregrinus Proteus,’ “neither should nor can be -anything nobler, greater, nor better than a man.” The Broughams of the -human intellect are never its Newtons or its Bayles. Yet the -contemporaneous reputation to be acquired by the former is naturally -greater than any which the latter may attain. The versatility of one -whom we see and hear is a more dazzling and more readily appreciable -merit than his profundity; which latter is best estimated in the silence -of the closet, and after the quiet lapse of years. What impression Lord -Brougham has stamped upon his age, cannot be accurately determined until -Time has fixed and rendered definite the lines of the medal; and fifty -years hence it will be difficult, perhaps, even to make out the deepest -indentations of the _exergue_. Like Coleridge he should be regarded as -one who might have done much, had he been satisfied with attempting but -little. - -The title of the book before us is, we think, somewhat disingenuous. -These two volumes contain but a small portion of the “Critical and -Miscellaneous Writings” of Lord Brougham; and the preface itself assures -us that what is here published _forms only a part of his anonymous -contributions to the Edinburgh Review_. In fact three similar selections -from his “Miscellaneous Works” have been given to the world within a -year or two past, by Philadelphian publishers, and neither of these -selections embrace any of the matter now issued. - -The present volumes, however, are not the less valuable on this account. -They contain many of the most noted and some of the best compositions of -the author. Among other articles of interest we have the celebrated -“Discourse on the Objects, Pleasures and Advantages of Science”—a -title, by the way, in which the word “pleasures” is one of the purest -supererogation. That this discourse is well written, we, of course, -admit, since we do not wish to be denounced as blockheads; but we beg -leave to disagree, most positively, with the Preface, which asserts that -“there was only one individual living by whom it could have been -produced.” This round asseveration will only excite a smile upon the -lips of every man of the slightest pretension to scientific acquirement. -We are personally acquainted with at least a dozen individuals who could -have written this treatise _as well_ as the Lord Chancellor has written -it. In fact, a discourse of this character is by no means difficult of -composition—a discourse such as Lord Brougham has given us. His whole -design consists in an unmethodical collection of the most _striking_ and -at the same time the most _popularly comprehensible facts_ in general -science. And it cannot be denied that this plan of demonstrating the -advantages of science as a whole _by detailing insulated specimens of -its interest_ is a most unphilosophical and inartistical mode of -procedure—a mode which even puts one in mind of the σκολαστικος -offering a brick as a sample of the house he wished to sell. Neither is -the essay free (as should be imperatively demanded in a case of this -nature) from very gross error and mis-statement. Its style, too, in its -minor points, is unusually bad. The strangest grammatical errors abound, -of which the initial pages are especially full, and the whole is -singularly deficient in that precision which should characterise a -scientific discourse. In short, it is an entertaining essay, but in some -degree superficial and quackish, and could have been _better_ written by -any one of a multitude of living _savans_. - -There is a very amusing paper, in this collection, upon the authorship -of Junius. We allude to it, now especially, by way of corroborating what -we said, in our January number, touching the ordinary character of the -English review-system. The article was furnished the Edinburgh Quarterly -by its author, who, no doubt, received for it a very liberal -compensation. It is, nevertheless, one of the most barefaced impositions -we ever beheld; being nothing in the world more than a tame -_compendium_, fact by fact, of the book under discussion—“The Identity -of Junius with a Distinguished Living Character Established.” There is -no attempt at analysis—no new fact is adduced—no novel argument is -urged—and yet the thing is called a criticism and liberally paid for as -such. The secret of this style of Review-making is that of mystifying -the reader by an artful substitution of the interest appertaining to the -text for interest aroused by the commentator. - - * * * * * - - _Pantology; or a systematic survey of Human Knowledge; Proposing - a Classification of all its branches, and illustrating their - History, Relations, Uses, and Objects; with a Synopsis of their - leading Facts and Principles; and a Select Catalogue of Books on - all Subjects, suitable for a Cabinet Library. The whole designed - as a Guide to Study for advanced Students in Colleges, - Academies, and Schools; and as a popular Directory in - Literature, Science and the Arts. Second Edition. By Roswell - Park, A. M., Professor of Natural Philosophy and Chemistry in - the University of Pennsylvania, &c. Hogan and Thompson: - Philadelphia._ - -The title of this work explains its nature with accuracy. To human -knowledge in general, it is what a map of the world is to geography. The -design is chiefly, _to classify_, and thus present a dependent and -clearly discernible whole. To those who have paid much attention to -Natural History and the endless, unstable, and consequently vexatious -classifications which there occur—to those, in especial, who have -labored over the “Conchologies” of De Blainville and Lamarck, some -faint—some very faint idea of the difficulties attending such a labor -as this, will occur. There have been numerous prior attempts of the same -kind, and although this is unquestionably _one_ of the best, we cannot -regard it as the best. Mr. Park has chosen a highly artificial scheme of -arrangement; and both reason and experience show us that _natural_ -classifications, or those which proceed upon broad and immediately -recognisable distinctions, are alone practically or permanently -successful. We say this, however, with much deference to the opinions of -a gentleman, whose means of acquiring _knowledge_, have been equalled -only by his zeal in its pursuit, and whose general talents we have had -some personal opportunity of estimating. - -We mean nothing like criticism in so brief a paragraph as we can here -afford, upon a work so voluminous and so important as the one before us. -Our design is merely to call the attention of our friends to the -publication—whose merits are obvious and great. Its defects are, of -course, numerous. We mean rather to say, that in every work of this -nature, it is in the power of almost every reader to suggest a thousand -emendations. We might object to many of the details. We _must_ object to -nearly all of the belles-lettres portion of the book. We cannot stand -being told, for example, that “Barlow’s ‘Columbiad’ is a poem of -considerable merit;” nor are we rendered more patient under the -infliction of this and similar opinions, by the information that Vander -Vondel and Vander Doos (the deuce!) wrote capital Dutch epics, while -“the poems of Cats are said to be spirited and _pious_!” We know nothing -about cats, nor cats about piety. - -The volume is sadly disfigured by typographical errors. On the -title-page of the very first “province” is a blunder in Greek. - - * * * * * - - _The Student-Life of Germany: By William Howitt, Author of the - “Rural Life of England,” “Book of the Seasons,” etc. From the - unpublished MS. of Dr. Cornelius. Containing nearly Forty of the - most Famous Student Songs. Carey & Hart: Philadelphia._ - -Mr. Howitt has here given us the only complete and faithful account of -the Student-Life of Germany which has appeared in any quarter of the -world. The institutions and customs which his book describes, form, to -use his own language, “the most singular state of social existence to be -found in the bosom of civilized Europe,” and are doubly curious and -worthy of investigation—first, on account of the jealousy with which -the students have hitherto withheld all information on the subject, and -secondly, on account of the deep root which the customs themselves have -taken in the heart of the German life. The Burschendom, of which we have -all heard so much, yet so vaguely, is no modern or evanescent -eccentricity; but a matter of firm and reverent faith coeval with the -universities; and this faith is now depicted, _con amore_, and with -knowledge, by a German who has himself felt and confessed it. To the -philosopher, to the man of the world, and especially, to the man of -imagination, this beautiful volume will prove a rare treat. Its -_novelty_ will startle all. - - * * * * * - - _Lectures on Modern History, from the Irruption of the Northern - Nations to the Close of the American Revolution. By William - Smyth, Professor of Modern History in the University of - Cambridge. Two volumes. From the Second London Edition, with a - Preface, List of Books on American History, etc. By Jared - Sparks, L. L. D., Professor of Ancient and Modern History in - Harvard University. John Owen: Cambridge._ - -Professor Smyth’s system of history is remarkable, if not peculiar. He -selects certain periods, and groups around them individually those -events to which they have closest affinity not only in time, but -character. The effect is surprising through its force and perspicuity. -The name of Professor Sparks would be alone sufficient to recommend -these volumes—but in themselves they are a treasure. - - * * * * * - - _First Book of Natural History, Prepared for the Use of Schools - and Colleges. By W. S. W. Ruschenberger, M. D., Surgeon in the - U. S. Navy, &c. &c. From the Text of Milne Edwards & Achille - Comte, Professors of Natural History in the Colleges of Henri - IV. and Charlemagne. With Plates. Turner & Fisher: - Philadelphia._ - -This little book forms, in the original, the first of a series of First -or Elementary works on Natural History, arranged by Messieurs Edwards -and Comte, two gentlemen distinguished for labors of the kind, and who -enjoy the patronage of the “Royal Council of Public Instruction of -France.” The translator is well known to the reading world, and there -can be no doubt of the value of the publication in its present form. - - * * * * * - - _A System of Elocution, with Special Reference to Gesture, to - the Treatment of Stammering, and Defective Articulation, - Comprising Numerous Diagrams and Engraved Figures, Illustrative - of the Subject. By Andrew Comstock, M. D. Published by the - Author: Philadelphia._ - -This is, in many respects, an excellent book, although the principal -claim of Dr. Comstock is that of having cleverly compiled. His method of -representing, or notating, the modulations of the speaking voice, is -original, as he himself states, but there is little else which can be -called so. Originality, however, is not what we seek in a school-book, -and this has the merit of tasteful selection and precision of style. - - * * * * * - - _Sturmer; A Tale of Mesmerism. To which are added other Sketches - from Life. By Isabella F. Romer. Two Volumes. Lea & Blanchard: - Philadelphia._ - -This work is republished, we presume, not so much on account of its -intrinsic merit, as on account of the present _émeute_ in our immediate -vicinity and elsewhere, on the subject of Animal Magnetism. “Sturmer,” -the principal story, is, nevertheless, well narrated and will do much in -the way of helping unbelief. The minor tales are even beautiful. “The -Mother and Daughter” is exceedingly pathetic. - - * * * * * - - _Famous Old People. Being the Second Epoch of Grandfather’s - Chair. By Nathaniel Hawthorne. Author of “Twice-Told Tales.” - Boston: Tappan & Dennet._ - -Mr. Hawthorne has received high praise from men whose opinions we have -been accustomed to respect. Hereafter we shall endeavor to speak of his -tales with that deliberation which is their due. The one now before us -is a simple and pretty story. - - * * * * * - - _History of the Life of Richard Cœur de Lion, King of England. - By G. P. R. James, Esq., author of “Richelieu,” &c. Two volumes. - New York: I. & H. G. Langley._ - -We like Mr. James far better as the historian or biographer than as the -novelist. The truth is, it is sheer waste of time to read second-rate -fictions by men of merely imitative talent, when at the same expense of -money and labor we can indulge in the never-failing stream of invention -now poured forth by true genius. - - * * * * * - - _The Effinghams; or, Home as I Found it. Two volumes. By the - author of the “Victim of Chancery,” &c. New York: Samuel - Colman._ - -These volumes are satirical and have some fair hits at Mr. Cooper, -against whom they are especially levelled; but we like neither this -design of personal ridicule nor the manner in which it is effected. - - * * * * * - - _Organic Chemistry in its Applications to Agriculture and - Physiology. By Justus Leiby, M. D, &c. Edited from the MS. of - the Author, by Lyon Playfair, Ph. D. Second American Edition, - with an Introduction, Notes and Appendix, by John W. Webster, M. - D., Professor of Chemistry in Harvard University. John Owen: - Cambridge._ - -This book excited and still excites great attention in England. It is -needless to speak of its merits, which are well understood by all -students of Physics. - - * * * * * - - _Arbitrary Power, Popery, Protestantism; as contained in Nos. - XV. XVIII. XIX. of the Dublin Review. Philadelphia: M. Fithian._ - -A republication from the Dublin Review of three able articles in defence -of Catholicism. - - * * * * * - - _Second Book of Natural History, Prepared for the Use of Schools - and Colleges. By W. S. W. Ruschenberger, M. D., &c. From the - text of Milne Edwards and Achille Comte. With Plates. - Philadelphia: Turner & Fisher._ - -We need only say of this volume that it is a combination of the “First -Book” just noticed, although sufficiently distinct in itself. - - * * * * * - - _The Amazonian Republic Recently Discovered in the Interior of - Peru. By Ex-Midshipman Timothy Savage, B. C. New York: Samuel - Colman._ - -This is a very passable satirical fiction, in the manner of Gulliver. We -should not be surprised if it were the composition of Dr. Beasely of -this city. - - * * * * * - - _St. John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople: His Life, - Eloquence and Piety. By W. Joseph Walter, late of St. Edmund’s - College. Philadelphia: Godey & M^{c}Michael._ - -An eloquent tribute to the memory of an eloquent and in every respect a -remarkable man. - - * * * * * - - _Life in China. The Porcelain Tower; or Nine Stories of China. - Compiled from Original Sources. By T. T. T. Embellished by J. - Leech. Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -This is a very clever and amusing _jeu-d’esprit_, in which the oddities, -or what we regard as the oddities of “Life in China,” are divertingly -caricatured. The work is handsomely printed, and the designs by Leech -are well conceived and executed. - - * * * * * - - _Select Poems. By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Fourth Edition, with - Illustrations. Edward C. Biddle: Philadelphia._ - -The publisher, in his preface, states that three editions of this work, -comprising eight thousand copies, have been sold; and of this we are -pleased to hear; but we are not equally pleased with the information -(conveyed also in the preface) that a _new_ set of illustrations is -given. If these “illustrations” are _new_, then “new” has come to be -employed in the sense of “old.” The plates are not only antique but -trashy in other respects. Of the poems themselves we have no space to -speak fully this month. Some of them are excellent; and there are many -which merit no commendation. Mrs. Sigourney deserves much, but by no -means all of the applause which her compositions have elicited. - -It would be easy to cite, from the volume now before us, numerous brief -passages of the truest beauty; but we fear that it would be more -difficult to point out an entire poem which would bear examination, _as -a whole_. In the piece entitled “Indian Names,” there are thoughts and -_expression_ which would do honor to any one. We note, also, an -unusually noble idea in the “Death of an Infant.” - - ——forth from those blue eyes - There spake a wishful tenderness—a doubt - Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence - Alone may wear. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: _Spring Fashions 1842 Latest Style_] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. Archaic -spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious punctuation and -typesetting errors have been corrected without note. Greek phrases in -this ebook contain characters which may not display in some devices -based on the fonts and character sets available. - -A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public -domain. - -The Duello, mentioned in the story The Doom of the Traitress, can be -found in the February 1842 issue of Graham’s Magazine. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. -3, MARCH 1842 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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text-align:justify; } - p.caption { text-align:center; margin:0 auto; width:100%; } - p.credit { text-align:right; margin:0 auto; width: 100%; } - - .footnote td p.pindent:first-child { text-indent: 0; } - .footnote { margin:0 4em 0 0; } - .footnoteid { width: 3em; } - .nobreak { page-break-before: avoid; } - p.line { text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - div.lgp p.line0 { text-indent:-3em; margin:0 auto 0 3em; } - table { page-break-inside: avoid; } - table.center { margin:0.5em auto; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; } - table.flushleft { margin:0.5em 0em; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; } - table.left { margin:0.5em 1.2em; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; } - .tab1c1 { } - .tab1c2 { } - .tab2c1 { } - .tab2c2 { } - .tab1c1-col2 { border-right: 0px solid black; } - .tab2c1-col2 { border-right: 0px solid black; } - .tdStyle0 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:center; vertical-align:top; - } - .tdStyle1 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top;padding-left:29px; text-indent:-24px; - } - .tdStyle2 { - padding: 0px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top; - } - .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } - .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } - .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } - .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;} - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%; max-width:40em;} - </style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842, by Various</p> -<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> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: George Rex Graham</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 20, 2022 [eBook #67450]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. 3, MARCH 1842 ***</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. XX.</span> March, 1842 No. 3.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:0.5em;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='#pow'>The Crowning of Powhatan</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ger'>German Writers, Heinrich Heine</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#two'>The Two Dukes</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#may'>May Evelyn</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#doom'>The Doom of the Traitress</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#step'>The First Step</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sea'>Dreams of the Land and Sea</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#lady'>The Lady and the Page</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#imag'>Imagination</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#cav'>Harry Cavendish</a> continued</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></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='#one'>To One Departed</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wid'>The Young Widow</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fre'>The Freshet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#dead'>Marches for the Dead</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#isa'>To Isa in Heaven</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fan'>An Epistle to Fanny</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fun'>The Stranger’s Funeral</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#aga'>Agathè.—A Necromaunt</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#west'>Western hospitality</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#bud'>Fancies About a Rosebud</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#min'>A Lady Heard a Minstrel Sing</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#fash'>Spring Fashions</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='a man holds a crown toward Powhatan' id='iid-0001' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>J. G. Chapman. R. Hinshelwood.</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>The Crowning of Powhatan.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved for Graham’s Magazine from an Original Picture</span> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XX.</span> PHILADELPHIA: MARCH, 1842. <span class='sc'>No. 3.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='pow'></a>THE CROWNING OF POWHATAN.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> settlement at Jamestown was begun in 1606. -Among the earliest of the adventurers was the -chivalrous Captain Smith, whose life was a romance -even in those romantic days. He soon came to be -the leader of the colonists, and it was through his -exertions that the settlement was kept up, amid privations -and dangers almost incredible. The story -of his capture by the Indians, and his preservation -from death by Pocahontas, has become a national -tradition, and poets have sung, orators declaimed, -and novelists penned volumes to record the bravery -of the Captain, and the love of the Indian maid. But, -perhaps, nowhere is the story told with such effect -as in the “Generall Historie” of the gallant Smith -himself, a work published in 1624, and still to be met -with in the libraries of the curious. The book is a -rarity. It is adorned with maps,—not the most -correct, to be sure—and with engravings setting -forth the various perilous situations of the author, -over which a book-worm would gloat for a month. -The narrative is written in a plain, frank, unassuming -style, and the author is always spoken of in -the third person. To this book we are indebted for -an account of the crowning of Powhatan, and our -only regret is that our limits will not suffer us to -give the quaint language of Smith.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This singular ceremony took place in 1608, and -was performed at the instigation of the council at -home, who sent over the necessary insignia by Capt. -Newport from London. The object of the ceremony -was to propitiate Powhatan, and induce him to guide -the colonists to the country of the <span class='it'>Monacons</span>, whom -the dreamy adventurers, exaggerating the casual -hints of the Indians, had pictured to themselves as -a people of boundless wealth. It is evident, from -the “Generall Historie,” that Smith did not approve -of the measure, for he says appositely—“As for the -coronation of Powhatan, and his presents of Basin -and Ewer, Bed, Bedstead, Clothes, &c., and such -costly novelties, they had been much better spared -than so ill spent, for we had his favor much better -only for a plain piece of copper.” The measure had -been resolved on at home, however, and Captain -Smith had no alternative but to obey. Accordingly, -he sent a messenger to Powhatan to come and receive -his presents; but the Indian monarch, with the -spirit of an Alexander, replied, “If your King have -sent me presents, I also am a King, and this is my -land: eight days I will stay to receive them. Your -father is to come to me, not I to him.” The Captain -now sent the presents “a hundred miles by river,” -as he tells us, to Powhatan. Here a masked ball -and other festivities came off, in which the Captain -seems to have been quite a favorite with the Indian -belles. At length the ceremony of the coronation -was performed, but, if the bold Captain speaks aright, -it must have been a sorry crowning. He says, -“But a sore trouble there was to make him kneel -to receive his crown, he neither knowing the majesty -nor meaning of a crown, nor bending of the knee, -endured as many persuasions, examples and instructions -as enraged them all. At last, <span class='it'>by bearing hard -on his shoulders</span>, he a little stooped, and those having -the crown in their hands put it on his head, when by -the warning of a pistol, the boats were prepared -with such a volley of shot, that the King started up -with a horrible fear, till he saw all was well.” A -graphic picture. A sturdy old republican was Powhatan, -having no notion of their crown! We imagine -we can see the perturbation of the good Captain -and his followers when they found that the old -warrior would not kneel, and the glee with which -they regarded their success, when, by pressing hard -on the royal shoulders, they surprised him into being -duly crowned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The honor, however, failed of its object. Powhatan -would give no aid to the colonists in their designs -on the Monacons, although that people was a -sworn enemy to his race. He proudly said that he -needed no ally—that he could conquer his foes alone. -The only return he made for the gifts of the council -was a present of an old pair of slippers and a mantle -to Capt. Newport. The picture, by Chapman, graphically -pourtrays the ceremony.</p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1><a id='ger'></a>GERMAN WRITERS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>HEINRICH HEINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Ludwig Börne</span>, the well-known author of <span class='it'>Letters -from Paris</span>, once said, that Voltaire was only the -John the Baptist of Antichrist, but that Heine was -Antichrist himself. Perhaps he paid Heine too great -a compliment yet the remark is true so far as this, -that it points him out as the leader of that new school -in Germany which is seeking to establish a religion -of sensuality, and to build a palace of Pleasure on -the ruins of the church.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This school is known under the name of Young -Germany. It is skeptical, and sensual; and seems -desirous of trying again the experiment so often tried -before, but never with any success, of living without -a God. Heine expresses this in phrases too blasphemous -or too voluptuous to repeat; and Gutzkow, his -follower exclaims: “Let the only Priest, that weds -our hearts, be a moment of rapture, not the church, -with her ceremonies, and her servants with parted -hair;” and again with a sigh: “Alas! had the world -known nothing of God, it would have been happier!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus the old and oft-repeated follies of mankind -come up and are lived over again by young men, -who despise the wisdom of the Past, and imagine -themselves wiser than their own generation. Nor -are these young men without their admirers and advocates. -Madame Dacier, of classic memory, defended -Sappho’s morals, and in reply to the hereditary -scandal against her, coldly said: “Sappho had her -enemies.” Nearly in the same way is Young Germany -defended; and even theologians have not been -wanting, to palliate, excuse and justify.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In this country, there are certain persons, who -seem disposed to enact this same tragic farce; for -we too, have our Young America, which mocks the -elder prophets, and cries “Go up, bald-head!”—Young -ladies read with delight such books as <span class='it'>Festus</span>, -and think the <span class='it'>Elective Affinities</span> “religious almost to -piety.” Young men, who profess to be Christians, -like the Pagan of Lafontaine, believe in God by a -kind of patent-right,—<span class='it'>par bénéfice d’inventaire</span>. Nature, -we are told, must not be interfered with in any -way, at any time; and so much is said about this, that -many respectable people begin to say with old Voss, -“Dear Nature! thou seemest to me quite too natural!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I do not, however, propose to discuss these points -in the following sketch; nor to consider Heine’s -plans for regenerating society, which, at best, are -but vague opinions thrown out recklessly and at random, -like fire-brands, that set in a flame whatever -light matter they fall upon. It is the Author only, -that I shall attempt to sketch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Henry Heine was born in 1797 at Düsseldorf on the -Rhine; and studied at the Universities of Bonn, Berlin, -and Göttingen. He afterwards resided in Hamburg, -Berlin and Munich; and since 1830 has lived -in Paris. His principal writings are <span class='it'>Buch der Lieder</span>, -a collection of lyrical poems; two tragedies, <span class='it'>Almansor</span> -and <span class='it'>Radcliff</span>; the four volumes of <span class='it'>Reisebilder</span>; -the <span class='it'>Beiträge zur Geschichte der neuern schönen Literatur -in Deutschland</span>; the <span class='it'>Frangësische Zustände</span>; -and <span class='it'>Der Salon</span>,—the last two being collections of his -various contributions to the German newspapers. -The most popular of his writings is the <span class='it'>Reisebilder</span>, -(Pictures of Travel.) The <span class='it'>Beiträge</span> has been translated -into English, by Geo. W. Haven, under the title -of <span class='it'>Letters auxiliary to the History of modern Polite -Literature in Germany, Boston, 1836</span>. The same -work, with many additions, has been published in -Paris, under the title of <span class='it'>De l’Allemagne</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The style of Heine is remarkable for vigor, wit and -brilliancy; but is wanting in taste and refinement. -To the recklessness of Byron he adds the sentimentality -of Sterne. The <span class='it'>Reisebilder</span> is a kind of <span class='it'>Don -Juan</span> in prose, with passages from the <span class='it'>Sentimental -Journey</span>. He is always in extremes, either of -praise or censure; setting at nought the decencies -of life, and treating the most sacred things with -frivolity. Throughout his writings you see traces -of a morbid, ill-regulated mind; of deep feeling, disappointment -and suffering. His sympathies seem to -have died within him, like Ugolino’s children in the -tower of Famine. With all his various powers, he -wants the one great power—the power of truth! He -wants, too, that ennobling principle of all human -endeavors, the aspiration “after an ideal standard, -that is higher than himself.” In a word, he wants sincerity -and spirituality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the highest degree reprehensible, too, is the -fierce, implacable hatred with which Heine pursues -his foes. No man should write of another as he permits -himself to do at times. In speaking of Schlegel, -as he does in his <span class='it'>German Literature</span>, he is utterly -without apology. And yet to such remorseless invectives, -to such witty sarcasms, he is indebted in a -great degree for his popularity. It was not till after -he had bitten the heel of Hercules, that the Crab was -placed among the constellations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following passages from the <span class='it'>Reisebilder</span>, will -give the reader a general idea of Heine’s style; exhibiting -at once his beauties and defects—his poetic -feeling—his spirit—his wit—his want of taste. The -first is from his description of a <span class='it'>Tour to the Harz -Mountains</span>; the second from his <span class='it'>Journey from Munich -to Genoa</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>SCENE ON THE BROCKEN.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the dining-room of the inn I found all life and -motion; students from various Universities; some -just arrived, are refreshing themselves, others are -preparing for their departure, buckling their knapsacks, -writing their names in the Album, receiving -<span class='it'>Brocken-bouquets</span> from the servant girl; there is -pinching of cheeks, singing, dancing, shouting; questions -are asked, answers given,—fine weather,—footpath,—God -bless you—good bye. Some of the -departing are a little jolly, and take double delight in -the beautiful view, because a man when he is drunk -sees all things double.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When I had somewhat refreshed myself, I ascended -the observatory, and found there a little gentleman -with two ladies, one of them young, the other -oldish. The young lady was very beautiful. A glorious -figure,—upon her curling tresses a helm-like -hat of black satin, with whose white feathers the -wind sported;—her delicate limbs so closely wrapped -in a black silk mantle, that the noble outlines -were distinctly seen;—and her free, large eye quietly -gazing forth into the free, large world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I sought without more ado to engage the beautiful -lady in conversation; for one does not truly enjoy -the beauties of Nature, unless he can express his -feelings at the moment. She was not intellectual, -but attentive, sensible. Of a truth, most aristocratic -features. I do not mean that common, stiff, negative -aristocratic bearing, that knows exactly what -must be let alone; but that rare, free, positive aristocratic -bearing, which tells us clearly what we may -do, and gives us with the greatest freedom of manners, -the greatest social security. To my own astonishment, -I displayed considerable geographical -knowledge; told the curious fair one all the names -of the towns that lay before us; found and showed -her the same on my map, which I unfolded with -true professional dignity, upon the stone table in the -middle of the platform. Many of the towns I could -not find, perhaps because I looked for them rather -with my fingers, than with my eyes, which meanwhile -were investigating the face of the gentle lady, -and found more beautiful excursions there than -<span class='it'>Schierke</span> and <span class='it'>Elend</span>. It was one of those faces that -never excite, seldom fascinate, and always please. -I love such faces, because they smile to sleep my -turbulent heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In what relation the little gentleman, who accompanied -the ladies, stood to them I could not guess. -He was a thin, curious-looking figure; a little head, -sparingly covered with little grey hairs, that came -down over his narrow forehead as far as his green -dragon-fly eyes, his crooked nose projecting to a -great length, and his mouth and chin retreating -anxiously towards the ears. This funny little face -seemed to be made of a soft, yellowish clay, such as -sculptors use in forming their first models, and when -the thin lips were pressed together, a thousand -fine, semi-circular wrinkles covered his cheeks. -Not one word did the little gentleman say; and only -now and then, when the elderly lady whispered -something pleasant in his ear, he smiled like a poodle-dog -with a cold in his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The elderly lady was the mother of the younger, -and likewise possessed the most aristocratic form -and feature. Her eye betrayed a morbid, sentimental -melancholy; about her mouth was an expression of -rigid piety; and yet it seemed to me, as if once it had -been very beautiful, had laughed much, and taken -and given many a kiss. Her face resembled a <span class='it'>Codex -palympsestus</span>, where, beneath the recent, black, -monkish copy of a homily of one of the Fathers of -the Church, peeped forth the half effaced verses of -some ancient Greek love-poet. Both of the ladies, -with their companion, had been that year in Italy, -and told me all kinds of pretty things about Rome, -Florence and Venice. The mother had a great deal -to say of Raphael’s paintings at St. Peter’s; the -daughter talked more about the opera and the <span class='it'>Teatro -Fenice</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While we were speaking it began to grow dark; -the air grew colder, the sun sank lower, and the -platform was filled with students, mechanics, and -some respectable cockneys, with their wives and -daughters, all of whom had come to see the sun set. -It is a sublime spectacle, which attunes the soul to -prayer. A full quarter of an hour stood we all -solemnly silent, and saw how that beauteous ball of -fire by slow degrees sank in the west; our faces -were lighted by the ruddy glow of evening,—our -hands folded themselves involuntarily;—it was as if -we stood there, a silent congregation in the nave of -a vast cathedral, and the Priest were elevating the -Body of the Lord, and the eternal choral of Palestrina -flowing down from the organ!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As I stood thus absorbed in devotion, I heard some -one say close beside me,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Generally speaking, how very beautiful nature -is!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These words came from the tender heart of my -fellow lodger, the young shop-keeper. They brought -me back again to my work-day mood, and I was just -in the humor to say several very polite things to the -ladies about the sunset, and quietly conduct them -back to their room, as if nothing had happened. -They permitted me to sit and talk with them another -hour. As the earth itself, so revolved our conversation -round the sun. The mother remarked, that the -sun, sinking in vapors, had looked like a red, blushing -rose, which the Heaven in its gallantry had -thrown down upon the broad-spreading, white bridal -veil of his beloved Earth! The daughter smiled, and -expressed herself of the opinion, that too great familiarity -with the appearances of nature weakened -their effect. The mother corrected this erroneous -view by a passage from Göthe’s <span class='it'>Reisebriefen</span>, and -asked me if I had read the <span class='it'>Sorrows of Werther</span>. I -believe we talked also about Angola cats, Etruscan -vases, Cashmire shawls, macaroni and Lord Byron, -from whose poems the elderly lady, prettily lisping -and sighing, recited some passages on sunsets. To -the younger lady, who did not understand English, -but wanted to read Byron, I recommended the -translations of my fair and gifted country-woman, -the Baronese Elise von Hohenhausen; and availed -myself of the opportunity, as I always do with young -ladies, to express myself with warmth upon Byron’s -ungodliness, unloveliness and unhappiness.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'><span class='it'>Reisebilder, Vol. 1.</span></p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>STREET MUSICIANS.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>When I returned to the <span class='it'>Locanda della Grande -Europa</span>, when I had ordered a good <span class='it'>Pranzo</span>, I was -so sad at heart that I could not eat,—and that means -a great deal. I seated myself before the door of the -neighboring <span class='it'>Botega</span>, refreshed myself with an ice, -and said within myself:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Capricious Heart! thou art now forsooth in Italy—why -singest thou not like the lark? Perhaps the -old German Sorrows, the little serpents, that hid -themselves deep within thee have come with us into -Italy, and are making merry now, and their common -jubilee awakens in my breast that picturesque -sorrow, which so strangely stings and dances and -whistles? And why should not the old sorrows -make merry for once? Here in Italy it is indeed so -beautiful, suffering itself is here so beautiful,—in -these ruinous marble palaces sighs sound far more -romantically, than in our neat brick houses,—beneath -yon laurel trees one can weep far more -voluptuously, than under our surly, jagged pines,—and -gaze with looks of far sweeter longing at the -ideal cloud-landscapes of celestial Italy, than at the -ash-gray, German work-day heaven, where the very -clouds wear the looks of decent burghers, and yawn -so tediously down upon us! Stay then in my heart, -ye sorrows! Nowhere will you find a better lodging. -You are dear and precious to me; and no man -knows better how to father and cherish you, than I; -and I confess to you, you give me pleasure. And -after all, what is pleasure? Pleasure is nothing else -than a highly agreeable Pain.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I believe that the music, which, without my taking -note of it, sounded before the <span class='it'>Botega</span>, and had -already drawn round itself a circle of spectators, had -melo-dramatically accompanied this monologue. It -was a strange trio, consisting of two men, and a -young girl, who played the harp. One of the men, -warmly clad in a white shaggy coat, was a robust -fellow, with a dark-red bandit-face, that gleamed -from his black hair and beard, like a portentous -comet; and between his legs he held a monstrous -bass-viol, upon which he sawed as furiously, as if he -had thrown down a poor traveller in the Abruzzi, -and was in haste to fiddle his windpipe in two. The -other was a tall, meagre graybeard, whose mouldering -bones shook in their thread-bare, black garments, -and whose snow-white hair formed a lamentable -contrast with his <span class='it'>buffo</span> song and his foolish capers. -It is sad enough, when an old man must barter for -bread the respect we owe to his years, and give -himself up to buffoonery; but more melancholy still, -when he does this before or with his own child! For -that girl was the daughter of the old <span class='it'>Buffo</span>, and accompanied -with the harp the lowest jests of her -gray-headed father; or, laying her harp aside sang -with him a comic duet, in which he represented an -amorous old dotard and she the young coquettish -<span class='it'>inamorata</span>. Moreover the girl seemed hardly to -have passed the threshold of childhood; as if the -child, before it had grown to maidenhood, had been -made a woman, and not an honest woman. Hence -that pallid, faded look, and the expression of nervous -discontent in her beautiful face, whose proudly -rounded features as it were disdained all show of -compassion;—hence the secret sorrowfulness of the -eyes, that from beneath their black, triumphal arches -flashed forth such challenges;—hence the deep -mournful voice, that so strangely contrasted with -the laughing, beautiful lips, from which it fell;—hence -the debility of those too delicate limbs, around -which a short, anxious-looking robe of violet-colored -silk, fluttered as low as it possibly could. In addition -to this, gay, variegated satin ribbands flaunted -from her faded straw hat, and emblematic of herself, -her breast was adorned with an open rose-bud, -which seemed rather to have been rudely torn open, -than to have bloomed forth from its green sheath by -its own natural growth. Still in this unhappy girl, -in this Spring which Death had already breathed -upon and blasted,—lay an indescribable charm, a -grace, which revealed itself in every look, in every -motion, in every tone. The bolder her gestures became, -the deeper grew my compassion; and when -her voice rose from her breast so weak and wondrous, -and as it were implored forgiveness; then -triumphed in my breast the little serpents, and bit -their tails for joy. The Rose likewise seemed to -look at me imploringly; once I saw it tremble and -grow pale,—but at the same moment rose the trills -of the girl so much the more laughingly aloft, the old -man wooed still more amorously, and the red comet-face -murdered his viol so grimly, that it uttered the -most terrifically droll sounds, and the spectators -shouted more madly than ever.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>* * * *</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The little harper must have remarked, that while -she was singing and playing, I looked often at the -rose upon her breast; and as I afterwards threw -upon the tin plate, with which she collected her -honorarium, a piece of gold, and not of the smallest, -she smiled slily, and asked me secretly, if I wanted -her rose.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>* * * *</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Think no evil, dear reader. It had grown dark, -and the stars looked so pure and pious down into my -heart. In that heart itself, however, trembled the -memory of the dead Maria. I thought again of that -night, when I stood beside the bed, where lay her -beautiful, pale form, with soft, still lips—I thought -again of the strange look the old woman cast at me, -who was to watch by the dead body, and surrendered -her charge to me for a few hours—I thought again -of the night-violet, that stood in a glass upon the -table, and smelt so strangely. Again I shuddered -with the doubt, whether it were really a draft of -wind, that blew the lamp out?—or whether there -were a third person in the chamber!</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'><span class='it'>Reisebilder, Vol. 3.</span></p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>——</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The minor poems of Heine, like most of his prose -writings, are but a portrait of himself. The same -melancholy tone,—the same endless sigh,—pervades -them. Though they possess the highest lyric merit -they are for the most part fragmentary;—expressions -of some momentary state of feeling,—sudden ejaculations -of pain or pleasure, of restlessness, impatience, -regret, longing, love. They profess to be -songs, and as songs must they be judged, and as -German Songs. Then these imperfect expressions -of feeling,—these mere suggestions of thought,—this -“luminous mist,” that half reveals, half hides the -sense,—this selection of topics from scenes of every -day life, and in fine this prevailing tone of sentimental -sadness, will not seem affected, misplaced -nor exaggerated. At the same time it must be confessed -that the trivial and common-place recur too -frequently in these songs. Here, likewise, as in the -prose of Heine, the lofty aim is wanting; we listen -in vain for the spirit-stirring note—for the word of -power—for those ancestral melodies, which, amid -the uproar of the world, breathe in our ears forever-more -the voices of consolation, encouragement and -warning. Heine is not sufficiently in earnest to be a -great poet.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='one'></a>TO ONE DEPARTED.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY EDGAR A. POE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Seraph</span>! thy memory is to me</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like some enchanted far-off isle</p> -<p class='line0'>In some tumultuous sea—</p> -<p class='line0'>Some ocean vexed as it may be</p> -<p class='line0'>  With storms; but where, meanwhile,</p> -<p class='line0'>Serenest skies continually</p> -<p class='line0'>  Just o’er that one bright island smile.</p> -<p class='line0'>For ’mid the earnest cares and woes</p> -<p class='line0'>  That crowd around my earthly path,</p> -<p class='line0'>(Sad path, alas, where grows</p> -<p class='line0'>Not even one lonely rose!)</p> -<p class='line0'>  My soul at least a solace hath</p> -<p class='line0'>In dreams of <span class='it'>thee</span>; and therein knows</p> -<p class='line0'>  An Eden of bland repose.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i013.jpg' alt='a seated young woman leaning on a cabinet' id='iid-0002' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>DRAWN BY T. HAYTER.</span> <span class='it'>ENGRAVED BY H. S. SADD, N.Y.</span></span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>THE YOUNG WIDOW.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wid'></a>THE YOUNG WIDOW.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A MINIATURE.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>By</span> the splendor of thine eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Flashing in their ebon light</p> -<p class='line0'>As a star across the skies</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the sable noon of night!</p> -<p class='line0'>By the glory of that brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In its calm sublimity,—</p> -<p class='line0'>With thee, or away, as now,</p> -<p class='line0'>                    I worship thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sorrow has been thine, alas!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Once thou wert a happy bride;</p> -<p class='line0'>Joy is like a brittle glass:</p> -<p class='line0'>  It was shivered at thy side.</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall I love thee less for this?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Only be as true to me,</p> -<p class='line0'>And I’ll glory in the bliss,</p> -<p class='line0'>                    The bliss of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Are thy lashes wet with tears?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Canst thou never more be gay?</p> -<p class='line0'>Chase afar these foolish fears—</p> -<p class='line0'>  I will kiss thy dread away!</p> -<p class='line0'>We are parted—’till we meet,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Time shall pass how wearily!</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet I’ll make each hour more fleet</p> -<p class='line0'>                    By thoughts of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In the solitude of night,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the tumult of the day,</p> -<p class='line0'>By the gloamin’ fire’s light,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the mazy dance and gay,</p> -<p class='line0'>By the silver-sounding streams,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Underneath the rustling tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>In my waking, or in dreams,</p> -<p class='line0'>                    I’ll think of thee!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<div class='stanza-inner'> -<p class='line0'>When in ev’ry flower cup</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fairies dance the night away,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the queenly moon is up,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Moving on her stately way,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the stars upon the shore</p> -<p class='line0'>  Silence e’en the sounding sea—</p> -<p class='line0'>Ever till we part no more,</p> -<p class='line0'>                    I’ll think of thee!</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-top:0.5em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>A. A. I.</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='fre'></a>THE FRESHET.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>March</span> hath unlocked stern Winter’s chain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nature is wrapp’d in misty shrouds,</p> -<p class='line0'>And ceaselessly the drenching rain</p> -<p class='line0'>  Drips from the gray sky-mantling clouds;</p> -<p class='line0'>The deep snows melt, and swelling rills</p> -<p class='line0'>Pour through each hollow of the hills;</p> -<p class='line0'>The river from its rest hath risen,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bounded from its shattered prison;</p> -<p class='line0'>The huge ice-fragments onward dash</p> -<p class='line0'>With grinding roar and splintering crash;</p> -<p class='line0'>Swift leap the floods upon their way,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like war-steeds thundering on their path,</p> -<p class='line0'>With hoofs of waves and manes of spray</p> -<p class='line0'>  Restrainless in their mighty wrath.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Wild mountains stretch in towering pride</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the river’s either side;</p> -<p class='line0'>Leaving between it and their walls</p> -<p class='line0'>Narrow and level intervals.</p> -<p class='line0'>When Summer glows, how sweet and bright</p> -<p class='line0'>The landscape smiles upon the sight!</p> -<p class='line0'>Here, the deep golden wheat-fields vie</p> -<p class='line0'>With the rich carpets of the rye,</p> -<p class='line0'>The buckwheat’s snowy mantles, there,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shed honied fragrance on the air;</p> -<p class='line0'>In long straight ranks, the maize uprears</p> -<p class='line0'>Its silken plumes and pennon’d spears,</p> -<p class='line0'>The yellow melon, underneath,</p> -<p class='line0'>Plump, ripening, in its viny wreath:</p> -<p class='line0'>Here, the thick rows of new-mown grass,</p> -<p class='line0'>There, the potato-plant’s green mass;</p> -<p class='line0'>All framed by woods—each limit shown</p> -<p class='line0'>By zigzag rail, or wall of stone;</p> -<p class='line0'>Contrasting here, within the shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>The axe a space hath open laid</p> -<p class='line0'>Cumber’d with trees hurl’d blended down,</p> -<p class='line0'>Their verdure chang’d to wither’d brown;</p> -<p class='line0'>There, the soil ashes-strew’d, and black,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shows the red flame’s devouring track;</p> -<p class='line0'>The fire-weed shooting thick where stood</p> -<p class='line0'>The leafy monarchs of the wood:</p> -<p class='line0'>A scene peculiar to one land</p> -<p class='line0'>Which Freedom with her magic wand</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath touch’d, to clothe with bloom, and bless</p> -<p class='line0'>With peace, and joy, and plenteousness.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The rains have ceas’d—the struggling glare</p> -<p class='line0'>Of sunset lights the misty air,</p> -<p class='line0'>The fierce wind sweeps the myriad throng</p> -<p class='line0'>Of broken ragged clouds along,</p> -<p class='line0'>From the rough saw-mill, where hath rung</p> -<p class='line0'>Through all the hours, its grating tongue,</p> -<p class='line0'>The raftsman sallies, as the gray</p> -<p class='line0'>Of evening tells the flight of day:</p> -<p class='line0'>And slowly seeks with loitering stride,</p> -<p class='line0'>His cabin by the river-side.</p> -<p class='line0'>As twilight darkens into night,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still dash the waters in their flight,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still the ice-fragments, thick and fast,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shoot like the clouds before the blast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Beyond—the sinuous channel wends</p> -<p class='line0'>Through a deep narrow gorge, and bends</p> -<p class='line0'>With curve so sharp, the drilling ice,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Hurl’d by the flood’s tremendous might,</p> -<p class='line0'>Piles the opposing precipice,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And every fragment swells the height;</p> -<p class='line0'>Hour after hour uprears the wall,</p> -<p class='line0'>Until a barrier huge and tall</p> -<p class='line0'>Breasts the wild waves that vain upswell</p> -<p class='line0'>To overwhelm the obstacle:</p> -<p class='line0'>They bathe the alder on the verge,</p> -<p class='line0'>The leaning hemlock now they merge,</p> -<p class='line0'>The stately elm is dwindling low</p> -<p class='line0'>Within the deep engulfing flow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till curb’d thus in its headlong flight,</p> -<p class='line0'>With its accumulated might,</p> -<p class='line0'>The river turning on its track,</p> -<p class='line0'>Rolls its wide-spreading volumes back.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Slumbers the raftsman—through his dream</p> -<p class='line0'>Distorted visions wildly stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>Now in the wood his axe he swings,</p> -<p class='line0'>And now his sawmill’s jarring rings;</p> -<p class='line0'>Now his huge raft is shooting swift</p> -<p class='line0'>Cochecton’s white tumultuous rift,</p> -<p class='line0'>Now floats it on the ebon lap</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the grim shadow’d Water Gap,</p> -<p class='line0'>And now it’s tossing on the swells</p> -<p class='line0'>Fierce dashing down the slope of Wells,</p> -<p class='line0'>The rapids crash upon his ear,</p> -<p class='line0'>The deep sounds roll more loud and near,</p> -<p class='line0'>They fill his dream—he starts—he wakes!</p> -<p class='line0'>  The moonlight through the casement falls,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The floods sweep round his cabin-walls,</p> -<p class='line0'>Beneath their bounding thundering shocks,</p> -<p class='line0'>The frail log fabric groans and rocks;</p> -<p class='line0'>Crash, crash! the ice-bolts round it shiver,</p> -<p class='line0'>The walls like blast-swept branches quiver,</p> -<p class='line0'>His wife is clinging to his breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>The child within his arms is prest,</p> -<p class='line0'>He staggers through the chilly flood</p> -<p class='line0'>That numbs his limbs, and checks his blood,</p> -<p class='line0'>On, on, he strives—the waters lave</p> -<p class='line0'>Higher his form with every wave,</p> -<p class='line0'>They steep his breast, on each side dash</p> -<p class='line0'>The splinter’d ice with thundering crash</p> -<p class='line0'>A fragment strikes him—ha! he reels,</p> -<p class='line0'>That shock in every nerve he feels,</p> -<p class='line0'>Faster, bold raftsman, speed thy way,</p> -<p class='line0'>The waves roar round thee for their prey,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy cabin totters—sinks—the flood</p> -<p class='line0'>Rolls its mad surges where it stood:</p> -<p class='line0'>Before thy straining sight, the hill</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleeps in the moonlight, bright and still,</p> -<p class='line0'>Falter not, falter not, struggle on,</p> -<p class='line0'>That goal of safety may be won,</p> -<p class='line0'>Heavily droops thy wife with fear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy boy’s shrill shriekings fill thine ear;</p> -<p class='line0'>Urge, urge thy strength to where out-fling</p> -<p class='line0'>Yon cedar branches for thy cling.</p> -<p class='line0'>Joy, raftsman joy! thy need is past,</p> -<p class='line0'>The wish’d for goal is won at last,</p> -<p class='line0'>Joy, raftsman joy! thy quick foot now</p> -<p class='line0'>Is resting on the hill’s steep brow:</p> -<p class='line0'>Praise to high heaven, each knee is bending,</p> -<p class='line0'>Each heart’s warm incense is ascending,</p> -<p class='line0'>Praise to high heaven, each humble prayer</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, finds it not acceptance there?</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='dead'></a>MARCHES FOR THE DEAD.</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 WM. WALLACE, AUTHOR OF “JERUSALEM,” “STAR LYRA,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>A march</span> for the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—the <span class='it'>dreamless</span> <span class='sc'>Dead</span></p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the tomb and the chancel aisle,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the cypress bends or the banner-spread</p> -<p class='line0'>  Waves round in the holy pile:—</p> -<p class='line0'>Let the chimes be low as the awful breath</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the midnight winds that creep,</p> -<p class='line0'>With a pulse as faint as the step of Death,</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er the chambers of the deep,</p> -<p class='line0'>When the stars are in a solemn noon</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like o’er-wearied watchers there,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a seraph-glory from the moon</p> -<p class='line0'>  Floats down through the sleeping air.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A march for the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—the <span class='it'>lovely</span> <span class='sc'>Dead</span></p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose voices still we hear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a spirit-anthem, mournfully</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around a brother’s bier:</p> -<p class='line0'>Their eyes still beam, as of old, on ours—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And their words still cheer the soul—</p> -<p class='line0'>And their smiles still shine, like star-lit bow’rs,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where the tides of Being roll.</p> -<p class='line0'>Then, oh! minstrel strike your sweetest lyre,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let its notes to feeling true,</p> -<p class='line0'>Be warm as the sacred Eastern fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But, still, as chastened too:</p> -<p class='line0'>And <span class='sc'>Sorrow</span> there will incline her head,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While <span class='sc'>Hope</span> sits fondly by—</p> -<p class='line0'>With <span class='it'>one</span> hand pointing to the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>The <span class='it'>other</span> to the sky.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A march for the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—the <span class='it'>holy</span> <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>  They hallowed every sod</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the rainbows <span class='it'>resting on our earth</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>  <span class='it'>But soaring towards God</span>.</p> -<p class='line0'>But, oh! what a diapason there</p> -<p class='line0'>  From the thrilling chords should start!</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the lightning leaping from its lair</p> -<p class='line0'>  To wither <span class='sc'>Nature’s</span> heart?</p> -<p class='line0'>Like the <span class='sc'>Thunder</span> when the <span class='sc'>Tempest’s</span> hand</p> -<p class='line0'>  Unveils his giant form,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strikes, with all his cloudy band,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The organs of the storm?</p> -<p class='line0'>Ah, no! Let the march be soft, but glad</p> -<p class='line0'>  As a Sabbath evening’s breeze,—</p> -<p class='line0'>For why should the heart of man be sad</p> -<p class='line0'>  When he thinks of these? <span class='it'>Of these?</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A march for the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—the <span class='it'>awful</span> <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like mountain peaks, sublime,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which show, as they rise, some River’s length,</p> -<p class='line0'>  They mark the stream of <span class='sc'>Time</span>.</p> -<p class='line0'>How dread they appear as each lies in his tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the earthy worm revelling there—</p> -<p class='line0'>While the grim, hairless skulls from the terrible gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are gleaming so ghastly and bare.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Solemn and slow, with many a wail between,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Harp give thy song the deepest, grandest flow,</p> -<p class='line0'>While yonder moon, so dim, so cold, serene,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lights up the burial march of those below:</p> -<p class='line0'>And from afar the billows of the Main</p> -<p class='line0'>  Send forth their long-drawn, melancholy moan—</p> -<p class='line0'>Most fitting chorus, for this fearful strain</p> -<p class='line0'>  Breathed in the Temples of the <span class='sc'>Night</span> alone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A march for the <span class='sc'>Dead</span>—the <span class='it'>mighty</span> <span class='sc'>Dead</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Whose mind like oceans hurl’d</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the trembling Alps, have shook</p> -<p class='line0'>  A myriad-peopled world.</p> -<p class='line0'>They were the links of that mighty chain,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which the heaven unites to man,</p> -<p class='line0'>Since first from its realm the morning strain</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the minstrel-stars began:</p> -<p class='line0'>And along them have flashed for six thousand years</p> -<p class='line0'>  A flame to this lowly sod,</p> -<p class='line0'>(Oh! holier far than the light of the spheres,)</p> -<p class='line0'>  From the mighty heart of God!</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet once more, oh! Bard—yet once more re-illume</p> -<p class='line0'>  The song-god’s olden fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>And shed o’er the depths of the terrible tomb</p> -<p class='line0'>  The beauty of the lyre.</p> -<p class='line0'>Give its full notes abroad—let its anthem ring out</p> -<p class='line0'>  Through the aisles of the blue-beaming air—</p> -<p class='line0'>Wild, joyous and loud as the rapturous shout</p> -<p class='line0'>  When a great host of angels are there,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the <span class='sc'>Heavens</span> are all glad and wide-arching above.</p> -<p class='line0'>Kiss the far-distant hills, like the warm lips of <span class='sc'>Love</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>When she cradles the stars and the earth on her breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  While the waters lie still in their sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the banners of Evening, unfurl’d in the west,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Pavilion her Deity’s sleep.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>              It is well!—</p> -<p class='line0'>              Lo, the spell!</p> -<p class='line0'>            It shakes every shroud!</p> -<p class='line0'>              How they rise!—How they rise!—</p> -<p class='line0'>            The <span class='sc'>Great</span> and the <span class='sc'>Proud</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>Each a God, as you see by their glorious eyes!</p> -<p class='line0'>              ’Tis a terrible throng!—</p> -<p class='line0'>And <span class='sc'>Thought</span> from her Pyramid splendidly bows</p> -<p class='line0'>And sits like a glory-wreathed crown on their brows,—</p> -<p class='line0'>                As they thunder along.</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Hurry on! Hurry on!</span>—ye have not lived in vain</p> -<p class='line0'>  As we see by each radiant head!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, minstrel still utter that sonorous strain—</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis the march of <span class='it'>the mighty</span>—<span class='sc'>the Dead</span>!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='two'></a>THE TWO DUKES.</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 ANN S. STEPHENS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'>(Continued from page 82.)</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> princely pile, known as Somerset House, -remains even to this day unfinished, and at the time -of our story was, with the exception of one block, -scarcely raised above its foundations. The large -square court and every empty space, for many rods -around its site, were cumbered with building materials. -Piles of rude stone—beds of newly made mortar—window-sashes, -with the lead and rich glass -that composed them, crushed together from the carelessness -with which they had been flung down—cornices -with the gilding yet fresh upon them—great -fragments of carved oak—beams of timber with flags -of marble, and even images of saints, broken as they -were torn from their niches, lay heaped together promiscuously -and with a kind of sacrilegious carelessness. -That block of the building, which runs parallel -with the river, alone was completed, while that portion -of the square, which forms its angle on the strand, was -built to the second story so far as the great arched -entrance. But all the rest was only massed out by -a line of rough stones sunk into the earth, and in -places almost concealed by the heaps of rubbish -which we have described.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Notwithstanding the unfinished state of his palace -the Lord Protector had taken possession of that portion -already completed, and from the sumptuous—nay, -almost regal magnificence of its adornments, -seemed determined to rival his royal nephew and -king, in state, as he had already done in power.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have been particular in describing the Lord -Protector’s residence, for, at the time our story -resumes its thread, it contained the leading personages -who rendered themselves conspicuous in the -St. Margaret’s riot.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once more the gray of morning hung over the city -of London, a faint hum of voices and the sound of -busy feet rose gradually within its bosom. With the -earliest glimmer a host of workmen came to their -daily toil upon the palace, and were seen in the yet -dim light swarming upon the heaps of material -gathered in the court, and creeping, like ants drawn -from their mound, along the damp walls and the -scaffolding that bristled over them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though the hum and bustle of busy life swelled -and deepened in the streets the light was not yet -strong enough to penetrate the masses of heavy -velvet which muffled three tall windows of a chamber -overlooking the Thames, and a slope of rich, but -trampled sward that rolled greenly down to its brink. -So thick and deeply folded were the curtains that it -was broad day in the streets, though the sun had not -yet risen, before sufficient light penetrated the chamber -to draw out the objects which it contained from -the deep tranquil gloom that surrounded them. By -degrees a soft, warm light came stealing through a -fold or two of the crimson drapery as if a shower of -wine were dashed against them, very faint and rich -it was, but sufficient to reveal a mantelpiece of -clouded marble surmounting an immense fire-place -at one end of the room—tall chairs of dark wood, -heavily covered with cushions of crimson leather -enveloped with gold, standing in solemn magnificence -around, and a massive bed supported by -immense posts of ebony, each carved like the stems -of a great vine twisted together and coiling upward -to the ceiling, where they branched off and twined -together, a superb cornice of foliage cut from the -polished wood, and intermingled with clusters of -fruit so roundly carved that they seemed ready to -break loose from the rich workmanship of tendrils -and leaves which bedded them. The broad footboard -was carved to a perfect net-work; its glittering -black only relieved by the Somerset crest exquisitely -emblazoned in the centre. The head was surmounted -by a slab of broad ebony even more elaborately -wrought than the other, more nicely touched -and interworked like a specimen of Chinese ivory. -In the centre, just over the pillows, a basket of -golden apples gleamed through the delicate dark -tracery, which seemed to prison it, and caught the -first faint light that struggled through the windows. -As this light deepened and grew stronger within the -room, a counterpane of purple velvet sweeping over -the bed began to glow, as if the grapes above were -red, and had been shaken during the night over the -lovely girl who lay in an unquiet slumber beneath it. -The counterpane was disturbed and lay in purple -waves over the bed—for the Lady Jane Seymour -had started up more than once during the morning, -and after gazing wildly about in the dim light, sunk -to her pillow again, in that state of unquiet drowsiness, -which is neither wakefulness nor repose. Now -and then, as she seemed most soundly asleep, her -lips moved with restless murmurs, and her fair brow -was knitted as if in pain beneath the crushed lace -of her night-coif. She was lying thus with closed -eyes, and yet scarcely asleep, when a door opened, -and the old woman who had escaped from the riot -on the previous day, stole softly into the chamber, -bearing in her arms a bundle of green rushes and a -basket of flowers—humble things, but fresh and with -the night dew yet upon them. She laid her burthen -on the floor, and approaching the bed on tipt-toe, -bent down and kissed the small hand which crept -out from a fold of the counterpane, as if the beautiful -sleeper had been half aware of her approach. -More than once did the kind nurse bend over and -caress her charge, but timidly and as if fearful of -arousing her. At length she went to her basket, took -a bunch of wild violets from the blossoms it contained -and laid them upon the pillow. A faint smile -beamed over that fair face as the perfume stole over -it, and Lady Jane murmured softly as one who -received pleasure in a dream.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The nurse hurried away, and untying her rushes, -began to scatter them over the oaken floor. After -casting down a few of the flowers upon the fragrant -carpet, she selected others to fill an antique little vase -which stood on a table richly wrought, like everything -in the chamber, and surmounted by a mirror -which hung against the wall, in a frame of ebony and -gold, twined and drawn heavily together. The light -was yet very dim, so the good nurse cautiously drew -back a fold of the window-curtain. A sun-beam shot -through and broke over the steel mirror plate, as if a -golden arrow had been shivered there. A flood of -light, more than she had intended to admit, filled the -chamber and completely aroused the Lady Jane. -She started up in her couch, gazed wildly upon her -nurse, who stood almost terrified by what she had -done, with the half filled vase suspended over the -table, and then bending her head down upon her -hand, seemed lost in thought, which ended in a fit of -weeping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nurse,” she said at last, but without lifting her -face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old woman set down her vase, and moving to -the bed drew the young girl to her bosom, and putting -back her night-cap, affectionately smoothed the bright -hair gathered beneath it, with her hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me all that happened, good nurse,” said the -Lady at length, “I know that something is wrong, that -I have been in strange places, and amid a host of -people, but it all seems very long since, and strange, -like the dreams that haunt one in sickness.” She -paused awhile, very thoughtfully, and resumed what -she was saying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You were with me, and I remember now! they -whirled you away in the crowd. There was a little -evil looking man came to me after that. He rode by -them. The church! the altar! that window! and -Lord Dudley in the grasp of rude soldiers! Nurse—tell -me, where is the Duke? where is my father? I -must see my father! Go to him, and say that his -daughter has been ill, very ill, and would speak with -him before he rides forth for the morning. Go quickly, -I am very well, and can robe myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she uttered these hasty directions, the Lady -Jane flung back the bed-drapery, and springing to -the floor, snatched a robe from the chair to which it -had been flung on the previous night, and thrusting -her arms into the loose sleeves, began eagerly and -with trembling fingers, to knot the silken cord which -bound it to her waist. All at once her hands dropped -from the task, and her exalted features contracted -with a sudden and most painful thought.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not go,” she said in a stifled voice, but without -lifting her face, “It was my father who bade -them tear the church down upon me. It was he who -flung Lord Dudley back among those bad men. Do -not go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The nurse, who had seemed reluctant to perform -the mission desired of her, returned, and taking up -her young lady’s slippers, knelt down to place them -on her feet, which were heedlessly pressing the chill -floor, but putting the good woman gently aside, Lady -Jane began to pace slowly up and down the apartment, -sweeping the rushes with her loose robe, and -crushing beneath her small white feet, the wild blossoms -that had been scattered among them. At length -she stopped suddenly and clasping her hands, turned -a look full of wild anguish upon the good woman, -who stood meekly by the bed, with the rejected slippers -in her hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you think that my father would ever have -cursed <span class='it'>me</span>?” she said. “That he would revile the -bravest and most noble being in all England, before -a mob of riotous men; that he would let them seize -him and trample me to the earth; <span class='it'>me</span>, his youngest -child—who loved him so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, sweet Lady—you have been ill, and all this -is a feverish fancy. You should have seen with -what tenderness my Lord The Duke, bore you up -from the barge, in his own arms, and would not rest -till we brought him word that you were safe in bed -here, and asleep,” replied the nurse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane shook her head and smiled sadly. “It -was no dream,” she said, “dreams are of the fancy, -but such things as happened yesterday, sink into the -soul, and will not pass away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet,” replied the dame, “it was but now the -Lord Duke took such care of your repose, my gentle -Lady, that he forbade the workmen wielding a hammer -or crowbar in the court, lest your rest might be -disturbed too early. I met him scarcely ten minutes -since, on the way to his closet, where he is about to -examine my Lord Dudley, and that strange looking -man who was brought here on his lordship’s horse, -while the brave young gentleman came by water -with a pack of soldiers at his heels. The Duke, your -father, was in haste, but he took occasion to inquire -after your welfare, and bade me observe that no one -entered this chamber, or disturbed you in the least, -till you were quite restored.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane took the slippers from her attendant’s -hand, and hastily thrusting her feet into them, began -to arrange her dress once more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Said you that Lord Dudley was with my father -now?” she enquired, turning from the steel mirror, -before which she was hurriedly twisting up her hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He may not have left his prisoner in the new -rooms near the arch yet,” replied the dame, “but I -heard the Duke give orders that he should be brought -out directly with that fellow in the sheep-skin cap. -If we were but on the other side, nothing would be -easier than to see them with the guard, filing through -the court.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And has my father gone so far? Lord Dudley -imprisoned in our own dwelling with a felon knave -like that?” murmured Lady Jane, folding her arms -and looking almost sternly upon the floor, “alas, -what is his offence, what is mine, that a parent, once -so good and kind should deal thus cruelly with us!” -Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke, and advancing -to the nurse she took her arm, and moved -resolutely toward the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Whither are you going my lady?” said the nurse, -turning pale with apprehension.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To my father,” replied Lady Jane calmly, “I -would learn the nature of my offence, and if accusation -is brought against my affianced husband I -would stand by his side. Do not turn pale and tremble, -nurse, I am not the child which I went forth -yesterday, though but a day older; intense suffering -is more powerful than time, and I almost think that -my youth has departed forever. Let us go!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare not,” replied the old woman, “the duke -has forbidden it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Am I also a prisoner, and in my father’s house?” -demanded the lady, “well, be it so! When the falcon -is caged the poor dove should but peck idly -against her wires,” and sitting down the unhappy -girl folded her arms on the dressing-table, where she -wept in bitterness of heart. The noise of heavy -feet passing along the corridor to which her chamber -opened aroused her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is the soldiers with Lord Dudley in charge,” -said the nurse in reply to her questioning look, “I -will go and see.” The good woman arose and softly -opening the door looked out. Lady Jane gazed after -her with intense earnestness. When she stepped -into the passage and the sound of low voices came -into the room the anxious young creature could restrain -herself no longer, for the tones were familiar -and made her heart thrill, burthened as it was with -sorrow. She moved eagerly toward the door, and, -as it was swung open by the returning nurse, caught -one glance of Lord Dudley’s face. It was stern and -pale as death. He saw her and tried to smile, but -the rude voice of a soldier bade him move on; he -was hereby excited and the effort was lost in a proud -curve of the lips, which chilled the unhappy young -creature who gazed so breathlessly upon him. It -was the first time that she had ever seen a shadow -of bitterness on those lips, for her presence had -always a power to bring sunshine to them in his -sternest mood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, what changes has one day brought,” she -murmured, burying her face once more upon the -table, “my father’s curse upon me—Dudley, my -Dudley, estranged. My mother—alas! when has -the morning dawned that her kiss failed to greet me. -Now, on this wretched day,” she broke off, locked -the small hands which covered her face more firmly -together, and again murmured, “Heaven help me, -for I am alone!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, not alone—is your old nurse of no account? -If they have made her your jailor is she not a kind -one?” said the good-hearted attendant, bending over -her weeping charge. “Come, take heart, lady-bird, -dark days cannot last forever; the stars, so beautiful -and bright, are sometimes lost in black clouds, but -they always find a time to shine out again. The -duke cannot intend to deal harshly with you or he -would never have appointed your own fond old nurse -keeper to your prison. Besides, Lord Dudley will -be set free directly; he bade me tell you that a messenger -had been sent to the staunch old earl, his -father, and that another night would not find him -submitting to insult and confinement like the last.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane ceased to weep, but still remained sad -and thoughtful; she was troubled and grieved by the -absence of her mother. It seemed as if every thing -she loved had deserted her, save the good old nurse. -But she was naturally a cheerful light-hearted creature, -and storms must sweep over such hearts again -and again before hope is entirely driven forth. She -was even smiling with some degree of her old mischievous -playfulness at the pompous way in which -the good nurse flourished her badge of office, a huge -key which had not yet been put in requisition, when -the door was pushed gently open and a lady of mature -but delicate loveliness entered the room. She -was very pale. Her eyes, naturally dark and mild, -were full of troubled light, and flushed a little, as if -she had just been weeping. Her morning robe was -slightly disordered, and the head dress of jewels and -velvet, which ornamented, without concealing her -beautiful hair, was placed a little too much on one -side, a sure sign of agitation in one usually so fastidious -regarding her toilet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane was still listening with a languid smile -to the well-intended prattle of her nurse, and the -door opened, so quietly that she was not apprised of -her approach, till the duchess stood close by her -side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a glad exclamation, and like an infant pining -for its mother’s presence, she started up with an -affectionate impulse, and flung her arms around the -lady, then bending her head back, and looking fondly -in her face, murmured—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear mother, have you come at last?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The duchess bent her face to that of the affectionate -creature clinging to her neck, but there was constraint -in the action, and no kiss followed it. Her -daughter felt this as a repulse, and gently unclasping -her hands, stood without support, looking with a -kind of regretful fondness in the face which had -never dwelt frowningly on her before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! mother, how can you look upon me thus—how -have I deserved it!” she said at last, striving to -check the tears which would spring to her eyes; -“How is it that every one turns coldly from me. -You, my kind and gentle mother,—you, that have -never sent me to rest without a blessing, who scarce -would let the light kiss my forehead till your lips -had pressed it in the morning. You are growing -distrustful like the rest. I did not think a mother’s -love would chill so easily—that <span class='it'>my</span> mother could -even find it in her heart to look harshly on her child. -Nay, mother,—dear, dear, mother, do not weep so—I -did not think to grieve you thus deeply. Why do -your lips tremble? Why do you wring my hand so? -What wrong have I done? I entreat you tell me -all—my heart will break unless you love me as of -old.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The duchess was much affected, but still maintained -the severity of manner which she had brought -into the room, though it evidently cost her a strong -effort to resist the appeal of her child. She sat down -upon the bed, and, drawing Lady Jane before her, -took the small hands, clasped together, in both hers, -and looked searchingly into the soft brown eyes that -met her gaze, not without anxiety, but still with a -trustful fondness that would have disarmed a firmer -heart than that which beat so full of generous and -affectionate impulses in the bosom of that noble lady.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jane,” she said at last, glancing at the slender -fingers locked in her own, “where is the ring which -I gave you on the duke’s last birth-day?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane started at the question, and withdrawing -her hand, cast a quick glance upon it, and then -turned anxiously to the old woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My careful nurse here, must have taken it from -my finger as I slept,” she said, doubtingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old woman shook her head, and Lady Jane -turned earnestly to her mother, perplexed alike by -the loss of her ring, and the strange effect which it -produced on the duchess.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When did you wear it last?” enquired the lady.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young lady mused for a few moments, and -then mentioned the previous day as that when she -remembered to have seen it on her finger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay, I remember well,” said the nurse. “It was -on my lady’s hand when she lifted it to chide Richard -for his outcry in the crowd. Just then I was carried -off by the mob, and jostled about till it seemed a -miracle that I ever reached the barge again. I mind -now that Richard saw the ring also, for when we all -met at the landing, and sat waiting, hour after hour, -in hopes that some blessed chance would direct the -poor lady how to find us, I would have gone back -in search of her, but he forbade me, saying, that no -harm would befall a lady of her high condition while -she carried on her fingers the power to purchase -protection; so, when the night closed in, we rowed -down the river, just in time to see the sweet child -borne to her chamber, more dead than alive, with -the ill-treatment she had received.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The duchess turned her eyes earnestly on the -nurse as she spoke, but if she thought to detect anything -but an honest spirit of truth in those withered -features, her scrutiny was unrewarded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How chanced it,” she said, turning again to her -daughter, “how chanced it that you were entangled -in the mob near St. Margaret’s, when you went forth -to enjoy the morning breeze upon the river?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane looked surprised at the question, but -answered it without hesitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was very early,” she said, “and the air blew -chill on the water, so I bade the men pull up at Westminster -Bridge, intending to take a walk in the Park, -and return home, but as we were crossing up from -the river, the crowd came upon us, and in my terror -I was separated from my attendants and sought shelter -as I best could.” Lady Jane then proceeded to -inform her mother of the events which we have -already described in two previous chapters; but she -had been so dreadfully terrified that her narrative -was confused, and though it possessed all the simplicity -and force of truth, the disappearance of the -ring still appeared a mystery, for she could in no -way account for the manner in which it had left her -possession, but stood pale and utterly overwhelmed -with astonishment when informed of the charge -brought against her by the artisan.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And did my father believe this of me?” she said, -turning to the duchess in the anguish of an upright -spirit unjustly accused. “I could not suspect any -one I loved of a base thing! Yet has my father, -whom I honored and worshipped so, not only condemned -but reviled me in the presence of my affianced -husband, and all on the word of a base man, -more despicable far, than the rudest workman who -breaks stone in his court yonder.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a newly aroused pride in the young -girl’s bosom that gave dignity to the words she -uttered. A rich color broke over her cheek, and, for -the first time, those soft eyes kindled with indignation -as they fell upon her mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me go,” she continued, “let me stand face -to face with my accuser. It is not well that the -daughter of a noble house—the cousin of an English -Monarch, should be tried and condemned, without -hearing, on the word of a base varlet picked -up amid the dregs of a mob.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Duchess gazed upon the excited young creature -before her with mingled feelings of surprise, -regret, and, perhaps, some little share of anger, that -she could so easily depart from the humility of her -usual deportment, for though a fond parent, she had -even been rigid in her exactions of deference and -respect from her children. The love of a mother is -very powerful, but the pride of a high born English-woman, -educated for her station, is, perhaps, the -strongest feeling of her nature. The duchess felt -the truth of all that her daughter had said, but she -felt its boldness also, and her nice feelings were -shocked by it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your father had other reasons for doubting the -integrity of Lord Dudley—for it would seem that this -strange outbreak is occasioned as much by his -imprisonment as your own,” said the lady in a tone -of grave reproof, dropping her daughter’s hand. -“We have good cause to fear that the earl, his father, -has been tampering with the young king, and that he -is using all secret means to supplant my noble lord -in the power and station which he now fills. He -has left no means untried to gain popularity in the -city. That Lord Dudley has dared to appear against -the Lord Protector, heading a mob almost in open -rebellion, is proof that evil exists, and is spreading -through the court. My lord has taken prompt measures, -and in this should not be arraigned by his own -child. If the Lord of Warwick and his son are still -loyal to the Protector let them prove it before the -king. But from this hour it is the duke’s pleasure -that the contract existing between the two houses be -at an end forever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Jane stood perfectly motionless and pale as -marble when her mother finished speaking, but after -a moment she moved across the room and glided -through the door without speaking a word, and, as -if unconscious of the presence she had left.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor young lady,” muttered the nurse, wiping -her eyes and casting a look, which would have been -reproachful but for awe, upon the duchess—“her -heart was almost broken before, but this will be the -death of her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Peace, good dame, peace,” said the Duchess of -Somerset, in her usual calm and dignified manner. -“My daughter must learn to make sacrifices when -the honor of her house is concerned. From the first -I acquitted her of all wrong intention regarding the -diamond, and I deeply grieve at the annoyance it -has produced both to her and us. But regarding -Lord Dudley and his alliance with your young mistress—it -can never be thought of again. Let it be -your duty, good dame, as the most cherished attendant -of my child, to reconcile her to the change.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With these words the Duchess of Somerset left the -chamber just in time to see the Lady Jane disappear -from the extreme end of the corridor which led to -the duke’s closet.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>(To be continued.)</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='isa'></a>TO ISA IN HEAVEN.</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 THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D.</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;'>Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven!</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:0.75em;font-size:0.9em;'>—<span class='it'>Young.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            <span class='sc'>Where</span> is she now?</p> -<p class='line0'>    Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?</p> -<p class='line0'>  If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Has he not touched my heart?</p> -<p class='line0'>Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            If thou wert dead,</p> -<p class='line0'>    I would not ask thee to reply;</p> -<p class='line0'>  But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled</p> -<p class='line0'>    To heaven, where it can never die!</p> -<p class='line0'>Then why not come to me? Return—return,</p> -<p class='line0'>And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            I sigh all day!</p> -<p class='line0'>    I mourn for thee the livelong night!</p> -<p class='line0'>  And when the next night comes, thou art away,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And so is absent my delight!</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate,</p> -<p class='line0'>So is my soul for thee disconsolate!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            I long for death—</p> -<p class='line0'>    For any thing—to be with thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>  I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>    That it might have some power on me</p> -<p class='line0'>To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead!</p> -<p class='line0'>And I am here!—it strengthened me instead!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            Joy there is none—</p> -<p class='line0'>    It went into the grave with thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>  And grief, because my spirit is alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Is all that comes to comfort me!</p> -<p class='line0'>The very air I breathe is turned to sighs,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all mine soul is melting from mine eyes!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            I hear, at even,</p> -<p class='line0'>    The liquid carol of the birds;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Their music makes me think of thee in heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>    It is so much like thy sweet words.</p> -<p class='line0'>The brooklet whispers, as it runs along,</p> -<p class='line0'>Our first love-story with its liquid tongue.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            Wake, Isa! wake!</p> -<p class='line0'>    And come back in this world again!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! come down to me, for my soul’s dear sake,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And cure me of this trying pain!</p> -<p class='line0'>I would give all that earth to man can be,</p> -<p class='line0'>If thou wert only in this world with me!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            Day after day</p> -<p class='line0'>    I seek thee, but thou art not near!</p> -<p class='line0'>  I sit down on thy grave in the cold clay,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear!</p> -<p class='line0'>And when some withered leaf falls from the tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>I start as if thy soul had spoke to me!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            And so it is,</p> -<p class='line0'>    And so it ever more must be</p> -<p class='line0'>  To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>    He ever knew, by loving thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>For misery, in thine absence, is my wife!</p> -<p class='line0'>What joy had been, hadst thou remained in life!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>            It is now even;</p> -<p class='line0'>    The birds have sung themselves to sleep;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all the stars seem coming out of heaven,</p> -<p class='line0'>    As if to look upon me weep!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain,</p> -<p class='line0'>But come back to me in this world again!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><h1><a id='may'></a>MAY EVELYN.</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 FRANCES OSGOOD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Beautiful</span>, bewitching May! How shall I describe -her? As the fanciful village-poet, her devoted adorer, -declared;—“The pencil that would paint her charms -should be made of sunbeams and dipped in the dewy -heart of a fresh moss-rose.” Whether this same bundle -of beams and fragrant rose-dew would have done -full justice to her eloquent loveliness, I cannot pretend -to say—having never attempted the use of any -brush less earthly than are made of hog’s bristles, -nor any color more refined than a preparation from -cochineal. Her eyes were “blue as Heaven,” the -heaven of midsummer—when its warm, intense and -glorious hue seems deepening as you gaze, and -laughing in the joyous light of day. Her hair, I could -never guess its true color; it was always floating in -such exquisite disorder over her happy face and -round white shoulders—now glistening, glowing in -the sunshine, like wreaths of glossy gold, and now, -in shadow, bathing her graceful neck with soft brown -waves, that looked like silken floss, changing forever -and lovely in each change. Blushes and dimples -played hide and seek on her face. Her lip—her -rich sweet lip was slightly curved—just enough to -show that there was pride as well as love in her -heart. She was, indeed, a spirited creature. Her -form was of fairy moulding, but perfect though -“petite!” and her motions graceful as those of the -Alpine chamois.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Reader, if I have failed in my attempt to convey -to you an image of youthful grace, beauty and sweetness, -I pray you repair my deficiency from the stores -of your own lively imagination, and fancy our dear -May Evelyn the loveliest girl in the universe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now for her history. Her father, of an ancient -and noble family, had married, in early life, a beautiful -but extravagant woman, who died a few years -after their union, leaving him with two lovely children -and an all but exhausted fortune. On her death -he retired from the gay world, and settled with his -infant treasures in Wales, and there, husbanding his -scanty means, he contrived to live in comfort if not -in luxury. There, too, brooding over the changes of -human life—the fallacy of human foresight, and the -fickleness of human friendship, he became “a sadder -and a wiser man.” His two beautiful children, -Lionel and May, were the idols of his heart, and -well did they repay his love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>May’s first serious trouble arose from hearing her -father express one day his desire to purchase for -Lionel a commission in the army. The boy was -high-spirited and intelligent, and had cherished from -childhood an ardent desire for military life; but there -was no possibility of raising sufficient money for the -purpose, without sacrificing many of their daily -comforts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this time May was just sixteen; but there was -in her face a childlike purity and innocence, which, -combined with her playful simplicity of manner, made -her appear even younger than she was. She hated -study, except in the volume of nature; there indeed -she was an apt and willing pupil. Birds and streams -and flowers were her favorite books; but though -little versed in the lore of her father’s well-stored -library—she had undoubted genius, and whenever -she did apply herself, could learn with wonderful -rapidity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The only science, however, in which she was a -proficient, was music:—for this she had an excellent -ear and, when a mere child, ere her father’s removal -to Wales, had been under the tuition of a celebrated -master. Her voice was rich, sweet and powerful, -and her execution on the guitar, piano and harp, was -at once brilliant and expressive. She had, also, a -pretty talent for versifying, and often composed -music for words, which, if not remarkable for power -or polish, were certainly bewitching when sung by -their youthful authoress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During most of the day, on the morning of which -Mr. Evelyn first mentioned his wishes with regard to -Lionel, the sunny face of our heroine was clouded -with sorrowful thought; but towards evening, as her -father sat alone in his library, the door suddenly -opened, and May, bounding in, her eyes beaming -with enthusiasm, exclaimed—“Papa! papa! I -have just thought—I know what I’ll do!—I’ll be a -governess.” Her father gazed at her in astonishment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A governess, May! What can have put such -an idea into your head? Why should you be a governess?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! for Lionel, you know. I can soon earn -enough to buy his commission.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it is this then, my child,” said Mr. Evelyn, -tenderly, “that has so repressed your usual spirits!” -But while he spoke seriously, he could scarcely -repress a smile at the thought of the wild, childlike -being before him, transformed into a staid, dignified -teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the six weeks following, the devoted girl -deprived herself of all her usual outdoor amusements, -and, with wonderful energy applied, under -her father’s guidance, to study. At the end of that -time, she laughingly declared that she knew a little -of everything; but still her passion for birds and -flowers was far greater than for books.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ere the six weeks had well expired, she heard from -some young friends, who were on a visit to Wales, -from London, that the earl of —— was in want of -a governess for his four children. She begged them, -on their return, to mention her. This they did, and -with youthful exaggeration extolled her talents to the -skies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl understanding that she was the accomplished -and amiable daughter of an aged naval officer, -saw, in his mind’s eye, a learned lady of a certain -age, who would, perhaps, prove a mother in kindness -and usefulness to his orphan children, and gladly -acceded to the desire of his young friends, that he -should make trial of her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poor things were not aware what a little ignoramus -they were recommending; for the youthful -Lionel, who, sometimes took a peep into the library, -and stared in surprise at the various apparatus for -study, had boasted all over the village in which they -resided, that his sister knew everything under the -sun, and had mentioned, in corroboration of this -sweeping declaration, that she was always poring -over French, Spanish, Greek or Latin books. This, -her enthusiastic young friends, who, by the way, had -only known her a fortnight, took care to make the -most of—and the result was, that May was considered, -by the Earl, as a most fitting instructress for -his children, and dreaded by them as a prim and -severe restraint upon their hitherto unchecked amusements.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the morning of the day on which the -dreaded governess was expected, Julia, Elizabeth, -Georgiana and William—the first 15, the second 10, -the third 8, and the fourth 7 years of age, were at -play in the garden of the Earl’s country seat. They -had heard awful things of governesses from some of -their young companions, and the younger children had -been whispering to each other their dread of the -expected tyrant. They had, however, resumed their -gambols, and forgotten the matter, with that charming -versatility which makes them so interesting, when -their nurse appeared with the news that the governess -had arrived, and was waiting to be introduced to -her young charge in the school-room. A sudden change -was observable on the countenances of all. It was -amusing to watch the expression on each of those -young faces. Julia—the pensive and graceful Julia -sighed, and bent her soft eyes sadly on the ground, as -she instantly turned her steps towards the house. -The little wilful and spirited Willie began to strut -manfully backward and forward, declaring that the -others might do as they liked, but that <span class='it'>he</span> would not -go near the ugly old woman. Georgy pouted—and -Lizzie burst into tears. At the sound of weeping, -Julia turned back—soothed and cheered them all by -turns—kissed away the tears of one sister—smoothed -the other’s frowning brow with her soft and loving -hand, and laughed at Willie till he was fain to join -in the laugh in spite of himself. She then desired -them to follow her to the school-room—which they -did—clinging to her dress, however, as if they expected -to see a monster in the shape of a governess; -but as they reached the flight of steps which led -from the lawn to the house, their courage failed, and, -leaving Julia to ascend alone, they suddenly and -simultaneously turned to escape, and hurrying away, -concealed themselves in the garden, where they soon -resumed their sports.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the meantime Julia had ascended the steps and -stood gazing in silent astonishment through the glass -door opening into the school-room. The object of -her dread was there—but not as she had pictured -her—a prim, severe old-maid. A girl apparently -younger than herself, with a sweet glowing face, -shaded by a profusion of lovely hair,—her straw -bonnet flung on the floor, and her simple white dress -looking anything but old-maidish—was stooping to -caress their favorite dog, Carlo, while the pet-parrot -sat perched on her shoulder, mingling his gorgeous -plumage with her light brown curls, and crying with -all his might, “old-maid governess! old-maid governess!” -As our heroine raised her head, wondering -at the strange salutation, (which, by the way, master -Willie had been maliciously teaching him for some -time previous,) her eyes encountered those of the -smiling Julia, who, equally surprised and delighted -at the scene, already saw, in Miss Evelyn, a friend -after her own heart, such an one as she had long -ardently desired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this critical moment, the good old nurse entered -from the lawn, and seeing the mutual embarrassment -of the parties, said simply to May—“This is your -oldest pupil, madam.” At the words “madam” and -“pupil,” both May and Julia tried hard to repress -the smiles which would peep through their eyes and -lips—in vain. The dimples on the cheek of the -youthful governess grew deeper and deeper—Julia’s -dark eyes flashed through their drooping fringes more -and more brightly, and, at length, the smothered merriment -burst irresistibly forth. No sooner had the -latter’s eye caught the arch glance and her ear the -musical laugh of May, than she sprang forward to -clasp her readily extended hand, exclaiming, “I am -sure you will be my friend!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That I will,” said May, “if you won’t call me -‘old-maid governess’ again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Old-maid governess, old-maid governess,” -screamed the parrot from his cage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>May began to look grave, and Julia, blushing with -vexation, led her gently to the cage, outside of the -door, and pointed to the bird in silence. “How -stupid I was!” exclaimed May; “I quite forgot the -parrot when I saw that beautiful dog. I do so love -dogs—don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! but I love you better,” said Julia, affectionately, -throwing her arm around her new friend’s -neck, and sealing her avowal with a kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this moment, Willie was seen peeping and -stealing slyly round the shrubbery—his roguish face -subdued to as demure a look as it could possibly -assume. For a moment he stared at the pair in -amazement, and then clapping his hands, he shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Georgy! Lizzie! Georgy! come and see Julia -kissing the governess!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! you lovely boy!” exclaimed May—bounding -down the steps, “I must have a kiss!” and away -she flew after the little rosy rogue—he laughing so -heartily as to impede his progress, till at last helpless, -from very glee, he fell into her arms, and allowed -her to kiss him half a dozen times before he remembered -that she was the teacher so dreaded by them -all. When he did recollect, he looked up half incredulously -in her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are not old!” said he,—“no, nor yet prim, -nor cross. I don’t think you are so very ugly either, -and maybe you don’t know much after all. I say, -governess, if you please, ma’am, can you spin a -top?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No!” said May.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hurrah! I thought so—hurrah, Georgy! she don’t -know so much as I do now—hurrah! hurrah! I’ll -stand by her for one!” and, tossing his hat in the -air, he sprang into the lap of May, who had sank -into a low rustic seat, quite exhausted from her exercise—her -cheeks glowing—her hair in disorder, and -her lips parted with smiling delight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time the two little girls, who had been peeping -a long while, ventured, followed by Julia, to approach;—Georgiana -leading, or rather dragging the -shy but lovely little Lizzie in one hand, and holding -in the other a freshly gathered rose-bud, which she -timidly presented to our heroine, as if to bribe her -not to be harsh with them. May stooped to kiss the -intelligent face whose dark and eloquent eyes looked -so pleadingly into hers; while Julia, who stood behind -her, stole the rose from her hand. “Let me -wreathe it in your hair,” she said. At that moment, -while she was yet engaged in her graceful task, the -Earl suddenly appeared before them. It must be -remembered that he had seen, from his library window, -the before-mentioned chase, and rather curious -to know who the beautiful visiter could be, (not -having been apprised of Miss Evelyn’s arrival,) he -had followed them to the spot on which they were -now assembled—May on the seat, parting the dark -curls from Lizzie’s bashful and downcast brow; -Willie on her knee; Georgy gazing up in her face, -and Julia placing the rose-bud in her hair. All started -at the sudden appearance of the Earl. Willie sprang -to his arms, and little Lizzie, afraid of every new -comer, laid her curly head on the knee of her newly-found -friend, and turned up her bright eyes inquiringly -to her father’s face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not let me disturb your play, my children,” -said the Earl. “I only come to remind you, that -your governess will soon be here, and that you must -welcome her with respect and attention. But, Julia, -you must introduce me to this merry young friend -of yours, who runs as if her heart were in her -feet;” and so saying, he playfully patted the drooping -head of the blushing and embarrassed girl, who, all -this while, had been striving to hide her fears and -her confusion by pretending to be deeply occupied in -twisting Lizzie’s silken ringlets round her little taper -finger. The moment she had heard Willie exclaim, -“papa!” all her former dread of that awful personage -returned, and, with it, for the first time, a full -sense of her own inefficiency to perform the task she -had undertaken. His voice so deep and yet so sweet -and playful, banished half her dread, but only -increased her confusion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Julia, however, came instantly to her relief, with -a tact and delicacy uncommon in one so young—saying -simply and seriously, “This is our governess, -papa. Miss Evelyn, this is our dear papa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl started back,—tried to repress his smiles, -bowed low to conceal them, and then taking her -hand respectfully in his, bade her welcome to the -castle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The word “governess” had acted like a spell upon -May’s faculties; it restored her to a sense of the -dignity of her situation, and rising instantly and -drawing her beautiful form to its full height, she -received and returned the compliments of the Earl -with a graceful dignity and self-possession, that -astonished him, as much as it awed the poor children. -And when, in his courteous reply, he begged her -pardon for his mistake, in a tone at once gentle and -deferential, she found courage, for the first time, to -raise her eyes. It was no stern, old, pompous nobleman, -such as her fears had portrayed, who stood -before her, but an elegant man, in the prime of life, -with a noble figure and singularly handsome face, -full of genius and feeling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His dark eyes were bent upon her with a gaze of -mingled curiosity and admiration; but, as they met -hers, he recollected himself, and wishing her and -his children good morning, and resigning Willie, as -if it were a thing of course, to her arms, (a circumstance, -by the way, which he could not help smiling -at half an hour afterwards,) he passed on and left -them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now came innumerable questions from all but -the silent Georgy, who contented herself with nestling -close to the side of our heroine as they wandered -through the grounds—and gazing with her large soft -eyes into her face, now dimpled with the light of -mirth, now softening into tenderness, and now shadowed -by a passing thought of “papa, and Lionel, -and home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And oh!” said Lizzie, “you won’t take away my -doll and make me study all the time, will you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, indeed, darling! I would much rather help -you dress your doll.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I may spin my top all day if I like—may I -not?” asked Willie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, if papa is willing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! but papa told us to obey all your commands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Commands,” thought May, “oh, dear, I shall -never do for a governess!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day passed on in sport. Our heroine’s duties -were to commence on the next; but she would not -allow her fears for the morrow to interfere with her -present delight. In the meantime, the Earl, amid his -important duties, was haunted all day by one bewitching -image;—a fair sweet face glanced brightly up -from every book he opened, from every paper to -which he referred; and, in his dreams that night, -he led to the altar a second bride, more lovely, more -beloved than the first.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Early the next morning, as May sat teaching -Willie to read, with a demure face, through which -the rebel dimples would peep in spite of her assumed -dignity; while Julia, with a look equally demure, -was bending over an Italian book; Georgy drawing, -and Lizzie hemming a wee bit ’kerchief for her doll—the -Earl entered the school-room from the lawn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Unseen, he paused at the open door to contemplate -the lovely tableau within;—the governess in her -pretty girlish morning dress, with her long ringlets -shadowing half her face and neck, as she bent over -the boy, pointing out to him the word;—Willie by -her side—one hand holding the book, the other his -top, kicking the chair impatiently—first with one -foot, then with the other, and looking round every -minute to see what his sisters were doing;—Georgy -smiling as she drew; Lizzie sitting upright in her -little chair, with a doll almost as large as herself on -her lap, ever and anon trying the ’kerchief round its -neck to see the effect; and the simple, modest Julia, -looking even older than May, with her dark hair -smoothly parted—raising at times her eyes with -looks of loving sympathy to those of the youthful -teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was indeed a sunny scene; but the silence was -broken by the voice of Georgy requesting assistance -in her drawing. The young governess rose, and taking -her offered pencil, retouched the sketch in a few -places, at the same time giving the child directions -how to finish it. Suddenly the pencil trembled in -her hand,—the sweet low voice stopped—went on—faltered—ceased -again, and May burst into tears! -The Earl had stolen behind them to watch the -progress of the drawing. May had felt, rather than -heard, his approach,—and confused by his presence, -half suspecting her own deficiency in the art, yet -afraid to discontinue her directions at once, her face -suffused with blushes, she tried in vain to proceed. -Little Lizzie saw her tears, and springing from her -seat, climbed a chair to caress her, exclaiming, -“Don’t cry! papa won’t hurt you! Papa loves you -dearly—don’t you, papa?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here was a situation! It was now the Earl’s turn -to color; but the artless and innocent May, who -had as yet known only a father’s and a brother’s love, -did not dream of any other in the present case; on -the contrary, she was soothed by the affectionate -assurances of the child, and, smiling through her -tears, looked up confidingly in the Earl’s face. -Charmed with the childlike sweetness of her expression -he could not resist taking her hand, with almost -paternal tenderness, in his, while May, reassured by -the gentleness of his manner, ventured to acknowledge -her own ignorance, and to request his assistance -in the sketch before them. This, to the delight of all, -he willingly consented to give, and when, at two -o’clock, the nurse came to take the children to dinner, -she found May seated alone at the table, intent -on a newly commenced drawing—the Earl leaning -over her chair and instructing her in its progress—Julia -singing “Love’s Young Dream,” and the three -children gone no one knew where.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next day, and the next, the Earl was still to be -found in the school-room, sometimes spinning Willie’s -top, sometimes reading an Italian author aloud to his -daughter and her governess—often sharing the book -with the latter, and oftener still, blending his rich and -manly voice with hers as she sang to the harp or -piano. One day a visiter asked Willie how he liked -his new governess? “Oh!” said the boy, “<span class='it'>papa</span> is -governess now. May is only our sister, and we are -all <span class='it'>so</span> happy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus passed a year—Julia and May daily improving -under their indulgent and unwearied teacher—and -imparting in their turn instruction to the younger -branches of the family. May had confided to Julia -all her little history. She had written often to her -father, and had received many letters in return. -From one of them she learned, to her great joy and -surprise, that Lionel had received his commission -from some unknown friend. At the same time, her -father advised her, as she had engaged for a year, to be -contented until the expiration of it. “Contented!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The last day of the year had arrived—May had -lately been so happy that she had forgotten to think -of being separated from the family she loved so -much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the morning of the day, the Earl was in his -library, Julia making tea, and May on a low ottoman -at his feet, reading aloud the morning paper. -Suddenly she paused, dropped the paper, and covered -her face with her hands. The Earl, alarmed, bent -tenderly over her, and Julia was by her side in a -moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it, dear May?” she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, the paper—look at the paper, Julia!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl caught it up—“Where—tell me where -to look, May?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At the date—the date!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The date—it is the first of June—and what -then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! did I not <span class='it'>come</span> the first of June and must I -not go to-morrow? I am sure I shall never do for a -governess!” and she hid her face on Julia’s shoulder, -and wept afresh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Earl raised her gently—“Perhaps not; but -you will do for something else, sweet May!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For what?” she asked earnestly—half wondering -whether he could mean <span class='it'>housekeeper</span>!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come into the garden with me, dear, dear May, -and I will tell you,” he whispered in her ear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At once the whole truth flashed upon her heart. -“She loved—she was beloved!” She was no longer -a child—that moment transformed her; and shrinking -instantly from his embrace and blushing till -her very temples glowed again—she said in a low -and timid voice, “I think I had better go home -to-morrow—perhaps to-day: my father will expect -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Julia,” said the Earl, “run into the garden, love, -and see to Willie—he is in mischief, I dare say.” His -daughter was out of sight in a moment. May stood -shrinking and trembling, but unable to move. The -Earl gazed, with a feeling bordering upon reverence, -at the young girl, as she stood alone in her innocence. -He drew slowly towards her—hesitated—again -approached, and taking her hand with respectful -tenderness, he said—“You know that I love you, -May—how fondly—how fervently—time must show -for language cannot:—will you—<span class='it'>say</span> you will be -mine—with your father’s consent, dear May—or -say that I may hope!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her whole soul was in her eyes as she raised them -slowly to his and dropped them instantly again -beneath his ardent gaze. “But—papa!” she murmured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We will all go together, and ask ‘papa,’ dearest; -and now for a turn in the garden. You will not refuse -now, love?” And May Evelyn, blushing and smiling, -took his offered arm, wondering what “dear papa -and Lionel” would say to all this.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a lovely evening in the early part of June, -that, while Mr. Evelyn sat dozing in his arm chair -and dreaming of his absent children, a light form -stole over the threshold, and when he awoke, his gray -hair was mingled with the glistening locks of his own -beautiful and beloved May—his head resting on her -shoulder, and her kiss warm upon his cheek!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My Lord,” said May, demurely, as she entered, -with her father, the drawing-room in which the Earl -awaited them—“papa is very glad that I have <span class='it'>given -satisfaction</span>;—he thinks your visit a proof of it—although -he could hardly have expected so much -from his little ignoramus, as he will persist in calling -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear sir,” said the Earl, cordially pressing -the offered hand of his host, “she has given <span class='it'>so much -satisfaction</span>, that I wish, with your consent, to retain -her as <span class='it'>governess</span> for life, not for my children, but -myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reader has already foreseen the conclusion. -Mr. Evelyn’s consent was obtained;—Lionel was -sent for to be present at the wedding;—the ceremony -was quietly performed in the little church of -the village;—and for many succeeding seasons in -London, the graceful and elegant wife of the Earl of -—— was “the observed of all observers,” “the -cynosure of neighboring eyes.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='fan'></a>AN EPISTLE TO FANNY.</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'><span class='sc'>Sweet</span> Fanny, though I know you not,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And I have never seen the splendor</p> -<p class='line0'>That flashes from your hazel eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>  To make the souls of men surrender;</p> -<p class='line0'>Though, when they ask me how you look,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’m forced to say “I never met her,”</p> -<p class='line0'>I hope you will not deem it wrong</p> -<p class='line0'>  If I address to you a letter.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Here in mine own secluded room,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Forgetful of life’s sober duty,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lapped in the stillness of repose,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I sit and muse and dream of beauty;</p> -<p class='line0'>I picture all that’s fair and bright</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which poets sometimes call Elysian,</p> -<p class='line0'>And, ’mid the shapes that round me throng,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Behold one soft, enchanting vision.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A lady—lovely as the morn</p> -<p class='line0'>  When Night her starry mansion closes,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gentle winds with fairy feet</p> -<p class='line0'>  Toss the sweet dew from blushing roses—</p> -<p class='line0'>A lady—to whose lip and cheek</p> -<p class='line0'>  Some twenty summer suns have given</p> -<p class='line0'>Colors as rich as those that melt</p> -<p class='line0'>  Along the evening clouds of Heaven.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Her stature tall, her tresses dark,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Her brow like light in ambush lying,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her hand—the very hand I’d give</p> -<p class='line0'>  The world to clasp if I were dying!</p> -<p class='line0'>Her eyes, the glowing types of love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon the heart they print their meaning—</p> -<p class='line0'>How mild they shine as o’er them fall</p> -<p class='line0'>  Those lashes long their lustre screening!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sweet Fanny, can you not divine</p> -<p class='line0'>  The form that floats before my dreaming,</p> -<p class='line0'>And whose the pictured smiles I see</p> -<p class='line0'>  This moment on my canvass beaming?</p> -<p class='line0'>You cannot! then I’ve failed indeed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To paint a single look I cherish—</p> -<p class='line0'>So, you may cast my lines aside,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And bid them like my memory perish.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My memory! what am I to thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh purest, gentlest, fairest, dearest!</p> -<p class='line0'>Yes, <span class='it'>dearest</span>, though thy glance be cold</p> -<p class='line0'>  When first my humble name thou hearest.</p> -<p class='line0'>Though I am nothing, thou to me</p> -<p class='line0'>  Art Fancy’s best beloved ideal;</p> -<p class='line0'>And well I know the form she paints</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is far less charming than the real.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='doom'></a>THE DOOM OF THE TRAITRESS.<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CROMWELL,” “THE BROTHERS,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>A cold</span> and dark northeaster had swept together a -host of straggling vapors and thin lowering clouds -over the French metropolis—the course of the Seine -might be traced easily among the grotesque roofs -and gothic towers which at that day adorned its -banks, by the gray ghostly mist which seethed up -from its sluggish waters—a small fine rain was falling -noiselessly and almost imperceptibly, by its own -weight as it were, from the surcharged and watery -atmosphere—the air was keenly cold and piercing, -although the seasons had not crept far as yet beyond -the confines of the summer. The trees, for there -were many in the streets of Paris and still more in -the fauxbourgs and gardens of the haute noblesse, -were thickly covered with white rime, as were the -manes and frontlets of the horses, the clothes, and -hair, and eyebrows of the human beings who ventured -forth in spite of the inclement weather. A -sadder and more gloomy scene can scarcely be conceived -than is presented by the streets of a large city -in such a time as that I have attempted to describe. -But this peculiar sadness was, on the day of which I -write, augmented and exaggerated by the continual -tolling of the great bell of St. Germain Auxerrois, -replying to the iron din which arose from the gray -towers of Notre Dâme. From an early hour of the -day the people had been congregating in the streets -and about the bridges leading to the precincts of the -royal palace, the Chateau des Tournelles, which -then stood—long since obliterated almost from the -memory of men—upon the Isle de Paris, the greater -part of which was covered then with the courts, and -terraces, and gardens of that princely pile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Strong bodies of the household troops were posted -here and there about the avenues and gates of the -royal demesne, and several large detachments of the -archers of the prevôt’s guard—still called so from the -arms which they had long since ceased to carry—might -be seen every where on duty. Yet there were -no symptoms of an émeute among the populace, nor -any signs of angry feeling or excitement in the features -of the loitering crowd, which was increasing -every moment as the day waxed toward noon. -Some feeling certainly there was—some dark and -earnest interest, as might be judged from the knit -brows, clinched hands, and anxious whispers which -every where attended the exchange of thought -throughout the concourse—but it was by no means of -an alarming or an angry character. Grief, wonder, -expectation, and a sort of half doubtful pity, as far as -might be gathered from the words of the passing -speakers, were the more prominent ingredients of -the common feeling, which had called out so large a -portion of the city’s population on a day so unsuited -to any spectacle of interest. For several hours this -mob, increasing as it has been described from hour -to hour, varied but little in its character, save that as -the day wore it became more and more respectable -in the appearance of its members. At first it had -been composed almost without exception of artisans -and shop boys, and mechanics of the lowest order, -with not a few of the cheats, bravoes, pickpockets, -and similar ruffians, who then as now formed a fraternity -of no mean size in the Parisian world. As -the morning advanced, however, many of the burghers -of the city, and respectable craftsmen, might be -seen among the crowd; and a little later many of the -secondary gentry and petite noblesse, with well-dressed -women and even children, all showing the -same symptoms of sad yet eager expectation. Now, -when it lacked but a few minutes of noon, long trains -of courtiers with their retinues and armed attendants, -many a head of a renowned and ancient house, many -a warrior famous for valor and for conduct might be -seen threading the mazes of the crowded thoroughfares -toward the royal palace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A double ceremony of singular and solemn nature -was soon to be enacted there—the interment of a -noble soldier, slain lately in an unjust quarrel, and -the investiture of an unwilling woman with the -robes of a holy sisterhood preparatory to her lifelong -interment in that sepulchre of the living body—sepulchre -of the pining soul—the convent cloisters. -Armand de Laguy!—Marguerite de Vaudreuil!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many circumstances had united in this matter to -call forth much excitement, much grave interest in -the minds of all who had heard tell of it!—the singular -and wild romance of the story, the furious and -cruel combat which had resulted from it—and last -not least, the violent, and, as it was generally considered, -unnatural resentment of the King toward -the guilty victim who survived the ruin she had -wrought.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The story was in truth, then, but little understood—a -thousand rumors were abroad, and of course no -one accurately true—yet in each there was a share -of truth, and the amount of the whole was, perhaps, -less wide of the mark than is usual in matters of the -kind. And thus they ran. Marguerite de Vaudreuil -had been betrothed to the youngest of France’s -famous warriors, Charles de La-Hirè, who after a -time fell—as it was related by his young friend and -kinsman, Armand de Laguy—covered with wounds -and honor. The body had been found outstretched -beneath the surviver, who, himself desperately hurt, -had alone witnessed, and in vain endeavored to prevent, -his cousin’s slaughter. The face of Charles -de La-Hirè, as all men deemed the corpse to be, was -mangled and defaced so frightfully as to render recognition -by the features utterly hopeless—yet from -the emblazoned surcoat which it bore, the well-known -armor on the limbs, the signet ring upon the -finger, and the accustomed sword clenched in the -dead right hand, none doubted the identity of the -body, or questioned the truth of Armand’s story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Armand de Laguy, succeeding by his cousin’s -death to all his lands and lordships, returned to the -metropolis, mixed in the gayeties of that gay period, -when all the court of France was revelling in the celebration -of the union of the Dauphin with the lovely -Mary Stuart, in after days the hapless queen of Scotland.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He wore no decent and accustomed garb of mourning—he -suffered no interval, however brief, due to decorum -at least if not to kindly feeling, to elapse before -it was announced that Marguerite de Vaudreuil, the -dead man’s late betrothed, was instantly to wed his -living cousin. Her wondrous beauty, her all-seductive -manners, her extreme youth had in vain pleaded -against the general censure of the court—the world! -Men had frowned on her for awhile, and women -sneered and slandered!—but after a little while, as -the novelty of the story wore away, the indignation -against her inconstancy ceased, and she was once -again installed the leader of the court’s unwedded -beauties.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly, on the very eve of her intended nuptials, -Charles de La-Hirè returned—ransomed, as it turned -out, by Brissac, from the Italian dungeons of the -Prince of Parma, and making fearful charges of -treason and intended murder against Armand de -Laguy. The King had commanded that the truth -should be proved by a solemn combat, had sworn to -execute upon the felon’s block whichever of the -two should yield or confess falsehood, had sworn -that the inconstant Marguerite, who, on the return of -De La-Hirè, had returned instantly to her former -feelings, asserting her perfect confidence in the truth -of Charles, the treachery of Armand, should either -wed the victor, or live and die the inmate of the most -rigorous convent in his realm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The battle had been fought yesterday!—Armand -de Laguy fell, mortally wounded by his wronged -cousin’s hand, and with his latest breath declared his -treasons, and implored pardon from his King, his -kinsman, and his God—happy to perish by a brave -man’s sword not by a headsman’s axe. And Marguerite—the -victor’s prize—rejected by the man she -had betrayed—herself refusing, even if he were willing, -to wed with him whom she could but dishonor—had -now no option save death or the detested cloister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now men pitied—women wept—all frowned -and wondered and kept silence. That a young, vain, -capricious beauty—the pet and spoiled child from her -very cradle of a gay and luxurious court—worshipped -for her charms like a second Aphrodite—intoxicated -with the love of admiration—that such an one should -be inconstant, fickle!—should swerve from her fealty -to the dead!—a questionable fealty always!—and be -won to a rash second love by the falsehood and treasons -of a man, young and brave and handsome—falsehood -which had deceived wise men—that such -should be the course of events, men said, was neither -strange nor monstrous! It was a fault, a lapse of -which she had been guilty, which might indeed make -her future faith suspected, which would surely justify -Charles de La-Hirè in casting back her proffered -hand, but which at the worst was venial, and deserving -no such doom as the soul-chilling cloister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had, they said, in no respect participated in the -guilt, or shared the treacheries of Armand—on the -contrary—she, the victim of his fraud, had been the -first to denounce, to spit at, to defy him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Moreover it was understood that although de La-Hirè -had refused her hand, several of equal and -even higher birth than he had offered to redeem her -from the cloister by taking her to wife of their free -choice—Jarnac had claimed the beauty—and it was -whispered that the Duke de Nevers had sued to -Henry vainly for the fair hand of the unwilling -novice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the King was relentless. “Either the wife of -De La-Hirè!—or the bride of God in the cloister!” -was his unvarying reply. No farther answer would -he give—no disclosure of his motives would he make -even to his wisest councillors. Some indeed augured -that the good monarch’s anger was but feigned, and -that deeming her sufficiently punished already he -was desirous still of forcing her to be the bride of him -to whom she had been destined, and whom she still, -despite her brief inconstancy, unquestionably worshipped -in her heart. For all men still supposed that -at the last Charles would forgive the hapless girl, -and so relieve her from the living tomb that even -now seemed yawning to enclose her. But others—and -they were those who understood the best mood -of France’s second Henry—vowed that the wrath -was real; and felt, that, though no man could -fathom the cause of his stern ire, he never would -forgive the guilty girl, whose frailty, as he swore, had -caused such strife and bloodshed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But now it was high noon, and forth filed from the -palace gates a long and glittering train—Henry and -all his court, with all the rank and beauty of the -realm, knights, nobles, peers and princes, damsels -and dames—the pride of France and Europe. But at -the monarch’s right walked one, clad in no gay attire—pale, -languid, wounded and warworn—Charles de -La-Hirè, the victor. A sad deep gloom o’ercast his -large dark eye, and threw a shadow over his massy -forehead—his lip had forgot to smile! his glance to -lighten! yet was there no remorse, no doubt, no -wavering in his calm, noble features—only fixed, settled -sorrow. His long and waving hair of the darkest -chesnut, evenly parted on his crown, fell down on -either cheek, and flowed over the broad plain collar -of his shirt which, decked with no embroidery lace, -was folded back over the cape of a plain black pourpoint, -made of fine cloth indeed, but neither laced -nor passemented, nor even slashed with velvet—a -broad scarf of black taffeta supported his weapon—a -heavy double-edged straight broadsword, and served -at the same time to support his left arm, the sleeve of -which hung open, tied in with points of ribbon. His -trunk-hose and his nether stocks of plain black silk, -black velvet shoes and a slouched hat, with neither -feather nor cockade, completed the suit of melancholy -mourning which he wore. In the midst of the train -was a yet sadder sight, Marguerite de Vaudreuil, -robed in the snow-white vestments of a novice, with -all her glorious ringlets flowing in loose redundance -over her shoulders and her bosom, soon to be cut -close by the fatal scissors—pale as the monumental -stone and only not as rigid. A hard-featured gray-headed -monk, supported her on either hand—and a -long train of priests swept after with crucifix and -rosary and censer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scarce had this strange procession issued from the -great gates of les Tournelles, the death-bells tolling -still from every tower and steeple, before another -train, gloomier yet and sadder, filed out from the gate -of the royal tilt-yard, at the farther end of which -stood a superb pavilion. Sixteen black Benedictine -monks led the array chanting the mournful <span class='it'>miserere</span>—next -behind these, strange contrast!—strode on the -grim gaunt form, clad in his blood-stained tabard, -and bearing full displayed his broad two-handed axe—fell -emblem of his odious calling!—the public executioner -of Paris. Immediately in the rear of this dark -functionary, not borne by his bold captains, nor followed -by his gallant vassals with arms reversed and -signs of martial sorrow, but ignominiously supported -by the grim-visaged ministers of the law, came on -the bier of Armand, the last Count de Laguy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stretched in a coffin of the rudest material and -construction, with his pale visage bare, displaying -still in its distorted lines and sharpened features the -agonies of mind and body which had preceded his -untimely dissolution, the bad but haughty noble was -borne to his long home in the grave-yard of Notre -Dâme. His sword, broken in twain, was laid across -his breast, his spurs had been hacked from his heels -by the base cleaver of the scullion, and his reversed -escutcheon was hung above his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Narrowly saved by his wronged kinsman’s intercession -from dying by the headsman’s weapon ere -yet his mortal wounds should have let out his spirit—he -was yet destined to the shame of a dishonored -sepulchre—such was the King’s decree, alas! inexorable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The funeral train proceeded—the King and his -court followed. They reached the grave-yard, hard -beneath those superb gray towers!—they reached -the grave, in a remote and gloomy corner, where, in -unconsecrated earth, reposed the executed felon—the -priests attended not the corpse beyond the precincts -of that unholy spot—their solemn chant died mournfully -away—no rites were done, no prayers were -said above the senseless clay—but in silence was it -lowered into the ready pit—silence disturbed only by -the deep hollow sound of the clods that fell fast and -heavy on the breast of the guilty noble! For many -a day a headstone might be seen—not raised by the -kind hands of sorrowing friends nor watered by the -tears of kinsmen—but planted there, to tell of his disgraceful -doom—amid the nameless graves of the -self-slain—and the recorded resting-places of well-known -thieves and felons. It was of dark gray free-stone, -and it bore these brief words—brief words, but -in that situation speaking the voice of volumes.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Ci git Armand</p> -<p class='line0'>Le Dernier Comte de Laguy.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Three forms stood by the grave—stood till the last -clod had been heaped upon its kindred clay, and the -dark headstone planted. Henry, the King! and -Charles, the Baron De La-Hirè; and Marguerite de -Vaudreuil.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And as the last clod was flattened down upon the -dead, after the stone was fixed, De La-Hirè crossed -the grave to the despairing girl, where she had stood -gazing with a fixed rayless eye on the sad ceremony -and took her by the hand, and spoke so loud that -all might hear his words, while Henry looked on -calmly but not without an air of wondering excitement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not that I did not love thee,” he said, “Marguerite! -Not that I did not pardon thee thy brief inconstancy, -caused as it was by evil arts of which we -will say nothing now—since he who plotted them -hath suffered even above his merits, and is—we -trust—now pardoned! Not for these causes, nor for -any of them—have I declined thine hand thus far—but -that the King commanded, judging it in his -wisdom best for both of us. Now Armand is gone -hence—and let all doubt and sorrow go hence with -him! Let all your tears, all my suspicions be buried -in his grave forever. I take your hand, dear Marguerite—I -take you as mine honored and loved bride—I -claim you mine forever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus far the girl had listened to him, not blushingly, -nor with a melting eye; nor with any sign of -renewed hope or rekindled happiness in her pale -features—but with cold resolute attention—but now -she put away his hand very steadily, and spoke with -a firm unfaltering voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be not so weak!” she said. “Be not so weak, -Charles de La-Hirè!—nor fancy me so vain! The -weight and wisdom of years have passed above my -head since yester morning—then was I a vain, -thoughtless girl—now am I a stern wise woman. -That I have sinned is very true—that I have betrayed -thee—wronged thee! It may be, had you spoke -pardon yesterday—it might have been all well! It -may be it <span class='it'>had been</span> dishonor in you to take me to -your arms—but if to do so had been dishonor yesterday, -by what is it made honor now? No! no! -Charles de La-Hirè—no! no!—I had refused thee -yesterday, hadst thou been willing to redeem me, by -self-sacrifice, <span class='it'>then</span> from the convent walls!—I had -refused thee <span class='it'>then</span>, with love warming my heart toward -thee—in all honor! Force me not to reject -thee <span class='it'>now</span> with scorn and hatred. Nor dare to think -that Marguerite de Vaudreuil will owe to man’s -compassion, what she owes not to love! Peace! -Charles de La-Hirè—I say, peace! my last words to -thee have been spoken, and never will I hear more -from thee! And now, Sir King, hear thou—may God -judge between thee and me, as thou hast judged. If -I <span class='it'>was</span> frail and fickle, nature and God made woman -weak and credulous—but made man <span class='it'>not</span> wise, to deceive -and ruin her. If I sinned deeply against this -Baron De La-Hirè—I sinned not knowingly, nor of -premeditation! If I sinned deeply, more deeply was -I sinned against—more deeply was I left to suffer!—even -hadst thou heaped no more brands upon the -burning. If to bear hopeless love—to pine with -unavailing sorrow—to repent with continual remorse—to -writhe with trampled pride!—if these things be -to suffer, then, Sir King, had I enough suffered without -thy <span class='it'>just</span> interposition!” As she spoke, a bitter -sneer curled her lip for a moment; but as she saw -Henry again about to speak, a wilder and higher -expression flashed over all her features—her form -appeared to distend—her bosom heaved—her eye -glared—her ringlets seemed to stiffen, as if instinct -with life “Nay!” she cried, in a voice clear as the -strain of a silver trumpet—“nay! thou <span class='it'>shalt</span> hear -me out—and thou didst swear yesterday I should live -in a cloister cell forever!—and I replied to thy words -<span class='it'>then</span>, ‘not long!’—I have thought better <span class='it'>now</span>—and <span class='it'>now</span> -I answer ‘<span class='it'>never</span>!’ Lo here!—lo here! ye who have -marked the doom of Armand—mark now the doom of -Marguerite! Ye who have judged the treason, mark -the doom of the traitress!” And with the words, before -any one could interfere, even had they suspected -her intentions, she raised her right hand on high, and -all then saw the quick twinkle of a weapon, and -struck herself, as it seemed, a quick slight blow -immediately under the left bosom! It seemed a -quick slight blow! but it had been so accurately -studied—so steadily aimed and fatally—that the keen -blade, scarcely three inches long and very slender, of -the best of Milan steel, with nearly a third of the -hilt, was driven home into her very heart—she spoke -no syllable again!—nor uttered any cry!—nor did a -single spasm contract her pallid features, a single -convulsion distort her shapely limbs! but she -leaped forward, and fell upon her face, quite dead, -at the King’s feet!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Henry smiled not again for many a day thereafter—Charles -De La Hirè died very old, a Carthusian -monk of the strictest order, having mourned sixty -years and prayed in silence for the sorrows and the -sins of that most hapless being.</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'>See the <a href='#duello'>Duello</a>, page 85.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='fun'></a>THE STRANGER’S FUNERAL.</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 N. C. BROOKS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>A solitary hearse without mourner or friend wheeled by me with unceremonious speed. It filled my heart with feelings -of the most chilling desolation, which were augmented perhaps by the peculiar gloom of the evening. I reached the -rude grave in which the corpse was deposited, and learned from the menial who was performing the last rites that it was -a young German of fine talents, with whom I had travelled a few months before, who, far from his home and friends, -had fallen a victim to the prevailing epidemic.—<span class='sc'>Letter of a Friend.</span></p> - -</div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>No</span> solemn bell pealed on the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No train in sable gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Moved slow with the holy man of prayer</p> -<p class='line0'>  To stand around his tomb;</p> -<p class='line0'>The hearse rolled on without sign of love</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the church, in lonely woe,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where bent the solemn heavens above</p> -<p class='line0'>  The opened grave below:</p> -<p class='line0'>But he recked not of the heavens o’ercast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or the yawning gulf of death;</p> -<p class='line0'>For with him Earth’s bitterness had passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ere passed his fleeting breath.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The stranger pressed a lonely bed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No smiles dispelled the gloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the dark and funeral shades that spread</p> -<p class='line0'>  Around his dying room;</p> -<p class='line0'>And his heart with grief did melt,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And he wandered in fevered dreams</p> -<p class='line0'>To the home where the loved of his youth still dwelt,</p> -<p class='line0'>  By the side of his own blue streams:</p> -<p class='line0'>His heart for their voices yearned,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the warm tears fell like rain,</p> -<p class='line0'>As his dying eyes to the home were turned</p> -<p class='line0'>  That he ne’er should see again.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The stranger’s griefs are o’er,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And his body lies alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>From his friends afar on a foreign shore</p> -<p class='line0'>  Without a funeral stone;</p> -<p class='line0'>And long shall voices call,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And midnight tapers burn</p> -<p class='line0'>For him that is bound in death’s cold thrall,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But he shall no more return:</p> -<p class='line0'>He shall return no more</p> -<p class='line0'>  From his lowly sleep in dust,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Till the trump announce death’s bondage o’er,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the “rising of the just.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='step'></a>THE FIRST STEP.</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. EMMA C. EMBURY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Well</span> met, Harry,” exclaimed Edward Morton, -as he encountered his friend Wilford in Broadway, -“I have two questions to ask you. In the first place, -what do you call that odd-looking vehicle in which -I saw you riding yesterday? and in the second, who -was that pretty little sister Ruth seated so demurely -beside you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My new carriage,” said Harry, laughing, “having -been invented by myself, has the honor to bear -my name; it is called a Wilford; I will sell it to you -cheap, if you like it, for that booby Danforth has -ordered one of the same pattern, and I will never -sport mine after he comes out with his.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so because a fool follows your lead you -throw up your cards; you will have enough to do if -you carry out that rule in all your actions. Thank -you for your kind offer; but really I am neither rich -nor fashionable enough to drive about town in such -a Welsh butter-tub. Now, answer my second question; -who is the lady;—has she been named in honor -of the vehicle?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, but she will probably bear the name of its -inventor in due time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can it be possible, Harry? have you really determined -to turn Benedict before the pleasures of freedom -have palled upon your taste? Have you seriously -reflected upon all you are about to relinquish? Have -you thought upon the pleasant <span class='it'>tête-à-têtes</span>, the agreeable -flirtations, the many delicious ‘love-passages’ -which the admired Harry Wilford is privileged to -enjoy while he roves at large, but which will hereafter -be denied to him who wears the clanking fetters -of matrimony?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have thought of every thing, Ned; and, to tell -you the truth, I am beginning to get tired of the aimless, -profitless life I now lead.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And, therefore, you are going to turn merchant -and marry; you will have a considerable amount to -add to profit and loss by these experiments. Pray -who is the enchantress that has woven so wondrous -a spell of transformation?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She bears the primitive name of Rachel, and was -both born and bred in the little village of Westbury, -where, as I am told, a fashionably cut coat or one -of Leary’s hats would be regarded as a foreign curiosity. -She has never stirred beyond the precincts of -her native place until this spring, when she accompanied -a newly married relative to our gay city. Indeed -she has been kept so strictly within the pale of -her society, that if her cousin had not fortunately -married out of it, the lovely Rachel would probably -have walked quietly to meeting with some grave -young broad-brim, and contented herself with a drab -bonnet all her life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So your inamorata is country bred. By Jupiter -I shall begin to believe in the revival of witchcraft. -Is she rich, Harry?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see the drift of your question, Ned; but you -are mistaken if you think I have looked on her -through golden spectacles. She is an orphan with -sufficient property to render her independent of -relatives, but not enough to entice a fortune-hunter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if any one but yourself had told me that -Harry Wilford, with all his advantages of <span class='it'>purse</span> and -<span class='it'>person</span>, had made choice of a little rusticated Quakeress -to be his bride, I could not have believed it,” -said Morton; “pray do you expect this pretty Lady -Gravely to preside at the exquisite dinners for which -your bachelor’s establishment has long been famous? -or do you intend to forego such vulgar enjoyments -for the superior pleasures of playing Darby to Mrs. -Wilford’s Joan in your chimney corner?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No quizzing, Ned,” said Wilford, smiling, -“Rachel has been well educated, and the staid decorum -of the sect has not destroyed her native elegance -of manner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But the <span class='it'>drab bonnet</span>, Harry:—can <span class='it'>you</span>, the pride -of your tailor and the envy of your less tasteful -friends,—<span class='it'>you</span>, the very prince of Broadway exquisites,—you, -the American Brummel, who would as -willingly have been caught picking a pocket, as -wearing a glove two days, a hat two weeks, or a -coat two months,—can you venture to destroy the -reputation which you have acquired at such cost, by -introducing a drab bonnet to the acquaintance of -your be-plumed and be-flowered female friends?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wait awhile, Edward; Rachel has not yet -learned to admire the gayeties of our city; her eyes -have been too long accustomed to the ‘sober twilight -gray,’ and she is rather dazzled than pleased with -the splendor of fashionable society, but she has too -much of womanly feelings to continue long insensible -to womanly vanity.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, success to you, Harry, but let me beg you -to lay an interdict on that ugly bonnet as soon as -you have a right to exercise your marital authority.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wilford laughed, and the two gentlemen parted; -the one to fulfil an engagement with the pretty -Quakeress, and the other to smoke a cigar, drink a -mint julep, and laugh at his friend’s folly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harry Wilford had been so unlucky as to come -into possession of a large fortune as soon as he -attained his majority. I am not in error, gentle -reader, when I say he was <span class='it'>unlucky</span>, for daily experience -bears witness to the fact, that in this country, -at least in nine cases out of ten, a large inheritance -is a great misfortune. The records of gay life in -every large city prove that the most useless, most -ignorant, most vicious, and often the most degraded -among the youth, are usually the sons of plodding -and hoarding parents, who have pawned health and -happiness, aye, and sometimes <span class='it'>integrity</span>—the very -life of the soul—to procure the gold which brings -the destruction of their children. Wilford had -passed through college with the reputation of being -one of the most gifted and most indolent of scholars, -while his eccentric fits of study, which served to -give him the highest rank in his class, only showed -how much more he might have done, if industry and -perseverance had been allowed to direct his pursuits. -Like his career in the university had been his course -through life. With much latent energy of character -he was too infirm of purpose to become distinguished -either for virtue or talent. The curse of Ephraim -seemed to have fallen upon the child of prosperity, -and the impressive words of the ancient Patriarch: -“Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,” might -have shadowed forth his destiny. His fine talents -were wasted in empty witticisms; his classical taste -only served to direct his lavish expenditure, and his -really noble feelings were frittered away in hollow -friendship, or in transitory attachments. Handsome, -brilliant, and, above all, rich, he became the idol of -a coterie, and intoxicated by the incense which -smoked before him, he did not perceive that its subtle -influence enervated all his nobler faculties. Yet Wilford -had escaped the contagion of vice. The dark -stain of criminal excess, which too often sullies the -cloth of gold more deeply than it does the coat of -frieze, had never fallen upon his garments. He could -not forget the trembling hand which had been laid -upon his infant head when he offered up his innocent -prayers at a mother’s knee. He remembered -her dying supplication that her child might be kept -“unspotted from the world,” and her gentle face, -beaming with unutterable purity and love, often -interposed itself between his and his tempter, when -his heart would have failed from very weakness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harry Wilford had completed his thirtieth summer -and yet he was a bachelor. The artillery of -bright eyes and brighter smiles had been levelled at -him in vain; the gentler weapons of sweet words -and soft glances had been equally ineffectual. His -heart had been captured again and again, but it -was a far easier task to <span class='it'>gain</span> than to <span class='it'>keep</span> it. Indeed -it was like an ill-garrisoned border fortress, and -generally surrendered at discretion to the first enemy -that sat down before it, who was sure to be -soon driven out in turn by another victorious assailant. -He was too universal a lover, and until, like -Apelles, he could unite in one woman the charms -which he admired in twenty, there seemed little -probability of his ever being won to wear the chain. -The truth was, that of the many who courted the -attentions of the handsome Mr. Wilford, there was -none that seemed to have discovered the fine gold -which lay beneath the surface of his character. The -very exuberance of flowers and fruit which the soil -produced, prevented one from expecting any hidden -treasure, for it is not often that the precious things -of earth are found beneath its gay adornments. We -look for the diamond, not under the bank of violets -but in the rugged bosom of the mountain, and thus -Wilford’s friends, content with the beautiful blossoms -of fancy and wit which he lavishly flung around, -suspected not the noble gifts of intellect which he -possessed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wilford had frequently imagined himself in love, -but something had always occurred to undeceive him -and to resolve his pleasant fancies with very disagreeable -facts. He had learned that the demon of -selfishness often lurks under the form of an angel of -light, and he began to distrust many of the fair beings -who bestowed upon him their gentle smiles. He had -received more than one severe lesson in human -nature, and it was very soon after officiating as -groomsman at the bridal of a lovely girl whose faith -had once been pledged to him, that he first met the -young and guileless Quakeress. There was something -so pure and vestal-like in the delicate complexion, -soft blue eye, and simply braided hair of the -gentle Rachel, that Wilford was instantly charmed. -His eye, so long dazzled with the gorgeous draperies, -glittering jewels, and well-displayed beauties of -fashionable belles, rested with a sense of relief on -the sober French gray silk, and transparent lawn -neckerchief which so carefully shaded the charms -of the fair rustic. He saw the prettiest of tiny feet -peeping from beneath a robe of far more decorous -length than the laws of fashion then allowed—the -whitest of white hands were unadorned by a single -jewel—and the most snowy of necks was only discovered -by the swan-like grace which rendered it -visible above its envious screen of muslin. Even in -the society of Friends, where a beautiful complexion -is almost as common to the females as a pair of eyes -to each face, Rachel was remarkable for the peculiar -delicacy of hers. It was not of that waxy, creamy -tint, so often considered the true fashionable and -aristocratic complexion, because supposed to be an -evidence that the “winds of heaven” have never -visited the face except through the blinds of a carriage; -nor was it the flake-white and carmine-red -which often claims for its possessor the reputation of -a brilliant tincture of the skin. Even the old and -worn-out similes of the lily and the rose, would have -failed to give an idea of the delicate hues which -added such a charm to Rachel’s countenance, for the -changing glow of her soft cheek, and the tracery of -blue veins which adorned her snowy brow could -never be imaged by a flower of the field. Harry -Wilford thought he had never seen anything so -exquisitely lovely, so purely fair, as that sweet face -when in perfect repose, or so vividly bright as it -seemed when lighted by the blush of modesty. There -are some faces which require shadows to perfect -their beauty; the eye, though bright, must flash -beneath jetty lashes; the brow, though white, must -gleam amid raven tresses or half the effect is lost. -But Rachel’s face, like that of joyous childhood, was -all light. Her hair was silky and soft as an infant’s, -her eyes blue as the summer heaven, her lips like an -opening rose-bud—it was a face like spring sunshine, -all brightness and all beauty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rachel had been left an orphan in her infancy, and -the relatives to whom she was indebted for her -early nurture were among the straitest of a strait -sect, consequently she had imbibed their rigid ideas -of dress and manners. Indeed she had never wasted -a thought upon the pomps and vanities of the ‘world’s -people,’ until she visited the gay metropolis. The -sneers which her plain dress occasioned in the circle -where she now moved, and the merry jibes which -young and thoughtless companions cast upon her -peculiar tenets of faith, aroused all the latent pride -of her nature, until she actually felt a degree of -triumph in exhibiting her quaint costume in society.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If Wilford had been charmed with her beauty, he -was in raptures with her unsophisticated character. -After ringing the changes on <span class='it'>sentiment</span> until his feelings -were ‘like sweet bells jangled out of tune,’ it -was absolutely refreshing to find a damsel who had -never hung enraptured over the passionate pages of -Byron, nor breathed the voluptuous songs of Moore, -but who, in the simplicity of her heart, admired and -quoted the gentle Cowper, as the prince of poets. -“She has much to learn in the heart’s lore,” said -Wilford to himself, “and what pleasure it will be to -develop her innocent affections.” So he offered his -hand to the pretty Quakeress, and she, little versed in -the arts of coquetry, modestly accepted the gift.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning Rachel sat by the window, looking -out upon the gay throng in Broadway, when her -cousin entered with a small packet in her hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here is something for you, Rachel, a love token -I suppose,” said Mrs. Hadley. Rachel blushed as -she opened the envelope, but her color deepened to -an almost angry hue when she unclosed a morocco -box, and beheld an exquisite set of pearls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beautiful!” exclaimed Mrs. Hadley.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall not keep them,” said Rachel quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not keep them! pray why?” asked her cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because I should never wear them, and because -Mr. Wilford has not kept his word with me. He -promised never to interfere with what he called my -style of dress, and I told him I would never lay aside -my plain costume, though I was willing to modify it -a little for his sake.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here he comes to answer for himself,” said Mrs. -Hadley as Wilford entered. “You are just in time,” -she continued, “for Rachel is very angry with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rachel could not repress a feeling of pride and -pleasure as she looked on the graceful form of her -lover, who, taking a seat beside her, whispered, “Are -you indeed displeased with me, dearest? Pray what -is my offence?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She replied by placing in his hand the box of -pearls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you then reject so simple an offering of affection, -Rachel?” said Harry, “you should regard -these gems not as the vain ornaments of fashion, but -as the most delicate and beautiful productions of -the wonderful world of ocean. Look, can any thing -be more emblematical of purity?” and as he spoke he -placed a pearl rose upon the soft golden hair which -was folded above her white forehead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rachel did look, and, as the large mirror reflected -her beautiful face, she was conscious of an impulse, -(almost her very first) of womanly vanity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot wear them, Harry,” said she, “necklace -and bracelets would be very useless to one who -never unveils either neck or arms, and such costly -head-gear would be ill suited to my plain silk dress, -and lawn cape.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wilford had too much tact to press the subject. -The box was consigned to his pocket, and the offence -was forgiven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute</span>,” said he, -as he walked home, “my fifteen hundred dollars has -been thrown away for the present; I must proceed -more cautiously in my work of reform.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning fixed for the marriage at length -arrived. Rachel was in her apartment, surrounded -by her friends, and had just commenced her toilet, -when a small parcel, accompanied by a delicate -rose-colored note, was placed in her hands. She, -of course, opened the note first; it was as follows:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me, my sweet Rachel, if on this morning -I venture to suggest a single addition to your simple -dress. There are always idle persons standing about -the church door on such an occasion as a wedding, -and I am foolish enough to be unwilling that the careless -eye of every indifferent spectator should scan the -exquisite beauty of your face to-day. There is -something extremely painful to me in the thought -that the blushing cheek of my fair bride should be -the subject of cold remark. Will you not, for my -sake, dearest, veil the rich treasure of your loveliness -for one brief hour? I know I am selfish in making -the request, but for once forgive my jealousy, and -shade your brightness from the stranger’s gaze.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The parcel contained a Brussels lace veil of surpassing -richness, so delicate in its texture, so magnificent -in its pattern that Rachel could not repress an -exclamation of pleasure at the sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her toilet was at length completed. A dress of -plain white satin, finished at the neck by a chemisette -of simple lace, her hair folded plainly around her -small head and plaited in a single braid behind:—such -was the bridal attire of the rigid little Quakeress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the veil, Rachel,” whispered her cousin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, rather than shock Harry’s delicacy,” said -she, half smiling, “I believe I will wear it, but I -shall look very ridiculous in it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The veil fell in rich folds nearly to her feet, and -nothing could be imagined more beautiful than her -whole appearance in this plain but magnificent costume.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You want a pearl comb, or something of the -kind, to fasten this veil properly,” said one of the -bridesmaids.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a pity you had not kept the box,” whispered -her cousin. Rachel smiled as she replied, -“if I had ever dreamed of wearing such an unusual -appendage as this perhaps I might have retained the -rose at least.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rachel had taken the <span class='it'>first</span> step when she consented -to adopt the veil, the second would have cost her less -trouble.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Immediately after the ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. -Wilford set off for the Springs. A servant had preceded -them with their baggage, and Rachel soon -found herself in the midst of a more brilliant circle -than she had yet seen. The day after their arrival -she was preparing for a ride, and a crowd had collected -on the piazza to admire Wilford’s elegant -equipage and fine blood-horses. But an unforeseen -annoyance had occurred to disturb the bride’s feelings. -Attired in a dress of dark lavender-colored -silk, she folded her white cashmere around her -shoulders, and opened the band-box which contained -her bridal hat. This had only been sent home on the -morning of her marriage, and having been instantly -forwarded with the other baggage, she had not yet -seen it. How was she startled therefore to find, -instead of the close cottage hat which she had ordered, -as the nearest possible approach to her Quaker -bonnet, a gay-looking French affair, trimmed with a -wreath of lilies of the valley. What was to be done? -it was impossible to procure another, and to despoil -the bonnet of its flowers gave it an unfinished and -slovenly appearance. Harry affected to condole with -her, and finally persuaded her to wear it rather than -expose herself to the charge of affectation by -assuming her travelling calash.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute</span>,” said he, -to himself, as he saw the blush mantle her lovely -cheek when she contemplated her reflection in the -mirror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What shall I do?” exclaimed Rachel, “it does -not half cover my head; I never wore such a flaunting, -flaring thing in my life: I wish I had my veil, -for I am actually ashamed of myself: ah, here it is, -coz must have put it into the box, and I dare say it -is she who has played me this trick about my bonnet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So, throwing on her splendid veil to hide her unwonted -finery, Rachel took her husband’s arm and -entered the carriage, leaving the gentlemen to admire -her beauty and the ladies to talk about her magnificent -Brussels.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Six months after her marriage Mrs. Wilford was -dressing for a party; Monsieur Frisette had arranged -her beautiful hair in superb ringlets and braids, and -was just completing his task when the maid accidentally -removing her embroidered handkerchief -from the dressing-table discovered beneath it the box -of pearls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah voilà Madame, de very ting—dat leetle rose -vill just do for fix dese curl,” said Monsieur.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she continued her toilet she found that Madame -M*** had trimmed the corsage of her dress in such -a manner as to preclude the possibility of wearing -either cape or scarf according to her usual habit. -She could not appear with her neck quite bare, and -nothing remained but to cover it with the massy -medallions of her pearl necklace. In short, when -fully dressed for the party, some good reason had -been found for adopting every ornament which the -box contained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just as I expected,” said Wilford, mentally, as -he conducted her to the carriage, “Rachel has taken -the <span class='it'>first step</span>, she will never put on the drab bonnet -again.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>* * * * *</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three years after the events just recorded, the -fatal red flag of the auctioneer was seen projecting -from one of the upper windows of a stately house, -and crowds of the idle, the curious, and the speculating -were entering the open door. It was the residence -of Harry Wilford.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, how things will turn out,” said a fat, -frowsy dame, as she seated herself on a velvet sofa -and drew a chair in front of her to keep off the -throng, “sit down Charlotte,” continued she, addressing -a newly married niece, “sit down and let -us make ourselves comfortable until the auctioneer -has done selling the kitchen furniture. Only think—the -last time I was here before Mrs. Wilford had a -great party, and the young folks all came in fancy -dresses, and I sat on this very sofa. That is only -three months ago, and now everything has gone to -rack and ruin.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did it all happen?” asked a pleasant-looking -woman who stood near.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Mrs. Wilford was awfully extravagant, and -her husband thought there was no bounds to his -riches, so they lived too fast; ‘burnt their candle at -both ends,’ as the saying is. They say Mrs. Wilford -hurried on her husband’s ruin, for he had been speculating -too deeply, and was in debt, but his creditors -would have waited if she had not given that last -dashing party.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you know that fact!” asked the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, from the best authority, my husband is one -of the principal creditors,” replied the dame with a -look of dignity, “he told me the whole story as we -were going to the party, and declared that he would -not stand such dishonest dealings, so the very next -morning he was down upon Mr. Wilford, and before -twelve o’clock he had compelled him to make an -assignment.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And it was among such people—men and women -who would sit at the hospitable board with murder -in their hearts—who would share in the festivities -of a household even while meditating the destruction -of that pleasant home—it was among such as -these that Wilford had lived—it was for such as -these that he had striven to change the simple habits -and artless manners of his true-hearted Rachel. It -was the dread laugh of such as these which had led -him to waste her energies as well as his own in the -pursuit of fashion and folly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wilford had succeeded even beyond his intentions -in imbuing his gentle bride with a love for worldly -vanities. His wishes delicately but earnestly expressed, -together with the new-born vanity which -her unwonted adornments engendered in the bosom -of Rachel, gradually overcame her early habits. -One by one the insignia of her simple faith were -thrown aside. Her beautiful neck was unveiled to -the admiring eye—her ungraceful sleeve receded -until the rounded arm was visible in its full proportions—the -skirt, following the laws of fashion, lost -several degrees of longitude, until the beauty of Mrs. -Wilford’s foot was no longer a disputable fact. In -short, in little more than two years after her marriage, -her wealth, her beauty, her elegance of manners, -and her costly dress made her decidedly a leader -of ton. Wilford could not but regret the change. -She was ever affectionate and devoted to him with -all the earnestness of womanly tenderness, but he -was ashamed to tell her that in obeying his wishes -she had actually gone beyond them. He hoped that -it was only the novelty of her position which had -thus fascinated her, and yet he often found himself -regretting that he had ever exposed her to such -temptations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But new and unlooked-for trials were in store for -both. The estate of Mr. Wilford had always been -managed by his uncle, a careful merchant, who, -through the course of his whole life, had seemed to -possess the Midas-like faculty of converting every -thing he touched into gold; and satisfied that, as he -was the old man’s only heir, the property would be -carefully husbanded, Wilford gave himself no trouble -about the matter. But the mania for real estate speculation -had now infected the whole nation. The old -gentleman found himself the ridiculed of many a -bold spirit who had dashed into the stream and -gathered the gold dust which it bore along; he had -long withstood the sneers of those who considered -themselves wise in their generation, because they -were pursuing a gambling scheme of wealth; but at -length he could no longer resist the influence! He -obtained the concurrence of his nephew, and thus -furnished with double means struck boldly out from -the safe haven where he had been ensconced. Every -thing went on swimmingly for a time; his gains -were immense—<span class='it'>upon paper</span>, but the tide turned, and -the result was total wreck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was long ere Wilford became aware of his misfortunes. -Accustomed to rely implicitly on his -uncle’s judgment, he reposed in indolent security -until the tidings of the old man’s bankruptcy and his -own consequent ruin came upon him like a thunderbolt. -He had been too long the child of prosperity -to bear reverses with fortitude. He had no profession, -no knowledge of business, nothing by which -he could obtain a future livelihood; and now, when -habits of luxury had enervated both mind and body, -he found himself utterly beggared. He brooded over -his losses in moody bitterness of spirit long before -the world became acquainted with his situation. He -even concealed them from his wife, from that mistaken -and cruel kindness which thinks to lighten the -blow by keeping it long suspended. “How can I -overwhelm her with sorrow and mortification by -telling her we are beggars?” he cried, in anguish. -“How can I bid her descend from the lofty eminence -of wealth and fashion and retire to obscurity and -seclusion? How can I be sure that she will bear -the tidings with a patient spirit? I have sown within -her young heart the seeds of vanity, and how can I -hope to eradicate now the evils which have sprang -from them? Her own little fortune is all that is now -left, and how we are to live on that I cannot tell. -Rachel cannot bear it—I know she cannot!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His thoughts added new anguish to his regrets, -and months of harrowing dread and anxiety passed -away before Wilford could summon courage to face -manfully his increasing misfortunes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Wilford had long intended to celebrate her -husband’s birth-day by a brilliant party, and, quite -unconscious of the storm which impended over her, -she issued her cards nearly a month previous to the -appointed evening. Harry Wilford knew that the -party ought not to be given; he knew that it would -bring discredit upon him, and perhaps censure upon -his wife, for he was conscious that his affairs were -rapidly approaching a fatal crisis; but he had not -courage to own the truth. He watched the preparations -for the party with a boding spirit; he looked -sadly and fondly upon the brilliant attire of his young -wife as she glided about the gorgeous apartments, -and he felt that he was taking his last glance at happiness -and comfort. The very next day his principal -creditor, a fat, oily-faced, well-fed individual, -remarkable for the regularity of his attendance, and -the loudness of his responses at church—a man -whose piety was carried to such lengths that in the -fear lest his left hand should know the good which -his right hand did, he was particularly careful never -to do <span class='it'>any</span>—a man who would sit first at a feast and -store up the careless sayings of convivial frankness -to serve his own interest in the mart and the market-place—this -man, after pledging him in the wine-cup -and parting from him with the cordial grasp of -friendship, met him with a legal demand for that -which he knew would ruin him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fatal tidings could no longer be withheld from -Mrs. Wilford, and she was roused from the languor -which the fatigue of the preceding evening had left -both on mind and body, by the tidings of her husband’s -misfortunes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is as I feared,” thought Wilford, as he observed -her overwhelming emotion, “she cannot bear -the degradation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he was mistaken. There is a hidden strength -of character which can only be developed by the -stroke of calamity, and such was possessed by -Rachel Wilford. A moment, and but a moment, she -faltered; then she was prepared to brave the worst -evils of her altered fortunes. Wilford soon found -that she had both mind to comprehend and judgment -to counsel. Ere the morrow had passed half his -sorrow was assuaged, for he had found comfort and -even hope in the bosom of his young and devoted -wife. There was only one thing over which she -still deeply grieved, and this was her fatal party.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Had you only confided in me, Harry,” said she, -“worlds would not have tempted me to place you -and myself in so dishonorable a light. How could -you see me so unconscious of danger and treading -so heedlessly on the verge of ruin without withdrawing -me from it? Your own good name, Harry, -aye, and <span class='it'>mine</span> too, have suffered. Our integrity has -been doubted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did it for the best, Rachel; I would have spared -you as long as possible.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was most ill-judged kindness, Harry; it has -ruined you and deeply injured me. Believe me, a -wife is infinitely happier in the consciousness that -she possesses her husband’s confidence, than in the -discovery that she has been treated like a petted -child; a being of powers too limited to understand -his affairs or to be admitted to his councils.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Wilford did not merely meet her reverses -with fortitude. She was resolved to act as became -a high-minded woman. Her jewels were immediately -disposed of, not stealthily, and as if she -dreaded exposure, but by going openly to the persons -from whom they were purchased; and thus -realizing at least two-thirds of their original cost. -This sum she immediately appropriated to the payment -of household debts; and with it she satisfied -the claims of all those who had supplied them with -daily comforts. “I could not rest,” she said, “if I -felt there was one person living who might say I -wronged him out of the very bread I have eaten.” -The furniture was next given up—nothing was reserved—not -even the plate presented by her own -friends, nor the work-box, the gift of Harry. Lodgings -quiet and respectable but plain and cheap were -taken in a private boarding-house. Every vestige -of their former splendor was gone, and when all was -over, it was with a feeling of relief that the husband -and wife sat down together to form plans for the -future. The past seemed like a troubled dream. -Scarcely six months had elapsed since their stately -mansion had been the scene of joyous festivity, and -the very suddenness with which distress had come -seemed to have paralysed their sense of suffering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I received a proposal to-day, Rachel, which I -would not accept without consulting you,” said -Harry, as they sat together in their neatly furnished -apartment. “Edward Morton offers me the situation -of book-keeper, with a salary of a thousand dollars -per annum.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take it, by all means, dear Harry,” said his -wife, “constant employment will make you forget -your troubles, and a thousand dollars,” added she, -with a bright smile, “will be a fortune to us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose I had better accept his offer,” said -Wilford, gloomily, “but it cuts down a man’s pride to -be reduced to the condition of a hireling.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not make me ashamed of my husband, dear -Harry,” was the earnest reply, “do not suffer me to -blush for the weakness and false pride which can -think only of external show. We can live very -comfortably on your salary, especially when we -have the consciousness of integrity to sweeten our -privations.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You forget that you are not quite so much a beggar -as your husband, Rachel. The interest of your -twenty thousand dollars, added to my salary, will give -us something more than the mere comforts of life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean, Harry?” asked his wife, -turning very pale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why you do not suppose I was scoundrel enough -to risk your little property, Rachel; that was secured -you by a marriage settlement, and no creditor can -touch it unless you should assign it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rachel made no reply but fell into a long fit of -musing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was but a few days after this conversation that -Wilford, conquering his false pride, entered upon his -duties in the counting-room of his old friend Morton. -He returned early in the evening, wearied, sad, and -dispirited, but his wife met him with a face so bright -that he almost forgot the annoyances of the day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How happy you look, Rachel,” said he, as she -drew her chair beside his and laid her hand upon -his arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am indeed happy, dear Harry, for I am now -no richer than yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t understand you,” replied Wilford with -a puzzled look.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You gave me a most unpleasant piece of news -yesterday, Harry, when you told me that my paltry -little fortune had been preserved from your creditors, -and now I am happy in the consciousness that no -such reproach can attach to us. I have been closeted -with your lawyer this morning; he told me about -twenty thousand dollars would clear off all claims -against you, and by this time I suppose you are free.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What have you done?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Handed over my marriage settlement to your -assignees, Harry”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And reduced yourself to a bare subsistence, -Rachel, to satisfy a group of gaping creditors who -would swallow my last morsel if they knew I was -left to starve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The debts were justly due, Harry, and I would -rather that the charge of illiberality should attach to -them than of dishonesty to us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have never known the evils of poverty, my -poor child,” said Wilford, despondingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor do I mean to experience them now, dear -husband; you will not let me want for comforts, and -you seem to forget that, though you have tried to spoil -me, my early habits were those of economy and -frugality.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So you mean to adopt your simple Quaker habits -again, Rachel,” said Wilford, more cheerfully; “will -they include the drab bonnet also?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” returned the young wife, her face dimpled -with joyous smiles, “I believe now that as much -vanity lurked under my plain bonnet as ever sported -on the wave of a jewelled plume; and yet,” said -she, after a moment’s pause, “when I threw off my -Quaker garb I took my first step in error, for I can -trace all my folly, and extravagance, and waste of -time to the moment when I first looked with pleasure -in that little mirror at Saratoga.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, well, dearest, your first step has not led -you so far astray but that you have been able most -nobly to retrace your path. I am poorer than I ever -expected to be, yet richer than I could ever have -hoped, for had I never experienced a reverse of fortune, -I should never have learned the worth of my -own sweet wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harry Wilford was right, and the felicity which -he now enjoys in his own quiet and cheerful home—a -home won by his own industry and diligence—is -well worth all the price at which it was purchased, -even though it cost him his whole estate.</p> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='aga'></a>AGATHÈ.—A NECROMAUNT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>IN THREE CHIMERAS.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>       CHIMERA II. (Continued.)</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The ship! that self-same ship, that Julio knew</p> -<p class='line0'>Had passed him, with her panic-stricken crew,</p> -<p class='line0'>She gleams amid the storm, a shatter’d thing</p> -<p class='line0'>Of pride and lordly beauty; her fair wing</p> -<p class='line0'>Of sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone!</p> -<p class='line0'>Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on</p> -<p class='line0'>Through waters that are battling to and fro,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow</p> -<p class='line0'>Over her deck.—Ahead, and there is seen</p> -<p class='line0'>A black, strange line of breakers, down between</p> -<p class='line0'>The awful surges, lifting up their manes</p> -<p class='line0'>Like great sea-lions. Quick and high she strains</p> -<p class='line0'>Her foaming keel—that solitary ship!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap</p> -<p class='line0'>The cursed barrier: forward, fast and fast—</p> -<p class='line0'>Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mast</p> -<p class='line0'>Split in a thousand shivers! A white spring</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the exulting sea rose bantering</p> -<p class='line0'>Over her ruin; and the mighty crew</p> -<p class='line0'>That mann’d her deck, were seen, a straggling few,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far scatter’d on the surges. Julio felt</p> -<p class='line0'>The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt,</p> -<p class='line0'>Within his own light bark—a pray’rful man!</p> -<p class='line0'>And clasp’d his lifeless bride; and to her wan,</p> -<p class='line0'>Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.—</p> -<p class='line0'>“Save thou a mariner!” he starteth now</p> -<p class='line0'>To hear that dying cry; and there is one,</p> -<p class='line0'>All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>A fair-hair’d mariner! But suddenly</p> -<p class='line0'>He saw the pale dead ladye by a flame</p> -<p class='line0'>Of blue and livid lightning, and there came</p> -<p class='line0'>Over his features blindness, and the power</p> -<p class='line0'>Of his strong hands grew weak,—a giant shower</p> -<p class='line0'>Of foam rose up, and swept him far along;</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio saw him buffetting the throng</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the great eddying waters, till they went</p> -<p class='line0'>Over him—a wind-shaken cerement!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then terribly he laugh’d, and rose above</p> -<p class='line0'>His soulless bride—the ladye of his love!</p> -<p class='line0'>Lifting him up in all his wizard glee;</p> -<p class='line0'>And he did wave, before the frantic sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>His wasted arm.—“Adieu! adieu! adieu!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrine</p> -<p class='line0'>Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine.</p> -<p class='line0'>And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foam</p> -<p class='line0'>And music-murmurs to thy blessed home—</p> -<p class='line0'>Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that she</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleeps in her holy beauty tranquilly:</p> -<p class='line0'>And when the fair and floating vision breaks</p> -<p class='line0'>From her pure brow, and Agathè awakes—</p> -<p class='line0'>Till then, we meet not; so, adieu, adieu!”</p> -<p class='line0'>Still on before the sullen tempest flew,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark;</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio bent over to the dark,</p> -<p class='line0'>The solitary sea, for close beside</p> -<p class='line0'>Floated the stringed harp of one that died,</p> -<p class='line0'>In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home</p> -<p class='line0'>With madness to his bosom; the white foam</p> -<p class='line0'>Was o’er its strings; and on the streaming sail</p> -<p class='line0'>He wiped them, running with his fingers pale,</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the tuneless notes, that only gave</p> -<p class='line0'>Seldom responses to his wandering stave!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>         O THE HARP.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Jewel! that lay before the heart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of some romantic boy,</p> -<p class='line0'>And startled music in her home,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of mystery and joy!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The image of his love was there;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And, with her golden wings,</p> -<p class='line0'>She swept their tone of sorrow from</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy melancholy strings!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>We drew thee, as an orphan one,</p> -<p class='line0'>  From waters that had cast</p> -<p class='line0'>No music round thee, as they went</p> -<p class='line0'>  In their pale beauty past.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No music but the changeless sigh—</p> -<p class='line0'>  That murmur of their own,</p> -<p class='line0'>That loves not blending in the thrill</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of thine aerial tone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The girl that slumbers at our side</p> -<p class='line0'>  Will dream how they are bent,</p> -<p class='line0'>That love her even as they love</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy blessed instrument.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And music, like a flood, will break</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon the fairy throne</p> -<p class='line0'>Of her pure heart, all glowing, like</p> -<p class='line0'>  A morning star, alone!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Alone, but for the song of him</p> -<p class='line0'>  That waketh by her side,</p> -<p class='line0'>And strikes thy chords of silver to</p> -<p class='line0'>  His fair and sea-borne bride.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Jewel! that hung before the heart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of some romantic boy:</p> -<p class='line0'>Like him, I sweep thee with a storm</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of music and of joy!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And Julio placed the trembling harp before</p> -<p class='line0'>The ladye; till the minstrel winds came o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>Its moisten’d strings, and tuned them with a sigh.</p> -<p class='line0'>“I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by,</p> -<p class='line0'>In music and in love. Oh, Agathè!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will say</p> -<p class='line0'>That seek thee,—‘she is dead—she is no more!’</p> -<p class='line0'>But thou art cold, and I will throw before</p> -<p class='line0'>Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet.”</p> -<p class='line0'>And he did lift it from her marble feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silently</p> -<p class='line0'>Over her brow—the brow of Agathè!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But, as a passion from the mooded mind,</p> -<p class='line0'>The storm had died, and wearily the wind</p> -<p class='line0'>Fell fast asleep at evening, like one</p> -<p class='line0'>That hath been toiling in the fiery sun.</p> -<p class='line0'>And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing</p> -<p class='line0'>Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring</p> -<p class='line0'>Unto the mast—it was a deathly calm,</p> -<p class='line0'>And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam</p> -<p class='line0'>All over the wide sea, and the boat stood,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like her of Sodom, in the solitude,</p> -<p class='line0'>A snowy pillow, looking on the waste.</p> -<p class='line0'>And there was nothing but the azure breast</p> -<p class='line0'>Of ocean and the sky—the sea and sky.</p> -<p class='line0'>And the lone bark; no clouds were floating by</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the sun set, but his great seraph light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Went down alone, in majesty and might;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the stars came again, a silver troop,</p> -<p class='line0'>Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop</p> -<p class='line0'>Before the radiance of these holy gems,</p> -<p class='line0'>That bear the images of diadems!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And Julio fancied of a form that rose</p> -<p class='line0'>Before him from the desolate repose</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the deep waters—a huge ghastly form,</p> -<p class='line0'>As of one lightning-stricken in a storm;</p> -<p class='line0'>And leprosy cadaverous was hung</p> -<p class='line0'>Before his brow, and awful terror flung</p> -<p class='line0'>Around him like a pall—a solemn shroud!—</p> -<p class='line0'>A drapery of darkness and of cloud!</p> -<p class='line0'>And agony was writhing on his lip,</p> -<p class='line0'>Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And ague, and the palsy of the brain—</p> -<p class='line0'>A weird and yellow spectre! and his eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>Were orbless and unpupil’d, as the skies</p> -<p class='line0'>Without the sun, or moon, or any star:</p> -<p class='line0'>And he was like the wreck of what men are,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A wasted skeleton, that held the crest</p> -<p class='line0'>Of time, and bore his motto on his breast!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There came a group before of maladies,</p> -<p class='line0'>And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A double monster, with a gloating leer</p> -<p class='line0'>Fix’d on his other half. They drew them near,</p> -<p class='line0'>One after one, led onward by Despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>That like the last of winter glimmer’d there,—</p> -<p class='line0'>A dismal prologue to his brother Death,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which was behind; and, with the horrid breath</p> -<p class='line0'>Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on.</p> -<p class='line0'>And often as they saw the skeleton</p> -<p class='line0'>Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies</p> -<p class='line0'>Grew mad and howl’d; the fever of disease</p> -<p class='line0'>Became wild frenzy—very terrible!</p> -<p class='line0'>And, for a hell of agony—a hell</p> -<p class='line0'>Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things,</p> -<p class='line0'>On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And some were raving on philosophy,</p> -<p class='line0'>And some on love, and some on jealousy,</p> -<p class='line0'>And some upon the moon, and these were they</p> -<p class='line0'>That were the wildest; and anon alway</p> -<p class='line0'>Julio knew them by a something dim</p> -<p class='line0'>About their wasted features like to him!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But Death was by, like shell of pyramid</p> -<p class='line0'>Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head</p> -<p class='line0'>Shook o’er the wry ribs, where darkness lay</p> -<p class='line0'>The image of a heart—she is away!</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio is watching, like Remorse,</p> -<p class='line0'>Over the pale and solitary corse.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew</p> -<p class='line0'>From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too,</p> -<p class='line0'>Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen!</p> -<p class='line0'>That hast a slave and votary within</p> -<p class='line0'>The great rock-fetter’d deep, and hearest cry</p> -<p class='line0'>To thee the hungry surges, rushing by</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a vast herd of wolves,—fall full and fair</p> -<p class='line0'>On Julio as he sleepeth, even there,</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee</p> -<p class='line0'>With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain</p> -<p class='line0'>Of this death-lover?—still the eyes do strain</p> -<p class='line0'>Their orbs on Agathè—those raven eyes!</p> -<p class='line0'>All earnest on the ladye as she lies</p> -<p class='line0'>In her white shroud. They see not, though they are</p> -<p class='line0'>As if they saw; no splendour like a star</p> -<p class='line0'>Is under their dark lashes: they are full</p> -<p class='line0'>Of dream and slumber—melancholy, dull!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'> * * * * * *</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A wide, wide sea! and on it rear and van</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran</p> -<p class='line0'>All that still night, and Julio with a cry</p> -<p class='line0'>Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'> * * * * * *</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Full three times three, its awful veil of night</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light;</p> -<p class='line0'>And a fair breeze falls o’er the sleeping sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>When Julio is watching Agathè!</p> -<p class='line0'>By sun and darkness hath he bent him over—</p> -<p class='line0'>A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover!</p> -<p class='line0'>And hardly hath he tasted, night or day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of drink or food, because of Agathè!</p> -<p class='line0'>He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like statue in a ruin’d solitude,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>Over the marble of some colonnade.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew</p> -<p class='line0'>Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness,</p> -<p class='line0'>That once were floating in the pure recess</p> -<p class='line0'>Of her bright soul. These are not as they were;</p> -<p class='line0'>But are as weeds above a sepulchre,</p> -<p class='line0'>Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are now</p> -<p class='line0'>Sunk deeply under the discolor’d brow,</p> -<p class='line0'>That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue</p> -<p class='line0'>Unnaturally blending. The same hue</p> -<p class='line0'>Is on her cheek. It is the early breath</p> -<p class='line0'>Of cold corruption, the ban-dog of death,</p> -<p class='line0'>Falling upon her features. Let it be,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gaze awhile on Julio, as he</p> -<p class='line0'>Is gazing on the corse of Agathè!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>In truth, he seemeth like no living one,</p> -<p class='line0'>But is the image of a skeleton:</p> -<p class='line0'>A fearful portrait from the artist tool</p> -<p class='line0'>Of madness—terrible and wonderful!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>There was no passion there—no feeling traced</p> -<p class='line0'>Under those eyelids, where had run to waste</p> -<p class='line0'>All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright;</p> -<p class='line0'>A very cloud was cast upon their light,</p> -<p class='line0'>That gave to them the heavy hue of lead;</p> -<p class='line0'>And they were lorn, lustreless, and dead!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He sate like vulture from the mountains gray,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unsated, that had flown full many a day</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er distant land and sea, and was in pride</p> -<p class='line0'>Alighted by the lonely ladye’s side.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He sat like winter o’er the wasted year—</p> -<p class='line0'>Like melancholy winter, drawing near</p> -<p class='line0'>To its own death. “Oh me! the worm at last</p> -<p class='line0'>Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast</p> -<p class='line0'>Howl by!—Where?—where?—there is no worm to creep</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the waters of the lonely deep;</p> -<p class='line0'>But I will take me Agathè upon</p> -<p class='line0'>This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon,</p> -<p class='line0'>Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unepitaph’d, to cities far below;</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the sea Triton, with his winding shell,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell</p> -<p class='line0'>With many a mariner in his pearly home,</p> -<p class='line0'>In bowers of amber weed and silver foam,</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the crimson corals; we shall be</p> -<p class='line0'>Together, Agathè! fair Agathè!—</p> -<p class='line0'>But thou art sickly, ladye—thou art sad;</p> -<p class='line0'>And I am weary, ladye—I am mad!</p> -<p class='line0'>They bring no food to feed us, and I feel</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>A frost upon my vitals, very chill,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like winter breaking on the golden year</p> -<p class='line0'>Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the dark waves our mourners; and the white,</p> -<p class='line0'>Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright</p> -<p class='line0'>On some fair isle, shall sorrowfully pour</p> -<p class='line0'>Their wail of melancholy o’er and o’er,</p> -<p class='line0'>At evening, on the waters of the sea,—</p> -<p class='line0'>While, with its solemn burden, silently,</p> -<p class='line0'>Floats forward our lone bark.—Oh, Agathè!</p> -<p class='line0'>Methinks that I shall meet thee far away,</p> -<p class='line0'>Within the awful centre of the earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where, earliest, we had our holy birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>In some huge cavern, arching wide below,</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon whose airy pivot, years ago,</p> -<p class='line0'>The world went round: ’tis infinitely deep,</p> -<p class='line0'>But never dismal; for above it sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>And under it, blue waters, hung aloof,</p> -<p class='line0'>And held below,—an amethystine roof,</p> -<p class='line0'>A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>Afar, looks through alternately, like one</p> -<p class='line0'>That watches round some treasure: often, too,</p> -<p class='line0'>Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“And there are shafted pillars, that beyond,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are ranged before a rook of diamond,</p> -<p class='line0'>Awfully heaving its eternal heights,</p> -<p class='line0'>From base of silver strewn with chrysolites;</p> -<p class='line0'>And over it are chasms of glory seen,</p> -<p class='line0'>With crimson rubies clustering between,</p> -<p class='line0'>On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl,</p> -<p class='line0'>And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl,</p> -<p class='line0'>So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad,</p> -<p class='line0'>And tellest me, poor Julio is mad,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he swore</p> -<p class='line0'>A vow to Heaven? Was there no madness then,</p> -<p class='line0'>That he should do—for why?—a holy string</p> -<p class='line0'>Of penances? No penances will bring</p> -<p class='line0'>The stricken conscience to the blessed light</p> -<p class='line0'>Of peace.—Oh! I am lost, and there is night,</p> -<p class='line0'>Despair, and darkness, darkness and despair,</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair</p> -<p class='line0'>Of wild perdition: and I hear them all—</p> -<p class='line0'>All cursing me! The very sun-rays fall</p> -<p class='line0'>In curses, and the shadow of the moon,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the pale star-light, and the winds that tune</p> -<p class='line0'>Their voices to the music of the sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>And thou,—yes, thou! my gentle Agathè!—</p> -<p class='line0'>All curse me!—oh! that I were never, never!</p> -<p class='line0'>Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever</p> -<p class='line0'>Adrift upon the wilderness of Time,</p> -<p class='line0'>That knew no impulse, but was left sublime</p> -<p class='line0'>To play at its own will!—that I were hush’d</p> -<p class='line0'>At night by silver cataracts, that gush’d</p> -<p class='line0'>Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die</p> -<p class='line0'>Away, with all before me passing by.</p> -<p class='line0'>Like a fair vision I had lived to see,</p> -<p class='line0'>And died to see no more!—it cannot be!</p> -<p class='line0'>By this right hand! I feel it is not so,</p> -<p class='line0'>And by the beating of a heart below,</p> -<p class='line0'>That strangely feareth for eternity!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He said, and gazing on the lonely sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud,</p> -<p class='line0'>To westward, a bright island, lifted proud</p> -<p class='line0'>Amid the struggling waters, and the light</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the great sun was on its clifted height,</p> -<p class='line0'>Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror;</p> -<p class='line0'>But the gigantic billows sprung in terror</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon its rock-built and eternal shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>With silver foams, that fell in fury o’er</p> -<p class='line0'>A thousand sunny breakers. Far above,</p> -<p class='line0'>There stood a wild and solitary grove</p> -<p class='line0'>Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughs</p> -<p class='line0'>Was waving now and then, and to and fro,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the pale moss was clustering below.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then Julio saw, and bent his head away</p> -<p class='line0'>To the cold wasted corse of Agathè,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sigh’d; but ever he would turn again</p> -<p class='line0'>A gaze to that green island on the main.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The bark is drifting through the surf, beside</p> -<p class='line0'>Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide;</p> -<p class='line0'>And lightly is it stranded on the shore</p> -<p class='line0'>Of purest silver shells, that lie before,</p> -<p class='line0'>Glittering in the glory of the sun;</p> -<p class='line0'>And Julio hath landed him, like one</p> -<p class='line0'>That aileth of some wild and weary pest;</p> -<p class='line0'>And Agathè is folded on his breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>A faded flower! with all the vernal dews</p> -<p class='line0'>From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues</p> -<p class='line0'>Become as colorless as twilight air—</p> -<p class='line0'>I marvel much, that she was ever fair!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   (End of the second Chimera.)</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sea'></a>DREAMS OF THE LAND AND SEA.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>TAKE ME HOME.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY DR. REYNELD COATES.</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;'>“And all for thee! vile yellow fiend!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>I was</span> wandering in the streets of a populous city—thousands -crowded the thronged thoroughfares—jarring -and jostling along,—each intent on his own -petty schemes. Here, a merchant rushed onward -with a rapid step—for it wanted but five minutes of -three o’clock! If clouds had overspread his countenance -an hour before, they had given place to a -determined expression, that seemed to say, “safe -till to-morrow, anyhow!” There, a belle flaunted -in costly attire, with a curl on her lip and pride in -her tread that spoke, more plainly than words, “conquest -is my right! for my beauty and wealth are -alike undisputed, I have but to smile and win!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At one moment, my eye was attracted by a young -couple in the spring-tide of their promise, associated -by that magic feeling which comes over us but once -in a life-time. At the next, it rested on a pair of -unfortunates with locked arms but gloomy brows -and half averted faces, convinced, by twenty years -of bitter experience, that <span class='it'>it is wise to preserve appearances</span>, -even when doing penance for that most common, -but most fatal indiscretion of youth—an ill-assorted -marriage!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A little girl, upon the door-step of an elegant mansion, -stood gazing upon the passing crowd and the -unbroken line of splendid equipages hurrying by, -glancing her eye occasionally upward at the tall trees -that shielded her from the sunshine, or the bright -blue sky and fleecy vapor which seemed to rest upon -their summits. The breezes of May waved the translucent -ringlets athwart her snowy shoulders, while -the leaves danced and rustled mirthfully in the wind, -and a little bird, upon a neighboring bough, poured -out its joyous song! The child threw back her head -and laughed long and merrily: yet there was nothing -in view to awaken laughter!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Guarded, and clad,—and nourished,—and incognisant -of care,—the bounding pulse of youth felt keenly -in every fibre,—existence itself, with her, became -delight! and she laughed in the fulness of irrepressible -joy—<span class='it'>that the skies were bright and the leaves were -green!</span>—On the pavement beside her, a barefoot and -ragged boy leaned for support against a post. Famine -and fatigue were legibly stampt upon his sunken -cheek and attenuated limbs. The sound of merriment -awakened him, and he turned his dull eye in -wonder upon the beautiful object before him!—But -he comprehended it not!—joy was to him a -stranger!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These, and a hundred other episodes in the selfish -history of common life claimed, in turn, my attention;—and -each might have furnished subject matter -for a month of thought or a volume of moral deduction. -But there was one group so peculiarly striking -that it still dwells upon my memory with more -than usual vividness of coloring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the most luxurious portion of the city, where -palaces of marble and granite rose on every hand, -and the very air was redolent of the incense of -exotic flowers, a coach, dusty with travel, suddenly -drew up before one of the most conspicuous residences. -The liveried footman instantly threw open -the door, and a delicate young girl, with a highly -intellectual, but care-worn and sorrowful expression -of countenance, began to descend the steps. But, -before she could reach the pavement a masculine -arm was projected from the vehicle to arrest her -progress, and a voice, tremulous with age and grief, -exclaimed, “No! no! not here! not here!—Why -will you not take me home!—I must go home!—I am -old and sick!—Do take me home at once!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The attempt to draw the young lady back within -the coach endangered her foot-hold, and courtesy -obliged me to spring to her assistance, lest she -should fall beneath the wheels. Adroitly lifting her -from the carriage while the footman hastened to -ring the bell, I obtained a view of all the parties -interested in this little incident.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The half fainting girl, still leaning upon my arm, -might have numbered about fourteen summers, and -within the coach were two other individuals, in both -of whom the same family traits were visible. One -of these, a woman about thirty-five years of age, -was evidently the mother. She was still beautiful, -though strong traces of habitual thought and mental -suffering were perceptible upon her brow. The -other was a man of noble figure, probably advanced -to seventy years, with locks of snowy whiteness, -but dressed with a degree of richness and precision, -not usually observed among the old. It was evident -that he had been familiar with the world—that -wealth and luxury were no novelties to him. The -forms of society had been his study, if not the business -of his life. Yet, what a satire upon the vulgar -misconceptions of the means of happiness was the -aspect of that face! The broad brow was furrowed -with deep lines of mental distress. The boldly -chiselled nose was thinned, rather by muscular contraction -than by age. The model of the lip still presented -the curve of pride and habitual authority, -contrasting most painfully with the tremor of helpless -suspicion and childish anxiety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why will you not take me home?” he exclaimed -again—and his eye wandered restlessly from side to -side, peering through the door and windows of the -coach, as if in search of some object once familiar—with -an expression of hopeless distress that it was -difficult even to witness with fortitude.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To one familiar with large hospitals, the scene was -clearly intelligible. Insanity from disappointed hope -was mingled with the fatuity of premature old age.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Propriety would have dictated my immediate -retreat, after the necessary care of the ladies in -alighting; but perceiving that the united persuasions -of mother and daughter were likely to fail in -inducing the grandfather to quit the coach without -too strongly inviting public attention towards a private -misfortune, I felt bound to inquire, “May I not -save you, madam! from some embarrassment by -begging you to enter the house? I will engage myself -to place your father under the protection of your -roof, in a very few minutes, and without annoyance.” -Nothing insures such instantaneous confidence -with the gentler sex as self-dependence in a -man, and grave, though courteous authority of manner. -The offer was accepted with a glance of mute -thankfulness, and handing the ladies to the door, I -returned to the carriage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, my dear sir,” I said to the elderly gentleman, -“allow me the pleasure of assisting you to -alight! your horses are a little restive.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir!” he replied; “you are in league with -them!—You lead me from place to place, and every -where you tell me I am at home!—Oh! I shall never -find it!—I wish to repose in my own house, and my -own garden!—<span class='it'>my mother’s house!</span>—and you bring -me here and tell me <span class='it'>this</span> is my house!—Do you think -I have grown so weak and imbecile as not to know -the chamber where I was born?—the garden where -I played when a child?—No!—I will not go in!—They -are kind to me here, but I am not at home!—Do, -take me home!—You seem to think that I cannot -tell the difference between this great palace, -with its rich carpets and its marble columns, and our -own little cottage, with its arbor of grape-vines and -wild-creepers, where my mother used to nurse me -to sleep in the old carved rocking-chair!—Oh! take -me home!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Long habituated to the management of lunatics, I -had learned to guide the tangled reins of a disordered -mind, and found but little difficulty in persuading the -old man to rest awhile in the parlor on the plea of -examining whether his granddaughter, to whom he -was much attached, had not received some injury -by stumbling in her descent from the coach. Seating -him upon an ottoman, it was easy, by the same innocent -deception to withdraw to another apartment in -company with the ladies: and there, after tendering -any further services which their affliction might -render desirable, I heard, with deep attention, the -history of their woes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. A——, the old gentleman, was, as I had -inferred, the father of the elder and the grandsire -of the younger lady. At an early age he came into -hereditary possession of a handsome capital, and a -range of ample stores near the centre of the commercial -mart of ——.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His mother, who was esteemed rich in those early -times (soon after the revolutionary war) retained the -family homestead in addition to her dower; and, in -this venerable mansion, distant about a mile from -the borders of the <span class='it'>then</span> small, but flourishing city, -her son continued to reside; for he preferred the -society of his remaining parent, and the quietude of -rural life in the intervals of business, to the gayer -scenes and more luxurious habits of the town. -Thither, he soon conveyed a young and beautiful -wife; and there his happiest years were spent in -the midst of a family circle bound together by ties -of the warmest affection.—Even their dead were -gathered around them:—for the white monuments -of their departed friends peered over the stone wall -of the family grave-yard, from the grove of funereal -pines behind the garden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this peaceful life of domestic enjoyment was -not destined to continue. Within a few years subsequent -to his marriage, there occurred one of those -sudden revolutions in trade which periodically -sweep, with the force of a deluge, over the commercial -interests of our country.—Mr. A—— was -ruined!—He became dependent upon the resources -of his parent for the support of his wife; but pride -would not permit him to grant the urgent request of -his mother that he would share that support himself; -and he fled his native country for a time, to woo the -breeze of Fortune beneath other stars.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After two long years of toil and danger among the -furs of the North-West, the hides of California, the -<span class='it'>biche-le-mer</span> and birds-nests of the Eastern Archipelagoes, -he arrived at the great entrepot of the Celestial -Empire with a cargo insuring him an ample competence, -just in time to receive intelligence of the -death of his wife, leaving to his charge an only child! -She had been the star of his destiny!—That star was -set, and darkness enshrouded his soul!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Recovering from this terrible shock, he shunned -the very idea of returning to the scene of his former -happiness. She for whom he had braved the deep!—had -toiled—had grappled with the sun of the tropics,—the -ice of the pole—had left him desolate!—the infant, -whom no parent welcomed to this world of trial, -was a stranger to him!—one whom he had never -beheld! and the only remaining link which bound -him to his country was his affection for an aged -mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But who is not aware that the noon of manhood—its -mid-day strife and bustle—are unfavorable to the -glow of filial affection? Maternal love,—the deepest—the -purest—the least selfish of human emotions!—knows -no ebb—no diminution on this side the grave! -Time, which may sap or shatter every other sympathy, -adds strength to this at every revolution of its -fatal glass!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not so the attachment of the offspring!—Like a -delicate flower which sheds its fragrance freely on -the morning or the evening air, but denies all sweetness -to the bold glance of noon, this feeling flourishes -only at the commencement and the close of our -career. When, at length, in the decline of our energies, -both mind and body verge once more towards -the feebleness of infancy, how painfully the affections -of earlier years flow back upon us!—Then -would we gladly repose our aching temples—aching -with the memory of many an unkind word or action—upon -the bosom from which we first drew sustenance! -and we yearn after a mother’s love with a -longing that will not be repressed!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is not surprising that Mr. A——, thus suddenly -cut off by death from her whose welfare had been -the chief purpose of his life, should have buried his -gloom in the cares of business. Such is the usual -resource of those who bound their vision, as, alas! -too many are prone to do! within the narrow limits -of this sublunary theatre of action! For thirty years -he pursued the search of wealth beneath the burning -skies of India, with singleness of purpose and untiring -zeal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He remitted large sums, from time to time, for the -convenience of a mother to whom he was ever dutiful, -and a daughter that he had never seen; but his -letters were cold and formal. His child was married,—he -congratulated her. A grand-child was -born to him;—he sent her his blessing. His daughter -became a widow;—he condoled with her upon her -loss. But nothing could arouse him from his bootless -labor for superfluous gold!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length, as age approached, he felt wearied with -his monotonous existence. With the decline of his -bodily powers came the desire for rest:—with the -weakening of his mental energies, the longing for -sympathy grew stronger and stronger. <span class='it'>He did not -wish to die alone!</span> Dreams of his juvenile days -came over him, and he sighed for the quietude of the -old family mansion, and the warm welcome of his -mother on his return from the cares of business. -When the sudden twilight of the tropics sunk -abruptly into night, he dreamed of the lingering glories -of an American evening. When he heard the cry of -the bramin kite, the harsh call of the adjutant crane, -and the chattering of a thousand obscene birds retiring -to their roosts, gorged with their horrible repast -on the corpses that pollute the Ganges, he longed for -the wild notes of the whip-poor-will, the rushing -sound of the night-hawk, and the melancholy hooting -of the owl, that render night musical in the -bright green woods of his native land.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He knew that the growing city had swept far -beyond the retreat of his earlier days—that many -magnificent residences had risen over the site of his -boyish play-grounds, and that even the relics of his -dead had been removed from their original resting-place, -to make room for the house of the stranger. -He had permitted—<span class='it'>he had even advised these changes</span>, -but, he could not realize them! The old mansion -with its broad elms, the garden, and the pine-grove -with the monuments beneath its shade, were ever -present to his mind, and his letters were painfully -charged with allusions to scenes and persons whose -existence was blotted from the page of history.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With every year, these feelings became more and -more intense, until incipient childishness made its -appearance, and he became affected with a confirmed -nostalogia. At length he closed his concerns, remitted -the unappropriated balance of his earnings, and -launched himself once more upon the ocean, on his -homeward route.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he drew near his native shore, memory retraced -more and more vividly, the scenes of other days, -until his failing intellect began to confuse the present -with the past, and, at times, he dreamed of once -more welcoming the little circle of the loved and -cherished, in the same old wainscotted parlor,—around -the same wide, hospitable, antique fire-place, -where he slept with head reclined upon his mother’s -knee when the presence of company obtained him -the privilege of sitting up an hour beyond his usual -bed time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The vessel neared the port. The pilot, ever the -first to welcome the wanderer home, ascended the -deck and distributed the “papers” of the previous -day. With one of these, Mr. A—— hastily retired -to the cabin. Not even the blue hills of his native -land, now full in sight, could wean him from the -fatal record. His eye glanced rapidly over the -leading article, but the struggle of contending candidates -had no charm for him. He furtively regarded -the items of foreign news;—was shocked at the long -record of crimes and casualties made piquant and -racy with details and comments which the purer -manners of his early years would not have tolerated; -and, for the first time in his life, he turned from the -<span class='it'>price current</span> in disgust, but why did he start, turn -pale, and tremble when his eye rested upon the -ominous black lines that cross the final column of -the second page? The identical paper is still preserved, -and I extract the notice!—Read!</p> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Died, suddenly, of apoplexy, on the 29th inst., in -the 96th year of her age, Mrs. C—— A——, the -venerable relict of the late Hon. W—— A——, and -mother of Mr. H—— A——, the distinguished American -merchant at ——.</p> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<p class='pindent'>The cup was full! There breathed not in the land -of his birth one kindred being to unite him with the -past!—His daughter!—she was a stranger! How -should he recognise her in the stranger crowd!—The -mind, already weakened, was crushed!—The -cracked vase was shivered!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moment the anchor dropped, he leaped into a -boat, and hurried on shore. Calling the nearest -coach he ordered it in haste and sternly, “To ——’s -lane, half a mile from the turnpike gate of the —— -road!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The astonished driver stared as he replied, -“There’s no such lane now, sir! I heard of it -when I was a boy, but it’s all built up long ago, and -I never knew even where it was!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then drive me to my mother’s,” cried Mr. -A——, in a voice almost of fury; and holding forth -the paper, which had never left his hand, he pointed -to the notice. An old man, standing by, struck by -the haggard and maniacal look, perused the article -and simply said, “Drive to the marble building, No. -20 —— Place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The grieving survivers of the family of Mrs. -A—— were sitting silently in the darkened parlor, -on the morning after the funeral, when a loud appeal -at the bell startled the whole household—so ill did it -accord with the silence of grief brooding over all -who had lived under the mild influence of the departed! -A female attendant hurried to the door, and -was instantly thrust to the wall by one who rushed -furiously past her, crying aloud and wildly, “Where -is my wife!—my mother!” Mr. A—— actually -sprang into the presence of the ladies; for he was -endowed for the moment with unnatural strength by -the intensity of feeling. The figure of the elder lady, -as she started to her feet in terror on the sudden intrusion, -appeared to awaken some long dormant recollection, -for he checked, on the instant, his precipitate -advance, regarded her intently for a moment, -and approaching gently, but before her alarm permitted -her to move, he laid his hands upon her -shoulders, and read her features with a steady and -protracted gaze that seemed to search her very -soul! “No! no!” he cried, “You are not my -Jane!” and fainted at her feet.</p> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<p class='pindent'>In the cemetery of ——, where the eye stretches -wide and far over beautiful wooded slopes and a -broad expanse of water—rock, ravine, spire, hamlet, -and the distant city—where all is peace, and the -weary soul is tempted to covet the repose of those -who wait beneath,—now rest the remains of Mr. A——.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well!”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Standing beside his grave, as the moon-beams -flickered on the marble, contending with the shadows -of o’erhanging leaves that rustled in the night-breeze, -I thought how rapidly every haunt of my -own bright, holiday youth was yielding to the inroads -of another populous capital. The pond on which we -used to ply the armed heel when winter ruled the -year, has disappeared.—Its site is occupied with -civic palaces. The shady glen where the winged -hours of starry summer nights flew all unheeded by -in converse with the loved who are no more, lies -bare and sered beneath the August sun!—The very -stream that wound so gracefully among the trees is -dry!—The dews of heaven that fed its crystal -sources fall now in vain upon a mountain mass of -marble—column,—plynth and dome—rising in mockery -of <span class='it'>posthumous benevolence</span>,—a long enduring -witness of perverted trust! Where are the few and -fondly cherished who shared the converse of those -happy hours?—One lies deep in the coral groves of -the Hesperides!—One fell a victim to a philanthropic -spirit when the plague of Indoostan ravaged the -vallies of the West!—Another!—Strangers tread -lightly round his narrow house in the gardens of -Père-la-Chaise!—The last—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Peace to thy broken heart and early grave!”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>But why repeat these woes that are the lot of -all?—Who is there that has learned the value of the -baubles that entice us <span class='it'>here</span>—Wealth! Fame! Power! -or sublunary Love!—but will join in the secret aspiration -with which I left the silent resting-place of -a perturbed spirit—“Take! oh! Take me home!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='west'></a>WESTERN HOSPITALITY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Hard</span> by I’ve a cottage that stands near a wood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A stream glides in peace at the door,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where all who are weary, ’tis well understood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Receive hospitality’s store.</p> -<p class='line0'>To cheer that the brook and the thicket afford,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The stranger we freely invite:</p> -<p class='line0'>You’re welcome to come and partake at the board,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And afterwards rest for the night.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The birds in the morning will sing from the trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And herald the young god of day;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then with him uprising, depart if you please,</p> -<p class='line0'>  We’ll set you refresh’d on your way.</p> -<p class='line0'>Your coin for this service we sternly reject,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No traffic for gain we pursue,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all the reward that we wish or expect,</p> -<p class='line0'>  We take in the good that we do.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Mankind are all travellers on life’s rugged road,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And myriads would wander astray</p> -<p class='line0'>In seeking eternity’s silent abode</p> -<p class='line0'>  Did mercy not point out the way.</p> -<p class='line0'>If all would their duty discharge as they should,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To those that are helpless and poor,</p> -<p class='line0'>The world would resemble my cot near the wood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And life the sweet stream at my door.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><h1><a id='lady'></a>THE LADY AND THE PAGE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A STORY OF MOORISH SPAIN.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MARY S. PEASE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Many</span> years ago there dwelt, not far from Seville, -in a castle so old it was a wonder what kept it from -tumbling down, a Spanish hidalgo, remarkable for -but two things—a very beautiful daughter, and the -very strict manner in which he secluded her from -the world. In every other respect this hidalgo was -like other hidalgos, full of pride, sporting a pair of -Spanish mustachios, and wearing a stiletto by his -side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wonderful beauty of his daughter, the Doña -Ysabel, had somehow—in spite of the seclusion in -which she was kept—become proverbial, and the -fame thereof had spread from Gibraltar to the -Pyrenees. Not a caballero of that chivalric country -but would have given his best steed for one glance -from the eyes of the hidalgo’s daughter—eyes which -shrouded under their long lashes, were like diamonds -winning across the midnight. Her hair was -silky and soft, darker and more glossy than the -raven’s wing—and in such luxuriance did it grow -that she might almost have hid herself in it, as did -“the lady of the golden locks” in the fairy tale. -Her face was fitful as an April day. It was the clear -and faithful mirror to the warmest, purest heart in -all Spain. And never did a young heart beat within -a lighter and more graceful form than that of the -Doña Ysabel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The castle where the hidalgo resided with his -daughter was built on a rocky eminence, in one of -the wildest parts of the country. Tradition said it -had been erected by a powerful and wealthy Moor, -from whom it had been conquered by the strong arm -of one of the present occupant’s ancestors. The -father of Ysabel had resided there but rarely until -the death of his wife; but, after that event, he had -retired almost broken-hearted to this wild retreat. -Here, from early childhood, the Lady Ysabel had -been brought up. Wanting the care of a mother, -she had always been left to have her own way, and -a more self-willed, impetuous sylph never dashed -the dew from the wild flowers that grew so luxuriantly -around the Moorish castle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One day, when the Doña Ysabel had nearly -attained her sevententh year, the Count de Llenaro, -her father, stood within the deep embrasure of the -richly carved corridor, absorbed in thought. His -eyes were fixed on the shadows that played so fancifully -on the rocks below. A light step was heard -and a fairy form entered the apartment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Bella mi cara nina</span>, I was thinking of thee, I -would speak with thee.” And the gentle girl stood -beside the proud lord. “What wouldst thou my -father?” The maiden’s voice was low and silvery -soft. Her dark eye looked up into her father’s with -an expression soft and confiding as childhood. One -little snow-white hand rested upon his shoulder, -while the other nestled within his own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How old are you, Ysy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall be seventeen come next Michaelmas.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Tis even as I thought. Thou art getting to be a -great girl, Belle,—I have something to say to thee; -wilt thou listen?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear papa, thy word is my law.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it so?” and the father fixed his eyes upon the -girl with a look so penetrating that her own eye fell, -and the rich warm blood rushed from her young -heart and burnt upon her brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Llenaro seated himself upon a low <span class='it'>turco</span>, and drawing -his child towards him, he fondly kissed her glowing -cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I fear, Belle,” said he, putting back the world of -curls that had fallen over her brow, “thy will hath -never yet been broken. Thou art but a wild one.” -Count Alcaros fell into a long fit of musing. The -silver breathing tones of the Doña’s soft voice broke -the stillness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What wouldst thou with thy child, papa? my birds, -and young flowers, even now mourn my absence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And canst thou not give one hour unto thy father, -Ysy? What will thy birds and flowers do when I -bring thee a right noble bird, an eagle among birds, -for thine own? Wilt thou then give up all others -and love but only that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What does my papa mean?” tremblingly replied -the maiden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I mean that thou art to be a child no longer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, papa, all my pretty birds and—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou shalt have a bird worth the whole, a right -proud gallant bird. Ysy, dost thou remember the -Marquis of Talavera?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What of him, dearest papa?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dost thou remember him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, papa.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This Marquis hath sought thee, Belle, in marriage, -and I have said thou shalt be his bride.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl started to the ground in unfeigned surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, papa! he is old enough to be my grandfather, -and besides, he is ugly enough to—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is just the age of thy father, Ysabel. His years -will serve to guide thy wayward ones. He is all -that is brave and noble, besides being one of the richest, -and most powerful lords in Spain. You may -know, Belle, how well I think of him—he is almost -the only one of my many <span class='it'>friends</span>, that I admit into -this our wild retreat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, papa—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, Belle, I will have no buts. It must be as I -say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, papa.” The Count’s brow darkened. “But, -papa, I do not love him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Love—pah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Papa, I <span class='it'>cannot</span> love him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Papa, I <span class='it'>will not</span> love him!” and the Doña’s eyes -grew bright and large.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear papa,—I mean I cannot—” and the little -lady burst into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel,—hear me—I have said thou shalt become -the bride of the Marquis of Talavera. What I say I -never unsay—that thou knowest. Two weeks from -this. The day thou art seventeen—is the day decided -upon. It <span class='it'>must, it shall be so</span>! Wilt thou do thy -father’s bidding, Belle?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl answered not a word but her eye lit up -and her little mouth was tightly compressed. Every -line of her statue-like form expressed firmness and -resolution.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wilt thou do thy father’s bidding, Ysabel?” -again demanded the Count.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thou hast ever been an indulgent father to me, -never hast thou crossed my slightest wish, and now, -father, I must say firmly <span class='it'>no</span>! I never can become -the bride of him thou namest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Girl! thou shalt not even be consulted. Thou -hast had thine own way seventeen years, <span class='it'>now</span> I will -have mine. Thou shalt wed the Talavera if I have -to drag thee to the altar. Nay, no fawning.” The -girl had twined her soft round arms about her father’s -neck—her eyes looked beseechingly into his. But -he pushed her from him, saying—“Go to thy room, -Ysabel, and there remain until thy reason comes to -thee. Dost thou hear me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Spaniard strode from the room, and the weeping -lady sought, with a heavy heart, her own turret.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the first time her father had been unkind to -her, and she threw herself down, on a low couch, in -all that utter hopelessness of grief youth alone can -feel. It was her first sorrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There came a soft rap at the door,—but she heeded -it not;—and not until a hand, soft as woman’s, held -her own,—and a voice, whose deep, low tones were -breathing music, whispered in her ear, did she know -her father’s handsome page was kneeling by her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Weep not, mi cara Ysabel,” soothingly said he, -“or rather let me share thy grief. I know it all—thy -father hath told me, and sent me here to bring thee -to reason, as he said. Can I do it sweet lady?” -and the handsome page smiled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was wicked in him to smile when her heart was -so full of grief—and so the lady thought. But she -had learned to love, and when love is warm and new, -all the loved one says or does is more than right.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Love flings a halo round the dear one’s head,</p> -<p class='line0'>   Faultless, immortal”——</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doña Ysabel loved her father’s page,—loved -him as an ardent-souled daughter of sunny Spain -knows how to love. The father!——he did not -even dream of such wickedness. (If he had he could -not have slept for at least six months)—the unpardonable -wickedness of a daughter of his—his bright, -beautiful Ysabel—the high born lady of Llenaro,—loving -her father’s page!—a nameless page!—and -so he slept secure. The thought was too preposterous. -And the Doña Ysabel loved. Love is all trustfulness, -all watchfulness, all hopefulness. The page -was handsome; the page was graceful, witty, accomplished. -He was indeed an uncommon page;—and -so thought the Doña’s father,—and <span class='it'>so</span> thought her -father’s daughter. He could sing to the music of -Ysabel’s guitar, most divinely; he could dance, fence, -was perfectly skilled in all horsemanship, moreover -he was acquainted with all the then lore of bright -Spain. He wrote poetry too; and sang the words of -his own composing. In sooth he was a most marvellous -page—a perfect paragon of a page; and -then his eye—why it was wilder than lightning shot -from a midnight sky. The servants all feared and -hated him. To Ysabel alone was he all that was -gentle,—and to her father, for her sake. He was her -teacher; her patient, faithful, untiring teacher. They -drank together at the pure well of learning—a well -too often untasted in those days of fair Spain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Weep not, sweetest; thy noble father would see -thee wed with the Marquis of Talavera, and thou -canst not love him. And it is for that thou weepest. -Is it not so sweet lady?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was happy,” replied the sorrowing girl. “I -did not dream of love, or that I had a heart. I only -felt that I was happy. And now—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now, my gentle Ysabel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now,” said the Señorita, deeply blushing, -“now I feel I have no heart to give.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bless thee, dearest, for those words. Ysabel -hear me for I must speak. I love thee Ysabel—I am -other than I seem. I am no hireling—I am the heir -to a noble house. One year ago, having heard so -much of thy wondrous beauty, and full of curiosity -and daring, I contrived to get admitted into the -castle as thy father’s page. To see, is to love thee—but -to be near thee day after day—to read thy -gentle thoughts—to gaze in thy liquid, truthful, soul-beaming -eyes—to feel thy soft hand within my own. -Ysabel, a being cut from granite to see thee thus -could not help loving thee. I love <span class='it'>a soul</span>—a soul -thou hast sweet Ysabel—a reflecting, gentle, trustful, -ardent, heart-ful soul. Ysabel I love thee, wilt thou -love me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jose, I will, I do love thee”—and the girl’s -eyes were soft as she rested them in his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He took her hand—her little, warm, white hand, -and covered it with kisses. Then drawing her -gently towards him, he clasped her silently to his -heart. She nestled like a bird in his bosom—and -rested her head there. At intervals a low sob -swelled her little heart, like that of a wearied infant, -worn out with much crying. At length her sighs -came less and less frequent; and when the page -bent over to gaze upon her face, she had sunk into a -calm, gentle sleep. A bright tear still glistened on -her silky lash—that long black fringe that reposed so -quietly on her pale, fair cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is something inexpressibly touching in the -quiet and calm repose of a beautiful girl. And -when we feel that that youth and beauty is all we -love on earth—that it is near us—nestling in sweet -trust within our arms—our all—our own—life of our -life—heart of our heart—soul of our soul—what -other happiness can earth give more pure, more holy, -more unalloyed?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The page Jose almost wished the Doña might -never awake—but she did awake. And when she -did, she looked up in his eyes and smiled. There -was everything in that smile, love, hope, faith, gentleness, -truth, trust, joy. It was a droll smile too; -there was archness in it—Jose never forgot that -smile!—Strange, that an outward symbol of the inner -world can express so much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The page attempted to kiss the bright smile into -his own heart—but the lady’s mood had changed. -Half ashamed, half in sport, she broke from him -with a laugh—her own peculiar laugh—bird-like in -its silvery clearness; and like a bird, as wild, and -sweet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sit down, dear Ysabel—I would talk with thee -calmly—wilt thou be mine? Ysabel, I love thee. -Oh! how I love thee. Naught on earth is half so -dear as thou—life—ten thousand lives, were they -mine, would I give for thy love. Wilt thou be mine? -my own?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl put both her little hands in his—that was -her only answer. And then the page drew her again -to his heart and kissed her brow and lips. And then—and -then—and then—why then, and there, right up -before them—with curled lip and cloudy brow—stood -the castle’s lord!—the proud hidalgo!—the -Count Alcaros de Llenaro!—the Doña Ysabel’s -father!—the handsome page’s master!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha!” exclaimed he, “is this the way ye obey -my commands? Ah, I see! Thou’rt doing my bidding, -sir page. Hast thou won the self-willed lady -to think as I do? Away, girl!—Back, I say! Away -with thee, page!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pale, drooping, quailing beneath her father’s angry -glance, the gentle girl silently twined her arms -around his frame, and strove to kiss away the angry -spot upon his brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back! Judas!” exclaimed he, pushing her -rudely from him. “When thou hast learned to do -thy father’s wishes, <span class='it'>then</span> will he accept thy caresses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Frightened—crushed—she shrunk within herself, -like the sensitive plant at some rude touch, nor -dared to raise her gentle eye to the fire-darting ones -of her angry sire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the page?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The father glanced from the drooping form of his -daughter to the unbending one of the presumptuous -lover.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so, sir menial, thou art aspiring—we like -ambition. Thou thinkest to love my daughter—the -daughter of the noble house of Llenaro—good!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Count of Llenaro—hear me. I ask of thee thy -daughter. My house, proud lord, is full as noble as -thine own—perhaps more ancient. I am no page—I -am the only son of——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will not even hear who thou art—wert thou -the monarch of the universe, thou shouldst not wed -my daughter. I have sworn she shall become the -bride of the Talavera—I never recall an oath.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The group as they stood there would have made a -picture for the pencil of a Salvator. The proud, determined -figure of Llenaro, standing with his arms -folded, looking lightning on the no less proud form of -the handsome page, as he stood in the glow of his -young manhood’s strength and beauty. Then the -shrinking form of the Doña Ysabel—slightly leaning -forward, with clasped hands—her head partly raised—the -speechless, imploring agony of her lovely face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The room contributed not a little to the scene—all -around was purely, beautifully feminine. The low -damask ottomans—the bright-eyed birds in their -glittering gold cages—the rich, mellow paintings -hanging around the room. Among them was her -own soft eyed mother. The sweet, dreamy eyes of -the Italian seemed to look down on the father of her -daughter reproachfully for his harshness to that -daughter. The parting beams of the sun, as he bade -adieu to his love the fair earth, streamed in the -room, gilding with their warm glow the expressive -faces of the three. A ray more softened fell on the -calm, angel face of the wife,—the mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alcaros de Llenaro, I entreat thee to listen to -me. On my knees I supplicate thee to give me thy -daughter. Doom her not to misery. She loves me. -Think upon thy child’s mother—on the love vows -given and taken before thy child was born. When -she—the mother, the wife, was all in all to thee. -Thou <span class='it'>didst</span> love once, and she thou didst love, was -the mother of the child thou’rt dooming to wretchedness—and -now that mother looks down upon thee, -imploring happiness on her child.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Alcaros glanced at the image of his wife. He -fancied, as the warm, red sunlight fell upon it, the -gentle eyes looked a reproachful gaze on him. He -was not a hard-hearted man. Pride was his ruling -passion. False pride it might have been; whether -false or true, it fastened on him then, driving back -the kindlier feelings the memory of his wife had -roused within him. He checked the tear before -it came to his eyes, and putting on a heavy frown—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rise, sir minion,” said he, “I have told thee -my daughter shall wed the Talavera—<span class='it'>and she -shall!</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Never!</span> as I live, never!” said the girl. “Never -shall a Llenaro become the bride of the man she -cannot love!—never!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady looked her father’s child—as though she -had been born to be obeyed. The softness of the -mother had gone. Her slight, round figure, straight -as a young Indian’s, had risen to its full height. Her -eyes dilated—those eyes, where shone her soul—those -warm, black eyes, whose every glance kept -time to the throbbings of her impulsive heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel,” said Llenaro, sadly, after a pause, “thou -forgetest I am thy father.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father! dearest papa!—my own father, forgive -me. Thou <span class='it'>art</span> my father! but do not,” her -tones were low and earnest, “oh! do not force this -hated match on thy child. She will do anything—<span class='it'>all</span> -thou wishest—but oh! do not seal her misery -forever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The count permitted the ardent caresses of the -maiden, then putting her gently from him, he told -her to remain in her turret. He had much to say to -her. He would seek her when he was ready to -tell her what he had to say. Then turning to Jose, -he added, “Follow me, sir page, I have somewhat -to say to thee also.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden watched the receding forms of the -two until they had disappeared, and then she murmured, -“He spoke kindly to me,” and <span class='it'>Hope</span> warmed -her heart. A bright Hope! Hope the deceiver! -What would the world be without thee, fairy Hope? -Thou comest like a dream, whispering in our soul’s -ear thy witching fancies, until they seem realities—and -the <span class='it'>is to be</span>, stands before us a living <span class='it'>now</span>! -Great is thy power, fair Hope—and thou knowest it,—and -so thou goest on deluding mortals,—making -the dim shadowy perspective a glorious foreground. -So, when our hearts feel sad and weary, and long -to burst the chain that binds them to this dark earth, -thou comest with the dews of heaven fresh glistening -on thy lips—and tellest us fairy tales, and -singest us fairy songs—and kissest our hearts with -thy cool, dewy lips. And we believe thee, syren, -and let thee deceive us again and again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel rested her wild, black eyes—beaming -with a thousand thoughts—upon her mother’s -picture, and kneeling before it, she clasped -her little hands and implored her gentle mother to -look down kindly on her daughter. “And, mother,” -continued she—her lute-like voice scarce audible—“ask -<span class='it'>Him</span>, the mighty one—whose throne is in high -heaven—to forgive thy erring child, if she forgets, -in her love for the creature, the Creator. God forgive -me if I love <span class='it'>him</span> more than I ought, for I cannot -love him less.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel watched all that evening for her -father, and the next day—and the next—and the -next—and then her cheek began to pale, and her -eye grew dim with weeping. For Hope had grown -weary and fled. She could not dream either why -the page came not—a little indignation mingled with -her sorrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The duenna did all she could to restore her young -lady to her right mind, as she said. At length she -brought her a letter—saying—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take it, <span class='it'>mi</span> señorita, a holy friar gave it me for -thee. Learn from it, Señorita Ysabel, to control thy -too great grief. It is sinful and wrong to indulge in -sorrow as thou dost.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel knew the writing—tremblingly -she broke the seal, and read,</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>My gentle Ysabel</span>—Thy father hath forbidden -me the castle, or ever to see thee again—but fear -not, dearest, thy father cannot withstand thy gentleness—thy -goodness. Thou wert not made to be unhappy—thou -art too good—too kind—too true. God -will not see thee made wretched. He watches over -thee. He will not desert thee—and, dearest, remember -there is one heart that beats for thee—and -thee alone—whose every pulse is thine. Sunshine -is midnight without the light of thine eyes to tell -where shineth the sun, and when, gentlest, I would -see thee, I would press thy hands upon my heart—that -its wild throbbings might be stilled. I would -look into the clear depths of thy truthful eyes, and -learn there a lesson of calmness—of faith to bear, -and hope to look beyond. Thy duenna, sweetest, -more than mistrusts my disguise—but a golden bait -has lured stronger minds than hers from the clear -waters of truth. I cannot quit the castle grounds, -for in it is all that is dear to me on earth. Write, -dearest, if thou canst, to thine own</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'><span class='sc'>Jose</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady sat before her scrutoire to write to him -she loved, when she heard her father’s step. She -had only time to crumple his letter in her bosom as -the father entered. Ever obedient to her heart’s -impulse, she sprang towards him, and throwing her -white arms about his neck, she called him her dear, -<span class='it'>dear</span> papa, and burst into tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Calm thyself, my Ysabel. I would tell thee -frankly why I ask thee to sacrifice thyself—to seal -thy misery, as thou sayest.” He led her gently to -an ottoman, and seated himself beside her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel, wouldst thou see thy father penniless, -homeless, a beggar?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Papa!” looked the wondering eyes of Ysabel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I repeat it, Ysy, wouldst thou see thy father -resign all these fair acres, and starve a houseless -beggar? Wouldst thou, Ysy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What meanest thou, papa? in mercy tell me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If by one act of thine, it were in thy power to -make thy father’s happiness, wouldst thou not do -that act?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear papa, thou knowest I would—but oh! tell -me all. What am I to do? And yet I know—but -<span class='it'>why</span>? tell me why”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel, by becoming his bride, thou canst save -thy father from becoming a beggar.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl shuddered but said in a low calm voice,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father, tell me why—tell me <span class='it'>all</span>. Make a confidant -of thy child. I can bear anything. See! I am -calm.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel, I will! in as few words as possible. A -year ago, you may remember, Talavera was here. -He has not been here since. A short time after that, -his last visit, the page came—though it is not of him -I would speak. We played—Talavera and I. At -first I won—in the success of the moment I staked -high—and lost. I still played on—every throw -swept off acre after acre of the lands my fathers -owned. Midnight saw me without a farthing—and -without a foot of earth to call my own. Then came -a bond. I signed it. It gave me back my broad -lands—my wealth—but it deprived me of the only -thing I had on earth to love—of you, my Ysabel! -See! here is the bond.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lady’s heart was still—very still—so still it -almost frightened her. Her cheek, lips, hands, -were cold and bloodless. It seemed as though her -blood had all gone to her heart—and frozen there! -Her eye was passionless, it was so calm. She held -the open paper before her, and without reading or -seeing, she read and saw enough to know that the -fair grounds and castle of Ysolo-Rosse—where she -had lived from her infancy—where her father had -loved her mother—were to go into the hands of the -Talavera, unless she became his bride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel, I have sworn thou shalt be his bride, -but I will recall my oath if thou sayest so. What is -thy decision?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will wed him,” replied the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Llenaro clasped her to his heart, and kissing her -cold brow, he added,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The day thou art seventeen was the day decided -upon—it will be here in a week. But if ’twill be -too soon, no doubt the Marquis will”—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Twill not be too soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel, thou frightenest me, thou art so pale—I -will not force thee into what would be thy unhappiness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, papa, I had much rather be unhappy myself -than to see thee so. But I will not be. To-morrow -thou shalt see me more cheerful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wily lord had learned the way to make his -daughter’s will his own. He loved that daughter, -and felt a father’s pity for her. But he thought -although she suffered then—and it pained him to the -soul to see it—she would soon forget her youthful -passion, and, as the wife of the Talavera, she would -gradually learn to be happy. Her future husband -was all that was noble and good—all this thought -the father—and then he thought “the Castle of Ysolo-Rosse -will still be mine.” The father’s conscience -was <span class='it'>almost</span> quieted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have foresworn playing, Belle,” said he, sadly, -“never, should I live forever, will another card pass -through my hands. Ysabel, my darling child! do -not look so sad,—seek the cool air, it will revive thee. -Go and gather thy favorite wild flowers: they will -divert thy mind from its sorrow. My noble, generous -girl.” He fondly kissed his child and then withdrew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ysabel left to herself mechanically sought the -garden. She wandered over her favorite haunts, -scarce knowing what she did. Her heart, her -thoughts were still as the grave. She reached her -bower—the little vine-clad bower, where the page -and she had so often sat listening to the music of -each other’s voices. And there, on the very seat -where they were wont to sit—was Jose! the page!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ysabel! beloved!” exclaimed he in unfeigned -delight—and the girl was in his arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dearest, best, my gentle Ysabel! am I once more -permitted to see thee?—to clasp thee to my heart? -But, sweetest, how thou hast changed. How pale -thou art. Go with me dearest, I will be thy father, -brother, husband, friend. Leave this hated castle—now—speak, -dear one, wilt thou go with me? Dear, -<span class='it'>dear</span> Ysabel, tell me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jose, I cannot—I have promised to become his -bride!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, dearest, they shall not force thee to do what -thou dost not wish.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jose, I had my own free choice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And thou didst choose—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To become his bride.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will nothing induce thee to alter thy determination?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Nothing!</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good bye, Ysabel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jose! Dear Jose—” but the page was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next morning found the lady Ysabel in the -spot where the page had left her. Then followed -many days of sickness. Her life was despaired of. -Day after day she lay, pale, cold, insensible. Reason -had forsaken her throne. Her sweet smiles were -gone; and the speaking glances of her dewy eyes -had fled. Her voice too—for she had not spoken -since that night. Even the pulsations of her heart -were silent. Life alone remained—life without its -light. And how her father watched over her—and -how bitterly he lamented, and cursed himself for -having brought her thus. At length light shone in -her eyes—the light of life. Morning dawned in upon -the darkness of her soul.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Good bye, Ysabel</span>,” said she.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My own child, what dost thou say?” asked the -father, bending anxiously over her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good bye, Ysabel—” and she looked up in her -father’s face and smiled.—<span class='it'>That smile!</span> it haunted -him to his grave!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you better, my own Ysabel? my dearest -child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes papa,—I am well. What a strange dream I -have had. Ah! now I recollect—” and she sunk -into a gentle sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Day by day she gained health and strength. The -father never left her side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Papa,” said she one day, “will you let me see that -paper again? you know the one I mean.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, my child, you never need see or think of it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do let me take it, papa—you do not know how -well and strong I am—do, dearest papa?” And the -father was prevailed upon. She saw she could save -her father from ruin, and her mind was made.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How old am I, papa?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Three weeks ago saw you seventeen.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does the—does my future husband know of my -illness?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He has sent repeatedly to inquire after your -health. His courier was here this morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you send him word I am well—and am -ready in two weeks from now to become his wife?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you in earnest, Ysabel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perfectly so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it of your own free will you speak?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is, papa.” And the father was deceived—perhaps -too willingly so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel was able now to revisit her -favorite haunts. Every thing she saw brought the -page vividly before her eyes. Sometimes an inscription -on a tree—the walks, the flowers, the bower -where last they met—all, all brought with them the -memory of <span class='it'>him</span>. She strove to banish, as high treason -to her happiness, all thoughts of him—and the -firmness of her nature conquered. She familiarised -herself to all the old spots where she had loved to be -with him—and she thought she was happy—almost—happy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day at length came—clear—cloudless—sun-bright. -And then the lady’s heart misgave her—she -said not a word, however, but let them deck her in -her bridal gear, scarce knowing or caring what they -did.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Evening came. The chapel was brilliantly lighted. -The bright red wine flowed freely—and joy danced -in all hearts, save one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ysabel was pale, very, very pale when she entered -the chapel. The orange buds that wreathed her hair -were not more pale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Talavera had not yet come. All was ready. -The priest in his long flowing robes—the father—the -bridesmaid—the guests; for the father had -invited many a noble house to witness his daughter’s -nuptials. All were ready, and still the bridegroom -came not. At length was heard a confused movement, -and, in the midst of that joyous mass of life, -the Marquis of Talavera had been thrown from his -carriage, and the servants, in their fright and dismay, -scarce knowing what they did, had borne him in his -litter to the chapel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel grew even more pale, as she -looked upon the bier. There lay the lord who was -to have been her husband! She gazed on him in a -sort of nightmare fascination—a weight seemed -taken from her heart—a feeling of relief mingled -with the horror of the hour.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doña Ysabel enjoyed one short month of tranquillity—and -then came news from the castle of Talavera. -The will of the marquis had been read. He -had bequeathed to his son and heir all his vast estates -together with the Lady Ysabel, should he himself die -before the marriage took place. The <span class='it'>bond</span> still held -good!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A letter came from the young marquis to the count, -demanding his daughter’s hand in marriage. The -letter was gracefully written, and told how he had -long heard of the wondrous beauty of the Doña Ysabel, -and how ardently he desired to become the possessor -of it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again the lady yielded to her father’s persuasion. -The present marquis was young and handsome—so -the objection of age was removed. All Spain knew -he was noble, and brave—and all the bright-eyed -daughters of Spain might well look envy on the -favored Ysabel, that the young Talavera had chosen -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was then travelling in the interior of Europe. -His letter was dated, Vienna. One year from the -day of the elder Talavera’s death was the day fixed -upon to celebrate the bridals of the bravest cavalier -and loveliest flower in all Spain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ysabel yielded, and tried to seem cheerful, but her -step grew slower and slower, and her fair face paler -and more pale. As her days went on did she each -day lose some part of this earth, earthy. So very -gradual was the change that neither her father nor -those around her seemed to observe it. So passed -seven months. Four months more were to find her a -new home in the heart of the Talavera.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She daily visited the spot where she had last seen -<span class='it'>him</span>, in the hope of——she knew not what.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doña Ysabel was in her bower—neither reading, -nor sewing, nor watching her flowers—but in a -state of listlessness, half reclining on the cushioned -seat, when suddenly her name was spoken! It -was not her father’s voice. The next instant saw -the Doña close to the heart of the page, Jose! -Neither spoke—the heart of each was too full for -words—dull words cannot express our strongest emotions, -when the heart is too big for utterance, speech -is but a mockery. Words came at length, and the -page told her how much anguish he had suffered, -and how he could no longer stay away from her he -loved. That he came, hardly expecting to see her, -and if he did see her, he feared he should find her -changed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And, dearest Ysabel, thou art changed—not in -thy love—but thou art but the shadow of the Ysabel -that in days syne, bounded so joyfully over these -hills.” He held up her hand—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“It was so thin and transparent of hue,</p> -<p class='line0'> You might have seen the moon shine through!”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Lady Ysabel told the page <span class='it'>all</span>. How that she -had consented to become the bride of the young Talavera. -The page learned the reason from her too, -why she had consented to become the wife of one -she could not love. He smiled when he heard that -the Talavera must become master, either of the -castle and property of Ysolo-Rosse, or of the lovely -Lady Ysabel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Ysabel retired to rest that night, it was with -a light heart. Day after day witnessed the meetings -of the lady and the page—and day after day witnessed -her returning bloom of face and buoyancy of -heart. She was once more that glad, bright Ysabel -as when the page first came to her father’s castle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The father, without inquiring the cause, saw his -child happy and smiling, and he was satisfied. And -she <span class='it'>was</span> happy and smiling—the smiles never left -her little dimpled mouth—soon as one went another -came. Even in her sleep, her joyous heart beamed -from her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The morning came bright and sunshiny as it had -done just one year before. The chapel was again -illuminated—again were the guests assembled—and -again, surrounded by her bridesmaids, came the Lady -Ysabel into the chapel. But oh! what a different -Lady Ysabel from the one of the year ago. The -bridal wreath encircled her brow—and below that -fair brow beamed out the <span class='it'>happiest</span> pair of eyes imaginable! -What could it mean?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was heard among the guests a universal murmur -of admiration as she made her appearance. So -beautiful, so bright, so radiant a being they had never -seen. Her face appeared actually to <span class='it'>emit light</span>—so -truly did the bright sunshine of her glad young heart -shine through.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slight movement at the great double door of the -chapel—and the bridegroom, the Marquis of Talavera -was announced!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quite as great a sensation did the noble, manly -figure of the young marquis create, as had the softer -and more gentle one of the Lady Ysabel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The father seemed struck dumb in sudden surprise!—at -length, burst from his lips—“The page!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Any of the old gossips of Spain will tell you the -rest of the story—and what a joyous wedding -there was—and how every one said there never was -so well matched—so noble a pair, as Don Jose, -Marquis of Talavera, and his gentle bride, Ysabel! -They will tell you, too, that the honey-moon, instead -of lasting but thirty-one days, did outlast thirty-one -years!—and the love that was true to the sire could -not but bless the son.</p> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<p class='pindent'>So endeth the story of “<span class='sc'>The Lady and the -Page</span>.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='bud'></a>FANCIES ABOUT A ROSEBUD,</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>PRESSED IN AN OLD COPY OF SPENSER.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Who</span> prest you here? The Past can tell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When summer skies were bright above,</p> -<p class='line0'>And some full heart did leap and swell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Beneath the white new moon of love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Some Poet, haply, when the world</p> -<p class='line0'>  Showed like a calm sea, grand and blue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ere its cold, inky waves had curled</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er the numb heart once warm and true;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When, with his soul brimful of morn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  He looked beyond the vale of Time,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor saw therein the dullard scorn</p> -<p class='line0'>  That made his heavenliness a crime;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When, musing o’er the Poets olden,</p> -<p class='line0'>  His soul did like a sun upstart</p> -<p class='line0'>To shoot its arrows, clear and golden,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Through slavery’s cold and darksome heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Alas! too soon the veil is lifted</p> -<p class='line0'>  That hangs between the soul and pain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Too soon the morning-red hath drifted</p> -<p class='line0'>  Into dull cloud, or fallen in rain!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Or were you prest by one who nurst</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bleak memories of love gone by,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose heart, like a star fallen, burst</p> -<p class='line0'>  In dark and erring vacancy?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>To him you still were fresh and green</p> -<p class='line0'>  As when you grew upon the stalk,</p> -<p class='line0'>And many a breezy summer scene</p> -<p class='line0'>  Came back—and many a moonlit walk;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And there would be a hum of bees,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A smell of childhood in the air,</p> -<p class='line0'>And old, fresh feelings cooled the breeze</p> -<p class='line0'>  That, like loved fingers, stirred his hair!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then would you suddenly be blasted</p> -<p class='line0'>  By the keen wind of one dark thought,</p> -<p class='line0'>One nameless woe, that had outlasted</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sudden blow whereby ’twas brought.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Or were you pressed here by two lovers</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who seemed to read these verses rare,</p> -<p class='line0'>But found between the antique covers</p> -<p class='line0'>  What Spenser could not prison there:</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Songs which his glorious soul had heard,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But his dull pen could never write,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which flew, like some gold-winged bird,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Through the blue heaven out of sight?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My heart is with them as they sit,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I see the rose-bud in her breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>I see her small hand taking it</p> -<p class='line0'>  From out its odorous, snowy nest;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I hear him swear that he will keep it,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In memory of that blessed day,</p> -<p class='line0'>To smile on it or over-weep it</p> -<p class='line0'>  When she and spring are far away.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ah me! I needs must droop my head,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And brush away a happy tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>For they are gone, and, dry and dead,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rose-bud lies before me here.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yet is it in no stranger’s hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For I will guard it tenderly,</p> -<p class='line0'>And it shall be a magic wand</p> -<p class='line0'>  To bring mine own true love to me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>My heart runs o’er with sweet surmises,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The while my fancy weaves her rhyme,</p> -<p class='line0'>Kind hopes and musical surprises</p> -<p class='line0'>  Throng round me from the olden time.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I do not care to know who prest you:</p> -<p class='line0'>  Enough for me to feel and know</p> -<p class='line0'>That some heart’s love and longing blest you,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Knitting to-day with long-ago.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div><h1><a id='imag'></a>IMAGINATION.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> is so long a time since a poem of any serious -pretensions has made its appearance before the British -or American public, that we have almost ceased -to look for new metrical productions, divided into -books or cantos. We have been contented with the -light, fugitive strains of the periodicals, and have not -asked for grand overtures—such as used to absorb -the whole interest of the reading public, twenty, -thirty, fifty and more years ago. In the middle of the -last century, a man, to be recognised as a poet, was -required to issue some single work of a thousand -lines. Quantity was more considered than quality; -intellectual labor was judged of rather by the amount -of its achievements than by their kind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poetry has at times been criticised by a different -rule than Painting. That age never was, when an -artist acquired a reputation in consequence of the -number of his pictures: one gem of art has always -been more highly esteemed than a million crystals. -In all days past, as in the day present, it might be -said of a single head by a master, small, faded, stained, -yet beautiful through the rust of age,—“that -little bit of canvass is worth more than a whole gallery -of fresh portraits, though after living models, as -beautiful as Aspasia, or as stately as Alcibiades.” -But a solitary brief poem was never so valued in -comparison with a voluminous production. Even -now, formed and polished as the public taste pretends -itself to be, there lurks with us that prejudice which -more highly ranks the author of a book of verses -than the author of a sonnet. Though the book may -be as negative in merit as the correct hand of gentle -dullness could make it, and the sonnet as perfect as -the best that Petrarch wrote, in the intensest glow -of his love and his genius—except by the few, the -former would be regarded as the more arduous, the -more commendable performance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The philosophy of this prejudice, is a sort of respect -mankind entertains for a constant fulfilment of -the original curse. We love to see hard work done -or indicated. We look at a mass of printed leaves -and exclaim, “Goodness! what an industrious individual -the writer must have been! How much he -has accomplished!” It may be that, upon examination, -his work may have added nothing to the available -stock of literature; it may be that it will prove -useless lumber, destined to dust and obscurity in -men’s garrets, and not worth the corners it will encumber. -“What of that? the author had to work -hard to do it—didn’t he?” Yes! such is the question -put by people who seem to love labor for its own -sake. They look upon men of talent very much in -the same light that old Girard of Philadelphia considered -poor people who existed by the employment -of their arms and legs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At a season of distress, some day-laborers applied -to Girard for assistance. There was a huge pile of -bricks lying in the vicinity of the house of Dives. -“Take up those bricks,” said he, “and place them -yonder, and then I will pay you for the task.” The -men obeyed; the bricks—to use a verb for which we -are indebted to Dr. Noah Webster and the Georgia -negroes—were <span class='it'>toted</span> from one position to another, -and the stipulated price demanded. Girard paid it -cheerfully. “But,” said the laborers, “what are we -to do now? Must we be idle while we spend this -money, and starve by and by? We shall come to -you again in a week. Keep us employed—bid us -perform another task.” “Yes,” said Girard. “Take -up those bricks from the place where you have put -them, and carry them back to the place whence you -removed them.” Pretty much as Girard used the -poor <span class='it'>operatives</span> does the public treat the man of genius. -Let him write the immortal sonnet, bright and beautiful, -to be fixed hereafter, a star in the firmament of -fame, and his contemporaries, in reply to his demand -for praise, will say, “What has he done? What -book has he written? What is he the author of?”—They -want to see work—honest labor, and plenty -of it, though that labor be as useless as the <span class='it'>toting</span> of -the bricks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not without some qualifications must these remarks -be considered strictly true, with regard to the present -age, or to our own country. There are facts -to the contrary, though not sufficient to disprove the -general truth of what we say. We have no poet, -who is more generally, or more highly esteemed, -than Halleck; and yet his truly great reputation has -been built up on some four or six short pieces of -verse. On the other hand, Mr. Sumner Lincoln Fairfield, -has lumbered the bookseller’s lofts with ream -after ream of printed paper, and nobody but an occasional -crazy reviewer, calls such a dunce, a poet. -Nevertheless, we maintain the verity of the general -observation, that those poets have heretofore been -most esteemed, who have done the most work. It is -downright astonishing, how much some of them did -<span class='it'>do</span>. We look over their long poems, with a sentiment -of wonder, and reverence, and we are awfully -perplexed to determine, how vast a length of time it -must have taken these modern Cheopses, to build -their pyramids. Hamlet’s account to Polonius, of -the graybeard’s book he was reading, appears to us -a pretty comprehensive description of many of these -vast metrical diffusions—“words, words, words.” -It exceeds our powers of conjecture, how the writers -could have completed their whole task, so labors the -line and so slow runs the verse. We have seen a -sturdy blacksmith pound a piece of iron, for hours -and hours, till it became as malleable as lead; we -have seen a woodsawyer saw, and saw, and saw, up -and down, down and up, till the very sight of him -made us ready to drop with imaginary fatigue; thy -still-beginning, never ending whirl, oh weary knife-grinder, -have we also contemplated with feverish -melancholy—still for the endurance of all these, have -we been able satisfactorily to account; drilled by -habit, ruled by habit, habit is to them a second nature. -But for the perpetration of a long, tedious -poem for the manufacture of verse after verse, the last -drier and duller than the preceding, there is no possible -manner of accounting. It is an infliction, which -can be borne by neither gods, men nor columns. -Your <span class='it'>médiocre</span> man may be forgiven for talking one -into a paralysis, or writing prose, till every word acts -like a mesmerist and puts you to sleep; but for his -writing verses, there can be, there ought to be no -forgiveness; he should be consigned to the cave of -perpetual oblivion, and over its entrance should be inscribed, -“Hope never enters here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Were we to follow in the track of reviewers in the -Quarterlies, who always seem to think it necessary -to make a considerable preliminary flourish to the -solemn common-places they are about to utter, we -should observe that the foregoing remarks had been -elicited by a work on our table, entitled “Imagination, -a poem in two parts, with other poems, by -Louisa Frances Poulter.” But as the work did not -call forth the remarks, we shall observe nothing of -the kind. The moment we wrote the title of the -poem, and saw that it consisted of nearly eleven -hundred lines, we began to reflect that very few long -poems had been written lately, and our pen scampered -over the paper at a rail-road rate, till we reached -the <span class='it'>dépôt</span> at the end of this paragraph.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pausing here, we first look back over what we -have said; it pleases us—let it stand, therefore, and -let us now employ ourselves with reading Miss Poulter’s -poem in two cantos. We have not the slightest -dread of it—no! it seems a pleasant land, of which -we have had delightful glimpses in a transient survey. -With these glimpses we mean to entertain the reader, -besides giving him an idea of the face of the country.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>In limine</span>, we ought to confess ourselves amiable -critics, when we are called upon to pronounce on the -works of a female writer, and more particularly of -one who is a new claimant for distinction. It is our -desire to encourage the intellectual efforts of the -gentle sex, if for no better purpose, at least for that -of inciting women to assert their claims to the honors -and the rewards of authorship. These pages are -scrutinized by many a brilliant pair of eyes, ready to -flash indignation upon the slightest disparagement of -female genius. Far be it from us to evoke from -those mortal stars any other beams than those of -softness and serenity. Lovely readers! smile therefore -upon this article as kindly as upon the prettiest -story in the Magazine, and think well of him who -seeks to win no better guerdon than your approbation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Poulter has put upon her title-page a striking -passage in French from some essay of <span class='it'>Bernardin de -St. Pierre</span>, which may be thus literally translated. -“Tasso, while travelling with a friend, one day ascended -a very high mountain. When he had reached -the summit, he exclaimed: ‘Seest thou these rugged -rocks, these wild forests, this brook bordered with -flowers, which winds through the valley, this majestic -river, which rolls onward and onward till it -bathes the walls of a hundred cities? Well, these -rocks, these mountains, these walls, these cities, -gods, men—lo! these are my poem!’ ” On the page -immediately preceding the principal poem in the -volume, “Imagination,” there appears the following -from <span class='it'>Stewart’s Outlines of Moral Philosophy</span>, “One -of the principal effects of a liberal education is to -accustom us to withdraw our attention from the -objects of our present perceptions, and to dwell at -pleasure on the past, the absent and the future. How -much it must enlarge in this way the sphere of our -enjoyment or suffering is obvious: for (not to mention -the recollection of the past) all that part of our -happiness or misery, which arises from our hopes or -our fears, derives its existence entirely from the -power of our imagination.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We are pleased with these quotations. They -augur well for the original words that are to follow. -They prepare the mind of the reader for something -almost as good as they are. The talent, or rather -tact of quoting well is no mean one; it is not possessed -by many, scarcely possessed at all by those -who say that a quotation should be as strictly appropriate -as a title. It is enough that a quotation be one -naturally appertaining to or suggestive <span class='it'>per se</span> of the -subject matter. Mottoes, it should be remembered, -are not texts, but simply prefixes, intended rather as -ornaments than things of use. They are to books, -chapters, and cantos, what jewels are to the clasps -of a fair lady’s girdle, not indispensable to the clasps, -but decorating them. In the choice of the jewels -and the style of their setting the taste of the wearer -is manifested.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reflection which first suggests itself to us after -a consideration of this poem, is that the author preferred -rather to indulge her inclination for roving -from topic to topic, than to confine herself to any -exact method. She does not so much consider the -power of imagination or its effect upon life as she -does the places and persons upon which this faculty -of the mind would choose to expand itself. The -single word, therefore, which constitutes the title, -might be regarded as too pretensive, as demanding -too much, more than it is within the capacity or -education of the writer to give. Her modes of -thought seem to be too independent of the influence -of “Association,” and it would confuse a philosophical -thinker to follow the diversities of her fancy. -Perhaps, however, the person who reads only to be -amused, would derive more gratification from Miss -Poulter’s disregard of rules than were she more correct -and less fervid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The poem opens with a picture of sunset after a -storm, and this affords an apt and natural illustration -for the Power of the Imagination. The first topic -pursued is the fact that childhood is but little under -the influence of Imagination, being led away by the -pleasures of the present moment and apt to resign -itself wholly to the object by which it is temporarily -attracted. Illustrative of this is the following admirably -drawn scene—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>See, from his sheltering roof, the infant boy</p> -<p class='line0'>Rush with delight, to snatch the promised joy;</p> -<p class='line0'>Allowed for once to stray where’er he please,</p> -<p class='line0'>And live one day of liberty and ease.</p> -<p class='line0'>His frugal basket to his girdle hung,</p> -<p class='line0'>His little rod across his shoulder flung,</p> -<p class='line0'>With eager haste he starts at dawn of day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet every trifle lures him from his way;</p> -<p class='line0'>An opening rose, a gaudy butterfly,</p> -<p class='line0'>Turn his light steps and fix his wandering eye;</p> -<p class='line0'>He plucks ripe berries blushing in the hedge,</p> -<p class='line0'>And pungent cresses from the watery sedge.</p> -<p class='line0'>At length he gains the bank, and seeks to fill</p> -<p class='line0'>His little scrip, and prove his infant skill;</p> -<p class='line0'>He marks the fish approach in long array—</p> -<p class='line0'>Then, stamps the ground, to see them glide away.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But lo! one speckled wanderer lurks behind,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid the tall reeds that skirt the stream confined:</p> -<p class='line0'>It comes—it bites—he finds himself possest</p> -<p class='line0'>Of one small trout, less wary than the rest:</p> -<p class='line0'>With trembling hands he grasps his finny spoil,</p> -<p class='line0'>The rich reward of one long day of toil.</p> -<p class='line0'>For some short moments yet he keeps his seat</p> -<p class='line0'>Close to the brook, and laves his weary feet;</p> -<p class='line0'>Wide from his face his auburn locks he throws,</p> -<p class='line0'>That playful airs may fan his little brows;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then upward springs, and hums a blithesome lay,</p> -<p class='line0'>To cheat fatigue, and charm his lengthened way.</p> -<p class='line0'>Hark! while across the verdant lawn he skips,</p> -<p class='line0'>The half-told tale is muttered from his lips;</p> -<p class='line0'>With bounding heart he shows his spotted prize,</p> -<p class='line0'>And marks, exulting, the well-feigned surprise.</p> -<p class='line0'>A second moment sees him locked in sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>And placid slumbers o’er his senses creep;</p> -<p class='line0'>In dreams he rests along some river’s side,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where giant trout beneath clear waters glide.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The following figure illustrates the toilsome ascent -of youth to Greatness:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>So up yon cliffs that frown in stern array,</p> -<p class='line0'>The hardy pilgrim climbs his painful way;</p> -<p class='line0'>His form bends forward—see! how he expands</p> -<p class='line0'>O’er each frail mountain-shrub his fearful hands;</p> -<p class='line0'>Will it resist?—or, from the rocky steep,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whirl him below unnumbered fathoms deep?</p> -<p class='line0'>He grasps it firm—he keeps his dizzy ground—</p> -<p class='line0'>Though blasts and foaming torrents roar around;</p> -<p class='line0'>Soon from the summit, views, with raptured eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>The lovely scenes that far extended lie;</p> -<p class='line0'>The smiling hamlet; the deep-tangled grove;</p> -<p class='line0'>The lake whose breast reflects the hills above;</p> -<p class='line0'>The lowing herds that through green pastures stray,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where limpid streams pursue their pebbled way.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>After showing that imagination is most powerful -in youth, and the different manner in which it operates -upon men, leading some to public life, and some -to retirement; after drawing a picture of domestic -felicity, and dwelling upon the question whether the -happiness derived from the indulgence of an ardent -fancy is not ill exchanged for a reasonable view of -human life,—the poet speaks of the moral influence -of a fine imagination; and here occur these lines—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Shall the pale Autumn shed his leaves in vain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sear the green woods, and all their glories stain?</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall Winter clouds and bitter frosts impart,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet force no saddening moral on the heart?</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! let the warning past one thought employ!</p> -<p class='line0'>Have not our projects, marked by grief or joy,</p> -<p class='line0'>And all that we call beauty, talent, worth,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mimicked the transient fashion of the Earth?</p> -<p class='line0'>The fragile bloom has withered in the storm—</p> -<p class='line0'>The pride of better years now feeds the worm!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The next subject of contemplation is the death of -a beloved and distinguished friend; afterwards the -poet goes on to describe the influence of sublime -scenery in awakening corresponding sensations in the -mind. An address to the Deity is attempted: next it -is shown that external beauties alone cannot soothe -a wounded heart; a fact happily illustrated by the -disappointment of Tasso on his return to his native -Sorrento—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Tasso, the pride, the victim of the Great,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who learned the value of their smile too late.</p> -<p class='line0'>Had shone in courts resplendent, and beneath</p> -<p class='line0'>A prison’s wall had drawn his painful breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sought his beloved Sorrento; for he fed</p> -<p class='line0'>A wild delirious hope that bade him tread,</p> -<p class='line0'>In search of peace, her groves, her spicy hills,</p> -<p class='line0'>And woo the balsam her soft air distils.</p> -<p class='line0'>Impetuous passion in his mind had wrought,</p> -<p class='line0'>And trenched it deep with many a bitter thought;</p> -<p class='line0'>Perchance the breeze that fans her rocky shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>The mournful measure of the plashing oar,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her blooming gardens that expanded lie,</p> -<p class='line0'>Breathing their citron fragrance to the sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her clustered almond trees, her sighing pines,</p> -<p class='line0'>Her founts of crystal, and her palmy wines,</p> -<p class='line0'>May lull its throb, its languid tone restore,</p> -<p class='line0'>And charm it back to all it was before.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The poetess then describes the anguish he endured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This is all that we can extract for the reader’s recreation -from the first Part or Canto of this meritorious -poem, with the exception of a very touching -ballad. The verses are supposed to be repeated by -an Indian mother, over the grave of her departed -child. Let us call them</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>    THE INDIAN MOTHER’S LAMENT.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Twice falling snows have clad the earth;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Twice hath the fly-bird weaved his nest;</p> -<p class='line0'>Since first I smiled upon thy birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And felt thee breathing on my breast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Now snowy wreaths will melt away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And buds of red will shine around;</p> -<p class='line0'>But, heedless of the sunny ray,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy form shall wither in the ground.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oft hath thy father dared the foe,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And, while their arrows drank his blood,</p> -<p class='line0'>And round him lay his brothers low,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Careless ’mid thousand darts he stood.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But when he saw thee droop thy head,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy little limbs grow stiff and cold,</p> -<p class='line0'>And from thy lip the scarlet fled,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fast down his cheek the tear-drops rolled.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The land of souls lies distant far,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And dark and lonely is the road;</p> -<p class='line0'>No ghost of night, no shining star,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Shall guide me to thy new abode.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Will some good Spirit to thee bring</p> -<p class='line0'>  The milky fruits of cocoa-tree?</p> -<p class='line0'>To shield thee stretch his pitying wing?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or spread the beaver’s skin for thee?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Oh! in the blue-bird’s shape descend,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When broad magnolias shut their leaves!</p> -<p class='line0'>With evening airs thy lisping blend,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And watch the tomb thy mother weaves!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I’ve marked the lily’s silken vest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  When winds blew fresh and sunbeams shine</p> -<p class='line0'>On Mississippi’s furrowed breast,</p> -<p class='line0'>  By many a watery wreath entwined.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But soon they rippled down the stream,</p> -<p class='line0'>  To lave the stranger’s distant shore;</p> -<p class='line0'>One moment sparkled in the beam—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Then saw their native banks no more.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the second Part or Canto, the following is a -brief analysis. The poet first addresses the Spirit of -Ruin; then displays various forms of destruction—a -shipwreck: the descent of an avalanche. The topics -next treated are intellectual decay; the fatal effects -of an ill-regulated and warm Imagination; the power -of Love in youth; the influence of Imagination in -our choice of life; the love of Fame; an active life -necessary to a person of vivid Imagination; the -thirst of some overcoming the love of life. Next -occurs an apostrophe to the noble and patriotic and -sainted spirits of the heroes of Switzerland and -America—Arnold de Winkelried and George Washington. -It is then shown that Imagination represents -them as still living; the power of Imagination -in old age is portrayed, and the poem concludes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From this part, we regret that we have room but -for two extracts; for these are of so excellent a -character that the reader, like Oliver Twist, will be -certain to ask for more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our first extract is a description of the life of an -Alpine shepherd. The lines are eminently good.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Track thou my path where Alpine winters shed</p> -<p class='line0'>Their lingering snows o’er bare St. Gothard’s head,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ghastly his savage aspect; there recline</p> -<p class='line0'>Rocks piled on rocks, and shagg’d with stunted pine;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet touched with beauty, when the purple haze</p> -<p class='line0'>Its softening shadows o’er their summit lays;</p> -<p class='line0'>Then melts in air, while wandering sunbeams streak,</p> -<p class='line0'>With tints of rose, each ridge and frozen peak.</p> -<p class='line0'>From cliff to cliff hoarse cataracts pursue</p> -<p class='line0'>Their shattered course; now stained with lovely hue,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lovely, and yet more transient, while a ray</p> -<p class='line0'>Athwart the shivered waters cuts its way;</p> -<p class='line0'>Now whirling in black eddies, as they lash</p> -<p class='line0'>The darkened precipice with hideous crash.</p> -<p class='line0'>But see! with trees and freshest verdure bright,</p> -<p class='line0'>A lonely valley starts upon the sight,</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Whose peaceful hamlet clinging to their side,</p> -<p class='line0'>And sweet retirements, beetling mountains hide.</p> -<p class='line0'>Their fury spent, o’er dell and grassy knoll</p> -<p class='line0'>The lucid streams in crystal bubbles roll,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose gentle gushings break the deep repose,</p> -<p class='line0'>As down steep, pebbled banks, the current flows.</p> -<p class='line0'>Here, free from Passion’s storm and splendid Care,</p> -<p class='line0'>A hardy race Life’s simple blessings share.</p> -<p class='line0'>Breathes there on Earth who boasts a happier lot,</p> -<p class='line0'>Than the rude owner of yon smiling cot?</p> -<p class='line0'>Sighs he for joys by Nature’s hand denied?</p> -<p class='line0'>Feels he a want by labor unsupplied?</p> -<p class='line0'>The flock which oft his children’s pranks disturb,</p> -<p class='line0'>The goats delighting in the sprouted herb,</p> -<p class='line0'>The sleepy cows aroused by sauntering flies,</p> -<p class='line0'>His verdant paddock with sweet food supplies.</p> -<p class='line0'>Vigorous from rest, not weak with slothful ease,</p> -<p class='line0'>At dawn he scents the sharp reviving breeze;</p> -<p class='line0'>With eager industry and rustic skill</p> -<p class='line0'>First prunes his purple vine, then hastes to till</p> -<p class='line0'>His garden, freshened by the chills of night,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where many a grateful tribute cheers his sight;</p> -<p class='line0'>The jasmine bent beneath his clustering bees,</p> -<p class='line0'>The green retiring herb, the lofty trees,</p> -<p class='line0'>That, gemmed with blooms and dew drops, on the air</p> -<p class='line0'>Waft their sweet incense to the God of pray’r.</p> -<p class='line0'>But noon advances, and he drives his flocks</p> -<p class='line0'>Where spots of verdure brighten ’mid the rocks;</p> -<p class='line0'>There spends the day; and, far above, inhales</p> -<p class='line0'>The love of Freedom with his mountain gales.</p> -<p class='line0'>Hark! to those sounds, which now the herds invite,</p> -<p class='line0'>Slow pacing homeward from the dizzy height;</p> -<p class='line0'>The shepherd’s evening call—and in each dell</p> -<p class='line0'>Tinkles the music of the pastoral bell.</p> -<p class='line0'>His labor done, a frugal meal prepared</p> -<p class='line0'>By her he loves, recruits his strength impaired;</p> -<p class='line0'>Breathing a pious prayer he sinks to rest,</p> -<p class='line0'>And rural visions charm his peaceful breast.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Our second, and last, extract is one the spirit and -force of which every devotee of Freedom, every -true American heart cannot fail to acknowledge.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Spirits of noble beings, who, arrayed</p> -<p class='line0'>In mortal clothing, once a proud part played</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon this nether orb! If ye retain</p> -<p class='line0'>No human sense of honor, joy, or pain;</p> -<p class='line0'>If, fixed in seats of blessedness, ye deem</p> -<p class='line0'>Earth’s goodliest pageantries an idiot’s dream;</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet in your bosoms not in vain was sown</p> -<p class='line0'>Deep as Life’s pulse the love of fair Renown;</p> -<p class='line0'>For still as Age to fleeting Age succeeds,</p> -<p class='line0'>Your track of Glory, your remembered deeds,</p> -<p class='line0'>A spark of fire ethereal shall impart,</p> -<p class='line0'>To rouse each godlike passion in the heart.</p> -<p class='line0'>Still, gallant Arnold! while the Switzer fights</p> -<p class='line0'>E’en to his blood’s last drop, to guard his rights;</p> -<p class='line0'>The right to tread his hills begirt with storm,</p> -<p class='line0'>Free as the winds that brace his nervous form;</p> -<p class='line0'>Your dying words, invincible he hears;</p> -<p class='line0'>When with gored bosom, grasping Austria’s spears,</p> -<p class='line0'>To glorious death you singly forced the way,</p> -<p class='line0'>And bade forever live red Sempach’s day;</p> -<p class='line0'>“The ranks are broken! charge! the cowards yield!</p> -<p class='line0'>My little orphans, Oh my Country! shield.”</p> -<p class='line0'>And You! in whose unconquerable mind</p> -<p class='line0'>The wide-expanded wish to serve Mankind</p> -<p class='line0'>Ruled as a master-passion; whether laid</p> -<p class='line0'>At ease, you wooed Mount Vernon’s pleasant shade,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the pure luxury of rural life;</p> -<p class='line0'>Or plunged, reluctant, into desperate strife,</p> -<p class='line0'>To breast the weight of tyrannous command.</p> -<p class='line0'>And stamp the badge of Freedom on your Land;</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall You, the meteor of a fickle day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Blaze for one moment, strike, and pass away?</p> -<p class='line0'>No—to her sons unborn shall cling your name,</p> -<p class='line0'>Linked to their country’s proudest hour of Fame;</p> -<p class='line0'>Till private, public worth, to Ruin hurled,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall leave not e’en their shadow in the World;</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Then</span> must the Slave, the Patriot, share one lot—</p> -<p class='line0'>And He, and Washington, shall be forgot.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>From the remarks, with which this article began, -it is clearly enough to be inferred that we are no -admirers of long poems, unless they be of extraordinary -and sustained merit. This praise cannot be -awarded to Miss Poulter’s production: We believe -that we have taken pretty much all that is excellent, -though a fine passage or two may be left in the exquisite -volume which we have just now cut to pieces—not -metaphorically, but literally. It was sad to -destroy so charming a library book; but what were -the exquisite typography and clear white paper of -one of Saunders & Otley’s editions, when compared -with the amusement of the friends of Graham’s -Magazine? Nothing. Moreover, we should not -have quoted so largely as we have, had we not felt -assured of the fact that the volume to which we refer -was the only copy of Miss Poulter’s poem in America. -Such works are not in the least likely to be -reprinted here; and our readers would therefore -know nothing about them, were it not for the pains -we are happy to take in their behalf.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Imagination: a Poem in two parts, with other poems, -by Louisa Frances Poulter, London: Saunders and Otley, -Conduit Street.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div><h1><a id='cav'></a>HARRY CAVENDISH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>A DASH AT A CONVOY.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was the second night after our brush with the -corvette, when a party, composed of Mr. St. Clair, -his niece and daughter, together with several of the -officers, stood at the side of the ship. It was a lovely -evening. The moon was high in heaven, sailing on -in cloudless splendor; her silvery light tipping the -tops of the billows, and stretching in a long line of -effulgence across the waters. A gentle breeze was -singing, with a clear musical intonation, among the -thousand tiny threads of the rigging. The water rippled -pleasantly against the sides of the ship. Not far -off lay a small rakish schooner, from which the -sound of a bugle, borne gently on the night air, -floated in delicious melody to our ears. The decks -were noiseless. The quiet moon seemed as if, by -some magic spell, she had hushed the deep into -silence, for scarcely a sound rose up from the heaving -waves, which, glittering now in the wake of the -moon, and now sinking into sudden shadow, stretched -away in the distance until they faded into the dim -mystic haze of the distant seaboard. The whole -scene was like a vision of romance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The group which I have mentioned stood at the -gangway of the ship. A boat was rocking gently -below. The passengers, whom we had rescued from -the brig, were about transferring themselves to the -schooner lying-to a short distance off, which we had -spoken about an hour before, and which proved to -be a small privateer bound in for Newport. As we -were off Block Island, and the run would consequently -be a short one, Mr. St. Clair had resolved -to avail himself of this opportunity to place his -daughter and niece safely on shore. The party were -now about to embark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall never forget your kindness,” said Mr. St. -Clair, addressing the captain, “and I am sure that -my daughter and niece will give you their especial -prayers, as the best return they can make for the -obligations they owe you. And as for my friend, Mr. -Cavendish—I hardly know how to express my -thanks. You will come and see us,” he continued, -turning frankly to me, and taking both my hands, -“Pomfret Hall will always open its doors gladly to -welcome the preserver of its owner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I promised that I would not forget it, and turned -away to hide the emotion occasioned by the kind -tone of Mr. St. Clair. As I moved away my eyes -fell on Annette. Her gaze was fixed on me with an -expression I shall never forget, but which I would -have given the world to have been able to interpret. -There was an expression of the deepest interest in -that look, and the eyes, I fancied, were partially -humid. As soon as she caught my gaze, she blushed -deeply, and looked down. What meant that earnest -gaze—this sudden embarrassment? Did she then -really love me? My heart beat fast, my brain fairly -swam around, my emotion, for an instant, almost -overpowered me. I could, if no one had been present, -have rushed to her feet and told my suit. But -a moment’s reflection changed the current of my -thoughts. Perhaps she had noticed my feelings while -her father had been speaking. If so, her subsequent -emotion arose from being detected in observing me. -I ran over everything which had happened since she -had been on board, and could find nothing corroborating, -directly, the idea that she loved me. Her -manner had always been frank and kind; but what -had she said or done to give me hope? As these -thoughts rushed through my mind my towering -hopes fell. The revulsion was extreme. I despaired -now as much as I had exulted but a moment before. -I was about to turn gloomily away, when the voice -of Isabel called me. I looked up. She was beckoning -me gayly toward her as she leaned on Annette’s -arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, I declare, Mr. Cavendish,” she said laughingly, -“you seem to be determined to leave us depart -without even saying ‘adieu’—a pretty gallant you -are, to be sure! Here is Annette really displeased at -your coldness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A look of silent reproach was the only reply of -her cousin, who dared not raise her eyes to mine. -With the vacillation of a lover my sentiments again -underwent a change. Had Annette really been wondering -at my coldness? How unjust then had been -my suspicions. I advanced eagerly to her side. Yet -when I had done so I knew not what to say. Isabel -seemed not only to see my embarrassment but to -enjoy it. She continued gayly—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, now, do your <span class='it'>devoir</span> like a gallant knight -and soldier—coz, have you no glove or other favor -for him to wear on his bosom in battle? Ah! me, -the days of courtesy and chivalry have gone forever. -But there I see uncle ordering down my package, I -must see that he does not let it drop clumsily over-board,” -and she tripped laughingly away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Left almost <span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span> with Annette—for every eye -was that moment turned to the gangway where some -of the passengers were already embarking, I yet -felt unable to avail myself of an opportunity for -which I had longed. A single word would decide -my fate, and yet that word I could not pronounce. -My boldness had all disappeared, and I stood before -that fair girl equally agitated with herself. At length -I looked up. She stole a furtive glance at me as I -did so, and blushed again to the very brow. I took -her hand, it was not withdrawn. Words of fire were -already on my lips when her father turned toward -us, saying—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Annie, my love, they wait for you—Mr. Cavendish, -a last good-bye”—and as he spoke every eye -was turned toward us. The precious moment was -past. I could do nothing but lead Annette forward. -Yet I ventured to press her hand. My senses deceived -me, or it was faintly, though very faintly, returned. -I would have given worlds, if I had them, for the -delay of a minute, that I might learn my fate from -the lips of that fair girl. But it was not to be. We -were already in the centre of the group. Mr. St. -Clair took his daughter and lifted her into the chair, -and in another moment her white dress fluttered in -its descent to the boat. My heart died within me. -The golden moment had passed, perhaps forever; -for when should we meet again? New scenes, new -friends would in all probability drive me from Annette’s -remembrance before we should next see each -other. These thoughts filled my mind as I leaned -over the bulwark and waved my hand while the -boat put off. Mr. St. Clair stood up in the barge and -bowed in return, while I thought I could see, through -the shadowy moonlight, the fair hand of Annette -returning my parting adieus.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I watched the receding figures until they reached -the schooner, and even after they had ascended the -deck, and the two vessels had parted each on its -own way, I continued gazing on the white dress of -Annette until I could no longer detect the faintest -shadow of it. When at length it disappeared totally -in the distance, I felt a loneliness of the heart, such -as no language can express. To a late hour I continued -pensively walking the deck, unable to shake -off this feeling, and it was only a gay remark of one -of my messmates that finally aroused me from my -abstraction. I shook off my pensiveness by an effort, -laughed gayly in reply, and soon sought my hammock, -as my spirits would not permit me much -longer to carry on this double game.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a week we cruized in the track of the homeward -bound fleet from the West Indies, but without -success. During this time Annette was constantly -in my thoughts. Her last look—that gentle pressure -of her hand thrilled through every vein, as often as -they recurred to me. Never could I forget her—would -she continue to think of me?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than a week had passed, as I have said, -since we had parted from the St. Clairs, yet still we -had not spoken a sail. At length one day, when I -had the morning watch, the lookout hailed from the -cross-trees, that a sail was down on the seaboard to -leeward. Chase was instantly given to the stranger. -The breeze was fresh, and we were in consequence -soon close enough to discern the character of our -neighbor. She had not from the first appeared to -avoid us, and no sooner did we show our colors, -than she ran up the ensign of France. We were -going on different tacks, and, as we approached, both -ships lay-to for a moment’s conversation. The -French merchantman was a noble ship, and as she -came up gallantly towards us, her long bowsprit -sunk far down into the trough of the wave, and then, -with a slow swan-like motion she rose on the ensuing -swell until her bows were elevated almost clear -of the water, while the bright copper dripping with -brine glistened gloriously in the sunbeams.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Frenchman backed his topsails as he drew -near, and the two vessels stood head on, while we -sent a boat on board. The merchantman proved to -be upon her homeward passage, and had consequently -no intelligence from Europe to furnish us. -But the French skipper told us what was far more -interesting to us. He mentioned that he had, but the -day before, fallen in with the homeward bound English -fleet, from the West Indies, amounting to some -sixty sail. The fleet was convoyed by four men-of-war. -Our captain, however, resolved to have a dash -at the convoy. He conceived the daring project of -cutting off a portion of the fleet, under the very batteries -of the men-of-war. The French skipper wished -us a “<span class='it'>bon voyage</span>,” and the two vessels parted -company.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We cracked on all sail, during the whole of the day -and night. The next morning, at the dawn of day, -our lookout descried the English fleet, on our larboard-side. -Luckily, we had the weather-gauge. We -kept crowding on our canvass, however, during the -whole forenoon, and as we gained on the convoy, -we saw sail after sail rising in the seaboard, until -the whole horizon was dotted with them, and the -lookout reported more than fifty, in sight. By this -the men-of-war had caught the alarm, and were -firing guns to keep their flock around them. The -dull sailers, however, fell rapidly behind. This forced -one of the English frigates to leave the advance, and -run astern of the fleet. During the whole day we -kept coquetting to windward of the fleet, but no demonstrations -against us were made on the part of the -men-of-war.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A cowardly set, by the Lord Harry,” said our old -boatswain, who often beguiled a dull hour with a -yarn, “here are we giving them a chance for a fair -stand-up fight, and the cowardly lubbers haven’t the -pluck to come up and take or give a thrashing. I -can’t stand such sneaking scoundrels—by St. George,” -and the old fellow energetically squirted a stream of -tobacco-juice from his mouth, as if from a force-pump.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We’ll have a brush with them, nevertheless, -Hinton,” said I, “or I know nothing of the captain. -He has got his eye on more than one rich prize in -that fleet, and depend upon it, he’ll make a dash for -it before long.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! ay! you’re right,” answered the boatswain -“and he’ll do it, too, before two bells have struck -in the morning watch.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night shut in squally and dark. The fleet was -some three miles to leeward, for during the whole -day we had carefully maintained the weather gauge. -As the darkness increased we lost sight of the enemy’s -ships, but their numerous lights glistening like -stars along the seaboard, still pointed out to us their -position. The wind was uncertain, now coming in -fitful puffs, and then blowing steadily for a quarter -of an hour, when it would again die away and sweep -in squalls across the waste of waters. Scud clouds -began to fly across the face of the heavens, obscuring -the few stars, and giving a wild and ominous appearance -to the firmament. Down to the west the -seaboard was covered by a dense bank of clouds, out -of which occasionally a flash of lightning would zig-zag, -followed by a low hoarse growl of distant thunder. -It was evident that a tempest was raging, far -down in that quarter. On the opposite horizon, -however, the sky was nearly free from clouds, only -a few fleecy vapors being discernible in that quarter, -through which the bright stars twinkled clear and -lustrous. The English fleet lay between these two -opposite quarters of the horizon—the right wing of -the convoy stretching down almost into the utter -darkness in that direction, and the left wing skirting -along the horizon to the eastward. Along the whole -expanse of seaboard, more than fifty lights were now -glittering, like so many fire-flies winging through the -gloom along the edge of a forest, on a summer eve. -The scene was one of surpassing novelty, and drew -forth the admiration even of our veteran tars. Now -and then the vapors in the east would clear entirely -away, leaving the firmament in that direction, sparkling -with thousands of stars; and then again the -murky shroud would enclose them in nearly total -darkness. Occasionally, as if in contrast to this, a -brighter flash of lightning would gleam, or a louder -burst of thunder roll up from the dark bank of clouds -enclosing the tempest to the westward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night had scarcely settled down before the -ship’s course was altered and we bore down upon -the fleet—taking the precaution, however, to put out -all the lights on board except the one at the binnacle. -Meantime the men were called to quarters, -the tompions of the guns removed, the ammunition -served out, pikes, cutlasses and fire arms distributed -among the crew, and every preparation made for -action. As we drew nearer to the convoy the darkness -of the night increased, until, at length, we -could see but a few fathoms ahead into the gloom. -The eastern firmament now became wholly obscured. -Not a star shone on high to guide us on our -way. Had it not been for the long line of lights -sparkling along the seaboard, betraying the positions -occupied by the various vessels in the convoy, we -should have possessed no guide to our prey,—and -nothing but the confidence felt by the enemy in his -superior force could have induced him to continue -his lights aboard, when otherwise he might have run -a chance of dropping us in the darkness. But he -never dreamed of the bold swoop which we projected, -into the very midst of his flock. He would as -soon have thought of our blockading the Thames, or -burning the English fleet at Portsmouth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The plan of Captain Smythe was indeed a bold -one. Bearing right onwards into the very centre of -the fleet, he intended to cut off one of the wings -from the main body, and then board and take possession -of as many of the merchantmen as he could -carry in the obscurity. We judged that the men-of-war -were in the van, with the exception of a frigate -which we had seen before nightfall hovering in the -rear of the fleet to cover the lagging merchantmen. -This frigate, however, we supposed to be on the -extreme right of the enemy. We therefore bore -down for the opposite extremity of the fleet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For more than an hour, while, with every rag of -canvass abroad, we were hastening to overtake the -enemy, scarcely a word was spoken by the crew,—but -each man remained at his station eagerly watching -the gradual diminution of the distance betwixt -us and the convoy. Indeed silence was, in some -measure, necessary to the success of our plot. Even -the orders of the officers therefore were given and -executed with as little bustle as possible. As the -darkness increased we noticed that the lights ahead -began to diminish in number, and it was not long -before we became satisfied that the foe had at length -awoke to the probability of our being in the vicinity. -At length scarcely more than half a dozen lights -could be seen. These we judged to belong to the -men-of-war, being kept aloft for the convoy to steer -by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The difficulty of our enterprise was now redoubled, -for, if the darkness should increase, there would be -great danger of a collision with one or another of the -fleet. This peril, however, we shared in common -with the merchantmen composing the convoy. Our -only precaution consisted in doubling our look-outs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Another hour passed, during which we steered by -the lights of the men-of-war. By the end of that -period we had run, according to our calculation, into -the very heart of the fleet, leaving a man-of-war -broad on our larboard beam, a mile or two distant. -This latter vessel we fancied to be the frigate which -had been hovering towards nightfall in the rear of -the fleet. Our anxiety now increased. We were -surrounded, on every side, by the vessels of the convoy, -and the obscurity was so profound that we could -not see a pistol shot on any hand. Our progress, -meantime, was continued in utter silence. The only -sound we heard was the singing of the wind through -the rigging, the occasional cheeping of a block, or -the rushing of the water along our sides. Suddenly, -however, I thought I heard a sound as of the bracing -of a yard right over our starboard bow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hist!” I said to the boatswain, who happened -that moment to be passing, “hist! do you hear -that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old fellow stopped, listened a moment, and -then shaking his head, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hear nothing. What did <span class='it'>you</span> hear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hark! there it goes again,” I said, as the sound -of a sail flapping against a mast came distinctly out -of the gloom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By St. George, you are right,” exclaimed the old -water-rat, “ay! ay! young ears are arter-all the -sharpest!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had scarcely spoken before the tall masts of a -ship, like a spectre rising through the night, lifted -themselves up out of the obscurity in the direction -whence the sound had proceeded, and instantaneously -we heard the tramping of many feet on the decks of -the stranger, the rapid orders of the officers, the running -of ropes, the creaking of yards, and the dull -flapping of sails in the wind. At the same time a -voice hailed,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Luff up or you’ll be into us,” and then the same -voice spoke as if addressing the helmsman on board -the stranger, “up with your helm—around, around -with her—my God! we’ll be afoul.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The consternation of the British skipper was not -without cause. No sooner had Capt. Smythe discovered -our proximity to the stranger, than he formed -the determination of running her aboard, taking her -by a sally of our brave fellows, and then, after -throwing into her a party sufficiently strong to maintain -possession of her, keeping on his way. During -the minute therefore that elapsed betwixt the discovery -of the merchantman, and the hail of her affrighted -skipper, the boarders had been called away and -the quartermaster ordered to run us bows on to the -quarter of the stranger. Instead of luffing, therefore, -we kept straight on in our course, and as a score of -lanterns were instantly shown on board both ships, -sufficient light was thrown over the scene to guide -us in our manœuvre. As the English ship wore -around, bringing the wind on her starboard quarter, -our helm was jammed to port, and swinging around -almost on our heel we shot upon the foe, striking her -in the stern galley, which we crushed as we would -have crushed an egg-shell. The English ship was -heavily loaded, and in consequence our bowsprit ran -high above her decks, affording a bridge on which -our brave tars might easily pass on board. At the -moment we struck, the captain dashed forward, and -summoning the boarders to follow him, had leaped, -sword in hand, into the centre of the enemy’s -crew, before her skipper had ceased giving orders to -the perplexed seamen, who were running to and fro -on her decks, in the vain hope of preventing any -damage resulting to them from this collision, with, as -they thought, a sister vessel. The consternation of -the master may well be conceived when he found -his ship in possession of an enemy. For some -minutes he imagined it to be a jest, for he could not -conceive how any foe would have the audacity to -cut him out from the very heart of the fleet. His -rueful countenance when he discovered his error, I -shall never forget, nor the bad grace with which he -consented to be transferred with a portion of his men -to <span class='sc'>the Aurora</span>. In less than five minutes, however, -this necessary precaution had been carried into effect, -and a prize-crew left in possession of the merchantman. -The officer in command was ordered to haul -out of the fleet, and gain a position as speedily as -possible to windward. Then the two ships were -parted, and we stood away as before on the larboard -tack, while the prize braced sharp up, hauled -her bowlines, and went off close into the wind’s -eye.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Jove,” said a reefer, elated with the part he -had acted among the boarders, for he had been one -of the first to step on the decks of the merchantman, -“by Jupiter, but that was neatly done—eh! don’t -you think so, Hinton, my old boy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shut your dead-lights, you young jackanapes,” -growled the old boatswain, by no means pleased with -such a salutation, “and keep your tongue for cheering -against the enemy: you’ll have enough of it to do -yet before you turn in. Avast! there! I say,” he -continued, perceiving that the youngster was about -to interrupt him, “go to your post, or I’ll report you, -you young whelp. None of your blarney, as your -thick-tongued Irish messmate would say—away with -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Hinton’s ire was up the safest plan was to -retreat, for he would brook no retort unless from the -captain or lieutenant. Over the young reefers, -especially those who were in disfavor with him, he -domineered with a rod of iron. The youngster who -had forgotten for a moment, in the elation of his first -victory, the awe in which he held the boatswain, was -recalled by these words to a sense of the authority of -the old tar, and he shrunk accordingly away, disdaining -to reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! go, you varmint,” chuckled Hinton, as the -reefer walked to his post, “and give none of your -long shore palaver to a man who had learned before -you were born to hold his tongue before an enemy -as his first duty. Isn’t it so, Mr. Cavendish?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was a great favorite of the old fellow, and always -made a point of humoring him, so I nodded an assent -to his remark, although I was tempted to ask him -how long since he had forgotten this important duty -of silence. I restrained, however, my question, and -the smile which would fain have preceded it: and -listened for several minutes in return for this complaisance -to a long philippic on the part of the old -fellow, against what he chose to call the almost -universal presumption of midshipmen. From this -tirade, however, the boatswain condescended to exempt -me. How long he would have dilated upon -this favorite subject, I know not; but, at this moment, -a hail came out of the gloom ahead, and every eye -was instantly attracted in the direction from which -the voice proceeded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ship ahoy!” shouted a herculean voice, “what -craft is that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tone of the speaker betrayed a latent suspicion -that all was not right with us. Indeed he must have -been so close to us in our late encounter with the -merchantman, that he necessarily heard many things -to awaken his doubts. As he spoke, too, the tall -figure of a heavy craft loomed out from the obscurity, -and while we were yet speculating as to the answer -the captain would make, a dozen lanterns flashing -through as many open port-holes, revealed that our -neighbor was a man-of-war.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What ship is that?” thundered the voice again, -“answer, or I’ll fire into you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our dauntless captain waved his hand for the batteries -to be unmasked, and springing into the mizzen -rigging, while a neighboring battle-lantern now disclosed -to the night, flung its light full upon his form, -he shouted in an equally stentorian voice—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is <span class='sc'>the Aurora</span>—commissioned by the good -commonwealth of——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give it to the canting rebel,” roared the British -officer, breaking in on this reply, “fire—for God and -St. George—<span style='font-size:smaller'>FIRE</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ay! fire my brave boys,” thundered our leader, -“one and all, for the old thirteen—<span style='font-size:smaller'>FIRE</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the moment when the enemy had disclosed -his lighted ports, our gallant tars had been waiting, -like hounds in the leash, for the signal which was to -let them loose upon the foe. The silent gesture of -the captain, when he sprung into the mizzen rigging, -had been intuitively understood by the crew, and the -orders of the proper officers were scarcely waited for, -before the ports were opened, the battle lanterns unmasked, -the guns run out, and the whole deck -changed, as if by magic, from a scene of almost -Egyptian darkness to one of comparative light. Nor -were the men less ready to discover the moment -when to open their fire. The first word of the British -officer’s haughty interruption had scarcely been spoken, -when the gunners began to pat their pieces and squint -knowingly along them, so that, when the command -to fire was given, our whole broadside went off at -once, like a volcano, and with deadly effect. Every -gun had been accurately aimed, every shot was sent -crashing into the foe. Not so the enemy. Although -the British captain had certainly viewed us with -suspicion, his crew had apparently thought us deserving -of little caution; and the reply of our leader, -and the order of their own to fire, took them, after all, -with surprise. Nearly a minute accordingly elapsed -before they delivered their broadside, and then it was -done hurriedly and with little certainty of aim. The -first fire is always more effective than the ensuing -six; and the advantage of the surprise was decided; -for while we could hear the crashing of timbers, and -the shrieks of the wounded, following our discharge, -the shot of the enemy passed mostly over our heads, -and, in my vicinity, not a man of our crew was killed. -One poor fellow, however, fell wounded at the gun -next to mine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Huzza!” roared Hinton, leaping like a lion to fill -the place of the injured man, “they’ve got their -grog already. Have at ’em, my brave fellows, again, -and revenge your messmate. Never mind, Jack,” -he said, turning to the bleeding man, “every one -must have a kick sometime in his life, and the sooner -its over, my hearty, the better. Bouse her out, shipmates! -Huzza for old Nantucket—the varmints have -it again on full allowance!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For ten minutes the fight was maintained on our -side without cessation. The enemy, at first, rallied -and attempted to return our broadsides promptly, but -the injuries she had suffered from our first discharge -had disheartened her men, and, when they found the -spirit with which we maintained our fire, they soon -gave up the contest and deserted their arms. Still, -however, the enemy did not strike. One or two of -her forward guns were occasionally and suddenly -discharged at us, but all systematic resistance had -ceased in less than five minutes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time, however, the whole fleet was in an -uproar. Lights were dashing in every quarter of the -horizon, and, as the darkness had been clearing -away since our brush with the merchantman, our -lookout aloft could see through the faint, misty distance, -more than one vessel bearing down toward -us. The majority, however, of the fleet, seemed to -be struck with a complete panic, and, like a flock of -startled partridges, were hurrying from us in every -direction. It soon became apparent that the ships, -bearing down upon us, were armed; and before we -had been engaged ten minutes with our antagonist, -no less than three men-of-war, from as many quarters -of the horizon, had opened a concentric fire on -us, regardless of the damage they would do their -consort. Still, however, unwilling to leave his antagonist -without compelling her to strike, our leader -maintained his position and poured in a series of -rapid broadsides which cut the foe up fearfully. Yet -she would not strike. On the other hand, reanimated -by the approach of her consorts, her men rallied to -her guns and began again to reply to our broadsides. -Meanwhile the hostile frigates were coming up to -us, hand over hand, increasing the rapidity of their -cannonade as the distance betwixt us lessened. Our -situation was becoming momentarily more critical. -Yet even amid our peril my eye was attracted by the -sublimity of the scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night, I have said, had partially cleared away, -but the darkness was still sufficiently intense to render -the approaching frigates but dimly visible, except -when a gush of fire would stream from their ports, -lighting up, for the moment, with a ghastly glare, -the smoke-encircled hull, the tall masts, and the -thousand mazes of the hamper. Often the whole -three vessels would discharge their broadsides at -once, when it would seem for an instant as if we were -girdled by fire. Then, as the smoke settled on their -decks, they would disappear wholly from our sight, -and only become again distinguishable, when they -belched forth their sulphureous flame once more. In -the west, the scene was even more magnificent, for -in that quarter, was unexpectedly the nearest of the -three men-of-war, and as she came up to us close-hauled, -she yawed whenever she fired, and then -steadily discharged her pieces, doing more damage -than all her other consorts. The gallant manner in -which she delivered her fire—the measured, distinct -booming of her long twenty-fours—and more than -all, the inky hue of the sky, in the background, -brought out into the boldest relief, by the light of her -guns, made up a picture of gloomy grandeur, which -the imagination can compare to nothing, except the -fitful, ghastly gleams of light shooting across the darkness -of that infernal realm, which Dante has painted -with his pen of horror. While, however, I was -gazing awe-struck, on this scene, I noticed that the -dark bank of clouds behind the frigate, was visibly -in motion, rolling up towards us. Our superior officer -had, perhaps, noticed the same phenomenon, and -knowing what it portended, had remained by his antagonist, -when otherwise, our only chance of escape -would have been in an early flight. Some of the -older tars now perceived the approaching tempest, -and paused instantaneously from the combat. Indeed, -not a moment was to be lost. I had scarcely -time to look once more in the direction of the other -frigates, and then turn again to the westward, before -our antagonist in that quarter, was completely shut -in by the squall. The wind had, meantime, died -away, leaving us rocking unquietly in the swell. A -pause of a minute ensued, a pause of the most breathless -suspense. The men had instinctively left their -guns, and stood awaiting the directions of their leaders -to whom they looked in this emergency. We were -happily nearly before the wind, which could now be -seen lashing the foam from the billows, and driving -down upon us with the speed of a race-horse. Another -instant and the squall would be upon us. All -this, however, had passed, in less time than is occupied -in the relation, for scarcely a minute had elapsed, -since I first saw the approaching squall, before -Captain Smythe shouted,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stand by to clew down—quick there all!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The command was not an instant too soon. His -opening words were heard distinctly in the boding -calm that preceded the squall, but the concluding -sentence was lost in the hissing and roaring of the -hurricane that now swept across our decks. The -captain saw that it was useless to attempt to speak -in the uproar, and waving his hand for the quartermaster -to keep her away, while the men instinctively -clewed down the topsail-yards, and hauled out the -reef-tackles, he awaited the subsidence of the squall. -For five minutes we went skimming before the tempest, -like a snow-flake in a storm. On—on—on, we -drove, the fine spray hissing past us on the gale, and -the shrill scream of the wind through our hamper -deafening our ears. Whither we were going, or -what perils might meet us in our mad career, we -knew not. We were flying helplessly onward, enclosed -by the mist, at the mercy of the winds. Even -if the intensity of the squall would have allowed us -to bring by the wind and reef, prudence would dictate -that we should run before the hurricane, as the -only chance of escaping from the clutches of our -foes. Yet, surrounded as we were by the merchantmen -of the fleet, we knew not but the next moment, -we might run down some luckless craft, and perhaps -by the collision, sink both them and ourselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For nearly half an hour we drove thus before the -hurricane. More than once we fancied that we -heard the shrieks of drowning men, rising high over -all the uproar of the tempest, but whether they were -in reality the cries of the dying or only the sounds -created by an overheated imagination and having no -existence except in the brain of the hearer, God -only knows! A thousand ships might have sunk -within a cable’s length of us, and not a prayer of the -sufferers, not a shriek of despair have met our ears. -There was a fearfulness in that palpable darkness, -which struck the most veteran heart with an awe -akin to fear. When men can look abroad and see -the real extent of the peril which surrounds them -they can dare almost anything; but when surrounded -by darkness their imaginations conjure up dangers -in every strange intonation of the tempest, in every -new outbreak of the surge. They tremble at what -they cannot behold; in the language of the scripture -“their joints are loosed with fear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the fury of the squall began to subside, -and the dark bank of clouds which had encircled us, -undulated, rolled to and fro, and finally flew in ragged -vapors away, flitting wildly past the stars that -once more twinkled in the sky. As the prospect -brightened, we looked eagerly around to see what -damage the squall had occasioned. The fleet was -scattered hither and thither over the horizon, torn, -shattered, dismantled, powerless. Far up in the -quarter from whence the hurricane had burst could -be faintly seen the body of the convoy; but on every -hand around some of the less fortunate ships were -discoverable. Whether, however, most of the merchantmen -had attempted to lie-to, or whether we -had scudded before the gale with a velocity which -none could rival, it was evident that we had passed -away like a thunderbolt from the rest of the fleet, -leaving them at a hopeless distance astern.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Owing to the rapidity with which our canvass had -been got in, we suffered no material injury; and, -when the gale subsided and the wind came out -again from the north, we lost no time in hauling up -and getting the weather-gauge of the convoy. The -ship was put once more in trim—the crew then -turned in, and the watches were left in undisturbed -possession of the decks. As I stood at my post and -watched the bright stars overhead, shining placidly -upon me, or listened to the cry of “All’s well!” -passed from lookout to lookout across the deck, I -could not help contrasting the peace and silence of -the scene with the fearful uproar of the preceding -hour.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When morning dawned, not a vestige of the fleet -remained on the southern seaboard. Our anxiety -was now turned to the fate of the merchantman we -had captured and that of the prize-crew we had -thrown into her. But toward the afternoon watch, -a sail was discovered on the horizon to windward, -and when we had approached within a proper distance -we recognized our prize. Our joy at rejoining -may well be imagined.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The prize proved to be laden with a valuable cargo, -and, as this was the first capture of any moment we -had made, it raised the spirits of the men in a commensurate -degree. The skipper of the merchantman -could never comprehend the justice of his capture. -Like the generals whom Napoleon has been beating -at a later day, he protested that he had been taken -against all the rules of war.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After keeping company with us for a few days, the -prize hauled up for the coast with the intention of -going into Newport. We subsequently learned that -she accomplished her aim, but not until she had run -the gauntlet of an English fleet. As for ourselves, -we stood towards the south on the look out for a new -prize.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div><h1><a id='min'></a>A LADY HEARD A MINSTREL SING.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-weight:bold;'>BALLAD.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>THE POETRY BY T. HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:0.5em;font-size:0.9em;'>THE MUSIC BY J. P. KNIGHT.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='it'>Philadelphia</span>: <span class='sc'>John F. Nunns</span>, <span class='it'>184 Chesnut Street</span>.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i119.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0003' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i120.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'>A Lady heard a Minstrel sing,</p> -<p class='line0'>  One night beneath her bower,</p> -<p class='line0'>In wrath she cried, “oh! what can bring</p> -<p class='line0'>  A stranger at this hour?”</p> -<p class='line0'>She clos’d the casement,— veil’d the lamp,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The Minstrel paus’d in sorrow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Yet said, “tho’ now I must decamp,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’ll try again to-morrow.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The minstrel came again next night,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The lady was not sleeping!</p> -<p class='line0'>She slily (tho’ she veil’d the light)</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was thro’ her casement peeping.</p> -<p class='line0'>She heard him fondly breathe her name,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Then saw him go with sorrow;</p> -<p class='line0'>And cried, “I wonder whence he came?</p> -<p class='line0'>  Perhaps he’ll come to-morrow.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Again she heard the sweet guitar,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  But soon the song was broken:</p> -<p class='line0'>Tho’ songs are sweet, oh! sweeter far</p> -<p class='line0'>  Are words in kindness spoken:</p> -<p class='line0'>She loves him for himself alone,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Disguise no more he’ll borrow,</p> -<p class='line0'>The minstrel’s rank at length is known,—</p> -<p class='line0'>  She’ll grace a court to-morrow.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Charles O’Malley, The Irish Dragoon. By Harry Lorrequer. -With Forty Illustrations by Phiz. Complete in -One Volume. Carey & Hart: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The first point to be observed in the consideration of -“Charles O’Malley” is the great <span class='it'>popularity</span> of the work. -We believe that in this respect it has surpassed even the -inimitable compositions of Mr. Dickens. At all events it -has met with a most extensive sale; and, although the -graver journals have avoided its discussion, the ephemeral -press has been nearly if not quite unanimous in its praise. -To be sure, the commendation, although unqualified, cannot -be said to have abounded in specification, or to have been, -in any regard, of a satisfactory character to one seeking -precise ideas on the topic of the book’s particular merit. It -appears to us, in fact, that the cabalistical words “fun,” -“rollicking” and “devil-may-care,” if indeed words they -be, have been made to stand in good stead of all critical -comment in the case of the work now under review. We -first saw these dexterous expressions in a fly-leaf of -“Opinions of the Press” appended to the renowned -“Harry Lorrequer” by his publisher in Dublin. Thence -transmitted, with complacent echo, from critic to critic, -through daily, weekly and monthly journals without number, -they have come at length to form a pendant and a portion -of our author’s celebrity—have come to be regarded as -sufficient response to the few ignoramuses who, obstinate -as ignorant, and fool-hardy as obstinate, venture to propound -a question or two about the true claims of “Harry -Lorrequer” or the justice of the pretensions of “Charles -O’Malley.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We shall not insult our readers by supposing any one of -them unaware of the fact, that a book may be even exceedingly -<span class='it'>popular</span> without <span class='it'>any</span> legitimate literary merit. This -fact can be proven by numerous examples which, now and -here, it will be unnecessary and perhaps indecorous to -mention. The dogma, then, is absurdly false, that the -popularity of a work is <span class='it'>primâ facie</span> evidence of its excellence -in some respects; that is to say, the dogma is false if -we confine the meaning of excellence (as here of course it -must be confined) to excellence in a literary sense. The -truth is, that the popularity of a book is <span class='it'>primâ facie</span> evidence -of just the converse of the proposition—it is evidence -of the book’s <span class='it'>demerit</span>, inasmuch as it shows a “stooping to -conquer”—inasmuch as it shows that the author has dealt -largely, if not altogether, in matters which are susceptible -of appreciation by the mass of mankind—by uneducated -thought, by uncultivated taste, by unrefined and unguided -passion. So long as the world retains its present point of -civilization, so long will it be almost an axiom that no extensively -<span class='it'>popular</span> book, in the right application of the term, -can be a work of high merit, <span class='it'>as regards those particulars of -the work which are popular</span>. A book may be readily sold, -may be universally read, for the sake of some half or two-thirds -of its matter, which half or two-thirds may be susceptible -of popular appreciation, while the one-half or one-third -remaining may be the delight of the highest intellect -and genius, and absolute <span class='it'>caviare</span> to the rabble. And just as</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci</span>,</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>so will the writer of fiction, who looks most sagaciously to -his own <span class='it'>interest</span>, combine all votes by intermingling with -his loftier efforts such amount of less ethereal matter as -will give general currency to his composition. And here -we shall be pardoned for quoting some observations of the -English artist, H. Howard. Speaking of <span class='it'>imitation</span>, he -says:</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>The pleasure which results from it, even when employed -upon the most ordinary materials, will always render that -property of our art the most attractive with the majority, -because it may be enjoyed with the least mental exertion. -<span class='it'>All</span> men are in some degree judges of it. The cobbler in his -own line may criticize Apelles; and popular opinions are -never to be wholly disregarded concerning that which is -addressed to the public—who, to a certain extent, are generally -right; although as the language of the refined can -never be intelligible to the uneducated, so the higher styles -of art can never be acceptable to the multitude. In proportion -as a work rises in the scale of intellect, it must necessarily -become limited in the number of its admirers. For -this reason the judicious artist, even in his loftiest efforts, -will endeavor to introduce some of those qualities which -are interesting to all, as a passport for those of a more intellectual -character.</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>And these remarks upon painting—remarks which are -mere truisms in themselves—embody nearly the whole -<span class='it'>rationale</span> of the topic now under discussion. It may be -added, however, that the <span class='it'>skill</span> with which the author addresses -the lower taste of the populace, is often a source of -pleasure because of admiration, to a taste higher and more -refined, and may be made a point of comment and of commendation -by the critic.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In our review, last month, of “Barnaby Rudge,” we -were prevented, through want of space, from showing how -Mr. Dickens had so well succeeded in uniting all suffrages. -What we have just said, however, will suffice upon this -point. While he has appealed, in innumerable regards, to -the most exalted intellect, he has meanwhile invariably -touched a certain string whose vibrations are omni-prevalent. -We allude to his powers of <span class='it'>imitation</span>—that species -of imitation to which Mr. Howard has reference—the <span class='it'>faithful</span> -depicting of what is called still-life, and particularly of -<span class='it'>character</span> in humble condition. It is his close observation -and imitation of nature here which have rendered him -popular, while his higher qualities, with the ingenuity -evinced in addressing the general taste, have secured him -the good word of the informed and intellectual.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this is an important point upon which we desire to -be distinctly understood. We wish here to record our positive -dissent (be that dissent worth what it may) from a -very usual opinion—the opinion that Mr. Dickens has done -justice to his own genius—that any man ever failed to do -grievous wrong to his own genius—in appealing to the -popular judgment <span class='it'>at all</span>. As a matter of pecuniary policy -alone, is any such appeal defensible. But we speak, of -course, in relation to fame—in regard to that</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  ——spur which the true spirit doth raise</p> -<p class='line0'>To scorn delight and live laborious days.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>That a perfume should be found by any “true spirit” in -the incense of mere popular applause, is, to our own apprehension -at least, a thing inconceivable, inappreciable,—a -paradox which gives the lie unto itself—a mystery more -profound than the well of Democritus. Mr. Dickens has no -more business with the rabble than a seraph with a <span class='it'>chapeau -de bras</span>. What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba? What -is he to Jacques Bonhomme<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a> or Jacques Bonhomme to him? -The higher genius is a rare gift and divine. Ὡπόλλων -ου παντι φαεινεται, ος μιν ιδη, μεγας ουτος—not to all men Apollo -shows himself; <span class='it'>he</span> is <span class='it'>alone great</span> who beholds him.<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a> And -his greatness has its office God-assigned. But that office is -not a low communion with low, or even with ordinary intellect. -The holy—the electric spark of genius is the -medium of intercourse between the noble and more noble -mind. For lesser purposes there are humbler agents. -There are puppets enough, able enough, willing enough, to -perform in literature the little things to which we have -had reference. For one Fouqué there are fifty Molières. -For one Angelo there are five hundred Jan Steens. For one -Dickens there are five million Smolletts, Fieldings, Marryatts, -Arthurs, Cocktons, Bogtons and Frogtons.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is, in brief, the duty of all whom circumstances have -led into criticism—it is, at least, a duty from which <span class='it'>we</span> individually -shall never shrink—to uphold the true dignity -of genius, to combat its degradation, to plead for the exercise -of its powers in those bright fields which are its legitimate -and peculiar province, and which for it alone lie -gloriously outspread.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But to return to “Charles O’Malley,” and its popularity. -We have endeavored to show that this latter must not be -considered in any degree as the measure of its merit, but -should rather be understood as indicating a deficiency in -this respect, when we bear in mind, as we should do, the -highest aims of intellect in fiction. A slight examination of -the work, (for in truth it is worth no more,) will sustain us -in what we have said. The plot is exceedingly meagre. -Charles O’Malley, the hero, is a young orphan Irishman, -living in Galway county, Ireland, in the house of his uncle, -Godfrey, to whose sadly encumbered estates the youth is -heir apparent and presumptive. He becomes enamoured, -while on a visit to a neighbor, of Miss Lucy Dashwood, and -finds a rival in a Captain Hammersley. Some words -carelessly spoken by Lucy, inspire him with a desire for -military renown. After sojourning, therefore, for a brief -period, at Dublin University, he obtains a commission and -proceeds to the Peninsula, with the British army under -Wellington. Here he distinguishes himself; is promoted; -and meets frequently with Miss Dashwood, whom obstinately, -and in spite of the lady’s own acknowledgment of -love for himself, he supposes in love with Hammersley. -Upon the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo he returns home; -finds his uncle, of course, <span class='it'>just</span> dead; and sells his commission -to disencumber the estate. Presently Napoleon escapes -from Elba, and our hero, obtaining a staff appointment under -Picton, returns to the Peninsula, is present at Waterloo, -(where Hammersley is killed) saves the life of Lucy’s father, -for the second time, as he has already twice saved that of -Lucy herself; is rewarded by the hand of the latter; and, -making his way back to O’Malley Castle, “lives happily -all the rest of his days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In and about this plot (if such it may be called) there are -more absurdities than we have patience to enumerate. -The author, or narrator, for example, is supposed to be -Harry Lorrequer as far as the end of the preface, which by -the way, is one of the best portions of the book. O’Malley -then tells his own story. But the publishing office of the -“Dublin University Magazine” (in which the narrative -originally appeared) having been burned down, there -ensues a sad confusion of identity between O’Malley and -Lorrequer, so that it is difficult, for the nonce, to say which -is which. In the want of copy consequent upon the disaster, -James, the novelist, comes in to the relief of Lorrequer, -or perhaps of O’Malley, with one of the flattest and -most irrelevant of love-tales. Meantime, in the story -proper are repetitions without end. We have already said -that the hero <span class='it'>saves the life of his mistress twice, and of her -father twice</span>. But not content with this, he has <span class='it'>two</span> mistresses, -and <span class='it'>saves the life of both, at different periods, in -precisely the same manner</span>—that is to say, by causing his -horse, in each instance, to perform a Munchausen side-leap, -at the moment when a spring forward would have -impelled him upon his beloved. And then we have one -unending, undeviating succession of junketings, in which -“devilled kidneys” are never by any accident found wanting. -The unction and pertinacity with which the author -discusses what he chooses to denominate “devilled kidneys” -are indeed edifying, to say no more. The truth is, -that drinking wine, telling anecdotes, and devouring “devilled -kidneys” may be considered as the sum total, as the -<span class='it'>thesis</span> of the book. Never in the whole course of his eventful -life, does Mr. O’Malley get “two or three assembled -together” without seducing them forthwith to a table, and -placing before them a dozen of wine and a dish of “devilled -kidneys.” This accomplished, the parties begin -what seems to be the business of the author’s existence—the -narration of unusually <span class='it'>broad tales</span>—like those of the -Southdown mutton. And here, in fact, we have the <span class='it'>plan</span> -of that whole work of which the “United Service Gazette” -has been pleased to vow it “would rather be the author -than of all the ‘Pickwicks’ and ‘Nicklebys’ in the -world”—a sentiment which we really blush to say has -been echoed by many respectable members of our own -press. The general plot or narrative is a mere thread upon -which after-dinner anecdotes, some good, some bad, some -utterly worthless, and <span class='it'>not one truly original</span>, are strung -with about as much method, and about half as much dexterity, -as we see ragged urchins employ in stringing the -kernels of nuts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would, indeed, be difficult to convey to one who has -not examined this production for himself, any idea of the -exceedingly rough, clumsy, and inartistical manner in -which even this bald conception is carried out. The stories -are absolutely dragged in by the ears. So far from finding -them result naturally or plausibly from the conversation of -the interlocutors, even the blindest reader may perceive -the author’s struggling and blundering effort to introduce -them. It is rendered quite evident that they were originally -“on hand,” and that “O’Malley” has been concocted -for their introduction. Among other <span class='it'>niaïseries</span> we -observe the silly trick of whetting appetite by delay. The -conversation over the “kidneys” is brought, for example, -to such a pass that one of the speakers is called upon for a -story, which he forthwith declines for any reason, or for -none. At a subsequent “broil” he is again pressed, and -again refuses, and it is not until the reader’s patience is -fairly exhausted, and he has consigned both the story and -its author to Hades, that the gentleman in question is prevailed -upon to discourse. The only conceivable result of -this <span class='it'>fanfarronade</span> is the ruin of the tale when told, through -exaggerating anticipation respecting it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The anecdotes thus narrated being the staple of the -book, and the awkward manner of their interlocution -having been pointed out, it but remains to be seen what the -anecdotes are, in themselves, and what is the merit of -their narration. And here, let it not be supposed that we -have any design to deprive the devil of his due. There are -several very excellent anecdotes in “Charles O’Malley” -very cleverly and pungently told. Many of the scenes in -which Monsoon figures are rich—less, however, from the -scenes themselves than from the piquant, but by no means -original character of Monsoon—a drunken, maudlin, dishonest -old Major, given to communicativeness and mock -morality over his cups, and not over careful in detailing -adventures which tell against himself. One or two of the -college pictures are unquestionably good—but might have -been better. In general, the reader is made to feel that -fine subjects have fallen into unskilful hands. By way of -instancing this assertion, and at the same time of conveying -an idea of the tone and character of the stories, we will -quote one of the shortest, and assuredly one of the best.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, by-the-by, how’s the Major?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Charmingly: only a little bit in a scrape just now. Sir -Arthur—Lord Wellington, I mean—had him up for his -fellows being caught pillaging, and gave him a devil of a -rowing a few days ago.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Very disorderly corps yours, Major O’Shaughnessy,’ -said the general; ‘more men up for punishment than any -regiment in the service.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shaugh muttered something, but his voice was lost in -a loud cock-a-doo-doo-doo, that some bold chanticleer set up -at the moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If the officers do their duty Major O’Shaughnessy, these -acts of insubordination do not occur.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Cock-a-doo-doo-doo,’ was the reply. Some of the staff -found it hard not to laugh; but the general went on—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If, therefore, the practice does not cease, I’ll draft the -men into West India regiments.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Cock-a-doo-doo-doo!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And if any articles pillaged from the inhabitants are -detected in the quarters, or about the persons of the -troops—’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Cock-a-doo-doo-<span class='it'>doo</span>!’ screamed louder here than -ever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Damn that cock—where is it?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was a general look around on all sides, which -seemed in vain; when a tremendous repetition of the cry -resounded from O’Shaughnessy’s coat-pocket: thus detecting -the valiant Major himself in the very practice of his -corps. There was no standing this: every one burst out -into a peal of laughter; and Lord Wellington himself could -not resist, but turned away, muttering to himself as he -went—‘Damned robbers every man of them,’ while a final -war-note from the Major’s pocket closed the interview.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Now this is an anecdote at which every one will laugh; -but its effect might have been vastly heightened by putting -a few words of grave morality and reprobation of the conduct -of his troops, into the mouth of O’Shaughnessy, upon -whose character they would have told well. The cock, in -interrupting the thread of his discourse, would thus have -afforded an excellent context. We have scarcely a reader, -moreover, who will fail to perceive the want of <span class='it'>tact</span> shown -in dwelling upon the <span class='it'>mirth</span> which the anecdote occasioned. -The error here is precisely like that of a man’s laughing at -his own spoken jokes. Our author is uniformly guilty of -this mistake. He has an absurd fashion, also, of informing -the reader, at the conclusion of each of his anecdotes, that, -however good the anecdote might be, he (the reader) cannot -enjoy it to the full extent in default of the <span class='it'>manner</span> in which -it was orally narrated. He has no business to say anything -of this kind. It is his duty to convey the manner not -less than the matter of his narratives.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we may say of these latter that, in general, they -have the air of being <span class='it'>remembered</span> rather than invented. No -man who has seen much of the rough life of the camp will -fail to recognize among them many very old acquaintances. -Some of them are as ancient as the hills, and have been, -time out of mind, the common property of the bivouac. -They have been narrated orally all the world over. The -chief merit of the writer is, that he has been the first to -collect and to print them. It is observable, in fact, that the -second volume of the work is very far inferior to the first. -The author seems to have exhausted his whole hoarded -store in the beginning. His conclusion is barren indeed, -and but for the historical details (for which he has no claim -to merit) would be especially prosy and dull. <span class='it'>Now the true -invention never exhausts itself.</span> It is mere cant and ignorance -to talk of the possibility of the really imaginative -man’s “writing himself out.” His soul but derives nourishment -from the streams that flow therefrom. As well -prate about the aridity of the eternal ocean -εξ ουπερ παντες ποταμοι. -So long as the universe of thought shall furnish -matter for novel combinations, so long will the spirit of true -genius be original, be exhaustless—be itself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few cursory observations. The book is filled to over-flowing -with songs of very doubtful excellence, the most at -which are put into the mouth of one Micky Free, an amusing -Irish servant of O’Malley’s, and are given as his -impromptu effusions. The subject of the improvisos is -always the matter in hand at the moment of composition. -The author evidently prides himself upon his poetical -powers, about which the less we say the better; but if anything -were wanting to assure us of his absurd ignorance -and inappreciation of Art, we should find the fullest assurance -in the mode in which these doggrel verses are introduced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The occasional sentiment with which the volumes are -interspersed there is an absolute necessity for skipping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Can anybody tell us what is meant by the affectation of -the word <span class='it'>L’envoy</span> which is made the heading of two -prefaces?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That portion of the account of the battle of Waterloo -which gives O’Malley’s experiences while a prisoner, and -in close juxta-position to Napoleon, bears evident traces of -having been translated, and very literally too, from a -French manuscript.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The English of the work is sometimes even amusing. We -have continually, for example, <span class='it'>eat</span>, the present, for <span class='it'>ate</span>, the -perfect—see page 17. At page 16, we have this delightful -sentence—“Captain Hammersley, however, <span class='it'>never</span> took -further notice of me, but continued to recount, for the -amusement of those <span class='it'>about</span>, several excellent stories of his -military career, which I confess were heard with every -<span class='it'>test</span> of delight by all save me.” At page 357 we have some -sage talk about “the entire of the army;” and at page 368, -the accomplished O’Malley speaks of “<span class='it'>drawing</span> a last look -upon his sweetheart.” These things arrest our attention as -we open the book at random. It abounds in them, and in -vulgarisms even much worse than they.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But why speak of vulgarisms of language? There is a -disgusting vulgarism of thought which pervades and contaminates -this whole production, and from which a delicate -or lofty mind will shrink as from a pestilence. Not the -least repulsive manifestation of this leprosy is to be found -in the author’s blind and grovelling worship of mere rank. -Of the Prince Regent, that filthy compound of all that is -bestial—that lazar-house of all moral corruption—he scruples -not to speak in terms of the grossest adulation—sneering -at Edmund Burke in the same villainous breath in -which he extols the talents, the graces and <span class='it'>the virtues</span> of -George the Fourth! That any man, to-day, can be found -so degraded in heart as to style this reprobate, “one who, -in every feeling of his nature, and in every feature of his -deportment was every inch a prince”—is matter for grave -reflection and sorrowful debate. The American, at least, -who shall peruse the concluding pages of the book now -under review, and not turn in disgust from the base sycophancy -which infects them, is unworthy of his country and -his name. But the truth is, that a gross and contracted soul -renders itself unquestionably manifest in almost every line -of the composition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And this—<span class='it'>this</span> is the <span class='it'>work</span>, in respect to which its author, -aping the airs of intellect, prates about his “haggard -cheek,” his “sunken eye,” his “aching and tired head,” -his “nights of toil” and (Good Heavens!) his “days of -<span class='it'>thought</span>!” That the thing is popular we grant—while that -we cannot deny the fact, we grieve. But the career of true -taste is onward—and now more vigorously onward than -ever—and the period, perhaps, is not hopelessly distant, -when, in decrying the mere balderdash of such matters as -“Charles O’Malley,” we shall do less violence to the feelings -and judgment even of the populace, than, we much -fear, has been done to-day.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Nickname for the populace in the middle ages</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_4'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>Callimachus—<span class='it'>Hymn to Apollo</span>.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Ballads and other Poems. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, -Author of “Voices of the Night,” “Hyperion,” -etc.: Second Edition. John Owen: Cambridge.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Il y a à parier</span>,” says Chamfort, “<span class='it'>que toute idée publique, -toute convention reçue, est une sottise, car elle a convenue -au plus grand nombre</span>.”—One would be safe in -wagering that any given public idea is erroneous, for it has -been yielded to the clamor of the majority;—and this strictly -philosophical, although somewhat French assertion has -especial bearing upon the whole race of what are termed -maxims and popular proverbs; nine-tenths of which are the -quintessence of folly. One of the most deplorably false of -them is the antique adage, <span class='it'>De gustibus non est disputandum</span>—there -should be no disputing about taste. Here the -idea designed to be conveyed is that any one person has as -just right to consider his own taste <span class='it'>the true</span>, as has any one -other—that taste itself, in short, is an arbitrary something, -amenable to no law, and measurable by no definite rules. -It must be confessed, however, that the exceedingly vague -and impotent treatises which are alone extant, have -much to answer for as regards confirming the general -error. Not the least important service which, hereafter, -mankind will owe to <span class='it'>Phrenology</span>, may perhaps, be recognised -in an analysis of the real principles, and a digest of -the resulting laws of taste. These principles, in fact, are -as clearly traceable, and these laws as readily susceptible -of system as are any whatever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the meantime, the inane adage above mentioned is in -no respect more generally, more stupidly, and more pertinaciously -quoted than by the admirers of what is termed -the “good old Pope,” or the “good old Goldsmith school” -of poetry, in reference to the bolder, more natural, and -<span class='it'>more ideal</span> compositions of such authors as Coëtlogon and -Lamartine<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a> in France; Herder, Körner, and Uhland in -Germany; Brun and Baggesen in Denmark; Bellman, -Tegnér, and Nyberg<a id='r6'/><a href='#f6' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[6]</span></sup></a> in Sweden; Keats, Shelley, Coleridge, -and Tennyson in England; Lowell and Longfellow -in America. “<span class='it'>De gustibus non</span>,” say these “good-old-school” -fellows; and we have no doubt that their mental -translation of the phrase is—“We pity your taste—we pity -every body’s taste but our own.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is our purpose, hereafter, when occasion shall be -afforded us, to controvert in an article of some length, the -popular idea that the poets just mentioned owe to novelty, -to trickeries of expression, and to other meretricious -effects, their appreciation by certain readers:—to demonstrate -(for the matter is susceptible of demonstration) that -such poetry and <span class='it'>such alone</span> has fulfilled the legitimate office -of the muse; has thoroughly satisfied an earnest and unquenchable -desire existing in the heart of man. In the -present number of our Magazine we have left ourselves -barely room to say a few random words of welcome to -these “Ballads,” by Longfellow, and to tender him, and -all such as he, the homage of our most earnest love and admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume before us (in whose outward appearance the -keen “taste” of genius is evinced with nearly as much precision -as in its internal soul) includes, with several brief -original pieces, a translation from the Swedish of Tegnér. -In attempting (what never should be attempted) a literal -version of both the words and the metre of this poem, Professor -Longfellow has failed to do justice either to his -author or himself. He has striven to do what no man ever -did well and what, from the nature of language itself, -never <span class='it'>can</span> be well done. Unless, for example, we shall -come to have an influx of <span class='it'>spondees</span> in our English tongue, -it will always be impossible to construct an English hexameter. -Our spondees, or, we should say, our spondaic -words, are rare. In the Swedish they are nearly as -abundant as in the Latin and Greek. We have only -“<span class='it'>compound</span>,” “<span class='it'>context</span>,” “<span class='it'>footfall</span>,” and a few other similar -ones. This is the difficulty; and that it <span class='it'>is</span> so will become -evident upon reading “The Children of the Lord’s -Supper,” where the sole <span class='it'>readable</span> verses are those in which -we meet with the rare spondaic dissyllables. We mean to -say <span class='it'>readable as Hexameters</span>; for many of them will read -very well as mere English Dactylics with certain irregularities.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But within the narrow compass now left us we must not -indulge in anything like critical comment. Our readers -will be better satisfied perhaps with a few brief extracts -from the original poems of the volume—which we give for -their rare excellence, without pausing now to say in what -particulars this excellence exists.</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And, like the water’s flow</p> -<p class='line0'>Under December’s snow</p> -<p class='line0'>Came a dull voice of woe,</p> -<p class='line0'>  From the heart’s chamber.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>So the loud laugh of scorn,</p> -<p class='line0'>Out of those lips unshorn</p> -<p class='line0'>From the deep drinking-horn</p> -<p class='line0'>  Blew the foam lightly.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>As with his wings aslant</p> -<p class='line0'>Sails the fierce cormorant</p> -<p class='line0'>Seeking some rocky haunt,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With his prey laden,</p> -<p class='line0'>So toward the open main,</p> -<p class='line0'>Beating to sea again,</p> -<p class='line0'>Through the wild hurricane,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bore I the maiden.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Down came the storm and smote amain</p> -<p class='line0'>  The vessel in its strength;</p> -<p class='line0'>She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed</p> -<p class='line0'>  Then leaped her cable’s length.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  She drifted a dreary wreck,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a whooping billow swept the crew</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like icicles from her deck.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>He hears the parson pray and preach,</p> -<p class='line0'>  He hears his daughter’s voice,</p> -<p class='line0'>Singing in the village choir,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And it makes his heart rejoice.</p> -<p class='line0'>It sounds to him like her mother’s voice</p> -<p class='line0'>  Singing in Paradise!</p> -<p class='line0'>He needs must think of her once more</p> -<p class='line0'>  How in the grave she lies;</p> -<p class='line0'>And with his hard rough hand he wipes</p> -<p class='line0'>  A tear out of his eyes.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Thus at the flaming forge of life</p> -<p class='line0'>  Our fortunes must be wrought;</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus on its sounding anvil shaped</p> -<p class='line0'>  Each burning deed and thought.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The rising moon has hid the stars</p> -<p class='line0'>Her level rays like golden bars</p> -<p class='line0'>  Lie on the landscape green</p> -<p class='line0'>  With shadows brown between.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Love lifts the boughs whose shadows deep</p> -<p class='line0'>Are life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And kisses the closed eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of him who slumbering lies.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Friends my soul with joy remembers!</p> -<p class='line0'>  How like quivering flames they start,</p> -<p class='line0'>When I fan the living embers</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the hearth-stone of my heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hearest thou voices on the shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>That our ears perceive no more</p> -<p class='line0'>Deafened by the cataract’s roar?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And from the sky, serene and far,</p> -<p class='line0'>A voice fell like a falling star.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Some of these passages cannot be fully appreciated apart -from the context—but we address these who have read the -book. Of the translations we have not spoken. It is but -right to say, however, that “The Luck of Edenhall” is a -far finer poem, in every respect, than any of the original -pieces. Nor would we have our previous observations misunderstood. -Much as we admire the genius of Mr. Longfellow, -we are fully sensible of his many errors of affectation -and imitation. His artistical skill is great, and his ideality -high. But his conception of the <span class='it'>aims</span> of poesy <span class='it'>is all wrong</span>; -and this we shall prove at some future day—to our own -satisfaction, at least. His didactics are all <span class='it'>out of place</span>. -He has written brilliant poems—by accident; that is to say -when permitting his genius to get the better of his conventional -habit of thinking—a habit deduced from German -study. We do not mean to say that a didactic moral may -not be well made the <span class='it'>under-current</span> of a poetical thesis; but -that it can never be well put so obtrusively forth, as in the -majority of his compositions. There is a young American -who, with ideality not richer than that of Longfellow and -with less artistical knowledge, has yet composed far truer -poems, merely through the greater propriety of his themes. -We allude to James Russel Lowell; and in the number of -this Magazine for last month, will be found a ballad entitled -“Rosaline,” affording excellent exemplification of -our meaning. This composition has unquestionably its defects, -and the very defects which are never perceptible in -Mr. Longfellow—but we sincerely think that <span class='it'>no American -poem equals it</span> in the higher elements of song.</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'>We allude here chiefly to the “David” of Coëtlogon, -and <span class='it'>only</span> to the “<span class='it'>Chûte d’un Ange</span>” of Lamartine.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_6'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f6'><a href='#r6'>[6]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>C. Julia Nyberg, author of the “Dikter von Euphrosyne.”</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Critical and Miscellaneous Writings of Henry Lord -Brougham, to which is Prefixed a Sketch of his Character. -Two volumes. Lea and Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>That Lord Brougham <span class='it'>was</span> an extraordinary man no one -in his senses will deny. An intellect of unusual capacity, -goaded into diseased action by passions nearly ferocious, -enabled him to astonish the world, and especially the -“hero-worshippers,” as the author of Sartor-Resartus has -it, by the combined extent and variety of his mental -triumphs. Attempting many things, it may at least be said -that he egregiously failed in none. But that he pre-eminently -excelled in any cannot be affirmed with truth, and -might well be denied <span class='it'>à priori</span>. We have no faith in admirable -Crichtons, and this merely because we have implicit -faith in Nature and her laws. “He that is born to -be a man,” says Wieland, in his ‘Peregrinus Proteus,’ -“neither should nor can be anything nobler, greater, nor -better than a man.” The Broughams of the human intellect -are never its Newtons or its Bayles. Yet the contemporaneous -reputation to be acquired by the former is naturally -greater than any which the latter may attain. The -versatility of one whom we see and hear is a more dazzling -and more readily appreciable merit than his profundity; -which latter is best estimated in the silence of the closet, -and after the quiet lapse of years. What impression Lord -Brougham has stamped upon his age, cannot be accurately -determined until Time has fixed and rendered definite the -lines of the medal; and fifty years hence it will be difficult, -perhaps, even to make out the deepest indentations of the -<span class='it'>exergue</span>. Like Coleridge he should be regarded as one who -might have done much, had he been satisfied with attempting -but little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The title of the book before us is, we think, somewhat -disingenuous. These two volumes contain but a small portion -of the “Critical and Miscellaneous Writings” of Lord -Brougham; and the preface itself assures us that what is -here published <span class='it'>forms only a part of his anonymous contributions -to the Edinburgh Review</span>. In fact three similar -selections from his “Miscellaneous Works” have been -given to the world within a year or two past, by Philadelphian -publishers, and neither of these selections embrace -any of the matter now issued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The present volumes, however, are not the less valuable -on this account. They contain many of the most noted and -some of the best compositions of the author. Among other -articles of interest we have the celebrated “Discourse on -the Objects, Pleasures and Advantages of Science”—a -title, by the way, in which the word “pleasures” is one -of the purest supererogation. That this discourse is well -written, we, of course, admit, since we do not wish to be -denounced as blockheads; but we beg leave to disagree, -most positively, with the Preface, which asserts that -“there was only one individual living by whom it could -have been produced.” This round asseveration will only -excite a smile upon the lips of every man of the slightest -pretension to scientific acquirement. We are personally -acquainted with at least a dozen individuals who could -have written this treatise <span class='it'>as well</span> as the Lord Chancellor -has written it. In fact, a discourse of this character is by -no means difficult of composition—a discourse such as -Lord Brougham has given us. His whole design consists -in an unmethodical collection of the most <span class='it'>striking</span> and at -the same time the most <span class='it'>popularly comprehensible facts</span> in -general science. And it cannot be denied that this plan of -demonstrating the advantages of science as a whole <span class='it'>by detailing -insulated specimens of its interest</span> is a most unphilosophical -and inartistical mode of procedure—a mode which -even puts one in mind of the σκολαστικος offering a brick -as a sample of the house he wished to sell. Neither is the -essay free (as should be imperatively demanded in a case -of this nature) from very gross error and mis-statement. Its -style, too, in its minor points, is unusually bad. The -strangest grammatical errors abound, of which the initial -pages are especially full, and the whole is singularly deficient -in that precision which should characterise a scientific -discourse. In short, it is an entertaining essay, but in -some degree superficial and quackish, and could have been -<span class='it'>better</span> written by any one of a multitude of living <span class='it'>savans</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is a very amusing paper, in this collection, upon -the authorship of Junius. We allude to it, now especially, -by way of corroborating what we said, in our January -number, touching the ordinary character of the English -review-system. The article was furnished the Edinburgh -Quarterly by its author, who, no doubt, received for it a -very liberal compensation. It is, nevertheless, one of the -most barefaced impositions we ever beheld; being nothing -in the world more than a tame <span class='it'>compendium</span>, fact by fact, of -the book under discussion—“The Identity of Junius with a -Distinguished Living Character Established.” There is no -attempt at analysis—no new fact is adduced—no novel -argument is urged—and yet the thing is called a criticism -and liberally paid for as such. The secret of this style of -Review-making is that of mystifying the reader by an artful -substitution of the interest appertaining to the text for -interest aroused by the commentator.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Pantology; or a systematic survey of Human Knowledge; -Proposing a Classification of all its branches, and illustrating -their History, Relations, Uses, and Objects; with -a Synopsis of their leading Facts and Principles; and -a Select Catalogue of Books on all Subjects, suitable -for a Cabinet Library. The whole designed as a Guide to -Study for advanced Students in Colleges, Academies, and -Schools; and as a popular Directory in Literature, Science -and the Arts. Second Edition. By Roswell Park, -A. M., Professor of Natural Philosophy and Chemistry in -the University of Pennsylvania, &c. Hogan and Thompson: -Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The title of this work explains its nature with accuracy. -To human knowledge in general, it is what a map of the -world is to geography. The design is chiefly, <span class='it'>to classify</span>, -and thus present a dependent and clearly discernible whole. -To those who have paid much attention to Natural History -and the endless, unstable, and consequently vexatious classifications -which there occur—to those, in especial, who -have labored over the “Conchologies” of De Blainville and -Lamarck, some faint—some very faint idea of the difficulties -attending such a labor as this, will occur. There have -been numerous prior attempts of the same kind, and although -this is unquestionably <span class='it'>one</span> of the best, we cannot regard -it as the best. Mr. Park has chosen a highly artificial -scheme of arrangement; and both reason and experience -show us that <span class='it'>natural</span> classifications, or those which proceed -upon broad and immediately recognisable distinctions, are -alone practically or permanently successful. We say this, -however, with much deference to the opinions of a gentleman, -whose means of acquiring <span class='it'>knowledge</span>, have been -equalled only by his zeal in its pursuit, and whose general -talents we have had some personal opportunity of estimating.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We mean nothing like criticism in so brief a paragraph -as we can here afford, upon a work so voluminous and so -important as the one before us. Our design is merely to -call the attention of our friends to the publication—whose -merits are obvious and great. Its defects are, of course, -numerous. We mean rather to say, that in every work of -this nature, it is in the power of almost every reader to -suggest a thousand emendations. We might object to many -of the details. We <span class='it'>must</span> object to nearly all of the belles-lettres -portion of the book. We cannot stand being told, for -example, that “Barlow’s ‘Columbiad’ is a poem of considerable -merit;” nor are we rendered more patient under -the infliction of this and similar opinions, by the information -that Vander Vondel and Vander Doos (the deuce!) -wrote capital Dutch epics, while “the poems of Cats are -said to be spirited and <span class='it'>pious</span>!” We know nothing about -cats, nor cats about piety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The volume is sadly disfigured by typographical errors. -On the title-page of the very first “province” is a blunder -in Greek.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Student-Life of Germany: By William Howitt, Author -of the “Rural Life of England,” “Book of the Seasons,” -etc. From the unpublished MS. of Dr. Cornelius. -Containing nearly Forty of the most Famous Student -Songs. Carey & Hart: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Howitt has here given us the only complete and -faithful account of the Student-Life of Germany which has -appeared in any quarter of the world. The institutions -and customs which his book describes, form, to use his own -language, “the most singular state of social existence to -be found in the bosom of civilized Europe,” and are doubly -curious and worthy of investigation—first, on account of -the jealousy with which the students have hitherto withheld -all information on the subject, and secondly, on account -of the deep root which the customs themselves have -taken in the heart of the German life. The Burschendom, -of which we have all heard so much, yet so vaguely, is no -modern or evanescent eccentricity; but a matter of firm -and reverent faith coeval with the universities; and this -faith is now depicted, <span class='it'>con amore</span>, and with knowledge, by -a German who has himself felt and confessed it. To the -philosopher, to the man of the world, and especially, to the -man of imagination, this beautiful volume will prove a rare -treat. Its <span class='it'>novelty</span> will startle all.</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Lectures on Modern History, from the Irruption of the -Northern Nations to the Close of the American Revolution. -By William Smyth, Professor of Modern History in the -University of Cambridge. Two volumes. From the Second -London Edition, with a Preface, List of Books on -American History, etc. By Jared Sparks, L. L. D., Professor -of Ancient and Modern History in Harvard University. -John Owen: Cambridge.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Professor Smyth’s system of history is remarkable, if -not peculiar. He selects certain periods, and groups around -them individually those events to which they have closest -affinity not only in time, but character. The effect is surprising -through its force and perspicuity. The name of -Professor Sparks would be alone sufficient to recommend -these volumes—but in themselves they are a treasure.</p> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>First Book of Natural History, Prepared for the Use of -Schools and Colleges. By W. S. W. Ruschenberger, M. D., -Surgeon in the U. S. Navy, &c. &c. From the Text of -Milne Edwards & Achille Comte, Professors of Natural -History in the Colleges of Henri IV. and Charlemagne. -With Plates. Turner & Fisher: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This little book forms, in the original, the first of a series -of First or Elementary works on Natural History, arranged -by Messieurs Edwards and Comte, two gentlemen distinguished -for labors of the kind, and who enjoy the patronage -of the “Royal Council of Public Instruction of France.” -The translator is well known to the reading world, and -there can be no doubt of the value of the publication in its -present form.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>A System of Elocution, with Special Reference to Gesture, -to the Treatment of Stammering, and Defective Articulation, -Comprising Numerous Diagrams and Engraved -Figures, Illustrative of the Subject. By Andrew Comstock, -M. D. Published by the Author: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is, in many respects, an excellent book, although the -principal claim of Dr. Comstock is that of having cleverly -compiled. His method of representing, or notating, the modulations -of the speaking voice, is original, as he himself -states, but there is little else which can be called so. Originality, -however, is not what we seek in a school-book, -and this has the merit of tasteful selection and precision of -style.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Sturmer; A Tale of Mesmerism. To which are added other -Sketches from Life. By Isabella F. Romer. Two Volumes. -Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work is republished, we presume, not so much on -account of its intrinsic merit, as on account of the present -<span class='it'>émeute</span> in our immediate vicinity and elsewhere, on the -subject of Animal Magnetism. “Sturmer,” the principal -story, is, nevertheless, well narrated and will do much in -the way of helping unbelief. The minor tales are even -beautiful. “The Mother and Daughter” is exceedingly -pathetic.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Famous Old People. Being the Second Epoch of Grandfather’s -Chair. By Nathaniel Hawthorne. Author of -“Twice-Told Tales.” Boston: Tappan & Dennet.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Hawthorne has received high praise from men whose -opinions we have been accustomed to respect. Hereafter -we shall endeavor to speak of his tales with that deliberation -which is their due. The one now before us is a -simple and pretty story.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>History of the Life of Richard Cœur de Lion, King of England. -By G. P. R. James, Esq., author of “Richelieu,” -&c. Two volumes. New York: I. & H. G. Langley.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We like Mr. James far better as the historian or biographer -than as the novelist. The truth is, it is sheer waste of -time to read second-rate fictions by men of merely imitative -talent, when at the same expense of money and labor -we can indulge in the never-failing stream of invention now -poured forth by true genius.</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Effinghams; or, Home as I Found it. Two volumes. -By the author of the “Victim of Chancery,” &c. New -York: Samuel Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>These volumes are satirical and have some fair hits at -Mr. Cooper, against whom they are especially levelled; -but we like neither this design of personal ridicule nor the -manner in which it is effected.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Organic Chemistry in its Applications to Agriculture and -Physiology. By Justus Leiby, M. D, &c. Edited from -the MS. of the Author, by Lyon Playfair, Ph. D. Second -American Edition, with an Introduction, Notes and Appendix, -by John W. Webster, M. D., Professor of Chemistry -in Harvard University. John Owen: Cambridge.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This book excited and still excites great attention in -England. It is needless to speak of its merits, which are -well understood by all students of Physics.</p> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Arbitrary Power, Popery, Protestantism; as contained in -Nos. XV. XVIII. XIX. of the Dublin Review. Philadelphia: -M. Fithian.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>A republication from the Dublin Review of three able -articles in defence of Catholicism.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Second Book of Natural History, Prepared for the Use of -Schools and Colleges. By W. S. W. Ruschenberger, M. -D., &c. From the text of Milne Edwards and Achille -Comte. With Plates. Philadelphia: Turner & Fisher.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We need only say of this volume that it is a combination -of the “First Book” just noticed, although sufficiently -distinct in itself.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Amazonian Republic Recently Discovered in the Interior -of Peru. By Ex-Midshipman Timothy Savage, B. C. -New York: Samuel Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a very passable satirical fiction, in the manner -of Gulliver. We should not be surprised if it were the -composition of Dr. Beasely of this city.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>St. John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople: His -Life, Eloquence and Piety. By W. Joseph Walter, late -of St. Edmund’s College. Philadelphia: Godey & M<sup>c</sup>Michael.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>An eloquent tribute to the memory of an eloquent and in -every respect a remarkable man.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Life in China. The Porcelain Tower; or Nine Stories of -China. Compiled from Original Sources. By T. T. T. -Embellished by J. Leech. Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a very clever and amusing <span class='it'>jeu-d’esprit</span>, in which -the oddities, or what we regard as the oddities of “Life in -China,” are divertingly caricatured. The work is handsomely -printed, and the designs by Leech are well conceived -and executed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk147'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Select Poems. By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Fourth Edition, -with Illustrations. Edward C. Biddle: Philadelphia.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The publisher, in his preface, states that three editions of -this work, comprising eight thousand copies, have been -sold; and of this we are pleased to hear; but we are not -equally pleased with the information (conveyed also in the -preface) that a <span class='it'>new</span> set of illustrations is given. If these -“illustrations” are <span class='it'>new</span>, then “new” has come to be employed -in the sense of “old.” The plates are not only -antique but trashy in other respects. Of the poems themselves -we have no space to speak fully this month. Some -of them are excellent; and there are many which merit -no commendation. Mrs. Sigourney deserves much, but by no -means all of the applause which her compositions have -elicited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would be easy to cite, from the volume now before us, -numerous brief passages of the truest beauty; but we fear -that it would be more difficult to point out an entire poem -which would bear examination, <span class='it'>as a whole</span>. In the piece -entitled “Indian Names,” there are thoughts and <span class='it'>expression</span> -which would do honor to any one. We note, also, an unusually -noble idea in the “Death of an Infant.”</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>          ——forth from those blue eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>There spake a wishful tenderness—a doubt</p> -<p class='line0'>Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence</p> -<p class='line0'>Alone may wear.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk148'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='fash'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i135.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Spring Fashions 1842 Latest Style</span></span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk149'/> - -<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 hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note. Greek phrases in this ebook contain characters which -may not display in some devices based on the fonts and character sets available.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'><a id='duello'></a>The Duello, mentioned in the story -The Doom of the Traitress, can be found in the February 1842 issue of Graham’s Magazine.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. 3, MARCH 1842 ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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