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diff --git a/old/67480-0.txt b/old/67480-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 88f688b..0000000 --- a/old/67480-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6663 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 6, -June 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. 6, June 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: February 23, 2022 [eBook #67480] - -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. 6, JUNE 1842 *** - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XX. June, 1842 No. 6. - - - Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Wire Suspension Bridge - The Science of Kissing!! - Harry Cavendish - Miss Thompson - Russian Revenge - Mrs. Ware’s Poems - Love and Pique - The Two Dukes - Review of New Books - - Poetry and Fashion - - Farewell - The Pewee - The Return Home - Olden Deities - Perditi - The Heavenly Vision - Sights From My Window—Alice - The Absent Wife - Song - Fashion Plate - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: -W. Croome, del., Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch & Smillie -NEW SUSPENSION BRIDGE AT FAIRMOUNT -Philadelphia. -Drawn and Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.] - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XX. PHILADELPHIA: JUNE, 1842. No. 6. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIRE SUSPENSION BRIDGE. - - -This elegant structure is thrown across the Schuylkill, on the site once -occupied by an airy and graceful wooden erection, for years the pride of -our city, and celebrated as being the longest bridge of a single arch in -the known world. The boldness of the architect in thus spanning a river -three hundred and fifty feet wide, was the theme of universal -admiration. Few will forget Fanny Kemble’s poetic comparison, when she -said the bridge looked like a white scarf flung across the water. The -destruction of this favorite fabric, by fire, in the fall of 1838, was -regarded as an irreparable loss. - -The conflagration presented a grand picture. The flames were first seen -towards the western entrance of the bridge, and in a very few minutes -the whole fabric was a mass of fire. The wind was down the stream, and -catching the flames as they broke from the flooring of the bridge, it -swept them far away under, until a fiery cataract, reaching from shore -to shore, seemed pouring horizontally down the river. By this time -spectators began to throng around, and before the bridge fell, thousands -lined the adjacent shores and covered the side of the overhanging hill, -looking down on the scene below, as from the seats in an amphitheatre. - -This splendid sight continued for some time, the gazers looking on in a -rapt silence, until suddenly a low murmur, followed by an involuntary -shiver, ran through the crowd, as the bridge, with a graceful curtesy, -descended a few feet, hesitated, and then, with a gentle, swan-like -motion, sank, like a dream, down on the waters. But the moment the -fabric touched the wave, a simmering, hissing sound was heard, while ten -thousand sparkles shot up into the air and sailed away to leeward. The -fire still, however, burned fiercely in the upper works, which had not -reached the water; while volumes of smoke rolled down the river, -blending the earth, the wave, and the sky into one dark, indistinct -mass, so that the burning timbers, occasionally detached from the -bridge, and borne along by the current, seemed, almost without the aid -of fancy, to be lurid stars floating through the firmament. The moon, -which was just rising, and which occasionally burst through the dense -veil of smoke, appeared almost side by side with these wild meteors, and -added to the illusion. The effect was picturesque; at times even -sublime. - -More than two years elapsed before the bridge was replaced by the -present elegant structure, whose airiness and grace more than reconcile -us to the loss of its predecessor. - -This new fabric is, we believe, the finest, if not the only, specimen of -its kind in the United States. The plan is simple. Two square towers of -solid granite, thirty-two feet in height, are built on either abutment. -Over each of these towers, on iron rollers, pass five wire cables, each -cable being composed of two hundred and sixty strands, each strand being -an eighth or an inch thick. The length of each cable is six hundred and -fifty feet. These cables are secured, on each shore, in pits, distant -from the towers one hundred feet, and continuing under ground fifty feet -further, to a point where they are securely fastened at the depth of -thirty feet. These pits are built over so as to exclude the rain, but -not the air; and the cables, being painted, are thus preserved from -rust. The cables, in stretching from tower to tower, form a curve, the -lowest point of which is at the centre of the bridge. The causeway is of -wood, and hangs, by smaller wire cables, from these larger ones. The -width of the bridge is twenty-seven feet, and its length, from abutment -to abutment, three hundred and forty-three feet. The strength of the -bridge has been tested by a weight of seventy tons. The structure is -painted white throughout, and has already won the name of the most -graceful bridge in the country. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: - -Painted by Sir T. Lawrence, Eng’d by H.S. Sadd, N.Y. -_The Proffered Kiss._ -_Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine._] - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SCIENCE OF KISSING!! - - - THE AFTER-DINNER TALK OF JEREMY SHORT, ESQ. - - -What glorious times, Oliver, the old Turks must have, sitting, on a -sultry day like this, listening to the cool plashing of their fountains, -and smoking their chiboques—egad!—until they fall asleep, and dream of -dark-eyed Houris smiling on them, amid the fragrant groves and by the -cool rivers of a Musselman Paradise. What a pity we were not born in -Turkey, you a Bashaw of three tails, and I the Sultaun of Stamboul! How -we would have stroked our beards—and smoked our pipes—and given praise -to the prophet as we drank our sherbert, spiced, you know, with a _very_ -little of the _aqua vitæ_, that comfort of comforts to the inner man! We -could then have dressed like gentlemen, and not gone about, as we do -now, breeched, coated, and swaddled in broadcloth, like a couple of -Egyptian mummies. Just imagine yourself in a dashing Turkish dress, with -a turban on your head, and a scimitar all studded with diamonds at your -side, with which—the scimitar I mean—you are wont to slice off the -heads of infidels as I slice off the top of this pyramid of -ice-cream—help yourself, for it’s delicious! I think I see us now, -charging at the head of our spahis against the rascally Russians, -driving their half starved soldier slaves like chaff before a -whirl-wind, and carrying our horse-tails and shouting “Il Allah!” into -the very tents of their chieftains. What magnificent fellows we would -have made! Ah!—my dear boy—you and I are out of our element. Take my -word for it, a Turk is your finest gentleman, your true philosopher, the -only man that understands how to live. He keeps better horses, wears -richer clothes, walks with a nobler mien, smokes more luxuriously, -drinks more seductive coffee, and kisses his wife or ladye-love with -better grace, than any man or set of men, except you and I, “under the -broad canopy of heaven” as the town-meeting orators have it. And let me -tell you this last accomplishment—this kissing gracefully, “_secundum -artem_”—is a point of education most impiously neglected amongst us. -Kissing is a science by itself. Let us draw up to the window where we -can drink in the perfume of the garden, and while you whiff away at your -meerschaum, I will prove the truth of my assertion. One has a knack for -talking after dinner—I suppose it is because good steaks and madeira -lubricate the tongue. - -We are born to kiss and be kissed. It comes natural to us, as marriage -does to a woman. Why, sir, I can remember kissing the female babies when -I was yet in my cradle, and my friend Sir Thomas Lawrence did himself -the honor to paint me at my favorite pursuit, as you know by that -exquisite picture in my library. The very first day I went to school I -kissed all the sweet little angels there. I wasn’t fairly out of my -alphabet, when I used to wait behind a pump, for my sweetheart to come -out of school, and as soon as I saw her I made a point of kissing her -just to see how prettily she blushed. As I grew older I loved to steal -in, some summer evening, on her, and kiss her asleep on the sofa—or, if -she was awake, and the old folks were by, I’d wait till they both got -nodding, and then kiss her all the sweeter for the slyness of the thing. -Ah! such stolen draughts are delicious. I wouldn’t give a sous to kiss a -girl in company, and I always hated Copenhagen, Pawns, and your other -kissing plays, as I hope I hate the devil. They had a shocking custom -when I was young, that everybody at a wedding should kiss the bride, -just as they all drank, in the same free and easy way, out of the one -big china punch-bowl; but the practice always hurt my sensibilities, and -I avoided weddings as I would avoid a ghost, a bailiff, or any other -fright. No—no—get your little charmer up into a corner by -yourselves—watch when everybody’s back is turned—then slip your arm -around her waist, and kiss her with a long sweet kiss, as if you were a -bee sucking honey from a flower. Nor can one kiss every girl. I’d as -lief take ipecacuanha as kiss some of your sharp-chinned, -icicle-mouthed, lignum-vitæ-faced spinsters—why one couldn’t get the -taste of the bitters out of his mouth for a week! I go in for your rosy, -pouting lips, that seem to challenge everybody so saucily—egad! when we -kiss such at our leisure, we think we’re in a seventh heaven. I once -lived on such a kiss for forty-eight hours, for it took the taste for -commoner food out of my mouth “intirely,” as poor Power used to say. Oh! -how I loved the wide, dark entries one finds in old mansions, where one -could catch these saucy little fairies, and, before they were well aware -of your presence, kiss them so deliciously. There’s kissing for you! Or, -to go upon a sleigh ride, and when all, save you and your partner, are -busy chatting—while the merry ringing of the bells and the whizzing -motion of the vehicle cause your spirits to dance for very joy—to make -believe that you wish to arrange the buffalo, or pull her shawl up -closer around her, and then slyly stealing your face into her bonnet to -kiss her for an instant of ecstasy, while she blushes to the very -temples, lest others may catch you at your sport. And then, on a summer -eve, to row out upon the bosom of a moonlit lake, and while one of the -ladies sings and all the rest listen, to snatch a chance and laughingly -kiss the pretty girl at your side, all unnoticed except by her. Or to -sit beside a charmer on a sofa, before a cozy fire on a bitter winter -night, and fill up the pauses of the conversation, you know, by drawing -her to you and kissing her. But more than all,—when you have won a -blushing confession of love from her you have long and tremblingly -worshipped with all a boy’s devotion,—is the rapture of the kiss which -you press holily to her brow, while her warm heart flutters against your -side, and every pulse in your body thrills with an ecstasy that has no -rival in after life. Ah! sir, that kiss is The Kiss. It is worth all the -rest. - -Next to being born a Turk I should choose to have been born an -Englishman in the days of Harry the Eighth. Do you remember how Erasmus -tells us, in one of his letters, that all the pretty women in London ran -up to him and kissed him whenever they met? That’s what I call being in -clover. I don’t wonder people long for the good old times, for, if all -their fashions were like this, commend me to the days of the bluff -monarch, when - - “thus paused on the time, - With jolly ways in those brave old days, - When the world was in its prime.” - -Did you ever attend a children’s party, and see the little dears play -Copenhagen? The boys seem to have an instinctive knack at kissing their -partners, who always show the same modest repugnance—for modesty is -inborn in every woman—aye! and flings a glory about her like the halo -around a Madonna’s head. The very instant one of the young scapegraces -gets into the ring, he looks slyly all around it, and there be sure is -one little face that blushes scarlet, and one little heart that beats -faster, for well the owner knows that she is in peril. How fast her -hands slide to and fro along the rope, and directly the imprisoned -youngster makes a dash at her hand, and, missing it, turns away amid the -uproarious laughter and clapping of hands of the rest, and essays -perchance a feint to tap some other little hand, all the while, however, -keeping one corner of his eye fixed on the blushing damsel who has -foiled him. And lo! all at once—like an eagle shooting from the -skies—he darts upon it. And now begins the struggle. What a -shouting—and merry laughing—what cries of encouragement from the -lookers on—what a diving under the rope, and over the rope, and among -the chairs, mingled with whoopings from the boys, ensues, until the -victim has escaped, or else been caught by her pursuer. Sometimes she -submits quietly to the forfeit, but at other times she will fight like a -young tiger. Then, indeed, comes “the tug of war.” If she covers her -face in her hands, and is a sturdy little piece beside, young Master -Harry will have to give up the game, and be the laughing stock of the -boys, or else set all chivalry at defiance and tear away those pretty -hands by force. Many a time, you old curmudgeon, have I laughed until -the tears ran out of my eyes to see a young scoundrel, scarcely -breeched, kissing an unwilling favorite. How sturdily he sticks up to -her, one hand around her neck, and the other, perhaps, fast hold of her -chin; while she, with face averted, and a frown upon her tiny brow, is -all the while pushing him desperately away. But the young rascal knows -that he is the strongest, and with him might makes right. With eagerness -in every line of his face, he slips his arm around her waist, and, after -sundry repulses, wins the kiss at last. And then what a mighty gentleman -he thinks he is! In just such a scene has my old friend Lawrence taken -me off, in that picture, of The Proffered Kiss, in my library, egad! - -It is a great grief to me that so few understand how to kiss gracefully. -Kissing is an accomplishment, I may be allowed to remark, that should -form a part of every gentleman’s education. A man that is too bashful to -kiss a lady when all is agreeable, as Mrs. Malaprop would say, is a poor -good-for-nought, a lost sinner, without hope of mercy! He will never -have the courage to pop the question—mark my words—and will remain a -bachelor to his dying day, unless some lady kindly takes him in hand and -asks him to have her, as my friend Mrs. Desperate did. The women have a -sly way of doing these things, even if, like a spinster I once knew, -they have to ask a man flatly whether his intentions are serious or not; -and they are very apt to do this as soon as the kissing becomes a -business on your part. But to return to the _modus operandi_ of a kiss. -Delicacy in this intellectual amusement is the chief thing. Don’t—by -the bones of Johannes Secundus!—don’t bungle the matter by a five -minutes torture, like a cat playing with a mouse. Kiss a girl -deliberately, sir—sensible all the time of the great duty you are -performing—but remember also that a kiss, to be enjoyed in its full -flavor, should be taken fresh, like champaigne just from the flask. Ah! -then you get it in all its airy and _spirituelle_ raciness. If you wish -a sentimental kiss—and after all they are perhaps the spicier—steal -your arm around her waist, take her hand softly in your own, and then, -tenderly drawing her towards you, kiss her as you might imagine a zephyr -to do it! I never exactly timed the manœuvre with a stop-watch, but I’ve -no doubt the affair might be managed very handsomely in ten seconds. The -exact point where a lady should be kissed may be determined by the -intersection of two imaginary lines, one drawn perpendicularly down the -centre of the face, and the other passing at right angles through the -line of the mouth. Two such old codgers as you and I may talk of these -things without indiscretion; and, it is but doing our duty by the world, -to give others the benefits of our experience. Some of these days, when -I get leisure, I shall write a book called “Kissing Made Easy.” The -title—don’t you think?—will make it sell. - -Kissing, however, has its evils, for the world, you know, is made up of -sweet and sour. One often gets into a way of kissing a pretty girl by -way of a flirtation, and ends by tumbling head over ears into love with -her. This is taking the disease in its most virulent form; but—thank -the stars!—it is most apt to attend on cases where the gentleman has -not been used to kissing. I would recommend, as a general rule, that -every one should be inoculated to the matter, for, depend upon it, this -is the only way to save them from a desperate and perhaps fatal attack. -I once knew a fine fellow—talented, rich, in a profession—whose only -fault, indeed, was that he had never kissed anybody but his sister. He -had the most holy horror of a man who could so insult the dignity of the -sex as to kiss a lady—and, I verily believe, the sight of such a thing, -in his younger days, would have thrown him into a fit. At length he fell -in love; and as sweet a creature was Blanche Merrion as ever trod -greensward, or sang from very gaiety of heart on the morning air. Day -after day her lover watched her from afar, as a worshipper would watch -the countenance of a saint; but months passed by and still he dared not -lift his eyes to her face, when her own were shining on him from their -calm, holy depths. Other suitors appeared, and if Blanche had fancied -them, she would have been lost forever to Howard, through his own -timidity; but happily none of them touched her heart, and she went on -her way “in maiden meditation fancy free.” Often, in her own gay style -of raillery, would she torment poor Howard about his bashfulness; and -during these moments, I verily believe, he would gladly have exchanged -his situation for that of any heretic that ever roasted in an -inquisitorial fire. A twelvemonth passed by, and yet Howard could not -muster courage to express his devotion, and if, perchance, his eyes -sometimes revealed his tale, the confession faded from them as soon as -the liquid ones of Blanche were turned upon him. If ever one suffered, -he suffered from his love. He worshipped his divinity in awe-struck -humility, scarcely deeming she would deign to see his adoration. He -might have said with Helena, - - “thus, Indian-like, - Religious in mine error, I adore - The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, - But knows of him no more.” - -At length a friend of Howard asked him to wait on him as a groomsman, -and who should be his partner but Blanche! Now, of all places for -kissing, commend me to a wedding. The groom kisses the bride—and the -groomsmen kiss the bridemaids—and each one of the company kisses his -partner, or if any one is destitute of the article he makes a dumb show -of kissing somebody behind the door. But the groomsmen have the cream of -the business, for it’s one of the perquisites of their office that they -should kiss their partners, as a sort of recompense for shawling them, -and chaperoning them, and paying them those thousand little attentions -which are so exquisite to a lady, and which a gentleman can only pay, -especially if the lady is grateful, at some peril to his peace of mind. -Ah! sir, a bridemaid is a bachelor’s worst foe—one plays with edge -tools when he waits at a wedding—and though you may dance with an angel -or flirt with a Houri, I’d never—heaven bless you—recommend you to -wait on a girl unless you were ready to marry. Seeing other folks -married is infectious, and, before you know it, you’ll find yourself -engaged. It was a lucky chance for Howard when he was asked to wait on -Blanche, for I would stake my life that nothing else could have cured -him of his bashfulness. Nor even then would he have succeeded but for an -accident. One lovely afternoon—it was a country wedding—he happened to -pass by a little sort of summer-house in a secluded spot in the grounds -attached to the mansion, and who should he see within but Blanche, -asleep on a garden sofa. I wish I could paint her to you as she then -appeared. One arm was thrown negligently back over her head, while the -other fell towards the floor, holding the book she had been reading. Her -long, soft eye-lashes were drooped on her cheek. Her golden curls fell, -like a shower of sunbeams scattered through the forest leaves on a -secluded stream, around her brow and down her neck; and one fair tress, -stealing across her face and nestling in her bosom, waved in her breath, -and rose and fell with the gentle heaving of that spotless bust. A -slight color was on her cheek, and her lips were parted in a smile, the -smallest space imaginable disclosing the pure teeth beneath, seeming -like a line of pearl set betwixt rubies, or a speck of snow within a -budding rose. Howard would have retreated, but he could not, and so he -stood gazing on her entranced, until, forgetting everything in that -sight, he stole towards her, and falling on his knees, hung a moment -enraptured over her. As he thus knelt, his eyes glanced an instant on -the book. It was the poems of Campbell, and open at a passage which he -had the evening before commended. Blanche had pencilled one verse which -he had declared especially beautiful. His heart leapt into his mouth. -His eyes stole again to that lovely countenance, and instinctively he -bent down and pressed his lips softly to those of Blanche. Slight, -however, as was the kiss, it broke her slumber, and she started up; but -when her eyes met those of Howard the crimson blood rushed over her -face, and brow, and down even to her bosom, while the lover stood, even -more abashed, rooted to the spot. Poor fellow! He would have given the -world if he could have recalled that moment’s indiscretion. He stammered -out something for an apology, he knew not what, yet without daring to -lift his eyes to her face. She made no reply. A minute of silence -passed. Could he have offended past forgiveness? He was desperate with -agony and terror at the thought—and, in that very desperation, resolved -to face the worst, and looked up. The bosom of Blanche heaved violently, -her eyes were downcast, her cheek was changing from pale to red and from -red to pale. All her usual gaiety had disappeared, and she stood -embarrassed and confused, yet without any marks of displeasure, such as -the lover had looked for, on her countenance. A sudden light flashed on -him, a sudden boldness took possession of him. He lifted the hand of -Blanche—that tiny hand which now trembled in his grasp—and said, - -“Blanche! dear Blanche! if you forgive me, be still more merciful, and -give me a right to offend thus again. I love you, oh! how deeply and -fervently!—I have loved you with an untiring devotion for years. Will -you, dearest, be mine?” and in a torrent of burning eloquence—for the -long pent-up emotions of years had now found vent—he poured forth the -whole history of his love, its doubts and fears, its sensitiveness, its -adoration, its final hope. And did Blanche turn away? No—you needn’t -smile so meaningly, you old villain—she sank sobbing on her lover’s -shoulder, who, when at length she was soothed, was as good as his word, -and sinned by a second kiss. It turned out that Blanche had loved him -all along, and it was only his bashfulness that had blinded him, else by -a thousand little tokens he might have seen what, in other ways, it -would have been unmaidenly for her to reveal. Now, sir, months of mutual -sorrow might have been saved to both Blanche and her lover, if he had -only possessed a little more assurance—he would have possessed that -assurance if he had been less finical—if he had been less finical he -would not have been shocked at kissing a pretty girl. Isn’t that -demonstrated like a problem in the sixth book? - -I might multiply instances, egad, for fifty years of experience _will_ -store one’s memory with facts, and by the aid of them I could reel off -arguments for this accomplishment faster than a rocket whizzes into the -sky. _Kissing_, sir—but there goes the supper bell, and I see your -meerschaum’s out. We will rejoin the ladies, and after taking our Mocha, -set the young folks to dancing, while you and I accompany them on the -shovel and tongs!—Ta-ra-la-ra! - - * * * * * - - - - - FAREWELL. - - - BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - - - Farewell! as the bee round the blossom - Doth murmur drowsily, - So murmureth round my bosom - The memory of thee; - Lingering, it seems to go, - When the wind more full doth flow, - Waving the flower to and fro, - But still returneth, Marian! - My hope no longer burneth, - Which did so fiercely burn, - My joy to sorrow turneth, - Although loath, loath to turn,— - I would forget— - And yet—and yet - My heart to thee still yearneth, Marian! - - Fair as a single star thou shinest, - And white as lilies are - The slender hands wherewith thou twinest - Thy heavy auburn hair; - Thou art to me - A memory - Of all that is divinest: - Thou art so fair and tall, - Thy looks so queenly are, - Thy very shadow on the wall, - Thy step upon the stair, - The thought that thou art nigh, - The chance look of thine eye - Are more to me than all, Marian, - And will be till I die! - - As the last quiver of a bell - Doth fade into the air, - With a subsiding swell - That dies we know not where, - So my hope melted and was gone: - I raised mine eyes to bless the star - That shared its light with me so far - Below its silver throne, - And gloom and chilling vacancy - Were all was left to me, - In the dark, bleak night I was alone! - Alone in the blessed Earth, Marian, - For what were all to me— - Its love, and light, and mirth, Marian, - If I were not with thee? - - My heart will not forget thee - More than the moaning brine - Forgets the moon when she is set; - The gush when first I met thee - That thrilled my brain like wine, - Doth thrill as madly yet; - My heart cannot forget thee, - Though it may droop and pine, - Too deeply it had set thee - In every love of mine; - No new moon ever cometh, - No flower ever bloometh, - No twilight ever gloometh - But I’m more only thine. - Oh look not on me, Marian, - Thine eyes are wild and deep, - And they have won me, Marian, - From peacefulness and sleep; - The sunlight doth not sun me, - The meek moonshine doth shun me, - All sweetest voices stun me,— - There is no rest - Within my breast - And I can only weep, Marian! - - As a landbird far at sea - Doth wander through the sleet - And drooping downward wearily - Finds no rest for her feet, - So wandereth my memory - O’er the years when we did meet: - I used to say that everything - Partook a share of thee, - That not a little bird could sing, - Or green leaf flutter on a tree, - That nothing could be beautiful - Save part of thee were there, - That from thy soul so clear and full - All bright and blessed things did cull - The charm to make them fair; - And now I know - That it was so, - Thy spirit through the earth doth flow - And face me whereso’er I go,— - What right hath perfectness to give - Such weary weight of wo - Unto the soul which cannot live - On anything more low? - Oh leave me, leave me, Marian, - There’s no fair thing I see - But doth deceive me, Marian, - Into sad dreams of thee! - - A cold snake gnaws my heart - And crushes round my brain, - And I should glory but to part - So bitterly again, - Feeling the slow tears start - And fall in fiery rain: - There’s a wide ring round the moon, - The ghost-like clouds glide by, - And I hear the sad winds croon - A dirge to the lowering sky; - There’s nothing soft or mild - In the pale moon’s sickly light, - But all looks strange and wild - Through the dim, foreboding night: - I think thou must be dead - In some dark and lonely place, - With candles at thy head, - And a pall above thee spread - To hide thy dead, cold face; - But I can see thee underneath - So pale, and still, and fair, - Thine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath - Of flowers in thy hair; - I never saw thy face so clear - When thou wast with the living, - As now beneath the pall, so drear, - And stiff, and unforgiving; - I cannot flee thee, Marian, - I cannot turn away, - Mine eyes must see thee, Marian, - Through salt tears night and day. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PEWEE. - - - BY DILL A. SMITH. - - - In hedges where the wild brier-rose, - Woos to its breast the sweets of June; - When soft the balmy south-wind blows, - The Pewee trills its simple tune. - And when on glade and upland hill - Shines out the sultrier July’s sun; - And forest shade and bubbling rill - The red-bird’s shriller notes have won, - - Oh then along the dull road side— - (As if the deepening gloom to cheer) - The Pewee loves to wander wide— - There still its airy lay you hear. - Or now, when more familiar grown, - It seeks the busier haunts of men; - And to the welcome barn roof flown, - Renews its joyous song again. - - And thus throughout the livelong day, - (Tho’ showery pearl-drops damp its wings; - And heedless who may pass its way,) - The modest Pewee sits and sings. - Bird of the heart—meek Virtue’s child! - Emblem of sweet simplicity; - An thou’d’st a pleasant hour have whiled, - Go list the Pewee’s minstrelsy! - - The eagle’s wing it may not boast, - Nor yet his plume of golden sheen; - But not in garb of regal cost - Are Virtue’s children always seen. - Ah, no, sweet bird! in lowly guise - Her fairest child is oftenest met; - And seldom knows thy cloudless skies, - Or path with flowers so richly set. - - When summer buds are bright and gay - I fly the city’s dull confines, - And love to sport the hours away - By sedgy streams and leafy shrines. - Nor least among the happy sounds - Which then salute my raptur’d ear, - I hail, from hedge and meadow grounds, - The Pewee, with its song so clear. - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - ETC. - - - ELLEN NEVILLE. - -When I recovered my senses, after the events narrated in the last -chapter, I found that I was lying in the cabin of the schooner on board -which I had been serving, while a group composed of the three surgeons -and several officers of the expedition stood around me. As I opened my -eyes and glanced around, scarce conscious as yet of the objects that met -my gaze, one of the medical men bent over me and said that my safety -depended on my quiet. Gradually I imbibed the full meaning of his words, -and called to mind the events immediately preceding my fall; but, in -spite of his charge, I felt an uncontrollable desire to learn the extent -of my injury. In a low whisper—so low indeed that I was startled at its -faintness—I asked if I was seriously wounded and whether we had -conquered. But he smiled as he replied, - -“Not now, at least not in full, for your weakness forbids it. But the -danger is over. The ball has been extracted. Quiet is all you now -require.” - -“But,” said I again, “how of our expedition? Have we conquered?” - -“We have, but not a word more now. To-morrow you shall hear all. -Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the group, “we had best withdraw -now that our friend is past the crisis. He needs repose.” - -I felt the wisdom of this advice, for my brain was already whirling from -the attempt to control my thoughts, even for the mere purpose of asking -the questions necessary to satisfy my curiosity; so when the group left -the cabin I sank back on my couch, and closing my eyes with a sense of -relief, soon lost all recollection in a deep sleep, the effect, no -doubt, of the opiate which had been administered to me. - -When I awoke, the morning breeze was blowing freshly through the cabin, -bringing with it the odors of thousands of aromatic plants from the -shores of the neighboring islands, and as it wantoned across my -forehead, dallying with my hair and imparting a delicious coolness to -the skin, I felt an invigorating, pleasurable sensation—a sensation of -the most exquisite delight—such as no one can imagine who has not felt -the cool breath of morning after an illness in the close cabin of a -small schooner. - -My curiosity to hear the events of the combat that occurred after my -fall, would not suffer me to rest, and I gave my attendants no peace -until I had learnt the whole. - -It will be recollected that when I sank to the deck in a state of -insensibility, we were engaged in a warm contest with the piratical hulk -which had been moored across the mouth of the outlet from the lagoon. -The fight was maintained for some time on board of the enemy, and at -first with varying success; but the daring of our men at last overcame -the desperate resistance of the pirates, and the enemy were either -driven below, cut down, or forced overboard. This outwork, as it were, -having thus been carried, we pushed on to the settlement itself, for the -other vessels moored in the lagoon were by this time deserted, the -pirates having retreated to a fortification on the shore, where their -whole force could act together, and where they had entrenched -themselves, as they vainly imagined, in an impregnable position. But our -brave fellows were not intimidated. Flushed with success, and burning to -revenge those of their comrades who had already fallen, they cried out -to be led against the desperadoes. Accordingly, under cover of the guns -of our little fleet, the men were landed, and, while a brisk fire was -kept up from the vessels, the assault was made. At first the pirates -stood manfully to their posts, pouring in a deadly and unremitting fire -on the assailants. In vain did the officers lead on their men three -several times to the assault, for three several times were they driven -back by the rattling fire of the now desperate pirates. To increase the -peril of their situation, no sign of their companions in the rear had as -yet appeared. The ruffians were already cheering in anticipation of a -speedy victory, and our men, although still burning for vengeance, were -beginning to lose all hope of victory, when the long expected rocket, -announcing the arrival of the other party, shot up from the dense -thicket in the rear of the fort, and instantaneously a crashing volley -burst from the same quarter, followed by a long, loud cheer in which was -recognised the battle shout of our comrades. The sounds shivered to the -very hearts of our almost dispirited men, and added new energy to their -souls and fresh vigor to their arms. Again they demanded to be led to -the assault, and, with fixed bayonets, following their leader, they -dashed up to the very embrasures of the fort. Then began a slaughter so -terrific that the oldest veterans assured me they had never witnessed -the like. Through an impervious veil of smoke, amid plunging balls and -rattling grape shot, our gallant fellows swept over the plain, through -the ditch, up the embankment, and into the very heart of the -fortification. At the mouths of their guns they met the pirates, bearing -them bodily backwards at the point of the bayonet. But if the onslaught -was determined the resistance was desperate. Every step we advanced was -over the dead bodies of the foeman. Throwing away their muskets, they -betook themselves to their pikes and cutlasses, and though forced to -retreat by our overwhelming numbers, retreating sullenly, like a lion at -bay, they marked their path with the blood of the assailants. Meanwhile -the detachment of our troops in the rear, finding the defences in that -quarter weaker than those in front, soon carried the entrenchments, and -driving before it as well the immediate defenders of the walls, as the -desperadoes who had hurried to reinforce them, it advanced with loud -cheers to meet us in the centre of the fortification. Hemmed in thus on -every side, the pirates saw that further resistance was useless, and -were seized with a sudden panic. Some threw down their arms and cried -for quarter, others cast themselves in despair on our bayonets, while a -few, managing to escape by cutting their way through a part of our line, -took to the swamps in the rear of the fort, whither they defied pursuit. -In less than an hour from the first assault, not a pirate was left at -large within the precincts of the settlement. The huts were given to the -flames, and the hulk at the outlet of the lagoon scuttled and sunk. The -other vessels were manned by our own forces and carried away as -trophies. Thus was destroyed one of the most noted piratical haunts -since the days of the Bucaneers. - -We learned from the prisoners that the approach of the expedition had -been detected while it was yet an hour’s sail from the settlement, and -that preparations had instantly been made for our repulse. Had we not -been under a misapprehension as to the strength of these desperadoes, -and thus been induced to take with us more than double the force we -should otherwise have employed, their efforts would no doubt have been -successful, since the almost impregnable nature of their defences -enabled them to withstand the assault of a force four times the number -of their own. It was only the opportune arrival of our comrades, and the -surprise which they effected in their quarter of attack, that gave us -the victory after all. As it was, our loss was terrible. We had -extirpated this curse of society, but at what a price! - -The wound which I had received was at first thought to be mortal, but -after the extraction of the ball my case assumed a more favorable -aspect. The crisis of my fate was looked for with anxiety by my comrades -in arms. My return to consciousness found them, as I have described, -watching that event at my bedside. - -Our voyage was soon completed, and we entered the port of —— amid the -salvos of the batteries and the merry peals of the various convent -bells. The governor came off to our fleet, almost before we had dropped -our anchors, and bestowed rewards on the spot on those of his troops who -had peculiarly distinguished themselves. He came at once to my cot, and -would have carried me home to the government-house, but Mr. Neville, the -uncle of the fair girl whom I had saved from the desperadoes, having -attended his excellency on board, insisted that I should accept the -hospitalities of his home. - -“Well,” said his excellency, with a meaning smile, “I must give him up, -for, as you say, mine is but a bachelor establishment, and hired nurses, -however good, do not equal those who are actuated by gratitude. But I -must insist that my own physician shall attend him.” - -I was still too weak to take any part in this controversy, and although -I made at first a feeble objection to trespassing on Mr. Neville’s -kindness, he only smiled in reply, and I found myself, in less than an -hour, borne to his residence, without having an opportunity to -expostulate. - -What a relief it is, when suffering with illness, to be transported from -a close, dirty cabin to a large room and tidy accommodations! How -soothing to a sick man are those thousand little conveniencies and -delicacies which only the hand of woman can supply, and from which the -sufferer on shipboard is debarred! The well-aired bed linen; the clean -and tidy apartment; the flowers placed on the stand opposite the bed; -the green jalousies left half open to admit the cooling breeze; the -delicious rose-water sprinkled around the room, and giving it an -aromatic fragrance; and the orange, or tamarind, or other delicacy ever -ready within reach to cool the fevered mouth, and remind you of the -ceaseless care which thus anticipates your every want. All these, and -even more, attested the kindness of my host’s family. Yet everything was -done in so unobtrusive a manner that, for a long while, I was ignorant -to whom I was indebted for this care. I saw no one but the nurse, the -physician, and Mr. and Mrs. Neville. But I could not help fancying that -there were others who sometimes visited my sick chamber, although as yet -I had never been able to detect them, except by the fresh flowers which -they left every morning as evidences of their presence. More than once, -on suddenly awaking from sleep, I fancied I heard a light footstep -retreating behind my bed, and once I distinguished the tone of a low -sweet voice which sounded on my ear, tired as it was of the grating -accents of the nurse, like music from Paradise. Often, too, I heard, -through the half open blinds that concealed the entrance to a -neighboring room, the sounds of a harp accompanied by a female voice; -and, at such times, keeping my eyes closed lest I should be thought -awake and the singer thus be induced to stop, I have listened until my -soul seemed fairly “lapped into Elysium.” The memory of that ample -apartment, with its spotless curtains and counterpanes, and the wind -blowing freshly through its open jalousies, is as vivid in my memory -to-day as it was in the hour when I lay there, listening to what seemed -the seraphic music of that unseen performer. I hear yet that voice, so -soft and yet so silvery, now rising clear as the note of a lark, and now -sinking into a melody as liquid as that of flowing water, yet ever, in -all its variations, sweet, and full, and enrapturing. Such a voice I -used to dream of in childhood as belonging to the angels in heaven. Our -dreams are not always wrong! - -At length I was sufficiently recruited in strength to be able to sit up, -and I shall ever remember the delicious emotions of the hour when I -first took a seat by the casement and looked out into the garden, then -fragrant with the dew of the early morning. I saw the blue sky smiling -overhead, I heard the low plashing of a fountain in front of my window, -I inhaled the delicate perfume wafted to me by the refreshing breeze, -and as I sat there my soul ran over, as it were, with its exceeding -gladness, and I almost joined my voice, from very ecstasy, with that of -the birds who hopped from twig to twig, carolling their morning songs. -As I sat thus looking out, I heard a light footstep on the gravel walk -without, and directly the light, airy form of a young girl emerged from -a secluded walk of the garden, full in my view. As she came opposite my -window she looked up as if inadvertently, for, catching my eye, she -blushed deeply and cast her gaze on the ground. In a moment, however, -she recovered herself, and advanced in the direction she had been -pursuing. The first glance at the face had revealed to me the -countenance of her I had been instrumental in rescuing from the pirates. -My apartment, like all those on the island, was on the ground floor, and -when Miss Neville appeared she was already within a few feet of me. I -rose and bowed, and noticing that she held a bunch of newly gathered -flowers in her hands, I said, - -“It is your taste, then, Miss Neville, which has filled the vase in my -room every morning with its flowers. You cannot know how thankful I am. -Ah! would that all knew with what delight a sick person gazes on -flowers!” - -She blushed again, and extending the bouquet to me, said with something -of gaiety, - -“I little thought you would be up to-day, much less at so early an hour, -or perhaps I might not have gathered your flowers. Since you can gaze on -them from your window they will be less attractive to you when severed, -like these, from their parent stem.” - -“No—never,” I answered warmly, “indeed your undeserved kindness, and -that of your uncle and aunt, I can never forget.” - -She looked at me in silence with her large, full eye a moment ere she -replied, and I could see that they grew humid as she gazed. Her voice, -too, softened and sank almost to a whisper when at length she spoke. - -“Undeserved kindness! And can we ever forget,” she said, “what we owe to -you?” - -The words, as well as the gentle tone of reproof in which they were -spoken, embarrassed me for a moment, and my eyes fell beneath her gaze. -As if unwilling further to trust her emotions, she turned hastily away -as she finished. When I looked up she was gone. - -We met daily after this. The _ennui_ of a convalescent made me look -forward to the time she spent with me as if it constituted my whole day. -Certainly the room seemed less cheerful after her departure. Often would -I read while she sat sewing. At other times we indulged in conversation, -and I found Miss Neville’s information on general subjects so extensive -as sometimes to put me to the blush. She had read not only the best -authors of our own language, but also those of France, and her remarks -proved that she had thought while she read. She was a passionate admirer -of music, and herself a finished performer. For all that was beautiful -in nature she had an eye and soul. There was a dash of gaiety in her -disposition, although, perhaps, her general character was sedate, and -late events had if anything increased its prominent trait. Her tendency -to a gentle melancholy—if I may use the phrase—was perceptible in her -choice of favorite songs. More than once, when listening to the simple -ballads she delighted to sing, have I caught the tears rolling down my -cheeks, so unconsciously had I been subdued by the pathos of her voice -and song. - -In a few days I was sufficiently convalescent to leave my room, and -thenceforth I established myself in the one from which I had heard the -mysterious music. This apartment proved to be a sort of boudoir -appropriated to the use of Miss Neville, and it was her performance on -the harp that I had heard during my sickness. Hers too had been the -figure which I had seen once or twice flitting out of sight on my -awaking from a fevered sleep. - -It is a dangerous thing when two young persons, of different sexes, are -thrown together in daily intercourse, especially when one, from his very -situation, is forced to depend on the other for the amusement of hours -that would otherwise hang heavily on him. The peril is increased when -either party is bound to the other by any real or fancied ties of -gratitude. But during the first delicious fortnight of convalescence I -was unconscious of this danger, and without taking any thought of the -future I gave myself wholly up to the enjoyment of the hour. For Miss -Neville I soon came to entertain a warm sentiment of regard, yet my -feelings for her were of a far different nature from those I entertained -for Annette. I did not, however, stop to analyze them, for I saw, or -thought I saw, that the pleasure I felt in Ellen’s society was mutual, -and I inquired no further. Alas! it never entered into my thoughts to -ask whether, while I contented myself with friendship, she might not be -yielding to a warmer sentiment. Had I been more vain perhaps this -thought might have occurred to me. But I never imagined—blind fool that -I was—that this constant intercourse betwixt us could endanger the -peace of either. If I could, I would have coined my heart’s blood sooner -than have won the love which I could not return. Yet such was my -destiny. My eyes were opened at length to the consequences of my -indiscretion. - -We had been conversing one day of the expected arrival of the Arrow, and -I had spoken enthusiastically of my profession, and, perhaps, expressed -some restlessness at the inactive life I was leading, when I noticed -that Ellen sighed, looked more closely at her work, and remained silent -for some time. At length she raised her eyes, however, and said, - -“How can you explain the passion which a sea-man entertains for his -ship? One would think that your hearts indulged in no other sentiment -than this engrossing one.” - -“You wrong us, indeed, Ellen,” I said, “for no one has a warmer heart -than the sailor. But we have shared so many dangers with our ship, and -it has been to us so long almost our only world, that we learn to -entertain a sort of passion for it, which, I confess, seems a miracle to -others, but which to us is perfectly natural. I love the old Arrow with -a sentiment approaching to monomania, and yet I have many and dear -friends whom I love none the less for this passion.” - -I saw that her bosom heaved quicker than usual at these words, and she -plied her needle with increased velocity. Had I looked more narrowly, I -might have seen the color faintly coming and going in her cheek, and -almost heard her heart beating in the audible silence. But I still was -blind to the cause of this emotion. By some unaccountable impulse I was -led to speak of a subject which I had always avoided, though not -intentionally—my early intimacy with Annette, and her subsequent rescue -from the brig. Secure, as I thought, of the sympathy of my listener, and -carried away by my engrossing love for Annette, I dwelt on her story for -some time, totally unconscious of the effect my words were producing on -Ellen. My infatuation on that morning seems now incredible. As I became -more earnest with my subject, I noticed still less the growing agitation -of my listener, and it was not until I was in the midst of a sentence in -which I paused for words to express the loveliness of Annette’s -character, that I saw that Ellen was in tears. She was bending low over -her work so as to conceal her agitation from my eye, but as I hesitated -in my glowing description, a bright tear-drop fell on her lap. The truth -broke on me like a flash of lightning. I saw it all as clear as by a -noonday sun, and I wondered at my former blindness. I was stung to the -heart by what I had just been saying, for what agony it must have -inflicted on my hearer! I felt my situation to be deeply embarrassing, -and broke short off in my sentence. After a moment, however, feeling -that silence was more oppressive than anything else, I made a desperate -effort and said, - -“Ellen!” - -It was a single word, and one which I had addressed to her a hundred -times before; but perhaps there was something in the tone in which I -spoke it, that revealed what was passing in my mind, for, as she heard -her name, the poor girl burst into a flood of tears, and covering her -face with her hands she rushed from the room. She felt that her secret -was disclosed. She loved one whose heart was given to another. - -That day I saw her no more. But her agony of mind could not have been -greater than my own. There is no feeling more acute to a sensitive mind -than the consciousness that we are beloved by one whom we esteem, but -whose affection it is impossible for us to requite. Oh! the bitter -torture to reflect that by this inability to return another’s love, we -are inflicting on them the sharpest of all disappointments, and perhaps -embittering their life. Point me out a being who is callous to such a -feeling, and I will point you out a wretch who is unworthy of the name -of man. He who can triumph in the petty vanity of being loved by one for -whom he entertains no return of affection, is worse than a fop or a -fool—he is a scoundrel of the worst stamp. He deserves that his home -should be uncheered by a WOMAN’S smiles, that his dying hour should be a -stranger to her tender care. God knows! to her we are indebted for all -the richest blessings and holiest emotions of our life. While we -remember that we drank in our life from a mother’s breast—that we owed -that life a thousand times afterwards to a mother’s care—that the love -of a sister or the deeper affection of a wife has cheered us through -many a dark hour of despair, we can never join that flippant school -which makes light of a woman’s truth, or follow those impious revilers -who would sneer at a woman’s love. The green sod grows to-day over many -a lovely, fragile being, who might still have been living but for the -perfidy of our sex. There is no fiction in the oft-told story of a -broken heart. It is, perhaps, a consumption that finally destroys the -victim, but alas! the barb that infused the poison first into the frame -was—a hopeless love. How many fair faces have paled, how many hearts -have grown cold, how many seraphic forms have passed, like angel -visitants, from the earth, and few have known the secret of the blight -that so mysteriously and suddenly withered them away. Alas! there is -scarcely a village churchyard in the land, in which some broken hearted -one does not sleep all forgotten in her lonely bed. The grave is a -melancholy home; but it has hope for the distressed: there, at least, -the weary are at rest. - -It is years since I have visited the grave of Ellen, and I never think -of her fate without tears coming into my eyes. - -I said I saw her no more that day. When I descended to the breakfast -table on the following morning, I looked around, and, not beholding her, -was on the point of inquiring if she was ill; but, at the instant, the -door opened and one of my old mess-mates appeared, announcing to me that -the Arrow was in the offing, where she awaited me—he having been -despatched with a boat to bring me on board. As I had been expecting her -arrival for several days, there was little preparation necessary before -I was ready to set forth. My traps had been already despatched when I -stood in the hall to take leave of the family. My thoughts, at this -moment, recurred again to Ellen, and I was, a second time, on the point -of asking for her, when she appeared. I noticed that she looked pale, -and I thought seemed as if she had been weeping. Her aunt said, - -“I knew Ellen had a violent headache, but when I found that you were -going, Mr. Cavendish, I thought she could come down for a last adieu.” - -I bowed, and taking Miss Neville’s hand raised it to my lips. None there -were acquainted with our secret but ourselves, yet I felt as if every -eye was on me, and from the nervous trembling of Ellen’s fingers, I knew -that her agitation was greater than my own. - -“God bless you, dear Miss Neville,” I said, and, in spite of my efforts, -my voice quivered, “and may your days be long and happy.” - -As I dropped her hand, I raised my eyes a moment to her face. That look -of mute thankfulness, and yet of mournful sorrow, I never shall forget. -I felt that she saw and appreciated my situation, and that even thus her -love was made evident. If I had doubted, her words would have relieved -me. - -“Farewell!” she said, in a voice so low that no one heard it but myself. -“I do not blame you. God be with you!” - -The tears gushed to her eyes, and my own heart was full to overflowing. -I hastily waved my hand—for I had already taken leave of the -rest—sprang into the carriage, rode in silence to the quay, and -throwing myself into the stern sheets of the barge, sat, wrapt in my own -emotions and without speaking a word, until we reached the ship. That -night I early sought my hammock; and there prayed long and earnestly for -Ellen. - -The memory of that long past time crowds on me to-night, and I feel it -would be a relief to me to disburden my full heart of its feelings. I -will finish this melancholy story. - -It was a short six months after my departure from Mr. Neville’s -hospitable mansion, when we came to anchor again in the port, with a -couple of rich prizes, which we had taken a short time before, in the -Gulf Stream. The first intelligence I heard, on landing, was that Miss -Neville was said to be dying of a consumption. Need I say that a pang of -keenest agony shot through my heart? A something whispered to me that I -was the cause, at least partially, of all this. With a faltering tongue -I inquired the particulars. They were soon told. I subsequently learned -more, and shall conceal nothing. - -From the day when I left ——, the health of Ellen had begun gradually -to droop. At first her friends noticed only that she was less gay than -usual, and once or twice they alluded jestingly to me as the secret of -her loss of spirits. But when the expression of agony, which at such -times would flit across her face, was noticed, her friends ceased their -allusions. Meanwhile her health began sensibly to be affected. She ate -little. She slept in fitful dozes. No amusement could drive away the -settled depression which seemed to brood upon her spirits. Her friends -resorted to everything to divert her mind, but all was in vain. With a -sad, sweet smile, she shook her head at their efforts, as if she felt -that they could do nothing to reach her malady. - -At length she caught a slight cold. She was of a northern constitution, -and when this cold was followed by a permanent cough, her friends -trembled lest it foreboded the presence of that disease, which annually -sweeps off its thousands of the beautiful and gay. Nor were they long in -doubt. Their worst fears were realised. Consumption had fixed its iron -clutch on her heart, and was already tugging at its life-strings. The -worm was gnawing at the core of the flower, and the next rough blast -would sweep it from the stalk. As day by day passed, she drew nearer to -the grave. Her eye grew sunken, but an unnatural lustre gleamed from its -depths—the hectic flush blazed on her cheek—and that dry hacking -cough, which so tortures the consumptive, while it snaps chord after -chord of life, hourly grew worse. - -At an early period of Ellen’s illness, Mrs. Neville, who had been to the -orphan girl a second mother, divined the secret of her niece’s malady. -She did not, however, urge her confidence on her charge, but Ellen soon -saw that her aunt knew all. There was a meaning in her studied avoidance -of my name, which could not be mistaken. Ellen’s heart was won by this -delicacy, until, one day, she revealed everything. Mrs. Neville pressed -her to her bosom at the close of the confession, and, though nothing was -said, Ellen felt that the heart of her second mother bled for her. - -As death drew nearer, Ellen’s thoughts became gradually freed from this -world. But she had still one earthly desire—she wished to see me before -she died. Only to Mrs. Neville, however, was this desire confided, and -even then without any expectation that it could be gratified. When, -however, the Arrow stopped so opportunely in ——, her petitions became -so urgent, that Mrs. Neville sent for me. With a sad heart I obeyed her -summons. - -“The dear girl,” she said, when she met me in the ante-room, “would not -be denied, and, indeed, I had not the heart to refuse her. Oh! Mr. -Cavendish, you will find her sadly changed. These are fearful trials -which God, in his good providence, has called us to undergo,” and tears -choked her further utterance. I was scarcely less affected. - -It would be a fruitless task in me to attempt to describe my emotions on -entering the chamber of the dying girl. I have no recollection of the -furniture of the room, save that it was distinguished by the exquisite -neatness and taste which always characterized Ellen. My eyes rested only -on one object—the sufferer herself. - -She was reclining on a couch, her head propped up with pillows, and her -right hand lying listlessly on the snowy counterpane. How transparent -that hand seemed, with the blue veins so distinctly seen through the -skin that you could almost mark the pulsation of the blood beneath. But -it was her countenance which most startled me. When I last saw her—save -at that one parting interview—her mild blue orbs smiled with a -sunniness that spoke the joy of a young and happy heart. Now the wild -hectic of consumption blazed on her cheek, and her eyes had a brilliancy -and lustre that were not of earth. Then, her rich golden tresses floated -in wavy curls across her shoulders—now, that beautiful hair was -gathered up under the close-fitting cap which she wore. Then her face -was bright with the glow of health—alas! now it was pale and -attenuated. But in place of her faded loveliness had come a more -glorious beauty; and the glad smile of old had given way to one of -seraphic sweetness. When she extended her wan hand toward me, and spoke -in that unrivalled voice which, though feeble, was like the symphony of -an Æolian harp, it seemed, to my excited fancy, as if an angel from -heaven had welcomed me to her side. - -“This is a sad meeting,” she said; for my emotions, at the sight of her -changed aspect, would not permit me to speak—“but why grieve? It is all -for the best. It might seem unmaidenly to some,” she continued, with a -partial hesitation, while, if possible, a brighter glow deepened on her -cheek, “for me thus to send for you; but I trust we know each other’s -hearts, and this is no time to bow to the formalities of life. I feel -that I am dying.” - -“Say not so, dear Ellen,” I gasped, while my frame shook with agony at -the ruin I had brought about—“oh! say not so. You will yet recover. God -has many happy years in store for you.” - -“No, no,” she said touchingly, “this world is not for me; I am but a -poor bruised reed—it were better I were cast aside. But weep not, for -oh! I meant not to upbraid you. No, never, even in my first agony, have -I blamed _you_—and it was to tell you this that I prayed I might -survive. Yes! dearest—for it cannot be wrong now to confess my love—I -would not that you should suppose I condemned you even in thought. You -saved my life—and I loved you before I knew it myself. You weep—I know -you do not despise me—had we met under better auspices, the result -might have been—” here her voice choked with emotion—“might have been -different.” I could only press her hand. “Oh! this is bliss,” she -murmured, after a pause. “But it was not so to be,” she added, in a -moment, with a saddened tone, which cut me to the heart. “I should love -to see her of whom you speak—she is very beautiful, is she not? In -heaven the angels are all beautiful.” Her mind wandered. “I have heard -their music for days, and every day it is clearer and lovelier. Hear!” -and with her finger raised, her eye fixed on the air, and a rapt smile -on her radiant countenance, she remained a moment silent. - -Tears fell from us like rain. But by and bye, her wandering senses -returned; and a look of unutterable wo passed over her face. Oh! how my -heart bled. I know not what I said; I only know that I strove to soothe -the dying moments of that sweet saint, so suffering, yet so forgiving. A -look of happiness once more lightened up her face, and, with a sweet -smile, she talked of happiness and heaven. As we thus communed, our -hearts were melted. Gradually her voice assumed a different tone, -becoming sweeter and more liquid at every word, while her eyes shone no -longer with that fitful lustre, but beamed on me the full effulgence of -her soul once more. - -“Raise me up,” she said. I passed my arm around her, and gently lifted -her up. Her head reposed on my shoulder, while her hand was still -clasped in mine. She turned her blue eyes on me with a seraphic -expression, such as only the sainted soul in its parting moment can -embody, and whispered— - -“Oh! to die thus is sweet! Henry, dear Henry—God bless you! In heaven -there is no sorrow,” and then, in incoherent sentences, she murmured of -bright faces, and strange music, and glorious visions that were in the -air. The dying musician said that he then knew more of God and nature -than he ever knew before, and it may be, that, as the soul leaves the -body, we are gifted with a power to see things of which no mortal here -can tell. Who knows? In our dying hour we shall learn. - -The grave of Ellen is now forgotten by all, save me. The grass has grown -over it for long years. But often, in the still watches of the night, I -think I hear a celestial voice whispering in my ear; and sometimes, in -my dreams, I behold a face looking, as it were, from amid the stars: and -that face, all glorious in light, is as the face of that sainted girl. I -cannot believe that the dead return no more. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE RETURN HOME. - - - BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. - - - I’m with you once again, my friends— - No more my footsteps roam— - Where it began my journey ends, - Amid the scenes of home. - No other clime has skies so blue, - Or streams so broad and clear, - And earth no hearts so warm and true, - As those that meet me here. - - Since last, with spirits wild and free, - I pressed my native strand, - I’ve wandered many miles at sea, - And many miles on land; - I’ve seen all nations of the earth, - Of every hue and tongue, - Which taught me how to prize the worth - Of that from whence I sprung. - - In distant countries when I heard - The music of my own, - Oh how my echoing heart was stirred!— - It bounded at the tone! - But when a brother’s hand I grasp’d - Beneath a foreign sky, - With joy convulsively I gasp’d, - Like one about to die. - - My native land, I come to you - With blessings and with prayer, - Where man is brave, and woman true, - And free as mountain air. - Long may our flag in triumph wave, - Against the world combined, - And friends a welcome, foes a grave, - On land and ocean find. - - * * * * * - - - - - MISS THOMPSON. - - - A TALE OF A VILLAGE INN. - - - BY MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN. - - -It may be out of keeping with our subject to apply the homely epithet of -a “fish out of water” to Mr. Bromwell Sutton in the rural village of -G——, but as no periphrasis suggests itself which would express his -position as well, we must fain eschew elegance for the occasion, and let -it stand. It was a sultry afternoon, in the middle of summer, when he -arrived at the Eagle Inn, and after changing his dress, stepped to the -door to see what could be seen. He looked up the street, and down and -across, and not a living thing was visible besides himself, except a few -sheep dozing in the market-house, and two or three cows silently -ruminating in the shade of the town hall, both of which edifices were -near at hand. Then having decided that there was nothing in the -architectural aspect of the straggling village worth a second look, he -concentred his scrutiny upon himself. - -The result of his investigation stood thus:—that he was a very charming -young man, was Mr. Bromwell Sutton. He had a slender, well formed -figure, which was encased in a fresh suit of the finest texture and most -unexceptionable make. His features were regular, and of that -accommodating order which allows the spectator to assign them any -character he may choose. His complexion was fair and clear, his teeth -were very white and his eyes very blue. His hair was dark, daintily -glossed and perfumed with oil, and of a length, which, on so warm a day, -would have made a silver arrow or a gilded bodkin a judicious -application; and he had two elongated tufts on his upper lip, and a -round one on his chin corresponding to the space between them. He wore a -Panama hat of the most extensive circumference, and carried a pair of -white gloves, either to be drawn on his hands or slapped on his knees, -whichever circumstances might require; and the corner of a hem-stitched -handkerchief of transparent cambrick stuck out of his pocket. - -A handbill pasted on the sign-post next caught his eye, and, though it -was a favorite saying with him that he “never read,” to be understood of -course, not that he never _had_ read, but that he knew enough already; -he so far conquered his disdain of literature as to step forward and -ascertain its purport. This, set forth in the interesting typographical -variety which veteran advertisers so well comprehend, of large and small -Romans, and Italics leaning some to the right and some to the left, and -some standing perpendicular, was as follows: - -“Mr. Azariah Chowders, celebrated throughout the Union for his eloquent, -entertaining and instructive discourses on miscellaneous subjects, -proposes delivering a lecture on the evening of the present instant, in -the town hall of G——. The theme selected is, the Genius of the -American People, one, which, from its intrinsic importance, requires no -comment,” &c. &c. - -He was interrupted by the rattle of a distant vehicle, and looking up -the street, saw a chaise approaching which contained a single -“individual,” as he mentally pronounced him. He drove a fine horse, and -drew him up before the door of the inn. The chaise was a plain, common -looking concern, full of travel-worn trunks and boxes, and its occupant -was dressed in a light summer suit, rather neat, but entirely too coarse -for gentility. - -“It’s only a Yankee pedlar,” said Mr. Sutton to the landlord who was -coming out, and entirely careless of being overheard by the stranger; -and he walked up to his chamber, where he awakened a diminutive poodle, -his travelling companion, from the siesta with which it was recruiting -after its journey, and occupied himself in cracking his handkerchief at -it, until an additional stir in the house indicated the approach of -tea-time. He then came down, carrying Cupidon, for so was the animal -appellated; and found in the bar-room a young gentleman, a law-student, -to whom he had delivered a letter on his arrival, and who was a boarder -in the house. The other stranger had, meanwhile, entered the room, and -was cooling himself at an open window, with his short curling hair -pushed back from a forehead remarkable in its whiteness and intellectual -development, and crowning a face of strikingly handsome lineaments and -prepossessing expression. - -“How do you contrive to exist in this stupid place?” asked our dandy of -his new acquaintance, whose name was Wallis; “they say there are some -genteel people about,—have you any pretty girls among them to flirt -with?” - -“We have some pretty young ladies, but don’t use them for that purpose -exactly,” replied Wallis; “we admire them, and wait on them and try to -please them, and then, when we can afford it, we marry them, if they -don’t object.” - -“Have you seen anything of a lady vagabondising in this region,—a Miss -Valeria North?” - -“Miss Valeria North, the fashionable heiress of B——? the niece of the -celebrated Judge North? what should she be doing here?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,—it’s beginning to be genteel for people to get tired -of society, and to go hunting up out-of-the-way places that one knows -nothing about except from the maps; I heard in the railroad cars that -she was making a tour along the river here, and was in hopes that I -might fall in with her. What do you know of her?” - -“I heard a great deal about her at Saratoga last summer, where I -happened to stop for a few days. Every body was talking about her -beauty, talents and accomplishments, and in particular about her plain -and simple manners, so singular in an heiress and a belle. The young -men, mostly, seemed to have been afraid of her; regarding her as a -female Caligula who would have rejoiced in the power of decapitating all -the silliness, stupidity and puppyism in the world with one stroke of -her wit.” - -“Indeed!” said Sutton, with a weak laugh that proved him not to -apprehend what he was laughing at; “I hope she’ll soon come along; I’m -prepared for a dead set at her. Girls of two or three hundred thousands -are worth that trouble; it’s a much pleasanter way to get pocket money -than to be playing the dutiful son for it.” - -Wallis elevated his eyebrows, but made no other reply. - -“That, I suppose, is one of your village beauties,—that one walking in -the garden with the pink dress on and the black apron,” resumed Sutton. - -“No; she is a stranger boarding here,—a Miss Thompson.” - -“Miss Thompson!—it might as well be Miss Blank for all the idea that -conveys. Who, or what is she?” - -“She does not say;—there is the name in the register beside -you,—‘_Mrs. Thompson and daughter_’—so she entered it. She and her -mother stopped here a week or two ago, on account of the lady’s health.” - -“Thompsons!—they oughtn’t to be found at out-of-the-way places; all the -genteel Thompsons that I ever heard of go to springs and places of -decided fashion; it is absolutely necessary, that they may not be -confounded with the mere Thompsons,—the ten thousand of the name. But -that is a pretty looking girl,—and rather ladyish.” - -“She is a lady—a well-bred, sensible girl, as ever I met with, and very -highly educated.” - -They were interrupted by the bell for tea, and, on entering the -eating-room, they found the young lady in the pink dress at the table, -with an elderly, delicate looking woman (Mrs. Thompson, of course,) -beside her. Mr. Sutton advanced to the place immediately opposite to -her, and a nearer view suggested that she might be one of the genteel -Thompsons after all. She was a spirited looking girl, rather under the -middle height, with a clear and brilliant, though not very fair -complexion; large black eyes, surmounted by wide and distinctly marked -eyebrows, and a broad, smooth forehead; a nose, (that most _difficult_ -of features, if we may judge by the innumerable failures,) a nose -beautifully straight in its outline and with the most delicately cut -nostrils possible; and the most charmingly curved lips, and the whitest -teeth in the world. Having made these discoveries, Mr. Sutton decided -that if her station should forbid his admiring her, he would not allow -it to prevent her from admiring him. To afford her the benefit of this -privilege, it was necessary that he should first attract her notice, for -she had bestowed but a single glance at him on his entrance, as had her -mother, the latter drawing up her eyelids as if she had been very -near-sighted; and to affect this, he called, in a peremptory voice to -the servant attending, - -“Waiter, I wish you would give my dog something to eat.” - -“Your dog, sir?—where is it?” asked the colored man, looking around the -room, and then giving a loud whistle to call the invisible animal forth. - -“Here,” replied Sutton, sharply; “or you may bring me a plate and I’ll -feed him myself;” and he pointed to the miniature specimen, lying like a -little lump of floss-silk, on his foot. - -“That! I-I-I—he! he! ha! ha!” exclaimed the waiter, attempting at first -to restrain himself, and then bursting into a chuckling laugh; “is -it—really—a dog, sir?—a live dog!” - -Cupidon, as if outraged by the suspicion, hereupon sprang into the -middle of the room, barking at the height of his feeble voice, and -showing his tiny white teeth, while his wicked little eyes sparkled with -anger. The cachinnations of the amused and astonished servant increased -at every bark, and drew a laugh from Wallis, and a smile from each of -the ladies. Sutton with difficulty silenced his favorite, and finding -that the desired impression of his consequence had not been made, he -proceeded to another essay. “Waiter,” he slowly enunciated, with a look -of disgust at the steel implement in his hand; “have you no silver -forks?” - -“Sir?” said the attendant with a puzzled expression. - -“Any silver forks?” he repeated emphatically. - -“No, sir; we don’t keep the article.” - -“Then you should not put fish on the table; they ought properly to be -inseparable,” he returned, magisterially, and rising from his seat, he -approached the stranger of the chaise, who had quietly placed himself -some distance below them, and asked, “Have you any such things as silver -forks among your commodities?—I believe that persons in your vocation -sometimes deal in articles of that description.” - -The stranger looked up in surprise, and, after scanning him from head to -foot, a frown which was gathering on his face gave way to a look of -humorous complacency—“I am sorry I can’t accommodate you, sir,” said -he; “but I might probably suggest a substitute;—how would a tea-spoon -do?” - -He returned to his seat, rather dubious about the smiles he detected, -and, as a third effort, addressed himself, somewhat in the following -manner, to Wallis, whose interlocutions are unnecessary. “How far did -you say it was to the Sutton Mills?—only four miles, isn’t it? I shall -have to apply to you to show me the way. I have a curiosity to see them, -as they are one of my father’s favorite hobbies. I often laugh at him -for christening them with his own name. Calling a villa, a fashionable -country seat, after one’s self, is well enough, but mills or -manufactories—it is rather out of taste. Is the fourth finished yet? I -believe it is to be the finest of all; indeed, it seems to me a little -injudicious in the old gentleman to have invested so much in a country -property—there are at least half a dozen farms, are there not? but I -suppose he was afraid to trust his funds to stocks, and he has already -more real estate in the city than he can well attend to. However, if he -had handed over the amount to me, I think I could have disposed of it -with a much better grace. He did offer me a title to them, some time -ago, but it was on condition that I should come here and manage them -myself, but I begged to be excused, and it was only on agreement that I -should have a hundred per cent. of the revenue this year, that I -consented to undergo the trouble of visiting them, or the sacrifice, -rather—there are so many delightful places to go to in the summer,” and -so forth. - -Having, from these indirect explanations, made a clear case that his -society was entitled to a welcome from the best Thompson in the world, -and to that with thanks, if his fair neighbor was only a crockery -Thompson, he arose and returned to the front of the house. The village -had, by this time, awakened from its nap, and the larger proportion of -its inhabitants were bending their steps to the town hall. Numerous well -appointed carriages were also coming in from the surrounding -neighborhood, whose passengers were all bound to the same point. “Where -are all these people going?” asked Sutton. - -“To the lecture announced in that handbill,” replied Wallis—and Miss -Thompson presenting herself at the door, ready bonnetted, he walked with -her in a neighborly sort of a way across the street. After a while the -throng ceased, and from some impatient expressions of the loungers about -the tavern, Sutton ascertained that the lecturer had not yet appeared. - -“Why, that man I mistook for a Yankee pedlar must be he, I should -judge,” said he to the landlord. - -“Who?—where?” said a young man, who had not heard the last clause. - -“That tall fellow, in the garden, there, drest in the brown-holland -pantaloons and Kentucky jean coat.” - -“Indeed!—I thought he was to stop at the other house;” and he hastened -down the street, while Sutton, finding that every body was going to the -hall, strolled there also. - -Meanwhile, the stranger in the coarse jeans was enjoying himself in a -saunter through the quiet and pretty garden of the inn, which was so -hedged and enclosed as to admit of no view of the street, when a -consequential personage presented himself, and saluting him stiffly, -introduced himself as “Mr. Smith, the proprietor of the G—— Hotel.” - -“I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir,” said the young stranger, -courteously. - -“I have taken the liberty to call, sir, and inform you that the audience -has been waiting for some time. It is full fifteen minutes past the time -announced in the handbills;” pulling one from his pocket—“I felt a -reluctance to intrude, but, putting the best construction upon your -conduct, in not informing me of your arrival, after I had been at the -pains to prepare for you, I presumed it proceeded from a mistake; you -are at the opposition establishment.” - -“There certainly is a mistake,” interrupted the stranger. - -“Very well, very well, sir, as an entire stranger you can be excused,” -hastily proceeded Mr. Smith; “but there is no time to talk about it -now—we can settle it after a while. Be good enough to hurry over; the -people are getting impatient. You will have a large audience, sir; they -were afraid they would be disappointed, which would have been a bad -business, as we very seldom have lecturers from a distance. It was lucky -that you happened to be found out by one of my boarders, for some of the -gentlemen were talking about dispersing, and if that had occurred, we -would all have been up in arms against you;—we are pretty fiery, some -of us!” - -“Then you would not be willing to wait another evening?” - -“To wait! certainly not; I hope you have no such idea!—let me beg you -to hurry, sir!” - -“Well, but—” - -“My dear sir!—let me insist—you have announced a very interesting -subject—‘The Genius of the American People;’ the very thing for our -audience—American through and through—very patriotic!” - -“Very well, sir—I’ll try to do my best—let me change my dress a -little, and I’ll attend you.” - -To the surprise of the inmates of the Eagle, excepting, indeed, Mr. -Sutton, who paid a mental tribute to his own sagacity—in a few minutes -their fellow lodger entered and mounted the rostrum. A figure as -graceful and commanding would have struck the fastidious assemblage of a -fashionable city lecture-room. He showed some embarrassment after -casting his eyes over the really large audience, but a round of applause -gave him time to collect himself, and he commenced a modest preface, -stating that he had not had time to arrange his ideas on the subject -proposed, in such a form as he could have wished, yet as it was one that -ought to be familiar to all good citizens, he hoped he should not -entirely fail. - -We regret that our space will not permit us to edify our readers with -the critique on his performance which duly appeared in the village -newspaper. Suffice it, that after an elaborate eulogium on his fine -person, captivating voice, and expressive gestures; his sparkling wit, -elevated imagination, and extensive reading, he was pronounced _ex -cathedrâ_, “a patriot, a scholar and a gentleman.” - -The next morning, when they met in the breakfast room, Miss Thompson and -Wallis were fluent in commendation of the lecture. “I was most agreeably -disappointed,” said the lady; “having been prepared for nothing more -than the flippant inanities we usually hear from itinerant lecturers. -This gentleman is an orator—one that would draw crowds among the most -intellectual communities in the country. The subject was so hackneyed, -that to announce it appeared ridiculous; but he treated it like a -statesman, and made it really imposing by evidences of original thought -and profound information.” - -She was interrupted by the object of her remarks entering the room—and -after he had taken his seat at the table, she turned and remarked to -him, with respectful complaisance, “you had a large and very attentive -auditory last night, sir.” - -The stranger bowed and returned, “I was surprised to find an assemblage -so numerous and respectable, and had every reason to be flattered by -their reception.” - -“I have no doubt you entertained them exceedingly,” interposed Sutton; -“you did very well, very well, indeed; for a plain country audience, -nothing could have suited them better. I suppose you consider yourself -as having made quite a speculation; at fifty cents a head the receipts -must have been considerable.” - -Miss Thompson glanced at him with a look of irritation, which, however, -changed to one of merriment at the comic stare of the itinerant, his -only answer. - -Just then there was a bustle in the entry, and the landlord was heard -saying in a tone of expostulation—“The gentleman is at his breakfast, -sir; have a little patience, and, no doubt, he will satisfy you -afterwards. The other boarders are all at the table, and it would only -cause a confusion.” - -“So much the better,” returned a stentorian voice; “let me in, sir, or -you shall be exposed for harboring a swindler;” and a formidable-looking -person, large of size and exceeding fierce of countenance, entered. He -was accompanied by Mr. Smith of the rival house, who designated the -lecturer, and striding up to him, he exclaimed, in a strong Connecticut -accent, “So, sir! you are the gentleman that entertained this community -last evening with a lecture on the ‘Genius of the American People;’ you -are Azariah Chowders, are you?” - -“I sir?—by no means! I rejoice in quite a different appellation.” - -“No sir,—I myself am Azariah Chowders, and I hereby pronounce you an -impudent imposter. I demand to know, sir, how you could dare to avail -yourself of my name and well-earned reputation to deliver a spurious -lecture and rob the pockets of a large audience?” - -“From several reasons, sir. In the first place, to relieve the -solicitude of that gentleman, Mr. Smith.” - -“That shall not serve you! your flagitious conduct,—” - -“Pray hear me out, sir! secondly, as he assured me a number of persons -would be disappointed if they should not hear a lecture—common -philanthropy—” - -“A benevolent youth, upon my word!” laughed Mr. Chowders in derision; -“I’ll not listen.” - -“Then for my third and last reason,—how could I resist such a capital -opportunity for showing off? A gentleman of your aspiring disposition -should not be too severe upon the ambition of others. I had no fame of -my own to procure me a welcome, and as there was no claimant for -yours,—” - -“Young man, you had better confess the truth at once! you could not -resist the temptation of pocketing the dollars which you know would be -collected on my credit. I shall have redress, sir—there are such things -as indictments for swindling.” - -“My good sir! you certainly would not menace me with anything so -terrific! remember how much labor I have taken off your hand,—the -exertion of your brain and lungs, besides securing for you every cent of -the admittance fees. Landlord, oblige me by bringing here the -handkerchief which I requested you last night to deposit in your desk.” - -The host of the Eagle complied with alacrity, and the young stranger -unrolling his handkerchief, displayed a collection of notes and silver, -particularly inviting in these hard times. The sight of it mollified the -assailant at once. “Here, sir,” said the other, “you have the emoluments -of the lecture just as they were placed in my hands by the gentleman -beside you, Mr. Smith. My worthy host will be my voucher that I have not -seen it since; and I think I may be equally confident that it has lost -nothing by being in his possession. I beg pardon if I have incommoded -you by presuming to supply your place; but I hope your friend, Mr. -Smith, will do me the justice of attributing it in part to his mistake -and solicitations.” - -“Willingly,” said Mr. Smith; “and in explanation of my share of the -business, it originated from a remark made by that gentleman,” nodding -towards Mr. Sutton. - -Mr. Chowder, with some accession of graciousness, remarked that an -accident to his carriage had caused the delay on his part, and he -condescended to add, that it was well enough some one had been found to -entertain the company in his stead. - -“You are lenient, sir,” said the offender, “and, in return, I give you -my word that I shall never again attempt to win a laurel leaf in your -name. The audience shall be undeceived, and all the opprobrium of my -presuming to represent your oratorical abilities shall rest on myself. -At present, I have no other security to offer than my name, which, -however, I hope will prevent similar mistakes for the future,” and he -glanced at Sutton; “it is Norman Oakley, and my occupation is that of an -artist,—a painter,” and the visiters retired. - -“Rather a ferocious gentleman, that Mr. Azariah Chowders,” said Wallis -who, with Miss Thompson had witnessed the scene, much to their -amusement. - -“Quite,” returned the painter, resuming his natural manner; “though I -had prepared myself for a much stronger demonstration of it;—perhaps, -because I felt that I deserved it. He could not have been more surprised -at finding himself counterfeited than I was on presenting myself in your -lecture-room. I had expected to meet with some little literary society, -or association for mutual improvement, such as are common in your -villages, and assented to the importunity of the committee-man without -explaining the mistake, in expectation that I might have some diversion -of my own from it. When I found an assemblage of the whole community, I -felt inclined, through respect for them, to make an explanation and -withdraw; but, on second thought, concluded that as I had gone so far, I -might as well remain and do my best to afford them a little -entertainment.” - -“Why, that brown-holland chap seemed to think he would elevate himself a -peg by letting us know that he is a painter;—I should like to know how -much more elegant it is to stroll about painting than peddling or -lecturing,” said Mr. Sutton to Wallis, when they had left the table; -“but that Miss Thompson is an astonishingly handsome girl; what a -complexion she has!—what eyes and what teeth!—what a sensation she -would make in society—that is, if she had a fortune and somebody to -show her off!” - -“You had better offer her yours, and engage in the service yourself,” -said Wallis. - -“Money for money,—‘like loves like;’ it is a generally received opinion -among _us_ that a good-looking fellow, fashionable and well connected, -is an equivalent for a woman with fifty thousand dollars any day. If he -has a fortune, she should be worth dollar for dollar besides. I don’t -know what this Miss Thompson is, so I believe I’ll wait till Valeria -North comes along.” - -“Valeria North! why, my dear fellow, she would annihilate you!” returned -Wallis, and he thought to himself, “this is the most ridiculous -jackanapes I have ever met with; if I must be bored with his -acquaintance, I’ll have a little fun with him;” and he added in a -significant tone, “I thought there was some sort of magnetism by which -you people of fashion found each other out. Is it possible you have not -seen into Miss Thompson yet? Between ourselves she is as great an -heiress as Miss North.” - -“You don’t say so!—well, she looks as if she deserved to be. Come, -Wallis, introduce me, and Miss North may go to the dickens.” - -“I am sorry I can’t oblige you; but as I have merely talked to Miss -Thompson, myself, as a fellow-boarder, I am not privileged to introduce -a stranger.” - -“No matter, we men of the world can manage such things. They are in that -room, aren’t they? and by good luck Cupidon has sneaked in. I’ll go -after him.” - -“I beg pardon, ladies, if I intrude,” said he bowing; “but my dog—” - -“Not at all, sir, this is the common parlor of the house,” returned Mrs. -Thompson, quietly, and scarcely looking up from her work. - -Thus happily possessed of the freedom of the room, Mr. Sutton turned -over some books on a table, and at length remarked, when he had caught -the eye of Miss Thompson, “These country villages are monstrously -tiresome to persons accustomed to a city life.” - -“Are they?” said she, and looked again on her book. - -“They say that Saratoga is unusually thronged this year,” he resumed -after a pause; “I had the pleasure of meeting with a young lady of your -name there last summer;—indeed, I had quite a flirtation with her; -perhaps she was a relation of yours—the daughter of old General -Thompson of Virginia.” - -“Not in the least,” said the young lady. - -“Judge Thompson, of one of the New England states, was there, at the -same time, with his daughters. Very elegant girls all of them,—quite -belles. They are of a different family,—perhaps of yours?” - -“No sir, they are not,” returned Miss Thompson, impatiently giving her -reticule a swing, which raised Cupidon off his feet, that important -character having laid siege to the tassels. - -“_Laissez aller_, Cupidon! a thorough-bred Parisian animal, Miss,—he -does not understand a word of English. He was a keepsake from a -particular friend of mine, Baron Mont Tonnére. You may have met with the -baron; he was quite a lion among our _élite_? By the by, a Miss Thompson -came very near being the baroness,—she was one of the Thomas Thompsons -of New York.” - -No reply. - -“One of the best families in the country,—the same as the B. B. -Thompsons of Philadelphia, the Brown Thompsons of Charleston, and the -Thoroughgood Thompsons of Boston.” - -“You seem quite _au fait_ to the Thompsons;” said the elder lady; and -turning to her daughter, they resumed a conversation, which he had -interrupted, about the lecture and the lecturer, Miss Thompson -expressing a wish to see some of his productions, and her confidence -that a person of his evidently cultivated taste must possess merit as a -painter. Mr. Sutton, as is common with vain people, drawing his -conclusions from his own practice, presumed, of course, that all their -fine talking was specially aimed at his favor, and when the younger -lady, in return for his occasional interpositions, gave him a disdainful -glance of her full black eyes, he admired her art in displaying their -brilliancy. - -The garden of the inn commanded one of the loveliest views among the -finest river scenery in our country, an exquisite combination of glassy -water, little green islets, hills of every variety of form, and -mountains, rising one behind another till their outlines grew almost -imperceptible in the distance. This, in the light of a magnificent -sunset caught the eye of the young painter from a little summer-house in -which he had been reading, and he hastened to his room for his -portfolio. On his return he commenced sketching with such intentness -that he did not perceive that Miss Thompson had taken possession of his -former post, until she addressed him with the remark, “You have a most -admirable subject for your pencil before you, sir.” - -“Beautiful, beautiful!” returned he, warmly; “I never have beheld -anything in this order of scenery to surpass it, though, indeed, this -glorious river presents, in its whole course, a panorama of views so -varied and each so perfect, that it is difficult to decide upon any one -as claiming the strongest admiration. I have been tracing it for several -months, my store of sketches accumulating every day, and the larger -number of them such as would require the hand of a master to do them -justice. I sometimes almost despair, and feel inclined to abandon my art -from the difficulties I find in attempting not to disgrace my -subjects,—such as these for instance,—they may be familiar to you.” - -He laid before her several sketches, and, observing, with evident -pleasure, her expression of admiration he continued,—“This and this I -have finished in oil, if it will afford you any amusement, I shall bring -them down.” - -She assented with thanks and the pictures were produced. She scanned -them over and over again, as if not new to connoisseurship, and when she -turned her eyes to the painter from his work, they sparkled with delight -that brought a flush to his face. “There is a view which you cannot yet -have found;” said she, “one but a few minutes walk from here. I would -rather see it on canvass, if executed in the spirit of these, than any -Claude I have ever heard of!—when you have seen it I am confident you -will undertake it. Will you let me point it out to you?” - -The painter cast upon her one of those quick, searching looks that -belong to the profession, and was so struck with the intellectual beauty -of her glowing and earnest face, that he forgot to reply. - -“In this gorgeous sunset it must be magnificent beyond imagination,” she -continued, catching up a bonnet beside her; “if we hurry we shall yet -have time to see it. Will you go now?” He merely bowed, without any -common-places about “the pleasure” or the “happiness,” and laying down -his portfolio, he closed the door of the edifice to secure his property, -and set off beside her. - -“Well, what did you think of Miss Thompson?” asked Wallis of Mr. Sutton -the next morning. - -“She has splendid black eyes, and how well she knows it too! but she is -quite too shy,—I couldn’t draw her out.” - -“She was talking fast enough to Mr. Oakley, last evening,—I saw them -walking together.” - -“Did you!” exclaimed Sutton, in surprise. - -“Yes, and if you don’t take care, he’ll spoil your flirtation before you -get it rightly underweigh. He is as handsome a fellow as ever I saw, and -as gentlemanlike.” - -Sutton glanced down at himself. “Oh, I don’t mind such things;” said he -magnanimously; “indeed, I should rather give her credit for encouraging -the young man. It is fashionable now to patronise such people. I intend -to give him something to do myself, particularly as it will gratify the -young lady. She expressed a wish yesterday to see some of his work, and -I promised her to employ him on myself. Do you paint portraits, Mr. -O-Oakton?—that I believe is the province of country artists;” he added -to the painter who had presented himself. - -“Sometimes I do,—when I find a face worth painting.” - -“Of course, of course;—I have just been saying that I intend to get you -to take mine. It may be of some service in getting you into business -here. I hope you will not bore me by making me sit often. When can you -begin?” - -“Any time,—now if you choose,—it won’t require long to take _you_ off. -I have my portfolio at hand, and can do it at once. Take this seat.” - -“My father,” pursued the dandy; “is noted as a patron of the fine arts. -He, however, seldom employs young artists, as they don’t yield him the -worth of his money. He says that after a painter gets up to a hundred -dollars a head for portraits, or for a square yard of other things, he -thinks he may trust him, as his productions may then be supposed to be -good. He had the ceilings of his drawing-rooms frescoed by Monachisi, -which was very expensive, and, besides, he has employed several other of -the popular artists;” giving an enumeration which, in accuracy, scarcely -fell short of that by the erudite hero of Fielding—“Ammyconni, Paul -Varnish, Cannibal Scratchi, and Hogarthi.” - -“Please to shut your mouth, sir;” said the Painter. - -“Now, don’t make a fright of me;” resumed Mr. Sutton; “try your best, -and I may, very probably, give you another job. How would you like to -paint Miss Thompson for me?—when she gets over her shyness I’ll propose -it to her, if you succeed in this. She is a confounded pretty girl, -don’t you think so?—quite as handsome as some of the portraits in the -Book of Beauty,”— - -“Keep your mouth shut, if you please.” - -The picture proposed by Miss Thompson was commenced, and whether it was -from the excellence of the subject, or the eloquence of her suggestions, -the painter exerted upon it his best ability. Their mutual interest in -it was a bond of acquaintance which strengthened as the work proceeded, -and every day developed some new qualities in each, which could not have -failed to endow their intercourse with attraction. He was a noble young -man, altogether,—full of talent, generous feelings and high-toned -principles; and of a buoyant, mirthful spirit and powers of adapting -himself to circumstances so rarely found with lofty intellect and so -delightful when they accompany it. His fair companion was not less -richly endowed by nature and education, but it was only by those who -could appreciate the stronger points of her character that she would -have been equally admired. These perpetually exhibiting themselves in an -ardent enjoyment of every thing beautiful in thought, sentiment or the -external world, and in an intrepid scorn of any thing like vanity, -selfishness or insincerity, gave her manners a cast that among the -conventional world would have denounced her as “odd,” yet there was a -grace in her energy, that, to those who understood her, made it an -additional charm. In short, they might have had a multiplicity of -excuses, if they had chosen to fall in love with each other, but of this -there were no indications. They walked together with perfect freedom, -entirely careless or unconscious of remark; and they talked together, -appearing pleased if they agreed in opinions, or if they differed, -opposing each other with equal firmness and politeness. Their deportment -was without coquetry on her part and without gallantry on his. All they -knew of each other was that he was a painter and a very gifted one, and -that she was a very fascinating Miss Thompson. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Sutton’s flirtation with, or rather at our heroine, for -he had it all to himself, was in active progress. He made himself -intolerable by the airs and graces he assumed, to recommend himself to -her favor. He never tied his cravat, nor wrapped a _papillote_ without a -design upon her heart. He followed her about the garden, paying the most -vapid compliments, or, intruding into the parlor, while she and her -mother were reading, amused them with “easie sighs which men do breathe -in love.” She attempted at first to repel him with witty sarcasms, but -that, as Wallis remarked, “was like Queen Christina shooting at a -fly—his apprehension was so small it could scarcely be hit.” She darted -contempt at him from her bright black eyes, and curled her lip in the -most unequivocal fashion, but that only made her look prettier, and he -could see no deeper. She essayed a plain rebuff, but he thought it a -capital joke. It never entered his head that Mr. Bromwell Sutton could -be any thing but irresistible to a Miss Thompson. To get rid of him, she -at last found entirely out of the question, and wearied of her efforts, -she concluded to let him take his own course. This passiveness seemed to -him so encouraging, that one day he was on the point of making a -declaration and was only prevented by the dinner-bell. - -Towards the artist he continued his patronizing condescension, with a -not unfrequent interlude of actual incivility, which, to the surprise -even of Miss Thompson, that gentleman passed over with unresisting -composure. On the present occasion the latter variation predominated, -and after they had left the table, Miss Thompson remarked “I wonder Mr. -Oakley, at your patience in submitting to the impertinences of that -popinjay!” - -“You would not have me challenge him?” said the painter. - -“That would be rather too heroic,—your position is as defenceless as my -own. These “gentlemen’s sons!”—if I were a man, there is no reproach I -should dread, more than being called one of them!” - -“Rather a sweeping condemnation,” said the artist, smiling; “but I think -I have prepared a revenge that will reach the specimen before us;” and -having perceived the subject of their remarks approaching from the -summer-house, he called to him, “Will you step here, for a moment, Mr. -Sutton?” - -“I can’t—I haven’t time;” said Sutton, hurrying on, and they both -noticed in him marks of much perturbation. - -“Your portrait is finished, and I wish you to see it;” persisted Oakley. - -His portrait was too closely connected with himself, not to have -influenced him under any circumstances, and, accordingly, he stopped -while the painter left the room for it, calling, as he did so, “Mr. -Wallis—landlord—gentlemen,—I wish to have your opinion of Mr. -Sutton’s portrait; oblige me by coming into the parlor.” - -They complied and the picture, which was of a miniature size, was placed -in the proper light. Miss Thompson gave it a single glance, and burst -into an apparently irrepressible laugh. Mrs. Thompson, regarding her -with much surprise, drew up her eyes, and stooped forward to examine it, -and then, though she gave her daughter and the artist a deprecating -look, she also turned away to conceal a smile. Wallis turned first to -the picture, then to Sutton, and then to Cupidon, and made no effort to -restrain his mirth, in which he was joined by the party of spectators -who had accompanied him. Every one perceived that it was a correct -likeness of Sutton in features, while the expression was strikingly that -of the little poodle. The dandy himself could not fail to recognize it, -and looked around him, pale with wrath and mortification, bestowing the -fiercest of his looks on Miss Thompson. - -“You don’t tell me what you think of my performance, Mr. Sutton,” said -Oakley, with much gravity. - -“I’ll not bear your insults, sir!” exclaimed Sutton at length; “I’ll not -tolerate your libellous insolence!—what do you mean, sir?—what do you -mean?” - -“Insults! I’ll leave it to this company if I have not succeeded -admirably! it reflects you as a mirror!” - -“I’ll not put up with it! I’ll not pay you a cent; I’ll leave it on your -hands, and we’ll see who’ll have the best of the joke!” - -“Do sir!” said the artist; “it will be then my property, and I can do -what I please with it! I’ll put it up in some exhibition labelled with -your name!” - -“Your station protects you sir!” he resumed; “if you were not beneath my -vengeance, you should answer for this, but a gentleman can, with honor, -only demand satisfaction of his equals,—therefore you are safe! -Landlord,” he added with an assumption of dignified composure; “make out -my bill; I’ll go instantly to the other house;—you must be taught that -a gentleman cannot patronize an establishment where he is liable to be -insulted by any scrub that frequents it!” and again looking daggers at -Miss Thompson, who had not ceased laughing, he left the room. - -In truth, had it not been for the almost insupportable ridicule that -accompanied it, Mr. Sutton would have rejoiced in the excuse to leave -the house, from a discovery that he had just made. After dinner, while -in quest of Miss Thompson, who was at that time in conversation with -Oakley, he had strolled into the summer-house, and found a letter on the -floor. It was without direction, and though closed, not sealed, and more -through blindness than curiosity he opened it. To his dismay it -commenced thus: - - “_My dear, dear Miss North_—How can I give you any idea of the - gratitude I feel for the last and greatest of your many - kindnesses; you have made me so happy that I have not words to - express myself, and not only me, but my dear mother, who says - that you have done her more good than could have been effected - by a whole college of physicians, for her health, at the - prospect of a pleasant home, and freedom from incessant mental - labour, begins already to come back again. We have given up our - school, and are preparing to act upon the arrangements you have - made for us. I have received a delightfully kind letter from - your uncle,—he begs me to consider him as _mine_; in which he - says he will come for us very soon, and requests me to enclose - any communication for you to him. He speaks flatteringly of the - satisfaction our company will give him while you are on your - travels beyond the Atlantic. He little knows how impossible it - will be to supply _your_ place!” etc. etc. - -Sutton read no more. It was signed L. Thompson, and that was sufficient. -He unconsciously thrust the letter into his pocket, and hurried to the -house. How was he to back out?—it now struck him that less importance -could be attached to his actions by others than himself, and he grew -nervous at the thought of how he had committed himself:—that he had -paid the most unequivocal attentions to—a schoolmistress! The artist’s -triumph indeed relieved him on that score, but a new sting was planted, -and a more miserable dandy was, perhaps, not that day in existence, than -Bromwell Sutton when he applied for lodgings at the G—— Hotel. - -“Our work is finished at last!” said the painter, a few days after this -happy riddance, bringing down the piece, which had afforded them so much -enjoyment, for the inspection of Miss Thompson. She was gathering up -some books from the parlor tables with a thoughtful and pensive -countenance. - -“Then I must take a ‘last lingering look’ at it,” returned she; “I may -never see it nor its original again.” - -Oakley looked at her anxious and inquiringly, and she continued, “We -leave here to-day; an unexpected letter reached us this morning, urging -us to be ready at any hour.” - -“And what am I to do without you?” asked the artist, in a very natural -and love-like way, and he followed the question with a short oration, -unnecessary to repeat. But before he had finished it, a carriage stopped -at the door, and in half a minute an elderly gentleman presented himself -in the entry. - -“My uncle!” exclaimed Miss Thompson, running forward to conceal her -confusion, and the old gentleman, after kissing her heartily, said -quickly, “Are you ready, my dear? Where’s your mamma? I hope you have -your trunks packed, as I have hardly a minute to allow you. I have -urgent business awaiting me at home, and have only been able to fulfil -my engagement to come for you, by travelling with all the speed -possible. Quick—tell your mother, and put on your things.” - -To the disappointment of her suitor, she ran up stairs, while the old -gentleman busied himself in seeing the trunks secured behind the -carriage. But immediately, with her mother, she came down, fully -equipped, and while the old lady was shaking hands with the uncle, she -had an opportunity to give him a single look, which one was sufficient: -“Good bye, Mr. Wallis,” said she holding out her hand in passing him, -“we have been such good friends, that I feel very sorry to part with -you.” - -“Where shall I find you?” asked Oakley, in a low voice. She slipped a -card into his hand as he assisted her into the carriage, and was driven -away. He looked at the card. “Valeria North, B——,” he exclaimed; “Is -it possible!” - -“Yes—didn’t you know that before?” said Wallis, “and that old gentleman -is the celebrated jurist Judge North. When Sutton finds it out, he’ll be -more fretted than he was at the portrait. She is a charming girl, isn’t -she? I recognized her the minute she arrived, having had a glimpse of -her before she left the Springs last summer, but as she seemed to wish -to be quiet, and to escape attention, it was not my business to blab. -I’ll go up to Smith’s and have some fun with Sutton.” He walked up -street, and the artist commenced preparations for an immediate -departure. - -“Why Sutton,” said Wallis, when he reached the room of that personage; -“what possessed you to fly off, the other day, with such terrible frowns -at the pretty girl you had been courting so long? It was outrageous, and -what is the worst, you can’t have a chance to make it up,—she left town -to-day, for good.” - -“Did she?—a pleasant journey to her!” said Sutton, brightening up -astonishingly. - -“What!—she jilted you, did she?” - -“She! I found her out in good time for that!—though if it had not been -for a lucky accident, I might have got myself into a confounded scrape; -it would have been a fine mess, if I had been deceived into proposing to -a schoolmistress!” - -“Schoolmistress!—what do you mean?” - -“Why, look here—you were a pretty sap to suppose her an heiress, and to -make me believe it:—read this—I found it by chance, and, somehow, it -got into my pocket.” - -He handed the letter to Wallis, who, after looking over it, remarked, “I -see nothing to the contrary in that. I suppose it came enclosed in an -envelope from her uncle. Can it be possible that you presumed she had -written instead of received it! ha! ha!” - -The mystified dandy gave him a stare. - -“And you never suspected that it was Miss North whose acquaintance you -cut so cavalierly! It was, positively;—she gave her card to Mr. Oakley -before she went away.” - -“I don’t believe it!—why would she call herself Thompson?” - -“She didn’t call herself Thompson—that was inferred to be her name, as -it was her mother’s. I recollect very well of hearing at Saratoga that -the old lady had had two husbands. The last was a Mr. Thompson. What an -opportunity you have lost of making one of the greatest matches in the -country!” - -“It was all the fault of that rascally painter,” said Sutton, in much -vexation; “I had commenced declaring myself the very day he excited me -by his abominable caricature, and if it had not been for that I would -have had an explanation.” - -“I would make him repent it, if I were you—I’d challenge him.” - -“But, you know that’s out of the question—a gentleman degrades himself -by challenging an inferior,” and he walked up and down the room in great -agitation. - -“And then about that letter—does she know you found it?” - -“No, no—I’m perfectly safe there—you won’t tell, will you? After all, -it is not yet too late to make it up. I can go after her to B——; she -will, no doubt, take it as a compliment to be followed, and, you know, -it will be in my favor that I was so devoted before I knew who she was, -won’t it? You might be of great service to me, my dear fellow,” he -added, thinking to prevent Wallis from informing on him by making him -his ally; “you have been in my confidence and knew how much I was -smitten with her. She is, perhaps, offended by my desertion, and if you -would go along, as she has a particular regard for you, you might help -to effect a reconciliation. If you’ll go, I’ll pay your expenses.” - -Wallis, who had no objection to take a trip and see the end of the -comedy, on such easy terms, replied, “Anything to oblige you, if you can -wait two or three weeks. I have particular business on hands now, but -when I am through with it, I’ll go with pleasure.” - -Sutton was obliged to submit to the delay, and in due time they arrived -at B——. After arranging their dress, they sallied out to make inquiry -about Miss North, when an acquaintance of Sutton encountered them, and -stopped them for a talk. While they stood in the street, an elegantly -dressed young man passed them, and looking back, in a familiar voice -saluted Wallis. It was Oakley. “How do you do, Mr. Sutton—happy to see -you,” said he, turning towards them, and saluting Sutton with a very low -bow. The dandy returned a nod, and the painter having ascertained their -lodgings, proceeded on his way. - -“What a remarkably fine looking fellow that is,” said Sutton’s -acquaintance; “I should have been pleased if you had introduced me.” - -“Oh he is not such an acquaintance as one introduces—I have merely -patronized him a little as a strolling painter.” - -“Norman Oakley!—are you not under a mistake? He is the son of one of -the wealthiest gentlemen in New England—a very highly gifted young -man—a finished orator—a fine amateur painter—in every respect an -admirable and enviable fellow. By the by, it is said there is a recent -engagement between him and our belle _par excellence_, Miss North. She -has been travelling through different parts of the country, preparatory -to making a tour in Europe, and, this summer, they met accidentally -somewhere and fell in love, quite ignorant of anything relating to each -other but mutual personal attractions—so the story goes. They are to be -married shortly, so that the lady may have the pleasure of a legal -protector for her Atlantic trip.” - -Sutton could bear no more, and, excusing himself, he hurried back to the -hotel at such a rate that Wallis, finding it difficult to keep up with -him, strolled off in another direction. When they met again the -disappointed lover was prepared for a retreat homeward. - -“Come, Sutton, that would be outrageous!” said Wallis; “you ought to -have a settlement with Oakley, now that you find he is fully on a level -with yourself!” - -“I wouldn’t dirty my fingers with him—I wouldn’t let the mynx know that -I thought her worth fighting about; for they would be sure to attribute -it to that, instead of to the picture. I am off, forthwith. Do you go -back to G——?” - -“Yes, in a few days—but, the fact is, I met Oakley again, after you had -left me, and got an invitation to the wedding. He said he would take me -to see Miss North this evening if I wished it, but I declined, on the -plea that I would be only in the way. But he said there was a charming -little girl there, Miss Thompson—a relative of Valeria’s step-father, -who would appropriate my company, if I pleased. From his remarking that -she is to remain with the judge after the departure of his niece, I -presumed her to be the writer of the letter in your possession. -_Apropos_ of that letter—he questioned me as to whether you had found -it, and hinted that Miss North intended it for your hands, knowing the -effect it would have on you, from your aversion to poverty, low caste, -&c., that she even tore off the date to mislead you the more -easily—hand it here till we see if that is true.” - -Sutton deigned no reply, and before Wallis was ready for his evening -visit, he had travelled the first fifty miles of his journey homeward. - - * * * * * - - - - - OLDEN DEITIES. - - - Open thy gate, oh, Past!— - - A mighty train - Comes sweeping onward from its spectral clime, - August and king-like! Lo! from out the Main - One rears aloft a port and brows sublime, - Yet faded much with tearful wo and time; - And one with lightnings quivering in his hand, - And eye that speaks the thunder of command, - Walks steadfastly, and, seeming as in ire, - He lists attentively a harper, who, - Bending above the bright chords of a lyre, - Tells how neglect from certain era grew - In mortal breasts t’wards the Olympian Sire. - I hail ye Gods! Your reign, though haply brief, - Showed that poor man at least had _some_ belief. - - * * * * * - - - - - RUSSIAN REVENGE. - - - TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. - - - BY ESTHER WETHERALD. - - -A tragical occurrence, which, from its singular and romantic -circumstances, would lead one to believe that the men of northern Russia -are as susceptible of the tender passion, and as revengeful when -disappointed, as those of more southern climes, recently caused a great -sensation at Novogorod. - -Instead of giving a cold recital of facts, we will place before the -reader the depositions of those concerned; thus making him acquainted -with the details of the crime, and also with the judicial forms of that -country in criminal cases. There, all is decided from the depositions -without pleading. These we are about to lay before you are remarkable -for their simplicity and precision, having been taken by a man of -uncommon ability, Mr. Polechko, Captain Isprawnik of the District, -Oustiaje. He is an old officer of dragoons, but having lost a limb in -the battle of Smolensk, he entered into the civil service, and has since -acquired a handsome fortune. - - Report addressed to M. Polechko, Captain Isprawnik, of - the District of Oustiaje, by Mikita Muranow, Mayor of - the village of Trehmiria. - - “On the 20th of April, 1839, Nadiejda Yakovlevna, daughter of - Yakov Osipovitch, fisherman of Trehmiria, came to my house in - tears: she was in such great distress that I could only learn - from her, that an assassination had been committed at the - village. I went with her to her father’s, and there I found - extended upon a bed, a man, pale and livid, nearly cold, but - still breathing. Yakov and his wife were endeavoring to staunch - the blood which flowed from his wounds. On the floor beside the - bed were his garments soaked with water. The young girl could - not attend to my questions, so great was her emotions; but Yakov - told me that his daughter had gone out before daylight to - withdraw the sweep-nets which at this season are placed along - the isles and shores of the Volga. The fisherman himself was - engaged in spreading nets by the light of a lantern, when he - heard cries, and recognized the voice of his daughter. He ran - along the shore, and thought he saw in the dim twilight, a large - boat passing down the river with all the rapidity of the - current. A moment afterwards his daughter’s boat approached the - shore, and in it was a man, whom she had taken from the water in - a state of insensibility. After having carried him to his cabin, - he recognized in him, Ivan Semenov, cornet in the regiment of - the lancers of Archanguelk, who, two years before, had been - quartered in this village.—This is what I have learned from the - fisherman. - - “Ivan Semenov’s wounds are so numerous and deep, that I can - scarcely dare to hope he will be alive when you reach this - place.—Please to bring a physician with you.” - - Report of Nicolas Peterowitch Polechko, Captain - Isprawnik of the District of Oustiaje, to the chancery - of the Governor of Novogorod. - - “I arrived on the night of the 20th of April, at the village of - Trehmiria, with the physician of the district, M. Frants - Frantsovitch, Mayor; we found in the cabin of the fisherman, - Yakov Osipovitch, M. Ivan Prokovitch Semenov, lately a cornet in - the regiment of Archanguelk. He had received fifteen wounds, but - the physician assured me they were not mortal, and that he would - certainly recover. The wounded man told me that his assassins - were Paul Ivanovitch Hortinja, quarter-master, and Pierre - Alexiecivitch Tsaryna, soldier in the regiment of the lancers of - Archanguelk. At the time he was wounded, the Cornet Semenov was - on his way to Rybinsk, in a boat which belonged to his father, - and which was loaded with linen. - - “I left the physician with the wounded man, and without losing a - moment, hastened to Rybinsk. There, aided by the police, I - sought out the assassins, one of whom, the quarter-master, - Hortinja, was known to me. At the wharf I learned that a boat, - laden with linen, and having two men on board, arrived that - morning, the 21st of April; and that the cargo was shortly - afterwards sold to an Armenian merchant of Astracan. I then - proceeded to the residence of the buyer, Jerome Smilabej, who - confessed that he had bought the linen, which was worth 20,000 - roubles, for 10,000—that he had this day paid 4,000 and was to - pay the other 6,000 on the 1st of May at Astracan. I did not - place much confidence in what he told me, for I knew this race - of merchants were liars, and that they encouraged and protected - crime when they expected to profit by it. Besides, I observed - considerable embarrassment on his countenance. I then asked him - where the linen was? He said he had despatched it to Astracan. - - “‘Impossible!’ observed I. ‘You bought it this morning, and the - steamboat does not go until to-morrow.’ - - “He said he had sent it on in the same boat, having bought it - with the cargo. - - “‘And what rowers did you employ?’ asked I. - - “He turned pale, and stammered, ‘I employed the same who brought - it here.’ - - “At this reply, I seized him by the collar, threatening to - conduct him to the police office, when, suddenly, the door of - the room in which we were, opened, and a man rushed upon me, - poignard in hand. I recognized Hortinja, and drew my sword to - parry his blows. I also placed myself between him and the door, - crying a ‘murderer! an assassin!’ Fortunately for me, the - Armenian, instead of trying to aid Hortinja, hid himself under - the bed. The men of the house soon came to my assistance, but it - was some time before we could disarm and bind the assassin. In - the struggle he wounded three men besides myself. I bear three - marks of his steel upon my breast. - - “After securing Hortinja, we drew the Armenian from under the - bed, and he then confessed that the other accomplice was half a - league from Rybinsk with the boat, waiting for his comrade. I - immediately sent for some of the police, and Tsaryna was - arrested without offering any resistance.” - - - INQUIRY. - -“In consequence of an order from the Imperial Attorney, I, Nicolas -Petrovitch Polechko, Captain Isprawnik of the District Oustiaje, went on -the 26th of the month to the village of Trehmiria, where I proceeded to -the inquiry in the following order: - -“The first person I examined was Ivan Prokovitch Semenov, who declared -himself to be 28 years of age, son of Prokop Karlovitch Semenov, a -merchant of Kostroma, who possessed a factory in that neighborhood, -where he manufactured much linen, which formed the principal part of his -commerce. - -“Semenov entered the military service in 1830, in the regiment of the -Lancers of Archanguelk. He was appointed cornet of the said regiment in -1836. He commanded the second division of the third squadron, in which -Hortinja was quarter-master, and Tsaryna a common soldier. In 1836, the -division of Cornet Semenov was cantoned in the village of Trehmiria. In -1837, he handed in his resignation that he might return home to his -father. On the 12th of November, 1838, Hortinja and Tsaryna came to -Kostroma, to the house of Prokop Semenov. The former said he had left -the army, the latter that he had obtained a six months’ leave of -absence. The Cornet Semenov welcomed them as old comrades. He engaged -Hortinja in the service of his father, and gave Tsaryna a handsome -present to enable him to pass the six months amongst his relations. -Hortinja behaved so well that he gained the confidence of old Semenov, -who sent him twice in the spring to Rybinsk with linen. After having -sold the cargo and the boat, he brought back the money with the greatest -exactness. On the 15th of April, another cargo of linen was ready to go -to Rybinsk, and this time young Semenov was to go with him to that city, -and from there make a voyage to Astracan. On the evening before their -departure Tsaryna arrived, and as he had been a sailor before he entered -the army, he begged the Cornet Semenov to employ him instead of engaging -another sailor, telling him that it was time he was on his way to rejoin -his regiment, which he said was cantoned at Novogorod-la-Grande. Semenov -consented, and set out next day in the boat with Hortinja, Tsaryna, a -peasant sailor, and a servant. On the second day the sailor and servant -were both taken so violently ill with the cholic, that they were obliged -to leave the boat and remain behind at the village of Bahorka. - -“On the 19th, Semenov remarked that Hortinja and Tsaryna had secret -conferences, and seemed to be concerting something. At night, after -having in vain tried to sleep, he left the cabin and took a seat on the -prow of the vessel. He had scarcely done so when he saw a light at some -distance, and said to his companions, “My friends, we are near -Trehmiria, and I bet that is old Yakov spreading his nets.” The two men -did not reply, and Semenov continued “By God, if the old fisherman’s -nets attracted fishes as well as the eyes of Nadiejda did the lancers of -Archanguelk, he would be rich in a short time.” Hardly had he spoken -these words when he was struck in the back with a knife. He tried to -turn round, but was knocked down by his assassins. He still struggled, -but was wounded repeatedly. He called for assistance, and thought he -heard a voice which replied. He was then thrown into the river. This was -all he remembered, he could not tell how he got into the bark of -Nadiejda. After the wounded man had given the above deposition, I put to -him the following questions: - -Q. “Have you inflicted military punishment on Hortinja and Tsaryna?” - -R. “You know captain, it is impossible to get along in the army without -making use of the baton; during the year of my command, Hortinja was -beaten nine or ten times, and Tsaryna from forty to fifty, but I never -ordered more than a hundred blows of the baton at once; so that the -officers of the regiment laughed at my moderation, and called me -scholar, and French officer.” - -Q. “Have you not excited the jealousy of some comrade?” - -R. “Not that I am aware of.” - -Q. “Were you not acquainted with this Nadiejda who saved your life?” - -R. “I knew her to be the most beautiful girl of Trehmiria, and of -irreproachable virtue; my lancers told me this, Hortinja one of the -first. I could not hope to have her for a mistress—and for a wife.—” - -Q. “That is sufficient. Knew you not that Hortinja paid his court to -her?” - -R. “I did not; all the lancers found her beautiful and attractive.” - -Q. “Do you suffer much from your wounds?” - -R. “No, captain, I feel much better, and hope I shall soon be well; the -guilty man’s hand struck feebly, therefore I hope he will not be -punished severely.” - -Thus closed the examination of Semenov. I then proceeded to that of the -quarter-master Hortinja. - -Paul Ivanovitch Hortinja was born in 1787 in the city of -Smolensk—entered the army in 1806 in which he remained thirty-two years -and a half—was quarter-master 15 years and four months. He has made -eighteen campaigns, been engaged in forty-nine battles, and a hundred -and thirty-seven combats—has received the cross of Saint George, and -five medals. He left the service in the month of October 1838. His -discharge and certificates give him a very high character. - -Q. “What cause had you for disliking Cornet Semenov?” - -R. “Not any. I always found him good and kind as a father. I have said -so to my soldiers. We had no better officer.” - -Q. “And what then caused you to commit so abominable a crime?” - -R. “O father! (a common expression of the Russian soldier) my crime is -abominable, but harken, I will tell you every thing. I, an old -man—having attained my fiftieth year, I loved for the first time—a -child—this Nadiejda; I loved her as our fathers loved the glorious -empress Catharine (here he made the sign of the cross.) I was -quarter-master, and had saved something—she was a poor peasant slave, I -wished to marry her, and offered to buy her of her master Count -Strogonof—I was to pay him 500 roubles. Her father consented to it, but -she refused me disdainfully, without my being able to comprehend why. In -the mean time Tsaryna came to see me, and said, thou art sorrowful -comrade, but thou should’st not be so. Nadiejda is the mistress of the -cornet; she is almost always at the house where he lodges; this is well -known—thou only appearest to doubt it. My heart died within me at these -words—my head turned round, but I said nothing, for the Cornet Semenov -was my officer. I began to watch Nadiejda closely, and I saw that she -did often go to the house where he lodged. I thought not then of -revenge. It was at this time that the cornet gave in his resignation, -and returned to Kostroma. I then saw the tears of Nadiejda. I saw that -grief undermined her health and tarnished the lustre of her cheek, but I -loved her still. A year passed thus—I repeated my offer of marriage, -she refused me again, and this time she told me she loved young Semenov, -and swore she would never marry any one. - -“At this time Tsaryna became my friend and confidant; he represented the -cornet as the seducer of this young girl, and I resolved to avenge her. -I obtained my discharge—he, his leave of absence, and we went to -Kostroma. - -“The kind reception the cornet gave us, joined to his confidence and -frankness, disarmed me, and I determined to abandon my criminal project. -Things were in this state, when young Semenov resolved to go to -Astracan. Tsaryna requested that he might fill the place of the second -sailor, and his request was complied with. The evening before our -departure he spoke to me of our old project—I was angry—he praised the -beauty of Nadiejda—spoke to me of her misfortune—of my shame; I said -nothing, but God only knows what infernal tortures my poor heart -sustained; (here he paused a moment in great emotion) we set out; on the -second day of our navigation, the first sailor and the servant were -taken sick, but as truly as I pray God to save my soul and pardon my -crime, I am ignorant of the cause of their malady. I advised the cornet -to employ another sailor, but he thought it unnecessary, for the -navigation was easy and the current rapid. - -“Tsaryna was constantly speaking to me of Nadiejda; when we came in -sight of the village of Trehmiria I was moved, troubled, and when the -cornet spoke of her I was no longer master of myself, I drew my knife -and struck him.” - -Q. “Did you strike him once, or several times?” - -R. “I do not know, I had lost my reason.” - -Q. “Did Tsaryna aid you to commit the crime?” - -R. “I cannot tell, I only remember that he cried out. Some one is -coming! a bark, a bark!” - -Q. “And what did you do then?” - -R. “I was furious, desperate, distracted. When the day dawned, I saw the -shores, the river, but I saw neither the cornet, nor the village of -Trehmiria. I wished to throw myself into the water, but had not -sufficient energy, and suffered myself to be persuaded to live, and seek -my safety in flight.” - -Q. “When you arrived at Rybinsk, how did you manage to sell your cargo -so quickly?” - -R. “I knew Jerome Smilabej, and to him I confided my crime. He consented -to save us, provided we abandoned the cargo to him, and he promised to -arrange every thing for us, and conduct us to a place of safety.” - -Q. “Why didst thou attack me?” - -R. “I had promised the Armenian in case of unforeseen danger to defend -his life as my own. The moment of danger had come, and I fulfilled my -promise.” - -Q. “Thou sayest that Tsaryna urged thee to commit crime, and aided thee -to execute it—that the Armenian protected criminals, and appropriated -to himself wealth which did not belong to him?” - -R. “I neither denounce nor accuse any one. I have spoken the truth. I -seek not to deny my crime nor to cast the consequences upon others. I am -a great criminal!” - - - EXAMINATION OF PIERRE ALEXIECIVITCH TSARYNA, SON OF A CITIZEN OF - KOSTROMA. - -He is thirty-two years of age; entered the military service in 1828 as a -recruit in the lancers of Archanguelk. He denies any participation in -the crime. - -Q. “Yet you were the first to tell the quarter-master Hortinja that a -great intimacy existed between the Cornet Semenov and the girl -Nadiejda.” - -R. “I was joking when I said Semenov and Nadiejda were too intimate. The -quarter-master was wicked as the devil; he pounded our very bones with -the baton. I revenged myself by contradicting his ridiculous passion for -a girl young enough to be his grand-daughter.” - -Q. “Why did you rejoin Hortinja at Kostroma?” - -R. “I met him there by chance.” - -Q. “And why did you choose to return at the time that Semenov was going -to Rybinsk?” - -R. “In order to save my money.” - -Q. “Why did you give to the servant of Semenov, and to the first sailor, -a poison, which produced cholic and vomiting?” - -R. “They were very fond of brandy—they were like a cask without bottom; -to play them a trick I put snuff into the liquor: is it my fault they -have such delicate stomachs?” - -Q. “Why did you provoke Hortinja to assassinate the cornet?” - -R. “I did not. The quarter-master is subject to visions, he dreams so -many other things, that he may have dreamed that also.” - -Q. “Why, then, did you not defend him?” - -R. “The cornet was in citizen’s dress, the quarter-master in uniform, -and I am a soldier.” - -Q. “What do you mean by that?” - -R. “That the soldier must respect the uniform more than the citizen’s -dress.” - -Q. “Why did you throw the cornet into the water?” - -R. “To save him from the fury of the quarter-master. I also saw a boat -coming towards us.” - -Q. “Why did you apprize Hortinja of its coming?” - -R. “From joy that I could save the cornet.” - -Q. “And why did you not denounce the crime of Hortinja when you arrived -at Rybinsk?” - -R. “Because I am a soldier, and he is a quarter-master.” - -All my questions, all my expedients, the bastinado included, drew no -other confession from him. Confronted with Hortinja, he replied to his -indignation by sneers; in the presence of soldiers who had heard his -provocations he denied them: only at the sight of Nadiejda did he turn -pale, grind his teeth, and reply nothing, absolutely nothing! - - - DEPOSITION OF NADIEJDA YAKOVLEVNA. - -Nadiejda Yakovlevna is twenty-one years of age. She confessed frankly -that she had loved, and still loved passionately the cornet Semenov, but -assured me that no intimacy had existed between them, and that the -cornet was even ignorant of the passion he had inspired. She said the -soldier Tsaryna had paid his court to her, and not being able to obtain -her love had sworn to her that he would revenge himself upon the one who -had obtained it. At first his suspicions rested on Hortinja, and he said -he would soon get rid of the old rascal. Some time after he came to her -and said, “Harken, Nadiejda! be mine, or I swear by St. Nicholas thou -shalt witness the death of Semenov.” She cared little for his threats, -knowing him to be a coward. About this time the cornet left Trehmiria. -Tsaryna renewed his declarations, but still without success. Before -setting out for Kostroma, he said, “The old one will do what I have -threatened; before I return I will be revenged, I swear it by St. -Nicholas.” She had never heard Hortinja threaten the life of the cornet; -he was sad and melancholy—he even wept, but he was a man incapable of -committing a crime unless provoked to it. - -This is her account of the night in which she saved the cornet: - -“I had a presentiment which oppressed my heart; before I lay down I -found a cat upon my bed. A bad sign! As soon as I fell asleep I had -horrible dreams. I awoke and cried out, ‘Wo to me!’ My father then -ordered me to go upon the Volga and draw away the nets; there I heard -cries, and thought I recognised the voice of Semenov. It was more than a -year since I had seen him, and I knew him in spite of the obscurity. I -rowed towards his boat, and as I neared it, I heard the splash of a body -thrown into the water. Fortunately, I was close by and succeeded in -drawing him out of the river. It was Semenov.” - -The inquiry was completed by a few other declarations of less -consequence. - -The Armenian merchant tried to excuse himself, and said that he -endeavored to save the two men in order that they might have time for -repentance. In other things he confirmed what Hortinja had said. - -The fisherman Yakov gave an account of the manner in which Tsaryna had -threatened him, because he would not give him his daughter. - -The inquiry terminated on the thirteenth of May, and the depositions -were on the same day laid before the criminal tribunal of Novogorod by -the captain Isprawnik. - -On the twenty-ninth of May the tribunal pronounced the decree which -condemns: - -Paul Ivanovitch Hortinja to perpetual banishment in Siberia, and ten -years labor in the mines. - -Jerome Smilabej, Armenian merchant, to one year and six days -imprisonment, a fine of one thousand rubles, and the costs. - -Pierre A. Tsaryna, being a soldier, was sent before the military -tribunal. - -On the fourth of June, the military tribunal of the first corps of the -army, assembled at Novogorod, condemned Pierre A. Tsaryna to pass three -times through the rods of a squadron, and afterwards to be transported -to Siberia, where he must labor in the mines for the rest of his life. - -These decrees have been submitted to the emperor, and confirmed by him -with this change: Hortinja is perpetually banished, but will not be -obliged to labor in the mines. - -On the third of June, the decree was executed on Pierre A. Tsaryna, who -was so severely beaten that there is little hope of his recovery; he has -been taken to the hospital of Novogorod. - -L’Abeille du Nord, a Russian journal of St. Petersburg, reached us at -the same time with the letter of our correspondent. It gives an account -of this affair, and also adds that the emperor has deigned to decorate -the girl Nadiejda with a medal of gold on the ribbon of Saint Waldimir. - -The Cornet Semenov married Nadiejda Yakovlevna as soon as the trial was -concluded. - - * * * * * - - - - - PERDITI. - - - PART SECOND. - - -BY WM. WALLACE, ESQ., AUTHOR OF “BATTLE OF TIPPECANOE,” “MARCHES FOR THE - DEAD,” ETC., ETC. - - - AMERICAN BATTLE SHIP. - - I. - - Out on the sounding sea, - With a flag of stars and a row of steel, - ’Mid the tempest scowl and the battle peal— - The great ship of the free! - - Away from her moorings—away o’er the wave— - How proudly she bears the glad hearts of the brave! - In the sun-burst of morning, the darkness of night, - Like a goddess she strives with the gales: - Behold her alone in her glorious might, - With her banners of beauty and streamers of light, - Like a condor when out on his terrible flight, - Where the breath of the tempest prevails. - Hark, hark! ’tis her thunder! her flags are all out, - And the lightning’s the wreath she will wear; - Now it shines on her mast—now ’tis hurried about, - ’Mid the ring of the sword and the rapturous shout, - By the breath of the sulphury air. - - Why thus is she wrapt in the black-curling smoke? - Why thus have her thunders tumultuously broke - O’er the halls of the dark-rolling wave? - Why thus have her star-crested flags been unfurl’d - Like the wings of some god from the sky to the world? - She battles abroad for the brave! - - Proud hope of our land! we have given thy form - To the lord of the breeze and the god of the storm; - We have hung from the top of the high soaring mast - A broad sheet of stripes with the bird - Who cradles his wing in the home of the blast, - When the cloud-troops are angrily hurrying past, - And the voice of the thunder is heard: - We have wet thy scarred decks with the hallowèd blood - Of those who have battled for us on the flood, - And blessed thee with hearts, which the freemen alone - Can possess, when we saw thee sit firm on thy throne - Of the dark-rolling waters. - - Go forth, gallant one!— - Go forth in thy glory and pomp o’er the main, - And burst with the might of thy sure-pointed gun - The palace, the cell and the tyrannous chain. - The breezes shall kiss thee: the stars shall illume - Thy pathway when dangers are there, - And around thee the laurels of triumph shall bloom, - Like the plumage of angels abroad on the gloom - Of the battle’s tempestuous air. - Aye! the great god of freedom who holds in his hand - This universe blazing around, - Who walks on the billows which hear his command, - And straight in deep quiet are found: - Aye! he who has yoked, in the ether afar, - The lightning-maned steeds of the storm to his car, - Shall guide thee all safe o’er the foam, - And at last, by the torch of his bright beacon-star, - Restore thee once more to thy home! - - II. - - But such! ah! such is not my theme— - Illumined by a grosser fire - Than that which some will truly deem - Befitting well the patriot’s lyre. - And yet how could I pass thee by— - Thou of the fearless soul and eye?— - Thou who hast watched my boyhood’s hours - Amid thy sacred rocks and rills, - Where liberty with glory towers - Unshaken on her thousand hills! - - Genius of freedom! let me stand - With thee upon my native land; - Still let me hear thy thunder-voice - Bid every child of thine rejoice; - Still let me see on yonder mast - The banner of the heart unfurl’d— - The playmate of the ocean-blast, - The hope or terror of the world. - And when the minstrel’s form is cold, - His brightest meed of praise shall be, - As o’er his grave yon starry fold - By wind and tempest is unroll’d, - “Freedom! thy minstrel sang of thee!” - - —— - - ’Tis dark around! yet darker still - Within that melancholy clime, - Where tireless, sleepless vulture-ill - Sits blackly brooding over crime; - The tempest has a deeper moan; - The night-wind has a wilder tone; - The thunder glares his troubled eye - Amid the hollows of the sky; - And sheeted lightnings swiftly stream - From yonder cloud’s tremendous rack, - And then with swifter stride they seem - In pallid horror hurrying back. - - Groans in the dark tide of the air: - Groans in the withered space around: - Groans in the tempest’s sickly glare: - Groans struggling under ground! - And look! Lo! blacker clouds are swelling - Around the thunder’s opened dwelling, - Which with a Vulcan-torch illumes - This realm of everlasting glooms; - Set in the distance—see it stand - Above that melancholy land— - Wild, gloomy, solitary, grand! - Heckla of spirits—placed afar, - The lamp of ghastly heath and rill, - As if like some malignant star - ’Twould make them all more ghastly still. - - ROSANI. - - “Fit time!”—he cried with quivering brow, - Tale such as mine was uttered now; - When all the elements are stirred - To hear a spirit’s fearful word. - Let lightnings flash—let thunders roll, - What terrors have they for the soul - That flees the golden eye of day, - And hates its beams e’en more than they! - I’ve revell’d in their light before - In many a sea, on many a shore— - On many a rock—on many a deck— - Yes! challenged them amid the wreck— - When they and the remorseless sea - Seem’d smiling on my agony. - - Yet! have I loved a milder glow - Than yonder lurid fires bestow: - There was a moment! glorious time! - When I, amid my native bow’rs, - Unmoved by care—unsoiled by crime— - Would watch the sunshine beam for hours; - It glowed of my own self a part, - For all was sunshine in the heart, - Which seemed an angel who had left, - He knew not how, the stainless blue, - And smiled, so long of light bereft, - To find an angel wandering, too. - - But when I saw the bannered storm— - Like giant rousing from his sleep— - Uplift o’er heaven his awful form, - And from the thunder-chamber sweep - To his dread bridal with the flame - Before their altar of the cloud, - While all his minstrel-tempests came - Around the shrine, in terror bowed,— - I’ve smiled with other smile than this, - For then, I, leaping from the sod, - Saw, in their rude but meaning bliss, - The wondrous glory of a God:— - Yes! e’en when others quailed to see - The red volcano light our clime, - I’ve joyed, for in its ministry - I only saw a torch sublime, - Lighting with its tremendous glare - The glorious pages of His book, - Which men might read if they would dare - Upon those awful leaves to look. - - Like thee I joyed alone to range - Amid the beautiful and bright, - A thing like them of love and light— - Like thee my spirit had its change. - The spell was wove! It thundered out - In many a wild and bitter curse— - And thenceforth I was hurl’d about - Hopeless amid the universe. - - Long years! oh! how your shadows press - My brow in very weariness: - Here! here ye stretch and ever gloom - Like funeral-foliage of the tomb, - Whose leaves—the favorites of pain - Must ever life from sorrow gain. - Long years! long years! I feel again - Your star-eyed hopes around me glow - Bright as the plumage of a train - Of pilgrim-angels furled below. - - We are together: Ila, see - The light of heaven’s own heraldry— - And hark!—the evening breeze is here; - His silver lips no longer mute,— - He breathes—a minstrel-worshipper— - An avè from his leafy lute: - Shall we not join him? Dearest, press - Thy lip to mine, while, as of old, - We hear with love’s sweet tenderness - That glorious vesper music rolled. - We are together in those bowers - Glad as the rosy-footed hours - And all as pure.—I see her now - A creature less of earth than skies, - With day’s pure sunshine on her brow - And heaven’s own midnight in her eyes. - And thus we trod the path of life, - Without nor cloud, nor grief, nor strife— - Like pensile stars whose golden light - Meets on the sable bridge of night - And glows with such a wedded beam - In calm or stormy weather, - That men when looking upwards deem - They are but one, for thus they seem, - So close they shine together. - - Ha! whence this change? My Ila! why - That icy mien and tearful eye? - No more for me thou cullest the flow’r;— - No more with me thou seekest the bow’r;— - No more thy sweet lips press my own;— - No more thy warm hands link with mine, - When Daylight, stooping from his throne, - Has furl’d his wing by evening’s shrine. - - She answered not! yet sorrow there - Has held a bridal with despair, - And pale her cheek as if with wo - Which none but she must ever know. - In vain I questioned—her reply - A sad reproachfulness of eye, - So firm yet tender in its look, - It ever, sorrowing, seemed to say - “Why torture me!”—I could not brook - Such gaze, but gladly turned away, - Leaving my Ila to her mood - In our old castle’s solitude. - Days rolled away!—And who art thou - With princely step and lofty brow? - What dost thou here within our halls, - Sir knight! unwelcome to these walls? - Days roll’d away!—I sought my sire; - He met me but with glance of ire, - And freezing mystery of air, - Which seemed to say—“Ila?—beware!” - And then he cried, “away! away! - Mad boy, she weds the knight to-day!” - I spoke not; slowly round me came - A wavering sheet of cloud and flame, - Which seem’d to sear my very brain: - How long ’twas thus I cannot say, - Nor when I woke to life again. - They called me mad: I heard the chain - Clanking around my limbs, and near - The hum of voices meet my ear, - And eyes amid the darkness shone - So bright, so angry and so lone— - Methought they were the eyes of those - Whom men have named their demon-foes, - Drawing a life from human woes. - Yes! I was mad, and in my strength - I spurned the dungeon’s hated ground, - Hurled from my limbs the chain, at length, - And thus my birth-right freedom found. - I saw the glorious stars again— - Once more I gazed upon the main - Whose billows e’en in boyhood were - My playmates, when their crested forms - Rushed up like ministers of Fear - Amid their temple of the storms. - Once more I heard the Ocean’s shock - Against the castellated rock; - And saw, oh! gallant, blessed sight! - My barque along the heaving tide, - Like lover resting through the night - Upon the bosom of his bride. - The sail’s unfurl’d! How free! How brave! - On! on my vessel, o’er the wave! - The night-winds kiss thee, as in joy - To meet once more their ocean-boy. - Oh! I had loved thee, glorious sea, - And oft thy waters laved my brow, - But never have I gazed on thee - With such a bounding heart as now. - Roll on! Roll on! thy dark blue foam - Shall henceforth be to me a home. - For days I skimmed the ocean blue, - And deeper still my gladness grew; - And oft my joy was uttered out - To heaven in that delirious shout - Which only he can swell whose life - Is passed amid the ocean’s strife. - And others soon around me came; - And men soon shook before my name. - What trophies glittered on our deck, - How foemen sank with many a wreck, - Let that old ocean’s caverns tell,— - In sooth our spirits loved them well— - They lay beneath us like a spell. - - A sail! How looks she in the dark? - “Bravely! She is a royal barque!” - Give thanks! Hurrah! I ween the wave - Before the morn shall be her grave! - Out with the guns!—“Ho, sir! she veers!— - Again! again! Hurrah! she nears!” - She came so nigh, that we could see - The pilot’s lonely ministry. - Sudden as lightning from its lair - Fire glowed around her deck;— - Ha! ship, that rode so proudly there— - Thou art a very wreck! - Once more the frowning guns were out; - Their thunder told in shriek and shout! - “The barque’s on fire!”—with one wild cry! - That pierced the very wave and sky, - Her crew leaped in the tide; - But as she heavily floated by— - Oh! God what met my startled eye? - The chieftain and his bride! - Yes, he and Ila shrined in flame - Were wildly calling on my name:— - At one mad bound I cleared my deck, - And stood upon that burning wreck: - Through flame and smoke I fearless flew! - A moment—I have reached the two! - I grasped him! and the lurid wave - Revenged me well—it was his grave. - I bore her in my arms—the smoke - And flame in vain around me broke,— - I felt them curling o’er my brow, - As fierce they swept from stern to plow;— - I struggled on!—one effort more— - I leaped upon my vessel’s side! - Thank God! the final strife was o’er, - And I had won my ocean-bride! - In one dread shock the crackling mast - Came thundering down beneath the blast:— - The flaming wreck slow drives away— - Dim and more dim we marked the ray; - And now unloosing every sail— - We feel our vessel, like a steed - Gladdening to serve his rider’s need, - Dart out before the gale. - - Slowly the thrill of feeling came - Along my Ila’s pallid frame; - I marked the rising crimson swell - Upon the cheek I loved too well, - And heard, how joyously! the sigh - Which told me that she could not die, - At least not then:—she rose at last; - One piercing look around she cast, - And shrieked!—her memory, ah! too soon - Had lighted up those scenes of old, - When I, beneath far different moon - Than that which brightly rose aboon, - My love so passionately told. - She spake not still; but day by day - I saw her calmly sink away - Like some sweet flower or rainbow-form - Whose life is withered by the storm. - But when I saw her pallid lips - Darkling beneath the death-eclipse, - She waved me to her side and said— - I cannot speak her words—the dead - Would stir within their very tomb - To hear such tale!—Enough! she died, - And I beheld in that sea-room - A sister in my ocean-bride. - Oh! how I blessed the God above, - That she went down unsoiled by love - Whose reckless and unholy fire - Springs from the heart of low desire. - My sire had framed a cunning tale - —To shroud his crime, and this the baal! - He brought her to our castle’s hall— - Saying she was a homeless child, - Whom he had found beneath the wall - In all her orphan-freedom wild. - Of that she told me, on the day - She died, thus much I dared to say. - - And Ila sleeps within the wave, - And round her peaceful ocean-tomb - The pale flowers of the coral-grave - In all their quiet beauty bloom. - Sleep on! sleep on in that deep rest— - Thou of the stainless brow and breast,— - Oh! holy as the stars that shine - In all their seraph splendor set, - Like torches of a templed-shrine - In midnight’s azure coronet. - She was avenged! That very hour - In which the tide received her form, - The deep-blue sky began to lour - Beneath the scowling of the storm; - And soon the thunder, vast and dark, - Shook his red arm above our barque, - Whose deck deserted—sails all rent - And loose around the shivered mast, - Like reeling clouds were blindly sent - Before the fury of the blast. - “The boats! the boats!” - They’re riding well - Along that billow’s crested swell. - “Save! save yourselves,” I sternly cried, - Undaunted on the plunging deck, - “I go to seek my ocean-bride, - But comrades ye must leave the wreck!” - An instant—they were safe! and I - Alone stood challenging the sky - And rolling waves. - With fearless form - I dared the spirit of the storm: - His red lips answered me—the flame - Leaped burning through my blackened frame!— - And I was here.— - “No more! No more!” - He cried, “that agony was o’er:— - But this!” - He darkly gazed around, - Then quivering sank upon the ground; - And Lorro on his dread distress - Gazed sorrowing—mute and motionless. - - The tempest with his train has fled, - And yet no moon hath lit her fire; - Nought lights the darkness, deep and dread, - Save that dim-burning Vulcan-pyre. - With its drear, wavering, ghastly light, - Still heavier than the heavy night: - Most terrible! - The task is done! - How gladly mounts the trembling soul, - Like light returning to its sun, - When Heaven’s own streams of glory roll! - Joy, spirit! joy! I’ve broke the spell; - Land of the lost! dread land, farewell. - - —— - - Soul of that shadowy realm, where Time - Hath thrown his last-expiring wave, - When the Immortal glooms sublime - And terrible above the grave,— - Dread image o’er whose phantasm we - Have hung a shroud of mystery, - And then for countless ages shook - Before its dark, eternal look. - Bold scorner of the groan or tear— - Swaying between the star and storm— - Thou art a mighty thing of fear, - Yet glory crowns thy mystic form. - Vast, potent, melancholy, dim, - Past ruler of the cherubim, - And king-like in thy ruin still, - Thou livest despite of sleepless ill. - Oh! once all splendid in that time, - Ere thy great banners were unfurl’d - Like thunder flashes in the clime - From which the rebel hosts were hurl’d, - How art thou fallen—fallen now!— - The burning seal upon thy brow - Which towered in its own glory bright— - A mighty pyramid of light. - And battling still? Thine essence gleams - Like the dim flashing of a cloud; - Oh! how unlike its heavenly beams - Ere sin that angel-beauty bowed, - And changed thee to a giant curse - Breathed through the shuddering universe— - A deathless, hopeless agony— - An aching immortality. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HEAVENLY VISION. - - - BY THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D. - - - If I be sure I am not dreaming now, - I should not doubt to say it was a dream. - _Shelley._ - - I met her in the spring-time of my years, - When suns set golden in the azure west; - The sight of her dissolved my heart to tears— - It seemed she came from heaven to make me blest. - - A golden harp was in her snow-white hand, - And when she touched the strings, so softly prest, - The music seemed as from some heavenly band, - As though she came from heaven to make me blest. - - Her eyes were of that soft, celestial hue, - Which heaven puts on when Day is in the west; - Whose words were soft as drops of evening dew— - It seemed she came from heaven to make me blest. - - Long had we parted—long had she been dead— - When late one night, when all had gone to rest, - Her spirit stood before me—near my bed— - She came from heaven to tell me she was blest. - - As some fond dove unto her own mate sings, - So sang she unto me, in my unrest— - Who lay beneath the shadow of her wings— - Of heaven, wherein she told me she was blest. - - My spirit had been longing here for years - To know if that dear creature was at rest; - When, just as my poor heart lost all its tears, - She came from heaven to tell me she was blest. - - I then grew happy—for with mine own eyes - I had beheld that being whom my breast - Had pillowed here for years—fresh from the skies— - Who came from heaven to tell me she was blest. - - I wept no more—from that sad day to this, - I have been longing for the same sweet rest, - When my fond soul shall dwell with her in bliss, - Who came from heaven to tell me she was blest. - - * * * * * - - - - - MRS. WARE’S POEMS.[1] - - -Averse, as we have declared ourselves, to any severe criticisms upon the -productions of female poets, we are constrained, in the case before us, -to speak with a plainness, savoring less of gallantry than truth. If -only “_some_ female errors” fell to the lot of Mrs. Katharine Augusta -Ware, we might, perhaps, “look in her face” and “forget them all;” but -so many are the faults of which she is guilty, that she must have a face -as beautiful as Raphael’s Fornarina, to cause us to forget or forgive a -tithe of the number. The lady, however, is neither beautiful nor -juvenile; she goes so far in her preface as to confess that she cannot -plead “_youthful_ diffidence” for her indiscretion in writing and -publishing a volume of verses. That she is not beautiful, we state on -positive intelligence. On this score, therefore, her sins of metrical -commission cannot be pardoned any more than because of her -juvenility—an excuse which she so magnanimously disclaims. - -On the second leaf of Mrs. Ware’s book, which is not really as well as -figuratively _blank_, we perceive, paraded in capital letters, the words -“Copyright secured in America.” Now, if the copyright has in fact been -secured in America; if it has been entered at the office of the District -Clerk of New York or of any other State, as the law directs, it strikes -us that the dollar, charged as a fee in such cases, has been absurdly -and ridiculously thrown away. The proceeding was altogether -supererogatory. Booksellers are not particularly partial to publishing -collections of poetry at the best; but that any one of them should be so -insane as to re-publish a farrago like this, to enter into rivalry and -competition for such a cause, is an hypothesis which never could have -been engendered, except in the brain of a rhymster, dizzy with -self-conceit. From the fact, however, of a copyright having been secured -in America, we are well assured that the author is an American; even -this was unnecessary, because Mrs. Katharine Augusta Ware has, in times -past, written her name to so many patches of poetry, that it is not -unfamiliar to pains-taking readers, at least on our side of the water. -She first made herself known to the literary world here as the Editor of -a monthly magazine, exquisitely christened “The Bower of Taste.” That -any work, with so Rosa-Matildaish a title, could have existed for a year -was marvellous; still more marvellous was it, that it survived the -merciless visitings of the Muse of Mrs. Ware. With the failure of this -undertaking, her literary biography, brief as the posy of a ring, would -terminate, were it not for the fact that, during some four years past, -she has resided in England, and manufactured, to order, occasional -lyrics for the Liverpool Newspapers. By some fatuity, which she has -provokingly left unexplained, in a preface written in the worst possible -taste, she has been impelled to the perpetration of the volume before -us. But, previous to exemplifications of its component properties, let -us give the preface entire, by way of showing how very unlike ladies, -and how very foolishly, feminine bards can behave on paper. If our -readers of both sexes do not laugh at the following outbreak of egotism -and vanity, they are less easily amused than we conjecture. - ------ - -[1] Power of the Passions and other Poems. By Mrs. Katharine Augusta -Ware. London: William Pickering, 1842. 1 vol. 12mo. pp. 148 - - - COURTEOUS READER, - - I should like to write a Preface, if I could.—Such an ample - field is afforded, for appealing to the sympathy and generosity - of the “Liberal Public.” Such emphatic words as “youthful - diffidence,” “consciousness of errors,” “request of friends,” - “leisure hours,” “relief in solitude,”—all these once attracted - my delighted attention, and I resolved, if _I_ ever should write - a book, to present therewith a very sentimental Preface. But - upon this subject my opinions are changed. Negatively speaking - of my volume—“youthful diffidence” I cannot plead; - “consciousness of errors,” I might, which I own I have had time - to correct. I do not publish at the “request of friends,” for no - friends, to my knowledge, were ever particularly anxious for - such an event. Nor for the amusement of my “leisure hours,” for, - since my remembrance, I never had any. Nor as a “relief in - solitude,” for I am never alone. And permit me to add, not for - gold, for my muse will never become a Crœsus. Lastly, not for - Fame, for light is my regard for her vain breath. - - A Preface is an article which I am by no means prepared to - attempt, being apprehensive that my labors might terminate like - those of a certain venerable individual, of spelling-book - celebrity, who, in companionship with his son, and a long-eared - fellow-traveller, by his anxiety to please everybody, found, to - his mortification, that he could please nobody. Now, with the - very moderate desire of pleasing somebody, I have determined to - write no preface to my book, because I am not prepared to make a - single fashionable apology for its publication. At the present - era of book-making, all prefatory introductions seem to be - disregarded as superfluous by the reading community, except to - works of deep erudition, or on subjects which may require - preliminary elucidations from the author. All others are merely - glanced over like the “programme of an entertainment,” or a - “bill of the play,” and obtain no further notice. Scarcely one - reader out of ten has the least interest or curiosity to learn - what motive induced the author to write the volume, which he has - either bought or borrowed for his entertainment. He certainly - has a right to expect it will contain some matter either to - improve, inform, or amuse the mind. If disappointed, no apology, - however gracefully made, will effect a change in his opinion; - and the author may expect to receive the same compliment which a - certain learned doctor (more famed for candor than politeness) - once paid to his delinquent pupil, who made an elaborate apology - for his errors, that he who was good at making “a handsome - apology, was generally good for nothing else.” - - Thine respectfully, - K. A. W. - -Since we have suffered our author to speak for herself, nobody can -accuse us of unfairness, since that captious gentleman, Nobody, is not -obliged to think as we do, but can, if he so pleases, pronounce Mrs. -Katharine Augusta Ware to be the most modest, unassuming, charming -pilgrim, that ever journeyed to the fountain of Helicon, or toiled up -the steeps of Parnassus. - -We have, in our time, been constrained by our vocation, to spell out a -good many pieces of bombast; but we can safely say that, in our serious -belief, no rhetorician was ever better furnished with an illustration -for that not very rare quality of style, than in the effusion with which -we begin to be overwhelmed on page one, under the imposing title “The -Power of the Passions.” We had thought of turning the whole into prose, -but as we have not the space to spare, and the readers can easily do it -for themselves, whenever we shall have occasion to cite a passage, we -content ourselves with a cursory description, and no very acute -analysis, since the philosophy is quite as incomprehensible as the lines -are vapid, and the ideas commonplace. _Imprimis_, we are favored with -the strikingly novel information that there was a time, a good while -ago, when man stood in God’s own image communing with angels in a bower, - - “When first creation dawned upon his view.” - -This fair world, we are next agreeably astonished to learn, was given to -man by high Omnipotence. At this interesting period, Creation owned her -Lord, and all that moved confessed his reign, and the forest monarch -bowed down before him, beside the young lamb; (bah!) moreover, birds -hailed the rising day, and there were flowers and trees and fruits _cum -multis aliis_ of the sort. - - Such was fair Paradise! When Woman smiled, - All Eden brightened with a richer glow! - Led by the hand of Deity, she came - To dwell in kind companionship with man, - A sharer of his pleasures and his toils, - Which nature’s genial bosom richly paid: - Love, joy, and harmony, and peace, were there— - God saw his glorious work, and it was good. - -These lines are cited, because they are the only good ones in the poem, -and because it occurs to us that we have seen something rather like them -in the works of a respectable poet of the middle ages—one Milton. In -the remainder of the effusion, Mrs. Ware is unquestionably original. - - Brief hour of human purity and truth! - Malignant Envy, in the bland disguise - Of friendship, stole, yea, twined his serpent folds - Around fair Wisdom’s consecrated Tree. - “Eat, woman, eat—ye shall _not_ surely die!” - Thus spake the tempter of mankind. _They ate_— - A sudden darkness gathered o’er the sky. - _Wild raged the storm, earth’s firm foundations shook,_ - _While ocean trembled from her deepest cells;_ - _Blue, livid lightnings flashed with lurid glare,_ - _Wreathing in flames the blackened arch of heaven;_ - While the loud thunder’s deep, continuous roar - Proclaimed, in God’s _own voice_, that Man was _lost_! - -The four verses we have italicised are fiercely grand; more terrible -than any we ever saw, except those by which they are succeeded. After -the thunder-clap, lions roared, tigers yelled, hyenas cried, wolves -howled, leviathans drifted ashore, birds of ill omen shrieked, and there -was a dreadful rumpus in general among beasts, such as are usually to be -seen in a Zoological Garden. The Arch-Enemy chuckles over this sport, -rives his chain, and stalks over the globe, taking the precaution, -however, to veil his hideous form and smile demoniac, (why, we cannot -well perceive,) and finally speaks. His observations are left to the -ingenuity of the reader; but he had no sooner “concluded his remarks,” -than - - “Wild spirits filled the air, the earth, - The sea.” - -These we suppose are the Passions, mentioned in the title. Taking them -as they are introduced, they are the most outrageous set of ill-behaved -monsters that ever were seen, and are as dissimilar to those polite -entities, classified under the same names, and said by the Fourrierists -to be easily subjected to the domination of reason and the affections, -as can well be imagined. It must be noted, however, that Mrs. Ware is -more original in the individuals she recommends to our attention as the -Passions, than she is in her figures of speech. - - First, Murder came, his right hand red - With the pure blood of his young brother’s heart, - For which his own, in every clime and age, - Hath deeply paid. “_Cursed art thou!_” said God, - And set his mark upon the murderer’s brow. - -We were not, until now, aware that _Murder_ was a Passion, considering -it rather as a deed, consequent upon some one of the Passions. Next in -order comes Remorse, “whose step is followed by Despair.” “Next comes -Revenge.” And what _Passion_, reader, do you imagine follows next? “’Tis -War, insatiate War.” Another new Passion. Afterwards “pale Jealousy is -seen,” in an awful taking because “the treasured ideal of his soul is -false;” accordingly, he rushes _blindly_ forth, meets his haughty foe, -and, though he is blind, “their _eyes_ have met,” and - - The fierce volcano’s flame - Ne’er flashed more wildly than his furious glance! - No more. ’Tis done—the double deed of death. - The reeking steel, red from his rival’s heart, - Is quivering now within her heaving breast. - -Here is murder in the first degree once more. Now some people may call -this strong writing; we call it fustian run mad. Next come Riot and -Folly and Theft and Love and Misery and Guilt, of which we do not -recognise any one but Love as belonging to the Passions. Just here there -occurs a passage, which is so clearly applicable to the “divine Fanny -Elssler,” that, “in the opinion of this court,” an action on the case -for heavy damages will lie. Although the _danseuse_ alluded to figures -under no name whatsoever, and is merely described as “Another,” we beg -leave to put it to the immense jury, consisting of the subscribers to -this Magazine, what other than the “splendiferous Madam,” above named, -can possibly be signified? Read the remarkable passage, and record your -verdicts. - - Another, too, in tinselled garb, is near, - ’Mid scenic splendor, like a thing of light— - With limbs scarce veiled, and gestures wild and strange, - She gaily bounds in the lascivious dance, - Moving as if her element were air, - And music was the echo of her step. - Around her bold, unblushing brow are twined - The deadly nightshade and the curling vine, - Enwreathed with flowers luxuriant and fair, - Yet poisonous as the Upas in their breath. - Her sparkling eye, keen as the basilisk’s, - Who marks his prey, beams with a flashing light— - False as the flame which hovers o’er the gulf - Of dark oblivion—tempting to destroy. - Mysterious power! men shudder while they gaze— - Despise, yet own her fascinating spell. - - As bursts the “deafening thunder of applause,” - ’Mid showers of votive wreaths, and _parfum vif_— - Descending like bright Juno from her cloud, - With glance erratic round th’ enchanted ring— - She smiles on all above, and all below, - With regal condescension, and accepts - The worthless homage offered at her shrine. - -Let not the reader hastily conclude that he has yet ascended with Mrs. -Katharine A. Ware to the cloud-capped summit of turgidity. In the -concluding passages of her perfectly ferocious poem, she excels herself. -A higher Alp of nonsense towers above the smaller Alps we have already -passed. To change the metaphor, all the former passages are mere -rattling musket shot, compared to this concentrated, thundering -discharge of the artillery of bombast:— - - Last in the train of human misery, - Unconscious Madness rushed. The storm that beat - On his unsheltered head and naked breast, - Was calm to that which wildly raged within: - All the dark passions that deform the soul - By turns usurped departed Reason’s throne. - - His rolling eye, red as the meteor’s flash, - In fierce defiance wildly glanced around; - While his Herculean frame dilated rose, - As if exulting in its giant strength! - Uprooted trees were strewn across his path— - The remnants of his sanguinary meal, - Still warm with life, lay quivering at his feet; - They caught his eye. Not Etna’s wildest roar - E’er came more deep than his demoniac laugh! - As rolls the distant thunder on—it ceased. - -And we cease; but not altogether. Cry not, oh reader, with king-killing -Macbeth, “hold, enough!” till we shall have at least ferreted out some -stanzas worth commendation, in the one hundred and forty “mortal pages,” -which drag their slow length after “The Power of the Passions”—which -title, we beg leave to suggest, should be changed to the somewhat -Hibernian one of “A Power of Passions,” which would be more expressive -of the number of new ones “making their first appearance on any stage.” - -All the gross errors of persons who deem themselves poets, but are -not—who make verses, to which neither gods, men nor columns can yield -applause—are displayed, not only in the effusion which we have too -tenderly handled, but in most of the remaining rubbish of metre, which -this mistaken lady has raked together and piled up for the diversion of -the public in England. It is said of those, who make constant efforts to -utter happy repartees and smart jokes, that it would be a wonder if they -did not now and then stumble upon a clever hit. The remark may with -truth be applied to the indefatigable concoctor of rhymes. Desperate -must be his condition, if, at large intervals, good couplets did not -slip from his pen. Poor as most of Mrs. Ware’s poems are, stanzas are -scattered through them which are really beautiful, and have the air of -being in their present position by mistake. Occasionally, also, when the -subject is dictated by feeling; when the thoughts well from the heart, -and are like those which are entertained by the author in common with -other people of sensibility; when she does not strive to be very fine, -very grand and very fascinating, her lines run smoothly and gracefully -along. Take as a favorable example of her versification one stanza, from -a poem called “Diamond Island,” which, as we are told, is a delightful -little island, situated in Lake George, and well known to the Northern -tourists for its picturesque beauty, and the brilliant crystals to be -found on its shores:— - - How sweet to stray along thy flowery shore, - Where crystals sparkle in the sunny ray; - While the red boatman plies his silvery oar - To the wild measure of some rustic lay. - -As a specimen of the sometimes able and sometimes slovenly mode in which -Mrs. Ware poetizes, take the following couplets as an example. In -describing what scenes are beheld by “The Genius of Græcia,” she finely -writes:— - - “Views the broad Stadium, where the Gymnic art - Nerved the young arm and energized the heart.” - -A little further on, our ears are tortured with— - - “Where Scio’s isle blushes with Christian gore, - And hostile fiends still yell around the shore.” - -Well nigh tired of animadversion, let us employ the remainder of this -article with selections that will be read with satisfaction, and which -may strike some sympathetic and responsive chords. We need not bestow -any higher praise upon the following pieces, chosen with care, as by far -the best in the volume, (though we will venture to assert that the -author considers them the poorest,) than to remark that we consider them -worthy of the space they occupy in this magazine. - - - LOSS OF THE FIRST BORN. - - “A grief that passeth show.” - - - I saw a pale young mother, bending o’er - Her first born hope. Its soft blue eyes were closed— - Not in the balmy dream of downy rest; - In Death’s embrace the shrouded babe reposed, - It slept the dreamless sleep that wakes no more! - A low sigh struggled in her heaving breast, - But yet she wept not—hers was the deep grief - The heart in its dark desolation feels; - Which breathes not in impassioned accents wild, - But slowly the warm pulse of life congeals: - A grief, which from the world seeks no relief— - A mother’s sorrow o’er her first-born child! - - She gazed upon it with a steadfast eye, - Which seemed to say—Oh! would I were with thee. - As if her every earthly hope were fled - With that departed cherub. Even he— - Her young heart’s choice, who breathed a father’s sigh - Of bitter anguish o’er the unconscious dead— - Felt not, while weeping by its funeral bier, - One pang so deep as hers, who shed _no tear_! - - - THE HEBREW MOTHER. - - (A PAINTING.) - - Bright glowed the sun on Nile’s resplendent tide, - Reflecting the rich landscape far and wide; - The verdant hills, with lofty cedars crowned, - Those heights sublime, where, in stern glory, frowned - Egypt’s proud battlements, stretched forth on high, - Like a dark cloud athwart the summer sky! - But softer shadows claimed a birth-place there; - The pensile willow, and the lotus fair, - And flowers of richest bloom, their perfume gave, - To wreathe the margin of the azure wave. - - ’Twas to this calm and beautiful retreat, - With wildly throbbing heart and trembling feet, - The Hebrew Mother came. To her sad breast, - Her youngest hope, a lovely boy, she prest,— - He whom a tyrant’s voice had doomed to die! - With anguish-riven soul and tearful eye, - She looked on his bright cheek and cherub smile, - Then gently hushed him to repose; and while - Within his fragile barque she laid him, gazed - Her last upon the sleeping babe! then raised - To the Almighty one a fervent prayer, - Confiding her soul’s treasure to his care: - Then, as with firmer step she homeward trod, - With faith renewed, she left him to his God! - - - BLOWING BUBBLES. - - It was a lovely picture! A young boy, - Of scarce five summers, on a terrace stood, - Which overlooked a region of sweet flowers, - As fresh and blooming as his own bright cheeks; - While from a pipe, wiled from his ancient nurse - With many a kiss, the rosy urchin blew - Those air-created globes, which, as they soared - Through the blue space, caught the gay tints of morn. - Buoyant and bright as youthful hopes they seemed, - And radiant as those visioned forms of bliss - That hover in the dreams of innocence. - - I watched the rapturous gaze of that young boy, - And heard his joyous shout, as rising high - Upon the breeze, those fragile orbs were borne. - But when they sank, and vanished from his view, - A cloud of sadness came o’er his fair brow. - - This picture read a lesson to my heart. - Oh—how like these, thought I, are half the hopes - And pleasures of this life. No sooner do - They smile upon our view—than they are gone! - - - NEW YEAR WISH. - - TO ANNA MARIA, AGED FIVE YEARS. - - Dear one, while bending o’er thy couch of rest, - I’ve looked on thee as thou wert calmly sleeping, - And wished—Oh! couldst thou ever be as blest - As now—when haply all thy cause of weeping - Is, for a truant bird, or faded rose; - Though these light griefs call forth the ready tear, - They cast no shadow o’er thy soft repose, - No trace of care, or sorrow, lingers here. - - With rosy cheek, upon the pillow prest, - To me thou seemest a cherub, pure and fair, - With thy sweet smile, and gently heaving breast, - And the bright ringlets of thy clustering hair; - What shall I wish thee, little one? Smile on - Through childhood’s morn—through life’s gay spring— - For oh—too soon will those bright hours be gone! - In youth time flies upon a silken wing. - - May thy young mind, beneath the bland control - Of education, lasting worth acquire; - May virtue stamp her signet on thy soul, - Direct thy steps, and every thought inspire! - Thy parents’ earliest hope—be it their care - To guide thee through youth’s path of shade and flowers, - And teach thee to avoid false pleasure’s snare; - Be thine—to smile upon their evening hours. - -There are some graceful translations from the French; but, besides the -above, we should find it difficult to quote an original poem, good as a -whole. We have now and then some spirited lines, and frequently some -weak ones; but the latter outnumber the former. - -Strange as it may seem, the same hand wrote both of the following -passages—the one, with the exception of its concluding verse, vigorous, -free, correct—the other, puerile, silly, commonplace. - - Sculpture! oh what a triumph o’er the grave - Hath thy proud Art!—thy powerful hand can save - From the destroyer’s grasp the noble form, - As if the spirit dwelt, still thrilling warm, - In every line and feature of the face; - The air majestic, and the simple grace - Of flowing robes, which shade, but not conceal, - All that the classic chisel would reveal. - In thy supremacy thou stand’st sublime, - Bidding defiance to the scythe of time! - - The thought of thee is like the breath of morn, - Which whispers gently through the blooming trees; - Like music o’er the sparkling waters borne, - When the blue waves heave in the summer breeze. - -We have faithfully performed our unpleasant duty in the foregoing -criticism. A high standard has been set up by us, and it must be -defended. Censure is far less agreeable to us than commendation; but the -last would be wholly valueless, when flowing from our pen, were we -always to withhold the first. Poetry, to be acceptable, must have higher -qualities than those which the mere habit and practice of writing -confers. A man may play very well on the piano and not be a musician; he -may sketch very well and not be a painter; he may model very well and -have no just claim to be called a sculptor. The maker of graceful -stanzas is not a poet; he is at best entitled only to be called a person -of accomplishments. He is inexcusable when he brings himself prominently -before the public and claims to be ranked among artists. Women, more -than men, cultivate their powers of taste. We know many of the sex who -not only sing and sketch, but write very nice verses. They would, -however, shrink from publicity with a sensitive dread of ridicule. For -the sake of a pure literature this apprehension should be kept alive by -an occasional article, like the one which we have felt ourselves -impelled to present on the effusions of Mrs. Katharine Augusta Ware. - - B. - - * * * * * - - - - - LOVE AND PIQUE; - - - OR, SCENES AT A WATERING-PLACE. - - - BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. - - - THE VENTILATOR. - -It was one of the most sultry days of an intensely hot summer, the -thermometer stood at eighty-five in the shade, every thing was parched -with fervent heat, and, as if to show their powers of endurance, half -the world, leaving the quiet comfort of luxurious homes, were inhaling -the close and unhealthful atmosphere of a crowded watering-place. Cecil -Forrester had mingled with the throng, and, bidding adieu to his -father’s beautiful country-seat, where the murmur of a rushing stream -mingled its cool refreshing sound with the whisper of the summer breeze, -had obtained, for a certain consideration, the privilege of occupying an -apartment, some eight feet by ten, in the great hotel which stretches -its huge length along the sands at ——. But Cecil had other motives -than simple obedience to the dictates of fashion. He was in love, deeply -and earnestly in love, and the lady on whom he had bestowed his -affections seemed to him one of those exquisite creatures, equally well -fitted to be the gem of a ball-room or the ornament of domestic life. He -had met her in the sequestered village of Norwood, whither he repaired -every summer to visit a favorite sister, and where the lovely Miss Oriel -had come to repair the ravages which a winter’s dissipation had made in -her fresh complexion. They had enjoyed a flirtation of the most -delightful kind, because it had been purely sentimental, and such is, -after all, the most agreeable variety of that very common species of -amusement. Laura Oriel had laid aside all her usual gaiety of apparel, -her dress was the very perfection of elegant simplicity; her raven hair -was braided, without a single ringlet, around her well turned head, and, -in short, nothing could be more attractive than the city belle so -suddenly transformed into _la jolie paysanne_ of a country village. Many -a moonlit walk had Cecil Forrester enjoyed with her, many a beautiful -fancy had been pictured out during their rambles in the summer woods, -many a noble sentiment had been uttered beneath the deep shadow of the -rocky cliff, many a delicate thought had been evolved amid the beauty -and sublimity of nature. The time passed like a dream. The genial -breezes of flowery June had been exchanged for the fervent heats of -July, and these had again been forgotten in the more oppressive -sultriness of August before their happiness was disturbed by a single -thought of the future. But Miss Oriel was then obliged to accompany her -mother to ——. It was a most disagreeable necessity, for she did not -love a crowd, and though her fortune and station in society compelled -her to appear among the multitude, yet she was only happy in the -seclusion of domestic life. But duty to her only parent was the ruling -principle of her existence. Her mother’s wishes had forced her into -society during the past winter, and now the same irresistible power drew -her to the turbulent scenes of a fashionable watering-place. Poor thing! -she was certainly to be pitied, and so thought Cecil Forrester. He was -upon the point of expressing his ardent admiration, and offering his -heart and hand to her whose tender friendship had made him bankrupt in -all that was worthy of her acceptance. But, somehow or other, no -opportunity occurred for any such explanation. The lady rather avoided -those delicious walks which, though favorable to the growth of -affection, might afford chances for an unseasonable declaration. So -Cecil was only able to inform her of his intention to meet her at ——, -and contented himself, for the present, with offering her a splendid -copy of Rogers’ Poems, in which he had inscribed her name in the most -delicate of Italian writing, and where she found, on further -examination, the words “To her who will understand me,” written over the -pretty pastoral poem entitled “The Wish.” - - “Mine be a cot beside a hill; - A beehive’s hum shall soothe mine ear; - A willowy brook that turns a mill, - With many a fall shall linger near. - - The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, - Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; - Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, - To share my meal, a welcome guest. - - Around my ivied porch shall spring - Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; - And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing, - In russet gown and apron blue. - - The village church, amid the trees, - Where first our marriage vows were given, - With merry peals shall swell the breeze - And point, with taper spire, to Heaven.” - -It was certainly a most appropriate and delicately expressed choice for -such a lover of natural beauty and quiet happiness as Miss Laura Oriel. - -But to return to ——. Mr. Forrester knew that Miss Oriel was expected -to arrive there on a certain morning, and, as he had gone down several -days previous, he was, of course, on the watch for her. Most impassioned -admirers would have rushed out to welcome the object of their thoughts -at the very first glimpse of her green veil. But Cecil was no vulgar -lover, his taste was excessively refined, and for his own sake, no less -than out of regard to the lady’s feelings, he did not choose to behold -her in travelling dishabille after a long and dusty ride. He therefore -contented himself with watching from an upper window her descent from -the stage coach, and then retired to his apartment until the preparatory -dinner-bell should summon the _élite_ to the saloon. As I have said -before, the day was excessively warm, and all the ventilators (which had -been mercifully placed over each door to prevent suffocation) stood wide -open, as if the rooms, like their heated occupants, were gasping for -breath. Cecil, who had a tolerably correct notion of comfort, had loosed -his boot-straps, unbraced his stays, and flung himself upon the bed to -indulge a pleasant reverie before he commenced his toilet, when he was -suddenly recalled to the scenes of actual life by the sound of a -well-known voice. - -The apartments to which Miss Oriel and her mother had been conducted -(the privilege of selection would be a most unheard-of innovation of the -rights of hotel-keepers at such a season) happened to be immediately -opposite to the one already occupied by Mr. Forrester. The ventilators -of both were open, and, as he heard her voice, he felt a sweet -satisfaction in the thought, that the soft southern breeze which was -cooling his brow also fanned the ringlets of his beautiful mistress. But -really there was no excuse for his listening to her conversation; it was -most ungentlemanlike, but at the same time, I am sorry to say, most -natural; and though heartily ashamed of him for so doing, I am obliged -to confess that he paid the closest attention to every word of their -discourse. - -“How long do you want to stay here, Laura?” said the mother, in that -wheezing sort of voice which belongs to fat, pursy old ladies when -over-fatigued. - -“That will depend upon circumstances,” was the short and rather crusty -reply. - -“Do you know they charge twelve dollars a week, and every bath is an -extra expense?” - -“What of that? We must risk something in all speculations, and mine is a -pretty safe venture.” - -“I wish we had left Ellen Grey at home.” - -“I don’t agree with you; we owe her some return for staying nearly three -months with her at Norwood, and I cannot bear to be under an obligation -to such mighty good sort of people, for they never forget it.” - -“But her board will be expensive, and I do not see why it would not have -been as well to invite her to our house in the winter.” - -“You don’t seem to understand my plans, Mamma. Ellen Grey is pretty, and -modest, and sentimental, and all that; she is just the kind of person to -be very attractive to gentlemen when seen in domestic life, but she is -too timid to appear well in a place like this. She will scarcely dare to -raise her eyes in such a crowd, and therefore there can be no rivalry -between us. Besides, she has a great deal of taste, and her assistance -at my toilet enables me to dispense with a dressing maid.” - -“I cannot see much force in your argument.” - -“Perhaps not; what would you say if I tell you I want her as a foil?” - -“She is too pretty to serve such a purpose.” - -“You are greatly mistaken; any body would look well beside an ugly girl, -but one must be exceedingly beautiful to bear a comparison with as -pretty a creature as Ellen Grey. Her delicate complexion, which is -continually suffused with blushes, her fair hair and blue eyes would -appear lovelier any where else than they will beside me.” - -“Such beauty as yours requires no foil, Laura.” - -“I choose to employ one, notwithstanding; I have come here for the -express purpose of attracting Fitzroy Beauchamp, and I mean to neglect -nothing, however trifling, to compass my schemes.” - -“What will Cecil Forrester say?” - -“If I succeed, he may say what he pleases. I mean to play off my present -lover against the future one; and Cecil will be of use to me by exciting -the jealousy of Beauchamp.” - -“I declare you are too bad, Laura.” - -“I only mean to study your interest and my own, Mamma. Cecil Forrester -was a delightful companion in the country, his enthusiasm was so well -adapted to the time and place, that it seemed to give charms to the dull -and stupid village, which it could not otherwise have possessed. I -certainly played my part to perfection, indeed, I almost began to fancy -that there was really some feeling in my acting; at any rate he has the -most implicit faith in my sensibility. How often I have laughed over the -love-sick youth’s rural wish! I think I see myself as - - ‘Lucy at her spinning-wheel, - In russet gown and apron blue.’” - -“I wonder how you kept up the farce so long, Laura; even Ellen thinks -you a most exemplary sentimentalist.” - -“Oh, it was a pleasant mode of getting rid of time; nothing sharpens -one’s wits like a flirtation with a real lover—I have learned twenty -new stratagems from my ‘_country practice_.’” - -“Are you sure Mr. Beauchamp is rich?” - -“He drives blood-horses, sports a tiger in livery, lives at the Astor, -drinks wine at $8 a bottle, and, what is more, pays his bills.” - -“How did you learn this?” - -“From very good authority; he is said to have $200,000 in bank stocks -besides a sugar plantation worth $12,000 per annum, and slaves enough to -stock a colony; so you see he is a prize worth winning. As for Cecil -Forrester, I am sorry he is here, but I must manage to turn him over to -the unsophisticated little rustic for the present. I do not wish to give -him a downright dismissal, because if I should fail to secure the -millionaire it would be as well to fall back upon Forrester’s $30,000. -The game will be a difficult one, but the glory of success will be the -greater.” - -“I hope you will reap some of the spoils of victory, Laura, for our -legacy is rapidly diminishing, and when it is gone you know there will -be no further chance.” - -“Never fear, Mamma; my stock in trade is very good—beauty, tact, and -five thousand dollars form a very excellent capital, and I think I can -afford to speculate rather largely.” - -“But more than half of the most essential part of your capital is -already gone, and you have not as yet succeeded.” - -“You forget that I have gained a footing in society by its expenditure; -leave every thing to me, and if I am not married before next season, -then write me down a fool.” - -Cecil Forrester heard every word of this dialogue. At its commencement -he had started to his feet, and if any one could have witnessed his -gestures and contortions he would have been deemed a madman. His face -flushed and paled, his eyes dilated with anger and flashed with -contempt, his lip curled in bitter scorn, and narrowly escaped being -bitten through as he gnashed his teeth in impotent rage; he clenched his -hands, he tore off the turquoise ring which he had hitherto worn on his -little finger as a _gage d’amitié_ from the false beauty, and finally, -after exhausting his angry emotions, he flung himself into a seat, with -a calm and determined expression of countenance which augured ill for -some of the schemes of Miss Laura Oriel. - - - THE DINING-ROOM. - -Is there any thing more musical to the ear of the time-sick lounger at a -fashionable watering-place than the dinner-bell? Talk of the melody of -running streams, the sighing of summer winds, the carol of forest birds! -they may be all very pleasant sounds in certain moods of the mind, but -for a music which never fails to please, a sound which never falls -wearily upon the senses, a voice which is never uttered to a listless -ear, commend me to that dinner-bell. The dullest face brightens into -something like intelligence, the most confirmed valetudinarian forgets -all elegant debility, the most intellectual remember the pressing claims -of the physical man, and the most refined of women venture to look -somewhat interested in the vulgar duty of dining. The saloon was crowded -with company all eager for the summons which was to transform them into -eating animals. - -“Pray why,” said a gentleman who was somewhat famous for puns, -conundrums and such little witticisms, preferring as it seemed to shoot -the “rats and mice and such small deer” of literature, because he could -draw a _long_ rather than a _strong_ bow; “Pray,” said he in that half -suppressed voice which, like a theatrical aside, is sure to be -distinctly heard in a crowd, “why is this saloon like the President’s -levee? do ye give it up? why it is filled with a crowd of _hungry -expectants_! ha! ha! ha!” - -The joke would have been excellent as an after dinner speech, but the -audacity of uttering an idle jest while so many persons were keenly -alive to one of the sufferings of frail humanity, was very properly -punished. No body laughed, and, to his infinite regret, the great Mr. -—— saw that he had wasted his wit. The first stroke of the second bell -brought all to their feet, as suddenly as if they had been subjected to -the power of a galvanic battery. Cecil Forrester, attired with unusual -care, all the lurking dandyism of his character fully but not -offensively displayed, had been one of the first in the saloon, -determined to give Miss Oriel a lesson in indifference. But she did not -appear, and, as the band struck up a march, the usual signal for -deploying into the dining-room, he took the hand of his neighbor, who -happened to be a very pretty woman, and followed the somewhat rapid pace -of the procession. - -The important business of the dinner-table was half finished: the soup, -the fish, even the joints had disappeared, and the voracity of the -_élégants_ had given place to fastidiousness as they amused themselves -with a bit of _ris de veau glacé_ or a _petit pâte de Périgord_, when a -slight bustle at the door attracted universal attention. A dumpy, -over-dressed old lady, leaning on the arm of a delicate, fair-haired -girl, entered with that fussy manner so characteristic of an -out-of-place feeling, while, immediately following her, with a -complexion as cool and fresh as marble, if one could only imagine marble -tinged with the rose-tint of youth and health—a complexion such as -nothing but a morning bath can give—came the elegant Miss Oriel. There -was the very perfection of art in her whole appearance. She had chosen -for her entrance the moment when the fierce appetites of those who eat -to kill time (and sometimes end by killing themselves) were sufficiently -appeased to enable them to admire something else beside the reeking -dishes. Among the heated and flushed beauties who sat around the table, -with relaxed ringlets and moistened brows, she appeared like some fairy -of the fountain, some water nymph fresh from her sub-marine grotto, -diffusing about her a cool and refreshing atmosphere as she moved -gracefully onward. Her dress was white transparent muslin, which -displayed rather than veiled the fine form of her arms, while her neck -and shoulders, actually dazzling in their snowy hue and polish, were -only shadowed by a single jet-black ringlet, which seemed to have -accidentally fallen from the clustering mass gathered at the back of her -head. A pale, pearl-like japonica was her only ornament. As she slowly -paced the length of the hall to a seat near the head of the table, -reserved for her by a well-bribed waiter, a murmur of admiration ran -through the apartment. All eyes were fixed upon her, and she knew better -than to break the spell of her fascinations by condescending to the -vulgar taste for eating; (a brace of woodcock had been sent to her room -only an hour previous.) Mrs. Oriel, who seemed determined to make amends -for past delay by present haste, sent her plate to be filled and -re-filled; but her daughter only trifled with some delicate French -combination of odor and tastelessness, and finished the meal by a morsel -of _Charlotte au russe_ and Vanilla cream. A glass of iced _eau sacré_ -was her only beverage, and she was thus enabled to retain her cool fresh -tint even in the heated atmosphere so redolent of spices, and gravies, -and vinous distillations. - -It was not until just before quitting the table that Miss Oriel allowed -herself to see any one in the room. She raised her large soft eyes -languidly and beheld, what she had for some time known, that her young -friend Ellen was familiarly chatting with Cecil Forrester. A graceful -bend of her fair neck and a most lovely smile marked her consciousness -of his presence, while Cecil, with a polite but rather careless bow -continued his conversation with Miss Grey; being incited to show her -peculiar attention by his consciousness that she, as well as himself, -was designed to be the tool of the selfish beauty. Miss Oriel was too -well schooled to exhibit any surprise at his cool manner, and as her -principal object was to attract the attention of Mr. Beauchamp, she gave -herself no further thought about the matter at that time. - -Mr. Fitzroy Beauchamp, by a kind of “_gramerye_” which some ignorant -people might call _impudence_, had early established himself at the head -of the table, and assumed the manners of a host upon all occasions. He -was in fact that most admired, and courted, and flattered of men—the -Beau (_par excellence_) of a watering-place. Reader, if you have ever -seen such a person in such circumstances you will be able to imagine his -appearance, for he was only one of a rather numerous tribe of ephemera, -who appear every summer and waste their little lives in some fashionable -resort, whence they vanish with the first northeast wind, and if they do -not die, at least evaporate in something like empty air. Mr. Fitzroy -Beauchamp (he was very proud of his name, and was known to have refused -to dance in the same cotillion with Miss Phebe Pipkin, until his refined -taste was soothed by the intelligence that she was the heiress of half a -million) was rather diminutive in size, with a remarkably trim figure, -and very small feet. He had flaxen hair, elaborately curled, which no -one would have suspected to be a wig; and he wore the softest and -silkiest of whiskers, which nobody dreamed were an appendage of the self -same wig, ingeniously contrived to clasp with springs beneath his chin. -His cheek had that delicate peach bloom which rarely outlasts extreme -youth, and, in this case, certainly owed much of its richness to a -judicious touch of the hare’s foot. His hands were very white and loaded -with rings, the gifts, as he asserted, of various fair ladies; so that -he might be said to have the history of his conquests at his fingers’ -ends. He wore a black dress coat lined with white silk, snow-white -inexpressibles, embroidered silk stockings, and pumps diminutive enough -to have served for a lady’s slippers. Mr. Fitzroy Beauchamp was what -ladies call “a love of a man,” and he was duly grateful for their -partiality. To conceal the ravages of time (alas! he had already -numbered half a century) and to decorate himself in the most pleasing -manner he considered a compliment due to the fair sex, while the proper -display of his wealth and luxury was a duty he owed to himself. - -He had been wonderfully attracted by the grace and beauty of Miss Oriel. -Absorbed in admiration of her easy and modest self-possession, he forgot -to ask his former favorite, the pretty and _spirituelle_ Mrs. Dale, to -take wine with him, and the lady was quick-sighted enough to discover, -and wise enough to smile at the discovery that henceforth her reign over -the tilbury was at an end. She was quite right. Soon after dinner Mr. -Beauchamp solicited from Cecil Forrester the honor of an introduction to -Miss Oriel, and though Cecil would have been ready to fight a duel with -a fellow who should thus have presumed after a three days’ acquaintance, -had the lady been one whom he really respected, yet he now cordially -acquiesced in the wishes of both parties, and with a degree of -magnanimity quite surprising to Laura, afforded her exactly the -opportunity she had desired. About twenty minutes before sunset—the -hour Mr. Beauchamp usually selected for his daily drive—Miss Oriel was -handed into the elegant vehicle, and they drove off, leaving several -gentlemen in ecstasies at her beauty as she playfully kissed her hand to -her dear old fat Mamma, who had bustled out with “my sweet Laura’s -cashmere, lest the evening air should injure her delicate health.” Her -fears were quite unnecessary. Mr. Beauchamp never drove his horses more -than three miles at a time, and had no fancy for hardening his white -hands by curbing their impetuosity. He was seldom absent more than half -an hour, as his ambition was fully gratified by being envied as he drove -off, or dashed up to the door with the best horses before his carriage -and the most admired woman at his side. - - - THE PIAZZA. - -Two weeks passed away, during which time Miss Oriel had shown her skill -in female tactics by managing to secure the attentions of Mr. Beauchamp, -while she had transferred Cecil to Ellen Grey until she should be able -to decide upon his future fate. One evening, Cecil, who had long known -and admired Mrs. Dale, invited her to walk with him on the piazza, that -they might witness the effect of moonlight upon the distant sea. - -“I am indebted to Miss Grey’s headache for this invitation,” said Mrs. -Dale, laughing, as she took his arm; “had she been in the saloon my eyes -would never have been thus favored with a moonlight scene.” - -Forrester entered a disclaimer against the lady’s assertion, and a -playful conversation ensued, when Mrs. Dale, suddenly changing the -topic, said: - -“Pray tell me, Mr. Forrester, if Mr. Beauchamp is so immensely rich?” - -“I really cannot take it upon me to determine that delicate question, -Madam,” was the reply, “but, as a firm believer in the doctrine of -_compensations_, I am bound to suppose he must be very wealthy.” - -“Not understanding your premises I cannot clearly comprehend your -deductions,” said Mrs. Dale playfully. - -“Why, Providence always bestows something to compensate for great -deficiencies, and as Mr. Beauchamp cannot boast either mental or -physical gifts, I take it for granted that he must have money.” - -“Really, Mr. Forrester, I did not think you were so ill-natured. I am -sure Mr. Beauchamp has the prettiest hands and feet in the world, and -his ardent admiration of the ladies proves him to possess a good heart.” - -“To your last argument I can offer no opposition, Madam,” was the -gallant reply; “but as to his hands and feet, I can only say that it is -not the first time that ladies have been driven to extremities in their -search for his good qualities.” - -“Well, I suppose,” responded Mrs. Dale, laughing heartily, “that I must -allow your wit to atone for your severity, but how long is it since you -turned satirist?” - -“Ever since I made the discovery which all the experience of others -cannot teach us—that ‘all is not gold which glitters.’ I have almost -come to the conclusion that nature, like an over-careful house-wife, -hides her true gold and silver in least suspected places.” - -“In that case Dame Nature might be in the predicament of a queer old -lady I once knew who hid her rich plate under the rafters in the garret, -and when she wanted it upon occasion of a dinner-party, was obliged to -borrow of a neighbor because she had forgotten where she had deposited -her treasure.” - -“I believe if we want to find a really virtuous and true-hearted woman -we must look elsewhere than among the beautiful,” said Forrester -bitterly. - -“Fie! fie! if I had the slightest claim to beauty I should banish you -from my presence for that ungallant speech.” - -“You ought rather to consider it a compliment, for there is not another -woman here to whom I would have uttered it, or who would have understood -me, perhaps, if I had.” - -“Ah! now you flatter my intellect at the expense of my person, and no -woman ever relished such a compliment. But to return to your assertion; -how can you venture to despise the allurements of beauty after feasting -daily on such a banquet of loveliness as Miss Oriel offers to our eyes. -I look at her, woman as I am, with delight, for I never saw so fresh, so -pure, so marble-like a complexion.” - -“Your comparison is more correct than you imagine, Madam; her beauty is -indeed like that of the marble statue, carved by a right cunning and -skilful hand, but wanting the Promethean touch of soul.” - -“While Ellen Grey is the delicate alabaster vase, beautifully and finely -wrought, and with all its exquisite loveliness brought out in rich -relief by the lamp which lights it from within; is it not thus you would -have continued the comparison?” said Mrs. Dale mischievously. - -“Your illustration is a beautiful one, and perfectly true,” was the -reply; “Ellen Grey is full of gentle and womanly feeling.” - -“Perhaps you are prejudiced against Miss Oriel, Mr. Forrester; can it be -possible that there is no soul shining in those soft dark eyes?” - -“There is mental power enough, if that were all, but there is no -soul—no heart; the lofty impulses of pure intellect, the tender -affections of feminine nature never yet lighted up those eyes or -suffused that marble brow with the blush of genuine feeling.” - -“Well, as you have known the lady longer than I have, it would be idle -to dispute your assertions; indeed, I must confess, when I watch her -sweet, unruffled look and manner, I am irresistibly reminded of the old -Norse legend of the Snow-Woman—so dazzlingly beautiful, so fatally -cold.” - -“Yet I have seen her under circumstances which would have given you a -very different impression of her. Imagine that beautiful woman attired -in the simplest manner, all fashionable airs laid aside, and apparently -the very creature of romantic feeling; imagine such perfection of -loveliness, with eyes of softness and voice all tenderness, apparently -yielding up her whole soul to the sweet impressions of nature, amid the -loveliest scenery that even our beautiful land can produce; imagine the -effect of such beauty seen beneath the soft light of the summer moon, or -gazed upon in the silent sanctuary of the forest glades, or mingling its -fascinating influence with the lovely sights and sounds which charm the -senses in the sunset dell, when the voice of the singing rivulet makes -music on its way.” - -“Upon my word, Mr. Forrester, you are almost a poet; you must be in -love.” - -“Perhaps I am, but Miss Oriel is not the object.” - -“How could you resist the fascinations you so enthusiastically -describe?” - -“Why, to tell the truth, I narrowly escaped the fate of the silly moth; -I came very near singeing my wings in the blaze of her beauty, but I -soon discovered that she possessed none but personal attractions. To be -sure we had quite a sentimental flirtation, and I remember many very -fine sentiments which she uttered, but I early found how thin and poor -was the soil in which they had taken root. You know the most luxuriant -growth of wild flowers is always to be found in a morass—or perhaps a -more graphic illustration of my meaning might be found in the fact that -the pestilential Maremma, whose atmosphere is so fatal to life, displays -the richest and most gorgeous array of Flora’s favorites. Laura Oriel -might be loved for a week or two, but any man with common sense would -soon see through her false character. For my own part, I confess that I -amused myself with her very pleasantly during the early part of the -summer. Indeed, I believe she fancied I was really caught in her snares, -and no doubt considers that ‘Cecil Forrester’s $30,000 will do very well -to fall back upon in case nothing better offer.’” - -“Hark!” exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as a slight sound, like a half-suppressed -exclamation, struck upon their ears, “I really believe some one has been -listening to our conversation.” - -“When we first came out here,” said Forrester coolly, “I saw a lady take -her seat within the recess of yonder window; she dropped the drapery of -the curtain behind her, so as not to be observed from within, and she -has been sitting in the deep shadow flung by this heavy column. She has -heard every word we said; at least she has heard all I said, because I -purposely deferred my most severe remarks until we passed within -ear-shot.” - -“For Heaven’s sake, what do you mean? you seem agitated; who was the -lady?” asked Mrs. Dale. - -“Do you not imagine? It was Miss Oriel.” - -“Oh, Mr. Forrester, how could you do so? and to make me a party in such -cruelty too;” exclaimed the lady, much vexed. - -“Now that there are really no listeners, dear Madam, I will tell you the -whole story, and you shall decide whether I am so very wrong; at all -events I have had my revenge.” - -And Cecil Forrester related to his warm-hearted friend the story of his -love and its sudden extinction, not omitting a single word of the -dialogue which he had overheard between the mother and daughter. - -When they re-entered the saloon Miss Oriel had disappeared, but if Cecil -could have known the tumult of her feelings he would, perhaps, have -regretted his own vindictiveness. All the little feeling which she -possessed, all that she had of heart, was bestowed on Cecil Forrester. -She did not know how much she had valued him until she compared him with -the object of her present pursuit; and, interested, selfish and -ambitious as she was, she half determined to turn from the allurements -of wealth if she could win back Cecil to his allegiance. To be thus -outwitted, made the plaything of his idle hours, foiled at her own -weapons, was a bitter mortification, and this, coupled as it was with a -sense of unrequited tenderness, aroused her almost to madness. The cold, -proud beauty shed tears of vexation and regret. She almost hated Cecil, -and yet she was conscious that the most bitter drop, in the cup which -had thus been returned to her own lips, was the assurance that he had -never loved her. His quotation of her own remark about his fortune -convinced her that he had overheard her plans, and she was now -stimulated by pride to urge their speedy fulfilment. - - - THE LAST SCENE. - -“Have you heard the news, Mr. Forrester?” exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as, two -days after the confidential disclosure of the piazza, he entered the -saloon; “Ah, I see by your look of innocent surprise, you are still in -blissful ignorance.” - -“What has happened?” asked Cecil carelessly, “any thing which serves to -break the monotony of a seaside existence must be a blessing.” - -“I do not know whether you will think it so,” said the lady laughing, -“Miss Oriel has eloped with Mr. Beauchamp.” - -“I am glad of it—from my very soul I rejoice at it,” exclaimed Cecil -Forrester, while a dark, vindictive smile gave a most disagreeable -expression to his usually fine face. - -“Why, how strangely you look at me,” replied Mrs. Dale, “what is the -matter?” - -“Nothing—nothing—when did it all happen?” - -“Did you not see her go out with him to ride last evening? Well, it -seems Mr. Beauchamp’s servant had been privately despatched to the city -with their baggage, and instead of returning the lovers rode directly to -the next town and were married.” - -“Why did they give themselves so much trouble? If Beauchamp had asked -the old woman she would have dropped a curtsy and thanked him for the -offer.” - -“There is the mystery of the whole affair; Mrs. Oriel pretends to be -very indignant, but it is easy to see she is secretly pleased. Miss -Oriel has written a letter to Miss Grey in which she entreats her to -‘break the tidings tenderly to poor Mamma;’ excuses herself on the plea -of irresistible affection; talks of Mr. Beauchamp’s ardor and her fear -of maternal opposition, and finishes by requesting Ellen to ‘allow his -favorite Mrs. Dale to acquaint Mr. Forrester with her regret at having -been the cause of disappointment and sorrow to him.’” - -“What the devil does she mean by that?” - -“Why to make Ellen jealous of me and distrustful of you, and thus -disappoint both your love and revenge,” said Mrs. Dale. - -“She shall not attain her ends,” exclaimed Forrester impetuously, “I -will tell Ellen the whole story. I am glad she is actually married to -Beauchamp, and I know the reason he did not want to ask her mother; he -was afraid of inconvenient inquiries.” - -“What do you know about him?” - -“Only this morning I met here a person who knows him well. His history -is soon told. He was originally bred a tailor, but, having a soul above -buttons, he cut the shop, and has since been hanging on the skirts of -society in a manner very different from that intended by his honest old -father. His bank stock and sugar plantation may exist in the regions of -the moon, where all things which unaccountably disappear from earth are -said to be collected, his negroes are still on the coast of Guinea, and -he really lives by his wits. A run of luck at the gaming-table or a -lucky bet on the race-course enables him every now and then to pay old -debts, and live for a time like a gentleman until his funds are -exhausted, when he again betakes himself to his vocation.” - -“Can this be possible?” - -“There is no doubt of it; he is a mere adventurer, and as Miss Oriel is -something very similar, they are ‘matched as well as paired.’” - -Cecil Forrester afforded another proof of the truth of the poet’s line, - - “Full many a heart is caught in the rebound.” - -The following winter saw him the happy husband of Ellen Grey; while all -trace of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp was lost to their view. About two years -later, when business had compelled Mr. Forrester to visit one of our -southern cities, he strolled into the theatre to get rid of an idle -evening, and as he gazed with listless curiosity on the gorgeous -spectacle of Indian life which occupied the stage, he was suddenly -struck with a familiar tone in the voice and a familiar expression in -the countenance of the stately queen of the Zenana. He looked again, the -resemblance seemed to grow upon him; he went round to the stage box, and -in that near proximity to the actress all doubt vanished. He looked upon -the still resplendent beauty of Laura Oriel. - - * * * * * - - - - - SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW—ALICE. - - - BY RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. - - - I sit beside my window, - And see the crowds go by, - With joy on every countenance, - And hope in every eye, - And hear their blended voices, - In many a shout and song, - Borne by the spring’s soft breezes - Through all the streets along. - - And peering through a lattice - Of a humble cottage near, - I see a face of beauty, - Adown which glides a tear,— - A rose amid her tresses - Tells that she would be gay, - But a thought of some deep sorrow - Drives every smile away. - - She whom I see there weeping, - Few save myself do know,— - A flower in blooming blighted - By blasts of keenest wo. - She has a soul so gentle, - That as a harp it seems, - Which the light airs wake to music - Like that we hear in dreams. - - A common fate is that poor girl’s, - Which many yet must share,— - In the crowd how little know they - What griefs its members bear! - One year ago a radiance - Like sunlight round her played, - Heart felt, eyes spoke of gladness,— - She was not then betrayed. - - There was one of gentle manners, - Who e’er met her with a smile, - And a voice so full of kindness, - That she could not deem it guile, - And her trusting heart she gave him,— - She could give to him no more,— - Oh! daughter of the poor man, - Soon thy dream of bliss was o’er! - - ’Twere vain to tell the story - Of fear, hope, and joyous passion; - She forgot her father’s station, - He forsook the halls of fashion; - She loved him well—he knew it,— - ’Twas a pleasing interlude, - Fitting to enjoy more keenly - Scenes the poor might ne’er intrude. - - Hark! the sound of music swelling!— - Now the crowd are rushing by, - Horses prancing, banners flying, - Shouts ascending to the sky!— - There’s a sea of life beneath me, - And _his_ form is there,— - For his fearful sin who spurns him? - On his brow what sign of care? - - I see _her_ now—she trembles— - There is phrensy in her eye; - Her blanchéd lip is quivering; - There is no good angel nigh;— - She falls,—the deep-toned bugle - Breaks on the quiet air; - Look to the calm blue heaven— - That sound—her soul—are there! - - In the cavalcade she saw him, - In his plumes and armor drest, - And more closely to her bosom - His treasured gifts she prest; - Her eye met his—’twas finished— - Not a word by tongue was spoken; - A cold glance—a look of passion— - And her heart was broken! - - How common are such histories, - In the cottage and the hall; - From prison bars how many eyes - Look on life’s carnival! - The joys we seek are phantoms - That fade ere closed the hand - In the dark reached forth to grasp them, - But the brain receives their brand. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE TWO DUKES. - - - BY ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - (Concluded from page 245.) - -The duke saw his wife, and at first seemed willing to avoid her, but -after moving forward a step or two, he turned back, took her hand in his -with an energy that startled her, and pressing his lips to it, turned -away and hurried on with the guard still surrounding him. - -The duchess stood gazing after him, filled with strange apprehension. -The force with which he had wrung her hand was still painful, and there -was an expression in his face which made her heart sink with sad -forebodings. What had befallen him? Where was her daughter—and why did -he, who so seldom forgot the etiquette of his high station, take leave -of her thus, when only going forth for a morning? As the gentle and yet -proud lady stood pondering these things in her mind, the old counsellor, -whom we have mentioned, returned slowly up the corridor, and approaching -her with touching reverence, told her all. She thanked him, tried to -smile as she extended her hand—but in the effort her strength gave way, -and she fell pale and helpless on the stone floor. The old man lifted -her in his arms, and carrying her to the Lady Jane Seymour’s room, -placed her on the bed, and bathed her temples with water, which he laved -from a silver basin with his hand, till at last he went forth in despair -to call assistance, for she lay upon the glowing counterpane pale and -still, like a draped statue reposing in the purple gloom which filled -the chamber; and for many long hours the lady who had always seemed so -quiet, proud, and almost void of feeling, remained as one dead. - -It was half an hour before Lady Jane was informed of her mother’s -condition. She was still in her father’s closet, with her hand locked in -that of Lord Dudley, and her large troubled eyes bent earnestly upon -him, as he spoke to her in a voice so deep, so earnest and impassioned, -that every tone thrilled through her heart with a power that made it -tremble. - -“Do not look at me thus. In the name of heaven, speak to me, Jane. I -have not done this; it is no fault of mine. Do I not love you?—ay, and -will forever! I will follow my father, beseech him, kneel to him if -needs be, and put an end to this dreadful contest; but speak to me -first—my own—my dearest—say that you will struggle for power to aid -me that—nay, Jane, nay, do not shrink from me; one kiss—one look, to -prove you love me as before, and I will go at once. All will terminate -well—God bless you!” - -As the young man finished his hurried speech, he lifted the young girl -from his bosom, where she had fallen in utter abandonment to her -tenderness and grief, pressed her forehead with his lips again and -again—then folding her to his heart once more, he carried her to the -chair her father had just occupied, and placing her within it, was about -to leave the room. Lady Jane put back the long ringlets that had fallen -over her face with both hands, and looked after him through the tears -that almost blinded her. Then rising to her feet, she tottered toward -him with outstretched arms, and when he turned for a last look, sprang -forward and wound them almost convulsively round his neck. It was but -the paroxysm of a moment, for scarcely did she feel his clasp together -about her, when she drew gently back, checked the tears that gushed into -her eyes afresh, and spoke breathlessly, as one whose very heart was -ebbing with the words, as they came laden with pain to her lips— - -“It is in vain, Dudley, all in vain. There have been words and deeds, -this day, between your father and mine, which must separate us forever. -Farewell!” - -He would have expostulated, have soothed her with hopes which had no -foundation in his own mind, for his thoughts were in confusion, and his -heart seemed ready to break with contending feelings; but as he spoke, -her slender fingers wreathed themselves convulsively around his hand, -her face was uplifted to his for a moment, and she glided swiftly -through the door and along the corridor to the chamber where her mother -was lying, and left him standing bewildered and in pain, as if a -guardian spirit had been frightened from its brooding place in his -heart. - - * * * * * - -In an apartment belonging to that portion of the tower occupied by the -sovereigns of England sat a pale, slender boy reading. The room was -furnished in a style of magnificence, befitting one of high rank and of -habits more elegant and studious than were usual to the court of Henry -the Eighth during his reign. The books which it contained were richly -bound, and some of them encrusted with jewels; all had clasps either of -silver or of gold, and a portion were entirely filled with manuscript in -the hand-writing of the late King Henry. - -Tall windows cut deep into the massive walls in one side of the room -filled it with light. The massive stone sills were cushioned with -velvet, and upon the cushions, musical instruments of the most precious -wood and inlaid with gold, had been flung down, as if their owner had -become weary of one amusement only to seek another. The boy arose from -his easy leathern chair, and moving toward the window, ran his fingers -thoughtfully over the strings of a lute that lay on the cushion, gazing -idly through the glass at a court below, as he was thus occupied. After -a moment he sauntered back to the chair, took up the volume of -manuscript which he had left open on a small and curiously carved table -standing near the window, and sinking once more to his seat he began to -read again, but the book seemed to fatigue him at last, so allowing it -to sink, still open, to his lap, the youth gradually sank to a fit of -abstracted musing, and sat with his head resting on his hand, and his -large eyes fixed dreamily on the face of a great ebony clock which stood -opposite the window, its burnished face glittering through a whole bower -of carved wood, and its huge pendulum swaying to and fro with a dull, -sleepy motion, well calculated to continue the state of languid -thoughtfulness into which the youth had fallen. - -As King Edward the Sixth—for the boy was no less a personage—sat -musing, thus languid from ill health, and rendered somewhat more sad -than usual from the manuscript and book which he had been reading, a -page entered, and before he had time to speak, Lord Dudley, son of the -reigning protector, followed him into the room. The young nobleman -looked pale and much agitated, and Edward himself seemed a little -startled by his abrupt entrance, for he was so little accustomed to -being consulted on matters regarding the welfare of his kingdom, that -any person thus nearly connected with the Lord Protector became an -object of nervous dread to him; for such persons seldom interrupted his -retirement except to counsel some change of residence, or dictate -regarding his personal habits, which to a person naturally shy, and -rendered sensitive by illness, was always a subject to be dreaded, but -never opposed. It was therefore with something of dismay in his pale -features, that Edward received his visiter. - -Dudley advanced close to the king’s chair, and sinking to one knee, -pressed his lips reverently to the slender hand which the royal youth -extended with habitual courtsey, though a languid and deprecatory smile, -rather than one of welcome, stole over his lip. - -“My lord,” he said in a voice low and almost femininely sweet, “I am not -well to-day, but if your good father recommends that we remove to -Windsor, let the household be prepared; he is the best judge, though in -his strong health and great energy he does sometimes tax our weakness a -thought too far with these sudden removals.” - -Edward motioned the young nobleman to arise as he spoke, and when he -still retained a kneeling posture, looked in his face with something of -astonishment. - -“My liege,” said Dudley in a respectful and low voice, “I did not come -from my father. Alas, since he became Duke of Northumberland and -Protector of this realm, there has been little of confidence between us. -I have come to you, my liege, on a subject dear as my own life, one -which I dare not again intrude upon him, though every feeling of -friendship and honor should make him listen to my prayer.” - -“Of what speak you?” said Edward apprehensively, while his large eyes -wandered from the young nobleman’s face to other objects in the room, as -if he would gladly have avoided any subject of interest, “of whom speak -you—and of what?” - -“I would speak, my liege, of the duke, your highness’ uncle, of his -suffering wife and daughter, who now lie with him, prisoned within these -very walls; I would claim that justice and clemency at your hands, which -I have sought and knelt for in vain, at the feet of my own father.” - -The king sank back into his chair, and passed his pale hand across his -forehead, as if the subject were not only a painful one but not entirely -comprehended in its full import. - -“We know,” he said at length, “that our uncle has been found or thought -guilty of many evil practices against the good people of our realm, and -that our present able protector has seen it best to imprison him for a -season; but we did not know that our noble aunt and sweet cousin Jane -were the companions of his captivity. Pray, can you inform us, my good -lord, how this all happened? Of what wrong has our sweet playmate and -cousin been accused, that she too must be drawn from her home? His Grace -of Northumberland forgets that the same blood which fills the veins of -his king fills hers also; pray explain, my lord. We have no power to -sift all the evil practices of our government, but even his grace, your -father, must be careful how he deals with one of our mother’s house.” - -The feeble youth became animated with a spirit which surprised Lord -Dudley, as he uttered these words. A bright flush spread over his -cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with the excitement which sprang both from -disease and a resentful feeling, perhaps the most violent that ever -visited his gentle heart. Naturally kind and most affectionate in his -nature, he had always clung with fondness to those members of his family -connected with his mother, and, since her birth, the Lady Jane had been -his especial favorite. It therefore aroused all the strong feelings of -royal pride in his heart to hear that a creature so pure and delicate -had been, through an abuse of power, made the inmate of a prison. Nor -was he better reconciled to the fact when Dudley informed him that it -was through her own affectionate desire to mitigate the confinement of -her persecuted parent that she had abandoned all to follow him. The -youthful monarch was touched by an act of devotion such as his own heart -would have prompted, and he questioned Lord Dudley regarding the -arbitrary power by which the fallen protector had been imprisoned, with -a degree of energy, and an evident determination to know the exact -position of affairs, which astonished as much as it pleased the anxious -nobleman. - -Lord Dudley’s was a difficult and painful explanation. It was scarcely -possible to place the proceedings against the Duke of Somerset in a -favorable light before the young king, without in some degree exposing -the conduct of his own parent to condemnation. Still he had entered the -presence of his sovereign with a firm resolve to explain all, and throw -himself and his hopes on the generosity of a mere boy, and an invalid, -who had ever been completely controlled by his guardians, those -guardians the very men whom he was called upon to brave. It was with -faint hopes, that Dudley undertook this last appeal, when all other -efforts to assist his friends failed, and when he had done speaking, -when he saw the feeble youth lying back in his chair, pale and exhausted -from the emotions which his narrative had excited, he felt almost -condemned, that any motive could have induced him to disturb the repose -of a being so fragile and sensitive. - -“My liege, my kind, gracious master,” said the young man, starting to -his feet as the overpowered monarch sank back to his chair, faint, pale, -and with his golden lashes quivering upon his thin cheeks as they closed -his eyes; “my gracious king, forgive me that I have thus intruded—that -for any reason I have disturbed a repose which should be sacred to the -whole nation; but the persecution of a being so fair—so good—one whom -I have long looked upon as my future wife—who is now suffering and in -prison”— - -Dudley broke off abruptly, for all at once the hectic color rushed back -into the king’s face, and his languid blue eyes kindled with the -brilliancy of a spirit, for the first time, thoroughly aroused. - -“Were we indeed a king,” he said, “a true, free king as our father was, -and not the invalid child which men see in us, these things could not -happen. No man would dare to enter the councils of a nation and cast -their leaders into prison without the sanction, nay, command of his -monarch. But, alas! there is not in the kingdom a being more completely -held in thrall than ourself! Until now, we were scarcely made aware of -the persecution which has been so ruthlessly urged against our -uncle—but it shall not be! The new duke, thy father, must not thus -abuse the authority with which the council, rather than ourself, has -invested him!” - -Edward arose, excited to some degree of strength by the indignation of -his generous heart, and walked up and down the room once or twice, as if -to tranquilize his spirit, then seating himself once more, he requested -Lord Dudley to explain the cause and all the particulars of Somerset’s -arrest. - -It was a difficult task which the young monarch imposed on his visiter; -for Dudley loved his father, and it was impossible to enter into the -desired explanation without, in some degree, implicating him; but a -sense of justice, and that true love which brought him to Edward’s -presence, urged him to obedience, and while he so guarded each word as -to cast as little blame as possible on his own parent, he pleaded the -cause of his friends with a degree of enthusiasm that aroused all the -love of justice and family affection, which were strong and -predominating qualities in the heart of the youthful monarch. - -Edward sat perfectly still, shading his eyes with his small, thin hand, -till Dudley had finished speaking; and even for several moments after, -he remained motionless, and as if lost in thought. At last, he allowed -the hand to drop from his eyes, and looked up. - -“My lord,” he said, in a firm, clear voice, “you have acted rightly and -well in laying this subject before us. Our reign may be a brief one, but -it shall be marked, at least, by one act of justice. Come hither again -after nightfall. Meantime we will consider the subject and decide what -can best be done.” - -Dudley bent his knee reverently, kissed the pale hand extended toward -him, and left the presence. As his fine, healthy form disappeared -through the door, and the vigorous footfall of youth and firm health -sounded back from the corridor, Edward looked after him, smiled very -sadly, and sinking down to his chair, exhausted with the scene, -murmured: - -“How well he is! how full of life and hope! and I—” He covered his face -with both hands, and tears trickled through his fingers, till they fell -like rain amid the sables that lined his robe. “And yet,” he added at -last, removing his hands and wiping away the tears, while a brighter -expression stole over his face, “and yet I have the power to make him -happy—and Jane, my sweet cousin. Let me act while I have yet strength!” - -Edward arose once more, unlocked a miniature cabinet which stood upon -the table, and taking out a small golden flask, drank off its contents. -The potion seemed to compose and strengthen him; a color came to his -lips, and his eyes had within them that strange, glittering fire which -springs from artificial excitement. A small branch of twisted ebony, -hung with a cluster of tiny bells, lay upon the table. The king took it -up, and rang the bells till the apartment seemed haunted in every nook -and corner with a gush of fairy music. As the sound died away, the door -was opened, and a page presented himself, evidently much astonished at -the energy with which his summons had been rung. - -“Go to the lieutenant of the tower,” said Edward, promptly, as the page -advanced to receive his orders. “Tell him that the king desires his -presence without delay.” - -The boy disappeared instantly; and when his companions in the ante-room -crowded near to know why it was that a sound so full and bold had -summoned him, in place of the faint, silvery tinkle which usually came -from the king’s apartment, he put on a look of profound mystery, and, -after describing the change which had come upon his royal master, gave -it as his decided opinion, that something very tremendous and -extraordinary was about to happen, but what the event might be he was -not at liberty to inform them. This much he would, perhaps, venture to -say. The lieutenant of the tower would soon be ordered to present -himself before the king, and after that something might transpire to -surprise them all. With these profound sayings, the boy departed from -the ante-room, putting on his plumed cap with an important air, and -placing a finger to his saucy red lips, in token of secrecy, as he -looked back in passing through the door. - -After an absence of half an hour, the page returned, following the -lieutenant of the tower, for whom he ceremoniously held the door opening -to King Edward’s chamber. The lieutenant passed in to the royal -apartment, while his young escort closed the door after him, dexterously -managing to leave it unlatched, and sufficiently ajar to command, for -himself, a view of all that was passing within, while he stood toying -with his cap, and, as his companions supposed, retaining his station -merely to be within hearing of the king’s bell. - -So little had Edward mingled in the affairs of his nation, that, for the -first time in his life, he addressed an officer of his kingdom in the -man who stood before him, who stood lost in astonishment at a summons so -strange and unexpected. - -Though a little restrained and shy in his manner, from almost constant -illness and seclusion, there was a degree of quiet dignity about the -young king’s bearing as he extended his hand to raise the lieutenant -from his kneeling posture, that well became his station and his royal -nature. - -“We have sent to command your presence, sir lieutenant, somewhat against -our usual habit; having been informed, to-day, that our uncle, the Duke -of Somerset, with the gentle ladies of his household, have been placed -prisoners under your care. Our desire is, that they be discharged the -tower, at once, and sent, with all due honor in our own royal barge, to -the duke’s palace on the Strand. You are commanded to see to this; -retaining only, in pledge, the solemn word of our uncle, that he present -himself before us, his king, in three days, to be confronted with his -accusers, and to answer the charges brought against him.” - -Edward slightly waved his hand, when he finished speaking, as if he -deemed farther conversation or ceremony unnecessary; and, after thus -quietly expressing his wishes, desired to be alone. - -The lieutenant was a shrewd man, who held his station under favor of -Northumberland, and who had been taught, like most of his fellow -subjects, to regard the king as a mere shadow in his own realm. He was -taken by surprise—so completely deprived of all presence of mind, by a -command totally unexpected, and most important in its nature, that for a -moment he stood gazing hard upon the floor, completely at a loss how to -act, or what to say. At last, he cast a furtive look on the young -monarch, who stood tranquilly regarding him, but instantly turning his -eyes away, again bowed almost to the ground, and said, in a soft, -deprecating voice, that he would mention the king’s desire to the Lord -Protector forthwith, and that he would, doubtless, sign the order -necessary for a release of the noble prisoner. - -A fire, like that in the eye of an angry falcon, shot into the large, -blue orbs which Edward fixed upon his officer. A streak of crimson -flashed across his forehead; his slight figure was drawn proudly up, -and, as his velvet robe, with its heavy facings of sables, fell back and -swept the floor, there was a majesty in his look which well became a son -of Henry the Eighth. After regarding the confused lieutenant a second, -with a glance, which made that personage more desirous to leave the room -than he had even been to enter it, the young monarch turned away, -saying, in the same calm and tranquil tone in which his first command -had been given— - -“The King of England will write his own orders—wait.” - -Seating himself by the table, Edward took up a pen, and though his -fingers trembled with weakness upon the parchment, wrote and signed an -order for his uncle’s release, the first and last legal document that -his own free will ever originated. After it was written, he took up a -small agate cup, perforated in the side, and after shaking a quantity of -gold dust over the damp ink, he folded the parchment and held it toward -the still irresolute lieutenant. There was something in the manner with -which all this was done; so quiet, so firm and full of dignity, that, in -spite of himself, the officer was awed by a feeling of respect which -could not be resisted. Bending his knee, he reverently took the -parchment, pressed his lips to the hand which extended it, and left the -presence, irresolute how to act, and yet deprived of sufficient courage -to resist the command of his sovereign. - -As the page ran forward to open a door which led from the ante-room to a -corridor, through which the lieutenant was obliged to pass, he saw, at -the farther extremity, the Duke of Northumberland, now Lord Protector, -moving toward the king’s apartments, followed by some half dozen -retainers whom he left near the entrance, while he advanced to meet the -lieutenant with a look of surprise and displeasure at seeing him there. -The page observed that when the duke and his officer met, they conversed -earnestly and with considerable animation together, but in low voices, -and all the time looking suspiciously around to be certain that no -person was within hearing. They were thus engaged for more than ten -minutes, while the restless page stood, with the door in his hand, -regarding them through a crevice thus conveniently created to gratify -his curiosity. - -“Now,” said he, muttering to himself as he softly swung back the door a -little to increase his opportunity of survey—“now, if I could but steal -through without making these rusty hinges sound an alarm, it would be -rare pastime to creep along the wall and hear what treason those lofty -old fellows are plotting. It is no light matter, I’ll warrant—see, how -the tall old duke clutches his fingers and bends his dark forehead over -his eyes till one can scarcely see them, beneath the hoary brows—see, -his lips are pressing hard upon each other like a vice—now is his turn -to speak—nay, if I were master lieutenant now, beshrew me! but I should -get away from that beautiful old gentleman without waiting to say ‘by -your leave!’ There he stands, looking the king a thousand times more -than my young master yonder, and I doubt not berating that poor -lieutenant, as if he were a hound. See, how slowly, and with what a -manner he lifts that right hand, holding the finger up, and shaking it -before the poor lieutenant as if it were the blade of a dagger. Beshrew -me! but I must learn more of this game—the corridor is half in shadow, -and they can but kick me out, like a troublesome dog, if I am -discovered—so be quiet, latch and hinge, if you can, for once.” - -As the boy half muttered, half thought these words, he gently pushed -back the door, and was about forcing himself through the opening, but a -noise, created by the rusty hinges, was not the only means of betraying -his attempt. A space large enough to admit his body also served to fling -a line of light far into the dim corridor, which startled the two -persons he was regarding more than a noise could have done. They both -turned and looked keenly toward the door. The duke uttered a brief -sentence and moved on, waving his hand imperatively to the lieutenant. -He also went down the passage, and passing the group of attendants in a -hurried manner, disappeared through a door at the opposite extremity, -through which the duke had entered the corridor. - -Meantime the page, finding himself in danger of detection, had escaped -to his post near the king’s chamber. When Northumberland approached, he -arose from the bench on which he had flung himself, looked up from -beneath the feathers of his cap, with a sleepy yawn, and moved forward -to announce the Lord Protector, rubbing his eyes as he went, and -laughing with silent mischief beneath the concealment of his drooping -plumes. As the duke passed him at the door, he paused an instant and -fixed a keen glance on his face, which the boy returned by taking off -his cap, and bending his curly head almost to the ground, while, with -the most frank and cheerful of all voices, he prayed for long life to -the noble Lord Protector. - -If Northumberland had any suspicion of the boy at first, it was half -disarmed by that clear voice and the handsome face sparkling with -intelligence lifted to his. There was something mischievous and yet -affectionate and pleasing in it, which brought a smile to his own face -as, with careless munificence, he flung a piece of gold into the boy’s -cap and entered the king’s chamber. - -The page was not so much elated by the gift but that he would have been -at his old trick of listening once more; but after advancing a pace into -the chamber, Northumberland turned back, looked at the urchin with a -half smile, and closed the door himself. - -A laugh from his companions, who witnessed his defeat from another end -of the room, sent a flood of crimson over the boy’s face, but shaking -his curls with an air of good-natured bravado, he gave the golden coin a -triumphant toss, which sent it flashing like a star up into the sunshine -which poured through a neighboring window, and catching it in his hand -again, sprang forward and joined the laugh merrily as the most gleeful -among them. Instantly, the noisy troop were silenced by a sharp -bell-tone from the king’s chamber. - -“Hush!” said the page, balancing the coin on his finger and eyeing it -with a roguish look as he bent his head to listen. “That was the crusty -old duke! such fellows hate an honest laugh as King Harry did holy -water! they would keep us cooped up here like a flock of pigeons without -the privilege of a coo. Hark! again, I must keep quiet till the old one -is away, and then we will try a game of chuck farthing in the corridor, -if we can get this shiner changed into half crowns and farthings.” So, -grasping his fingers over the gold, the page nodded to his companions, -leaving them half terrified by the thoughts that their merriment had -reached—not the king, he was too good and lenient to chide them for -harmless mirth—but the stern duke, whom they all feared beyond measure. -The page looked back upon them, as he entered the chamber, tried to -smile and seem courageous, though he was half frightened out of his -wits—and the next instant stood in the presence of his sovereign, with -his bright, black eyes—half concealed by their long lashes—bent to the -floor, and a brilliant red burning through the ringlets that fell over -his cheek. He seemed the very picture of a living and healthy Cupid in -disgrace. - -“What noise was it that reached us but now from the ante-room?” said the -Lord Protector, sternly, as the boy appeared before him. “Is it with -this rudeness and riot you surround the chamber of our invalid king? -Begone, sirrah! strip off the royal livery at once and return to your -mother, if you have one.” - -The boy lifted his face to that of the stern duke and his cheek dimpled -even while it turned white with fear, a smile was so natural to it. But -when the last cruel words were spoken, the long lashes drooped over his -eyes again and grew heavy with moisture. He turned away from the face -frowning upon him, and, kneeling at the king’s feet, lifted his -eyes—now full of tears—to those of his master and said, - -“I have no mother.” - -Edward’s kind heart was deeply touched by the sadness with which this -was said. He was but a youth himself, and forgetful of his dignity and -of all but the sweet, pleading face lifted to his, he laid his thin hand -upon the curls which fell back from it, and would have kissed the -forehead, but an exclamation from Northumberland warned him of the -impropriety. Still the page had seen the impulse and the generous tears -which filled the mild eyes of his master. His young heart swelled with -grateful affection, and, burying his head in Edward’s robe, he sobbed -aloud. - -“Poor boy! he is an orphan like ourself. You will not send him hence, my -lord duke,” said the young king, turning his face with an anxious and -almost pleading look upon his guardian. “The offence was not heavy; and -see how penitent he is.” - -“The offence not heavy, my liege?” replied the duke harshly, “have I not -given orders that no sound shall disturb your highness’ repose, and -notwithstanding this, am I not distracted almost in my first private -audience by the riotous mirth of this urchin and his mates?” - -“Nay, we have ourself somewhat to blame in this—having little cause for -merriment in our own heart, and pining here day after day—for, alas! -kings have no companions—it has sometimes been a comfort to hear the -merry laugh of these thoughtless boys—to know that cheerfulness is not -shut out from our presence forever. That health and laughter—which is -its music—is yet a thing of earth; though, alas! a blessing which we -may witness, but never enjoy. Shut out the sunshine which smiles through -these windows, the stars which at night time glimmer through that narrow -line of glass, and which we have learned to read when pain has made our -couch sleepless, till they have become as old friends; break yon lute, -whose music is to this faint heart like the voice of a good child to its -parent, and, above all, send away the cheerful voices which sometimes -fill the next room, and you have wrested from the King of England the -only fragment of his inheritance that was ever his.” - -The page looked up as his master was speaking, the tears were checked in -his eyes, and he knelt breathlessly, as one who listened to the voice of -an angel. The proud Northumberland turned his eyes from the pale, -spiritual face of his royal ward, and bent them on the floor. There was -a look of patient suffering in those features which touched his better -nature; something in the sad, broken-hearted feelings which filled that -voice, which found a passage to his soul, even through the selfishness -and ambition that encased it. Other thoughts, too, were busy in his -mind. He had a point to carry with the young monarch—a difficult and -doubtful one. His animosity against the page only arose from resentment, -excited by his conversation with the lieutenant, and some faint -suspicion that he had played the listener while that conversation was -held. A moment’s reflection convinced him that to have heard any part of -his conference, from the distance at which he had caught a glimpse of -the boy in the corridor, was impossible; so, resolving to make his -concession the means of obtaining a much greater one from the king, -Northumberland determined to seem won to mercy by sympathy and regard -for his ward. - -While these thoughts were passing through the mind of that crafty man, -Edward remained in his chair, supporting his head with one hand, while -the other still lay caressingly, and half buried amid the bright -ringlets of the kneeling culprit, who gathered the royal robe between -his small hands, and kissed the glowing velvet with grateful eagerness, -while his bright face was again deluged with tears—such tears as can -only know their birth in a warm, wayward, and affectionate nature. - -“Forgive the pain my zeal in behalf of a health so precarious has -occasioned,” said the duke, advancing graciously to the king, while his -face relapsed into one of those bland smiles which sometimes beamed like -magic over his proud features. “Heaven forbid that anything which is -dear to your highness, however faulty, should be condemned by one whose -first aim is to render his king happy! Let the boy go at once! Far be it -from me to desire his chastisement. Go, sirrah,” he added, taking hold -of the boy’s arm and lifting him from his knees, but still giving to the -action and words a tone of good-natured encouragement, “go to the -ante-room; here is another piece of gold to repay the fright we have -given you.” - -The page stood up; his checks flushed once more beneath the tears that -stained them. He looked upon the proffered gold, and, with a motion of -the head, betraying both pride and boyish petulance, seemed about to -refuse it, but a glance from his master, and something in the duke’s eye -which awed him, checked the resentful impulse, and taking the gold, with -half muttered thanks, he knelt once more at Edward’s feet, kissed the -hand which was kindly extended, and bursting into tears again, left the -chamber. - -The moment he reached the ante-room, our page flung himself on a bench, -and burying his face in the tapestry that cushioned it, sobbed aloud. -His companions gathered about him in dismay, anxious to learn the cause -of his tears; but it was a long time before he would reply to their -questions. At last he started up, dashed the two pieces of gold on the -stone floor till they rang again, and told his friends to take them -up—fling them into the court below—toss them for farthings—do -anything with them—but protested that he would never touch them again. -After this ebullition of boyish wrath, he gave a glowing description of -the tyranny which had been practised upon him by the duke; of the -goodness of his royal master; and of the great danger which had -threatened them all. Whereupon, they jointly and severally entered into -a contract never to laugh again during the whole course of their -lives—a resolution they persisted in keeping for a full half hour, when -our young hero set them all into convulsions by a most ludicrous -imitation of the protector’s manner as he took leave of the lieutenant. -When this new burst of merriment died away, the group of youngsters -stood for a while frightened by their own boldness, and expecting each -moment to hear another summons to the royal chamber; but instead of the -sound they feared, came another which overwhelmed them with surprise. It -was the voice of their royal master, louder than any one had ever heard -it before, and powerful with strong feeling. The duke’s voice was also -heard, sometimes stern and almost disrespectfully harsh, again soothing -and persuasive, with something of that cajolery in its tone which one -might expect from the hired nurse of a wayward child. - -While these unusual sounds were continued in the king’s apartment, the -pages gradually drew nearer to the door, till they could command some -broken sentences of what was passing within. At length the king’s voice -grew fainter and less distinct. Northumberland now and then uttered a -brief sentence, and his heavy footsteps were plainly heard as he strode -up and down the room. At last a sharp ringing of the bells sent the -listeners to a distant part of the room, where they stood gazing in each -other’s faces, uncertain whether they ought to obey the summons or not. -Their doubts were speedily relieved, for the door was flung open and the -Duke of Northumberland appeared, looking pale and much agitated. He -beckoned with his hand, and the page that we have mentioned so often -entered the chamber. He found the king lying back in his chair, faint -and pale as death; his lips were perfectly bloodless, and though he -seemed insensible, the silken vest worn beneath his robe was agitated by -the quick and terrible beating of the heart it covered. - -With instinctive affection, the page untied the silken fastenings of his -master’s dress, and exposing the delicate neck and chest, which heaved -and throbbed as if the heart were forcing a passage through, he -commenced chafing it with his hands, till the agitation became less -painful and apparent. - -At length, Edward unclosed his eyes and drawing his doublet together -with a trembling hand, tried to sit up. Northumberland advanced and -seemed about to address him, but he shrank back with a nervous shudder. -After a moment, he got up again and would have spoken, but his lips only -trembled; he had no strength to utter a word. Northumberland walked to a -window, where he stood some time with his arms folded, gazing gloomily -through the thick glass. Still the page knelt by his master, chafing his -hands, and folding the robe over his feet with that kind assiduity which -bespoke an affectionate nature. - -At length Edward spoke, and the duke turned eagerly from the window, -evidently relieved by this proof that his late attack would not be -immediately fatal. - -“My lord,” said the king, faintly, “you see how impossible it is that -this subject can be discussed farther. I beseech your grace, have my -wishes obeyed, both regarding your son and all the parties concerned.” - -Again Northumberland’s brow darkened, and he seemed about to -expostulate, but Edward looked him gravely in the face and added, - -“It _must_ be so, my lord duke, or England will not brook the -imprisonment of a protector who, with all his faults, knew how to -respect the rights of his king.” - -The color forsook Northumberland’s face, but still he frowned and looked -unyielding. Edward arose feebly from his chair, and leaning upon the -shoulder of his page, moved toward an inner bed-chamber. The duke saw by -this movement that all hope of further conference was cut off, and -feeling himself baffled and forced to act against his wishes by a mere -youth, he once more forgot his usual crafty composure and the respect -due to his sovereign. - -“My liege,” he said, almost imperatively, “this is requiring too much; I -cannot grant it.” - -Edward turned so as to face the angry noble, and while still supported -by the page, answered mildly, but with the same steady will as before, - -“My Lord of Northumberland,” he said, “either our uncle, the Duke of -Somerset, returns to his palace to-morrow as we have directed, or on the -next day he goes there Lord Protector of England.” - -With a slight wave of the hand, and with his features contracted with -the pain which his effort to speak occasioned, Edward turned away and -passed into his bedchamber without waiting for a reply, which, in truth, -Northumberland was unable to give, so completely was he astounded by -what had already been said. - -The page would have called other assistance when Edward reached his -bedchamber, but the invalid prevented him, and after having the points -of his dress untied, lay down upon the bed, faint and exhausted. The boy -moved about him with that soft, gentle tread so grateful in the chamber -of an invalid. He smoothed the pillows, drew the counterpane of embossed -velvet over the recumbent monarch, and, taking some scented woods from a -closet, flung them into a brasier that stood in the fire-place, and -nursed the flame beneath till the chamber was filled with a soft, drowsy -atmosphere, grateful to the sense, and almost certain to produce -tranquil sleep. Then he would steal once more to the bed, pull back the -voluminous curtains, and bend over the pale form resting there till his -dimpled cheek, so damask and healthy, almost touched that of the -monarch, and the wreath of his bright curls fell amid the damp masses of -hair which swept over the pillow, in a contrast that was lovely and yet -painful to behold. When satisfied that his master was asleep, the boy -stole softly from the chamber, as had always been his habit, to await -the time of his waking in the next room. He started with surprise on -seeing it still occupied by the Duke of Northumberland, who stood before -the window gazing sternly into the court below, and evidently lost in a -train of most unpleasant thoughts. When the boy entered he started -impatiently, and, clearing the frown from his face with an effort, -crossed the room. - -“Tell your master,” he said, addressing the page, “tell your master that -his wishes shall be obeyed—say that all shall be in readiness by eight -this evening;” and with these words Northumberland left the royal -apartments. - -Either the protector’s voice aroused Edward, or he had not slept, for -scarcely was the door closed when his voice summoned the page to his -bedside. When the duke’s message was repeated to him, a smile of -satisfaction settled on his face, and he sank into a tranquil slumber. -After awhile those usually quiet apartments were full of bustle and -preparation. Attendants passed in and out; pages were seen running to -and fro with mysterious faces. More than one laden wherry untied its -contents at the tower stairs, and everything bespoke the approach of -some uncommon event. - - * * * * * - -One little month had scarcely passed when the Duke of Somerset, bereft -of wealth and station, sat in a gloomy prison room of the tower, -expecting each moment to be dragged forth to trial, and, perhaps, an -ignominious death. It was a large room, but so dimly lighted that -persons sitting together looked sallow and careworn in the dusky -atmosphere that filled it. The very sunbeams forced themselves -sluggishly through the high window, as if rusted by the masses of old -iron which blocked their passage, and were lost, long before they -reached the floor, in a web of ragged and dusty cobwebs, which covered -the ceiling like mouldering tapestry, moth-eaten and turning to dust -where it hung. There, on the gloomy floor of this desolate place, sat -the prisoner, striving to read by the unhealthy light, which was only -sufficient to make the effort a painful one. He lifted his eyes to the -grating with an impatient exclamation, and, flinging his book on the -floor, began pacing up and down the stone flags. Instantly a figure -started forward from an inner room and lifted the book; while the sweet, -pale face of Lady Jane Seymour was raised for a moment to that of her -suffering parent, as he moved rapidly up and down the room. She laid the -book once more upon the flags, and exerted all her frail strength to -move the chair her father had occupied to a station nearer the window. -This done, she again lifted the ponderous volume with her two fair -hands, smoothed out the dark letter page which had been doubled in the -fall, and bearing it to the duke, besought him to sit down, while she -read aloud to him. - -Somerset paused a moment in his walk, impelled by the persuasive but sad -tones of his child; but confinement had made him irritable; so, -extricating his disordered cloak from the slight grasp which she had -fixed upon it, he pushed the book from him with a violence which sent it -crashing to the floor again, and resumed his restless occupation. The -book had fallen upon the flags, with its broad leaves downward, and -crushed beneath the heavy binding, that, with the ringing of the heavy -clasps, as they struck the stones, brought another person into the room, -but so changed, so thin, and broken-hearted in appearance, that few -persons who had seen the dignified, proud, and lovely Duchess of -Somerset, in her high estate, could have recognised her as she stood -within the sickly atmosphere of her husband’s dungeon. - -The gentle lady moved across the room, her rich, but now soiled, -vestments sweeping the dusty floor as she passed; while her daughter was -patiently occupied in smoothing the pages which had been injured in -their fall, and in brushing away the dust which they had gathered, she -approached her husband, placed a hand upon his arm, and looked with a -sad smile into his face. - -“The apartment within is less gloomy than this,” she said; “come and sit -with us; you, who never failed to share the sunshine of life with us, -should not thus brood alone, now that sorrow has befallen us. Come!” - -Somerset turned abruptly from his noble wife, and to conceal the -emotions her sweet, patient manner had awakened, rather than from -continued moodiness of spirit, he still paced up and down the darkest -part of his dungeon, with all the appearance of continued irritation, -for he was ashamed of the tears which, in spite of himself, sprang to -his eyes on witnessing his gentle and yet proud wife so fallen and so -patient in her ruin. - -The duchess was rendered quick-sighted by affection, and, speaking in a -low voice to her daughter, the two left the fallen man to the liberty of -grief. The room which they entered was scarcely superior to the other, -but more light was admitted to it; and where is the spot so dark, or so -full of discomfort, that a loving and intelligent woman cannot give some -domestic charm to it? When the unfortunate lady and her still more -unfortunate child left their palace home, and besought permission to -share the confinement of a husband and a father, they had been permitted -to bring a few objects of comfort to cheer the desolation which -surrounded him. Several leathern chairs, and a stool or two, cushioned -and embroidered by the fair beings who selected them for that reason, -stood within the room. Lady Jane had swept and garnished the stone floor -with her own delicate hands, all unused as they had been to such menial -service. A rude table was there, a few favorite books lay upon it, and a -lute, the companion of many a happy, childhood hour, was now taken up by -that gentle girl, that its sweet tones might soothe the moody spirit of -the proud man, who seemed scarcely conscious of her effort to -tranquilize him. - -Lady Jane knew that it but mocks a broken spirit to see anything it -loves over-cheerful; so her strain, though not gloomy, was touching, and -a sad one, so sad that her father, as he walked in the adjoining room, -forgot the selfishness of his sorrow and wept like a child, that two -creatures so gently nurtured should thus inhabit a prison, and, for his -sake, exert their broken spirits to render it cheerful. After a while he -entered the apartment where they were, and going up to the duchess he -bent down and kissed her, while his right hand rested on the head of the -young girl sitting at her feet. Lady Jane lifted her grateful eyes to -his face and smiled. When her father kissed her forehead also fondly, -and with the affection of former times, a swarm of kindly feelings -sprang to her heart; her light fingers touched the lute again, and a -gush of music, not gay, and yet scarcely sad, filled the dungeon room. -It was a home song, such as they had loved in better days, and it awoke -many pleasant memories; so, amid all their sorrows, these three -persecuted beings sat together in domestic companionship, almost happy. -If chains were upon them, their love of each other twisted a few golden -links amid the iron which no human power could wrest away. - -The memories which the song awakened gradually led the conversation to -brighter themes, and for awhile the inmates of that dungeon almost -forgot their present condition. They talked of former days, and, as they -talked, an expression amounting almost to a smile rose to the face of -the father. The sunshine, too, seemed to partake of their joy, streaming -in more gaily through the narrow window, and playing, like a wilful but -merry child fitfully across the floor; while a bird—a wanderer from -green fields far away—pausing a moment outside the casement, poured -forth such a gush of music that it thrilled the inmost hearts of the -listeners with joy. Could the duke have seen them then how would he have -envied them. - -But, as the day wore on, their thoughts once more were brought back to -the full consciousness of their present situation, and again a shadow -came over the souls of the members of that little family, typical of the -sunshine which but just before had been shining so merrily through the -casement, but which now had vanished, leaving the dungeon room dark and -forbidding. - -The gloom of coming night at last gathered thickly in the dungeon, -rendering it still more cold, desolate and prison-like. The duke still -retained his sombre mood and gazed gloomily on the stone flags at his -feet, while his patient wife sat by his side, her hand resting in his, -and her sweet, low voice now and then whispering words of endearment, -such as her proud and modest nature had considered too bold at any time -save when the beloved one was in affliction, or in any place except that -miserable dungeon room. Hers was the love of a true and delicate nature. -And, like the flame of a lamp which, scarcely seen amid the glare of -sunshine, grows brighter and more vivid when surrounded by darkness, it -seemed the only faithful or bright possession left to the fallen man. -Nay, there was yet another, scarcely less wretched than himself, or less -clinging and affectionate than the woman who would have comforted him. -That gentle girl, still tireless in her wish to please, crouched at his -feet, and the soft notes of her lute stole up tremblingly and thrilled -amid the darkness which shrouded them all. She felt that her father’s -thoughts were far from her, that the melody which sprang from her weary -fingers was all unheeded, and yet she played on, glad that in the -darkness she could weep without being seen. So, as her hand wandered -over the strings, tears streamed down her pale cheeks, unchecked, and -fell upon it till the fingers were damp as if they had been laved in a -fountain. Sometimes a sob would escape with the tears, but then came a -gush of wilder music and the voice of her sorrow was concealed by it. - -The wife still wound her fingers lovingly in the prisoner’s hand, -grieved that no answering clasp was given back, and yet chiding herself -for selfishness that she could expect to be thought of at such a time. -The daughter wept on, and still coined her tears into music. But the -husband and father had become almost unconscious of these efforts; he -was like a caged lion indignant with his keepers, and with his heart -full of the forest where he had once prowled a king. At last there was a -sound of feet mustering at the prison door. It was about the hour when -their evening meal might be expected. The little group looked listlessly -up when the bolts were withdrawn, and the glare of a torch fell bright -and crimson through the door. Somerset started to his feet, while the -duchess withdrew her hand, and resuming her usual air of gentle dignity -moved back a pace, where she stood pale and composed, ready to receive -the lieutenant who, for the first time, entered their dungeon in person. - -“My lord duke,” said the lieutenant, addressing his prisoner with some -embarrassment, but throwing into his voice and manner that respectful -homage which the fallen protector had scarcely hoped to witness again; -“my lord duke, I am sorry to intrude on your privacy, or to interrupt -the music with which this gentle lady soothes your prison hours, but I -have orders for your removal to another room.” - -“To another room!” exclaimed the duchess, while her cheek blanched -whiter and her voice was changed with apprehension, “and we, his -daughter Lady Jane and myself, surely, surely, we go also!” - -“Not yet, noble lady; the protector has ordered it otherwise; but I -beseech you take it not to heart, the separation will be a brief one,” -said the lieutenant, bending before the terrified duchess as he spoke. -“Nay, sweet lady, do not weep,” he continued, turning to Lady Jane, who -had dropped her lute to the floor, and stood directly in the light, with -her hands clasped firmly together and her tearful face exposed; “it -pains me to witness such sorrow for a cause so groundless. It is but a -change of apartments! A short time and you will doubtless receive the -Lord Protector’s sanction to cheer the noble duke’s apartments once -more; meantime, my orders are imperative! My lord duke, I trust that you -will not be displeased with the change. Permit me to lead the way!” - -“I will be ready to attend you in a moment,” replied the duke, “but -first grant me a moment’s privacy. As my return is uncertain, I would -take leave of the duchess and my child without so many witnesses!” - -The lieutenant bowed, and withdrawing from the dungeon, closed the door. -Then all the strong affections of his nature rushed back upon the -wretched duke, for he believed that they were separating him from his -family forever. He tried to speak, but could not; a rush of feelings, -that had weighed down his heart to apathy before, choked his utterance; -a silent embrace and the clinging arms of his wife were forced from his -neck; another embrace, a blessing on his child, and before they could -cry out or strive to detain him, the door swung to with a sharp crash, -the light disappeared, and those suffering and helpless creatures were -left alone. - -“Mother!” That word arose amid the darkness faint and broken with tears. - -“My child, we are alone!” replied a second voice, made strong by the -agony of parting. - -“No, not alone, mother, God is with us!” And, as she spoke, that noble -girl stretched forth her hands and groped the way to her mother in the -darkness. As she passed the lute, which still remained on the floor, her -garments brushed the strings and a tone of music stole through the -room—a pleasant tone—and it seemed that an angel had answered to those -trustful words. - -The duchess, who had sunk down in agony of heart, began to weep when she -heard the sound, and so, in that dark and lonesome prison room, those -two helpless beings clung together and comforted each other. - -An hour went by, and once more a sound of heavy feet was heard outside -their dungeon. The bolts shot back and a flood of light revealed the -duchess sitting in the chair left vacant by her husband. Kneeling upon -the floor, and half lying in her mother’s lap, was the Lady Jane; her -face had been buried in the vestments of her parent, and she had been -praying, but, as the door opened, her head was thrown back and a joyful -expression filled the soft brown eyes turned eagerly upon the entrance. -It was crowded with people, and an exclamation of pleasant surprise -burst from the duchess and her daughter when two females entered the -dungeon, each with a heavy bundle under her arm. In the foremost Lady -Jane recognised her old nurse, and the other had long been chief -tyring-woman to the duchess. Never were human beings so welcome, never -two beings “so happy without knowing why,” as these old warm-hearted -women. - -“There,” said the nurse, holding the Lady Jane in her arms, and kissing -her fondly between the words; “there, I say, you with the crusty face, -roll in the coffer—that will do!” she added, as one of the men brought -in a good sized coffer, which the duchess recognised as her own. - -“Now,” continued the old woman, still with her arms around her -astonished foster-child, “place that mirror on the table; softly, man, -softly, you are not wielding your iron bolts now, and that silver frame -is easily bruised if you knock the fillagree work about after that -fashion!—there, set it down, for a bungler as you are; place the lamp -in front; be careful, knave, you are treading on my lady’s lute—pick it -up!” The man pushed the lute aside with his foot, and set the lamp down -without regard to the old woman’s order. - -“So, you cannot pick up the lute which a noble lady has fingered, -forsooth! Wait a few days, and we shall see you creeping on your knees -for the honor, instead of standing there with a look as stubborn as your -own iron bars. Go, bring in the case of essence bottles, if that does -not prove too heavy a task, and then take yourself off, for a clumsy -cur; a pretty serving-man you would make, I trow!” - -The man, on whom the old woman’s eloquence was exercised, seemed very -willing to obey her last command. He brought in the case which she had -desired, and, placing it on the table, left the dungeon and was about to -lock the door, but just as he was closing it a clear cheerful voice was -heard in conversation with him. After a moment’s delay, the half-closed -door was swung open again to admit a handsome boy in the king’s livery, -who carried a casket under his arm. - -“That was well thought of, my pretty page,” said the nurse, approaching -to take the casket, “but who has found courage to break the new -protector’s seal? If it was you, boy, I only hope that handsome head may -be firm on your shoulders six weeks hence. I would as soon have touched -a red-hot coal as the bit of wax sticking to the smallest cabinet in the -palace, and I saw all my lady’s jewels counted and locked up weeks ago.” - -As she spoke, the old nurse allowed the Lady Jane to escape from her -embrace, while she advanced to the page, and would have taken the casket -from under his arm, but he stepped aside, with a roguish toss of the -head, and dropping on his knee before the young lady, placed the casket -in her hand. Bewildered, and as one in a dream, she gazed first upon the -casket, then, wonderingly, on the handsome boy at her feet. - -“What means this?” she said at last, looking doubtfully toward the -duchess, who sat gazing upon the scene with equal wonder. “Our crest is -upon the lid, but underneath are the royal arms of England.” - -The duchess arose, and, taking the casket from her daughter’s hand, -touched a spring. The lid flew open, and, with an exclamation of -surprise, the ladies saw, not their own jewels, but a magnificent suite -of diamonds which had once belonged to Jane Seymour, the Queen of Henry -the Eighth; a young creature who had perished in giving birth to the -present king—fortunate, perhaps, in being taken from her earthly state -before she had learned how terrible a thing it was to “outlive her -husband’s liking.” - -“What means this—whence came the jewels?” exclaimed both ladies at -once, turning their eyes from the gems that flashed and glowed in the -lamplight, to the boy who had risen from his knees, and, with his plumed -cap, was brushing away the dust which his vestments had caught from the -floor. - -“They were entrusted to me by my royal master, the king,” replied the -boy, who paused in his occupation and gazed upon the casket, as he -spoke, fascinated by the rich hues that played and quivered about it. “I -was bade to deliver them to the Lady Jane Seymour—to say that the king -desired that she would mingle them with the adornments of her fair -person before she placed herself under the escort of the lieutenant, who -will be here anon to bring farther orders from the Lord Protector.” - -Before the astonished ladies could question him farther, he had obeyed -some signal given him from the door, and left the dungeon. - -It was in vain the noble duchess questioned the nurse and the -tyring-woman. They were too much elated to gratify the anxiety of their -mistress, even if they had not been as much mystified as herself. All -they could say was, that a messenger had been sent from the Duke of -Northumberland with orders to convey them to the tower; that they were -commanded to take from the wardrobe, in the palace, every thing -necessary for the toilet of their ladies. Though scarcely half an hour -was allowed them for a choice, they had filled a coffer, and, with a few -things hastily collected, were hurried into a barge and so to the -dungeon of their mistress, scarcely realizing how it had all been -brought about. - -This unsatisfactory information only served to increase the excitement -already produced in the minds of the prisoners; while their attendants -were busily searching for keys, and smoothing the rich vestments that -had been somewhat roughly crowded into the coffer, they looked on as -people in a dream. The glare of lights which filled every gloomy angle -of their dungeon; the velvet robes flung in glossy robes over the armed -chair; the jewels, twinkling and flashing like a cluster of stars, on -the table—all seemed like enchantment, and they looked on with a -strange emotion of hope mingled with foreboding and almost with -affright. Still there was something in all that had transpired, -calculated to encourage more than to depress. So after a few brief words -of consultation, the mother and daughter sat down and permitted the two -women to adorn their persons without farther question. The duchess was -speedily arrayed. In spite of her fears, a ray of hope had been -awakened, and her face, before so pale and care-worn, became almost -happy in its expression, save that a color, far more vivid than was -natural to her cheek, betrayed the anxious fears that struggled against -the more hopeful feeling that had sprung to life in her heart. She stood -by as they wreathed the diamond tiara amid the tresses of her daughter’s -hair, and, with her own fair hand, put back two or three of the brown -curls where they fell over the young cheek, which gradually became warm -and damask from the influence of anticipations which she could not -entirely control, and yet which she trembled to encourage. How beautiful -she looked in her robe of glowing velvet, with the tiara which had once -adorned a queen, shedding its starry brightness amid her hair and over -that pure forehead. Her neck, always beautiful, now gleamed out with -more pearly whiteness beneath the string of brilliants that shed a rich -light upon it; and, as the old nurse busied herself with the point lace -which draped her rounded arms, she looked up to her mother, and a sweet, -natural smile came faintly over her face. The mother did not smile, but -a brighter expression lighted up her eyes, and the two looked almost -happy making their strange toilet in a dungeon. The nurse had taken that -little hand, which trembled in her clasp with conflicting emotions, and -after pressing her lips upon the rosy palm, was drawing on the snowy -glove with its embroidery of seed pearls, when there was a sound at the -door, as of some person knocking against it with his knuckles, and, -after a moment, the lieutenant of the tower once more presented himself. -When the duchess advanced eagerly toward him, demanding a reason for all -that had transpired, he answered with the calm politeness which usually -marked his demeanor, that the Lord Protector had given orders that they -should be removed to another room. - -“But, tell me,” said the lady, almost beside herself with anxiety, “tell -me, is it to the duke—is it to my husband you conduct us?” - -A smile stole up to the lieutenant’s face. It might be one of irony -aroused by the keen anxiety which she displayed: it might be a sign of -admiration for the two beings that could look so lovely amid the gloom -of a dungeon; but they could not read its meaning, and he would give no -other reply to their question. - -The Lady Jane began to tremble, but she placed her arm within that of -the duchess, and was supported from the dungeon. Her heart died within -her bosom as she found herself in a long, damp passage, surrounded by -strange faces, and going, she could scarcely dream where. She looked in -her mother’s face; it had become very pale again, and the arm on which -she leaned shook beneath the weight of hers. All at once, she felt that -the train of her dress had been lifted from the floor. She looked round, -and there was that handsome little page grasping the folds of velvet in -his small hand, while his bright face was lifted smilingly to hers. He -seemed to comprehend and pity the anxiety betrayed by the troubled -expression of her face, for drawing close to her side, he whispered— - -“Have no fear, sweet lady, there is nothing of harm to dread.” - -“Sirrah, fall back to your place,” said the lieutenant, looking sternly -over his shoulder. - -The boy shrank back, but not till his words had brought comfort to the -heart of Lady Jane, and were whispered in the ear of her mother. - -On they went, through dark passages and gloomy chambers;—the flambeau -carried by their guard, crimsoning the walls as they passed on, and -their shadows changing, and seeming to dance in fantastic groups around -them as the lights were tossed upwards and flared in the chill currents -of air that drew down the corridors. At last, they entered a large room, -lighted up and surrounded by a range of cushioned benches, from which -some half dozen pages arose with great show of respect as the party -entered. The lieutenant and his officers remained standing at the -entrance to the room, while two of the pages ran forward to an opposite -door, which they held open as if the ladies were expected to pass -through. The duchess turned her eyes on the lieutenant, uncertain how to -act; he bent his head, and drawing respectfully back, answered her -appeal in a low voice. - -“Lady,” he said, “my charge ends here; pass on to the next room, where -the king awaits you.” - -The duchess started as she heard this, and grasping the hand which -rested on her arm, whispered— - -“Courage, my child, all will be well!” - -Though taken by surprise, the noble lady had been so long accustomed to -courts that, in crossing the ante-chamber, she resumed the quiet and -dignified manner which anxiety had previously disturbed, but the quick -feelings of youth could not be so readily controlled, and when the -duchess presented herself in King Edward’s apartments, the young -creature leaning on her arm was pale as death beneath all the warm glow -of her jewels, and trembled visibly with suppressed agitation. The -duchess cast a quick glance over the room. Her husband was there, not in -his prison garments but robed as became his station, and by his side -stood the Duke of Northumberland—though her heart leaped at the sight, -she remained to all appearance composed and ready to sustain the dignity -of her noble house before the man who had been its bitter enemy. Lady -Jane also looked up, and recognised her father, with a thrill of joy -such as she had seldom known before, but instantly the happy glow died -from her face, and almost gasping for breath she clung to the duchess -for support. She had seen another face, that made her heart tremble as -she gazed—a face which had haunted her soul with a memory which would -not be shaken off, but which in darkness and in sorrow had clung there -as “the scent of roses hangs forever around the vase which once -preserved them.” It was the face of Lord Dudley—the son of her father’s -enemy. The man whom she had loved with all the truth and fervency of a -pure and most affectionate heart, but from whom she was separated -forever. Was it strange that her cheek and lips grew white or that those -heavy lashes drooped sorrowfully beneath the look with which he regarded -her? a look which made her heart turn faint with the memories which -crowded upon it. She could not meet that glance again. Her father, the -highborn and persecuted, was there, and yet that one look had made her -almost forgetful of his wrongs. - -Before these thoughts could fairly pass through her mind, and while the -duchess hesitated at the door that she might have time to gain something -of composure, the duke of Northumberland arose from his seat with that -air of graceful and proud courtesy which no man could adopt with so much -ease, and crossing the room, gave his hand to the duchess, inquired -kindly after her health, and requested permission to lead her before the -king, who sat in his large easy chair looking almost healthful, and made -quite happy in the newly aroused power of conferring happiness upon -others. Edward stood up to receive the duchess, and when she would have -knelt, he took her hand in his and pressed it affectionately to his -lips. - -“His Grace of Northumberland will bear witness for us,” he said, “how -ignorant we have been of all that you have suffered, and how deeply the -knowledge grieved us when it did come. For our sake let all be -forgotten; if any power is left to our feeble state, these persecutions -shall not happen again.” - -The lady, thus kindly addressed, made a grateful reply, which was -somewhat restrained by the presence of Northumberland. He must have -heard all that was passing, though his face wore the same bland and -tranquil smile with which he had first approached her. - -After pressing his lips once more to the fair hand in his, Edward turned -to the Lady Jane, a smile broke over his pale face, and those large -eyes, usually so regretful and sad in their expression, now sparkled -with pleasant feelings. - -“And our sweet cousin,” he said, looking down upon her lovely face as -she sank to his knees, “methinks the prison fare has added to a beauty -which was bright enough before. Nay, fair one, if you must do us homage, -another hand must raise you.” - -As he spoke, Edward had extended his hand as if to raise the young girl -from his feet, but instead of this he laid it among the rich tresses of -her hair, where it rested pale and caressingly lighted up by his own -princely gift of jewels, and sinking to his seat again he bent forward -and addressed the wondering girl in a low and earnest voice, smiling as -he spoke, and faintly blushing as he saw that his words made the warm -color deepen and glow in the cheek that had a moment before looked so -cold and pale. - -“Nay, do not rise yet,” he said, checking the modest impulse which -prompted the bewildered girl to seek the shelter of her mother’s side, -and as he spoke, Edward lifted his eyes from the drooping lashes that -began to quiver upon the now red, now pallid cheeks, and looked -expressively toward Lord Dudley, still keeping his hand upon the young -creature’s head. He felt her start and tremble beneath his touch as Lord -Dudley came eagerly forward, and though she did not look up, he knew by -the trembling of her red lip and the rosy flood that deluged her face -and neck, that the music of that familiar footstep had reached her -heart. - -Dudley returned the young monarch’s smile, as his hand was removed from -its beautiful resting place, with a look of gratitude, and bending down -he whispered a few words to the Lady Jane as he raised her from the -king’s feet. She cast one timid glance on his face; it was eloquent with -happiness, so eloquent that her eyes sought the floor again. - -The king looked toward the ante-room and gave a signal with his hand. It -was obeyed by our favorite page, who glided across the room and softly -opened a door leading to the royal oratory. There, within the gleam of a -silver sconce which flooded the little room as with a stream of -moonlight, stood the king’s chaplain, in his sacerdotal robes, and with -a book open in his hand. Upon the marble step at his feet lay two -cushions of purple velvet fringed and starred with silver. Lord Dudley -led his trembling charge forward, and they knelt down upon these -cushions, while King Edward and all within the outer room stood up. A -moment, and the deep solemn tones of the chaplain, as he read the -marriage ceremony, filled the two apartments. The sweet face of Lady -Jane was uplifted, and the pure light fell upon it, as she made her -response in a voice rendered low by intense feeling—another response, -louder and more firmly uttered—a benediction—and then Lord Dudley led -his bride from the oratory. - -“Your blessing, my father,” murmured the half happy, half terrified -young creature, as she knelt with her lord at Somerset’s feet. - -The Duke of Somerset bent down, kissed the beautiful forehead so -bewitchingly uplifted, and gave the blessing which made his child happy. -The duchess smiled, and wept amid her smiles. - -“Ah, Jane,” she murmured, fondly putting back the ringlets her own hand -had arranged, “ah, Jane, we little thought this evening would end so -happily.” - -The king stood by, and turned away to conceal the pleasant tears which -filled his eyes. - -“One thing more,” he said, “and our slumber will be sweet to-night;” as -he spoke, the royal youth advanced to “The two Dukes,” where they stood -side by side, and linking their hands together, placed his own upon -them. - -“Be friends,” he said, “the kingdom has need of you both.” - -Edward felt their hands beneath his clasped together, and was satisfied. -He was young, full of generous impulses, and believed that two ambitious -men toiling for the same object _could_ be friends. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ABSENT WIFE. - - - BY ROBERT MORRIS. - - - At twilight’s soft and gentle hour - When shadows o’er the dull earth creep, - And nature feels the soothing power - Of coming night and balmy sleep— - When the tired laborer hastens home - His wife and little ones to kiss, - And the young beauty anxiously - Awaits love’s hour of dream-like bliss— - When nest-ward hie both bird and bee, - My fondest thought is still for thee! - - Again at midnight’s solemn hour, - When eyes are closed and lips are still, - And Silence, like a spirit’s form, - Rests sweetly on each vale and hill, - When Love and Grief sit side by side - Around some sinking sufferer’s bed, - Or Crime in shadow seeks to hide - A form to every virtue dead,— - E’en then in dreams thy form I see, - Or waking fondly turn to thee! - - At rosy morn, when like a gleam - From some far brighter sphere than ours, - The sunlight with its golden sheen - Awakes the world and tints the flowers— - When birds their tuneful numbers raise - And chant a welcome to the dawn, - When Nature lifts her voice in praise, - And day, creation-like, is born— - Then, when are hymns from land and sea, - I bow to Heaven and think of thee! - - My lonely room—my quiet hours, - No hand to press—no voice to cheer, - No form to meet in Pleasure’s bowers, - No song to melt the soul to tears— - No welcome home with looks of joy, - No gentle song to tell of love, - No day-dreams of our cherished boy, - No child-like eyes to point above— - No hand to soothe the ruffled brow, - Alas! how much I miss thee now! - - Pity the wretch, who, doomed to roam - From day to day this lower sphere, - Unloved by any—loving none, - Still wasting on from year to year, - As lonely as some twinkling orb - That trembles in the distant sky, - A watcher mid the hosts of night - With none to share its company— - Unloved while living, and when dead, - With none a heart-wrung tear to shed! - - Alas! how cold and desolate - The path of such a one must be, - How dim his hopes—how sad his fate, - How cheerless his lone destiny! - No eye to mark each changing look, - No lip his fever’d brain to press; - No gentle one in whisper low, - With kindly words his ear to bless,— - To point his thoughts from earth to sky, - And paint some bright Futurity! - - Why do we live? Affections—ties - That well and form within the breast, - That intertwine our sympathies - With hopes and joys that make us blest— - These point the panting spirit up - To milder realms beyond the skies, - And whisper to the trembling soul - New bliss awaits in paradise! - Oh! what were life with love away, - Where earth its bound—its limit clay! - - Then soon return, fond one, return, - Thy greeting shall be kind and true, - Love’s lamp again shall brightly burn, - And life its purest joys renew! - Oh! absence, like the clouds that throw - Thick shadows o’er the summer sky, - But, passing, leave a brighter glow, - A deeper, purer blue on high: - So now I wait the passing gloom, - That light again may gladden home! - - * * * * * - - - - - SONG. - - - Oh! sing unto my soul, my love, - That all-entrancing lay, - Such as the seraphim above - Are singing far away— - It comes as some familiar strain - Once heard in heaven, now heard again. - - For sure—as olden sages tell— - We are not all of earth: - The soul, by some mysterious spell, - Has glimpses of its birth; - And memories of things divine - Thrill o’er me at that voice of thine. - - They come as half-forgotten dreams - From that eternal land, - The sounds of its celestial streams, - The shores of silver sand, - The angel faces in the air— - Oh! sing, and waft my spirit there! - - A. A. I. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Zanoni, a Novel. By the Author of “Pelham,” “Rienzi,” &c. Two - Volumes. Harper & Brothers._ - -A few years ago, in the first volume of “The Monthly Chronicle,” a tale, -or rather the fragment of one, appeared, professedly from the pen of -Bulwer. But the story defied critical as well as common sense to -understand it. It opened abruptly and closed abruptly. It had, properly -speaking, neither beginning nor end. It was incomprehensible. By general -consent, “Zicci” was regarded as a freak of the author—its only merit -was the novelty of having no merit at all. After being the jest of the -reviewers for years, this story has been completed, and now lies before -us, under the altered name of “Zanoni.” - -The idea of the novel is borrowed from the dreams of the old -Rosicrucians, and of the predecessors of that sect as far back as the -Chaldeans. These visionaries imagined that man, by a rigid practice of -virtue and the sublimation of every earthly feeling, could attain to a -perfect comprehension of the most hidden secrets of nature—could hold -communion with, and exercise control over, the unseen powers of the -air—and could even preserve human life to an indefinite extent, by -acquiring the means by which it might be perpetually renovated. The -story opens at Naples, towards the close of the last century. The hero -is a noble Chaldean, who, having attained to the knowledge of this last -secret of his sect while yet in the prime of youthful manhood, wears now -the same aspect as when he gazed on the stars from his home in Assyria, -before the temple had been built on Mount Zion—before the Greeks had -fought at Marathon—before the builders of the pyramids had died. To an -imaginative mind, such a character possesses peculiar charms. He comes -before us with all the solemnity of the past, making vivid to us the -great deeds of buried ages. He has seen the army of Alexander on the -Indus. He was in Egypt when Antony’s fleet set sail for Actium. He -remembers when Demosthenes thundered for the crown, when Cæsar fell in -the Senate House, when Rome was sacked by Attila. For three thousand -years he has gazed on mankind with a face as unchanging as that of the -weird Sphinx of the desert. For ninety generations, he has survived war, -and pestilence, and the slow decay of the system,—a being mysterious in -his subtle power, wonderful in his awful and majestic beauty. This -exemption from death he has won by the subjugation of every feeling and -passion to the mastery of a PURE INTELLECT. But still retaining his -_youth_, he retains the capacity to _love_; and though, for such a lapse -of ages, he has withstood temptation, he is destined at last to yield to -it. He meets with and loves a beautiful Italian girl. He thus endangers -his earthly immortality; for the moment he yields to earthly passion, -however pure, his intellect becomes clouded, and he loses the prophetic -faculty as well as others of his high attributes. Conscious of this, and -knowing that he will bring peril and sorrow around the path of Viola by -linking her fate with his, he struggles long against his passion, and -even after yielding to it, endeavors to avert from her head the dangers -which, as consequences of his conduct, thicken around her. In this -Titanic conflict betwixt the intellect and the heart—in the alternation -of the aspirations of the one and the agonizing throes of the other, -lies the _burden_—as the old writers would call it—of the novel. - -The idea, as thus stated, is simply grand. It has a unity that -overpowers us. Had the author contented himself with merely developing -this idea, omitting every thing which had no necessary bearing on the -_dénouement_, he would have produced an almost faultless story. But he -has, in a great measure, failed in carrying out his conception. He has -weakened the effect by diverging from the _burden_ of the story. As the -novel has been circulated in various cheap forms throughout the country, -we shall take it for granted that our readers have perused the book. -This will save us the necessity of recapitulating the plot as the basis -of our remarks. - -The plot is grossly defective in several important particulars. Many -even of the leading incidents have no bearing on the _dénouement_. The -compact betwixt Zanoni and the Evil Eye, at Venice, is of this -character. The author’s original intention was to make the condition -exacted from the husband play a prominent part at the crisis; but he -subsequently changed his mind, and brought about the _dénouement_ by -other means, forgetting, however, to rewrite this scene, so as to adapt -it to the altered aspect of the story. The Evil Eye, when he comes to -assert his rights, is cavalierly dismissed, in a very inartistical -manner. It would have contributed far more to the unity of effect of -which we have spoken, if the author had pursued his original design, and -made the condition exacted from Zanoni, the sacrifice of his own life, -when, at any future period, he should wish again to preserve the life of -Viola. By following out this plan, Bulwer would have been saved the -necessity of introducing the sanguinary scenes of the French Revolution; -and the crisis would have been brought about in a far more natural -manner than it is at present. The introduction of Robespierre and his -associates is _forced_; it renders involved an otherwise simple and -effective plot. We are astonished that an adept in Art, such as Bulwer -professes to be, should have committed a blunder for which, if he had -been a schoolboy, he should have been soundly whipped. If he intended to -enlist and keep up the interest of his readers in his two chief -characters, why has he distracted the attention by the introduction of -The Reign of Terror, that most real of tragedies, whose horrors exceed -anything that romance can imagine, whose thrilling story stops the -pulsation of the heart for anything less terrible? The mind should have -been left undistracted to contemplate the stern, Doric self-sacrifice of -Zanoni! The author should not have sacrificed the unity of effect for -the dying struggles of Robespierre, or any other human butcher in the -blood-bespattered shambles of Paris. We can see what misled Bulwer. Not -satisfied with the grandeur of his original conception of the -_dénouement_, he sought to increase the interest by the clap-trap effect -of rapidly shifting the perilous incidents in which all the chief actors -are involved. This is a trick he has learned behind the foot-lights, and -not in the study of the great old masters. - -There are numerous minor errors in the plot. Glyndon’s _liaison_ with -Floretta does not advance the story, and the only part she plays in -evolving the crisis, is the betrayal of Viola at Paris. If the plot had -been handled properly, there would have been no necessity for her agency -here. But the desire to paint mere sensual love, in this character, -induced Bulwer to patch her into the tale. He has been persuaded, from -the same reason, to introduce other unimportant characters we might -name. In short, his motley array of personages reminds us of Burke’s -graphic picture of Chatham’s last piebald ministry, where he compares it -to a piece of mosaic, “here a bit of black stone and there a bit of -white,” and humorously depicts the consternation of men, who had been -all their lives libelling each other, on finding themselves “pigging -together in the same truckle-bed.” In like manner the robber figures in -the scene. So do Mervale and that worthy shrew his wife. These are all -gross faults; for the necessity of preserving that oneness and -entireness of effect, of which we have spoken so much, exists in -peculiar force in a highly imaginative work like this. The introduction -of supernal agents is, at all times, a dangerous experiment; and, when -they are introduced, the illusion is to be kept up at every sacrifice. -This can scarcely be done where the reader listens on one page to the -converse of immortal powers, and on the next to the wrangling of a -cross, sleepy wife with a drunken husband—when we are hurried from the -lofty aspirations of Menjour and Zanoni, to the silly love toying -betwixt Glyndon and Floretta. This brings us to another error in the -author—an error which lies at the very bottom of all his errors. - -The subject is unfit for prose. It properly belongs to the drama. The -true province of the imagination is poetry, and although this divine -faculty may stoop to prose, it can never truly shine but in the -celestial garments of the muse. We do not deny the impossibility of -treating an ideal theme in prose—we only assert the superior advantages -which poetry affords for the same object. Transitions may be tolerated -in the drama which should be anathematized in prose. But, above all, -poetry would favor the preservation of the illusion to which we have -already referred. The _tone_ of a story such as Zanoni is, could be -better preserved in poetry. The idea of the tale is inexpressibly grand, -and might have been worked out with terrible effect. The struggle in -Zanoni’s mind betwixt his love for Viola and his longing for an earthly -immortality would have produced, if evolved by a master hand, a tragedy -equal to Manfred, Faust, we had almost said Prometheus. - -But we have said enough under this head. Let us look at the characters. - -Of Zanoni we have already spoken. His character belongs to a lofty -region of the ideal. The conception of Pisani, also, is highly -imaginative. He comes in, at the opening of the tale, with the same -effect with which a fine overture precedes an opera. He prepares the -mind, by his unearthly music, for the mysteries that are to follow. His -barbican, his solitary life, his dreams of wild figures and wilder music -in the air, entitle him to a high rank in the ideal. What a grand -thought is that which represents him at the theatre, mechanically -performing his part, while all the time his soul is thinking of his -beloved opera, so that often, unconsciously to himself, he bursts out -into its weird and startling music! - -Viola, the impersonation of the purest love, unalloyed by any sensual -feeling—Glyndon, the weak, vacillating, yet aspiring man—and Menjour, -the embodiment of mere intellect, apart from any influence of the heart, -good or bad, are well drawn characters—_of their kind_. Their fault is -that they have no individuality. All Bulwer’s personages partake of this -error. There is not, in his numerous novels, a single personage whom we -can look back on as on a real individual. Falstaff and Nicol Jarvie are -so life-like that it seems as if we had drunk canary with the one, at -the Boar’s Head, and “had a crack” with the other, on the causeway of -Glasgow. Bulwer’s characters have none of this personal identity—they -are only embodiments of certain passions or peculiarities. His actors -are like the knights of Spencer, mere stalking horses for particular -vices or virtues—or, like a wigmaker’s block, the representative in -turn of the heads of all his customers. Every personage in Zanoni, -without, as we remember, a _single_ exception, is thus ticketed for a -particular vice or virtue, like passengers in a railroad car. Now, we do -not object to the introduction of these personages if they are necessary -to the plot; but, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Bulwer, give us something more -than mere automatons! Don’t ask us in to a second Mrs. Jarley’s -wax-works! - -We have spoken, in terms of high praise, of the character of Zanoni. We -have, however, said that the theme was more adapted for poetry than -prose. Having chosen prose, the author has erred in calling his book A -NOVEL. Let us be understood. Feeble as is the province of prose to do -justice to so ideal a character as Zanoni, we do not base our present -objection to the book on that ground. It is one of the inalienable -rights of man to show his ignorance, to make a blunder, or in any other -way to play the fool. This is not the question now. The work before us -purports to be a novel, and nothing but a novel. It might have been -named a romance, a mystery, or the Lord knows what! But it is put forth -as a novel, under the _imprimatur_ of the writer of “Art in Fiction,” of -the man who sets up to be the high priest of the synagogue! Is it such? - -A novel, in the true acceptation of the name, is a picture of real life. -The plot may be involved, but it must not transcend probability. The -agencies introduced must belong to real life. Such were Gil Blas and Tom -Jones, confessedly the two best novels extant. Whether the title was -properly applied, in the inception, is not the question. Usage and -common sense have affixed a definite meaning to the word. When authors -cease to paint real life they cease to write novels. The tales may be -very good of their kind, but they are no more novels than a sirloin is a -mutton chop, or than Bulwer is the artist he pretends to be. Judged by -this standard, Zanoni is not a novel. There are pictures of real life in -it; but to paint society, _as it is_, was only collateral to the chief -aim of the work. - -We say nothing of the moral of the story; for all that is truly noble in -Bulwer’s imaginary doctrines of the Rosicrucians is stolen from the pure -precepts of our holy religion. - -The English of the author is neither better nor worse than in his former -novels. His language was always inflated, often bombastic. He -personifies as desperately as ever. His allegories are as plentiful as -Sancho Panza’s proverbs, or as an old maid’s ailings. The same straining -after effect, the same attempts at fine writing which were such glaring -defects in his former novels, are here perceptible. Through every line, -the author looks out, eager, like Snug the joiner, to tell you he is -there. - -There are many fine thoughts, nevertheless, in these volumes; and, on -the whole, the book is a valuable addition to our imaginative -literature. - -If we have dwelt longer on the faults than on the merits of “Zanoni,” it -is because the latter are more apparent to the popular eye. We have -dealt out, however, even-handed justice to the book, since the province -of a critic is not that of the state advocate, who argues only on one -side, but rather that of the judge who sums up the case, and of the jury -who are sworn “a true verdict to give according to the evidence.” With -this remark, we leave “Zanoni” to its fate. - - * * * * * - - _The Poets and Poetry of America, with an Historical - Introduction. By Rufus Willmot Griswold. One vol. Carey & Hart: - Philadelphia._ - -This is the best collection of the American Poets that has yet been -made, whether we consider its completeness, its size, or the judgment -displayed in its selections. The volume is issued in a style -commensurate with its literary worth. The paper, type and printing are -unexceptionable. Messrs. Carey & Hart have, in “The Poets and Poetry of -America,” published the finest volume of the season. - -The editor begins his selections of American Poets with Frenau, -prefacing them, however, with an historical introduction evincing -considerable research. In this introduction he shows that, prior to the -revolution, the pretenders to the muse in the colonies scarcely rose to -the level of versifiers. From Frenau downwards, the chain is kept up to -the youngest poet of the day. About eighty-eight authors are embraced in -the body of the work. To the selections from each author is prefixed a -short but clear biography. The editor has not always been guided, in -making his selections, by the relative merit of the various authors, -but, in cases where the writers have published editions of their poems, -he has been less copious in his extracts, than when the poet has left -his works to take care of themselves. Thus we have the whole of Dana’s -“Buccanier,” of Whittier’s “Mogg Magone,” of Sprague’s “Curiosity,” and -of Drake’s “Culprit Fay.” Most of C. Fenno Hoffman’s songs are also -included in the collection. But Pierpoint’s “Airs of Palestine,” are -excluded, as are the longer and best poems of Willis. At the end of the -volume is an appendix, in which about fifty writers, whom the editor has -not thought worthy of a place in the body of his book, figure under the -name of “Various Authors.” Such is the plan of the work. A word, in -detail, on its merits. - -We have said that this volume is superior to any former collection of -the American Poets, whether we regard its size, its completeness, or the -taste displayed in the selections. This is our _general_ opinion of the -book. We do not, however, _always_ coincide with the judgment of the -editor. There are several writers in the Appendix who have as good -claims to appear in the body of the work, as others who figure largely -in the latter more honorable station. There are many mere versifiers -included in the selection who should have been excluded, or else others -who have been left out should have been admitted. Perhaps the author, -without being aware of it himself, has unduly favored the writers of New -England. Instances of all these faults will be noticed by the reader, -and we need not further allude to them. - -The editor has scarcely done justice to some of our younger poets, -either in his estimate of their genius, or in his selections from their -poems. A glaring instance of this is the case of Lowell, a young poet, -to whom others than ourselves have assigned a genius of the highest -rank. We would have been better pleased to have seen a more liberal -notice of his poems. We know that, with the exception of “Rosaline,” -better selections might have been made from his works. A few years -hence, Mr. Griswold himself will be amazed that he assigned no more -space to Lowell than to M’Lellan, Tuckerman, and others of “Οι Πολλοι.” -Holmes is another instance of the injustice done an author by the -editor’s selections. The author of “Old Ironsides” has written better -poems than that, all about the old man, of whom - - “My grandmamma has said— - Poor old lady! she is dead - Long ago— - That he had a Roman nose, - And his cheek was like a rose - In the snow.” - -And again, - - “I know it is a sin - For me to sit and grin - At him here, - But the old three-cornered hat, - And the breeches—and all that, - Are so queer!” - -Little more can be said in the way of criticism, unless we should follow -up these remarks by further examples in detail. For this we have no -inclination, since, after all, the book, as a whole, is one of high -merit; and, from the very nature of the work, it is impossible for an -editor to produce a faultless volume. A thorough analysis of the book -might induce many, whose minds are not comprehensive, to think it a bad, -instead of what it really is, a good work. - - * * * * * - - _The Two Admirals, a Tale, by the Author of “The Pilot,” “Red - Rover,” &c., &c. Two Vols. Lea & Blanchard: Philadelphia._ - -Mr. Cooper, in the book before us, has re-asserted his right to the rank -of the first living American novelist. The “Two Admirals” is not -inferior to the best of his works. The scenes are described with that -graphic force for which our author is distinguished above all writers of -sea-tales. The two combats betwixt Sir Gervaise Oakes and the French -fleet are told with unusual power. But there is nothing like character -in the tale, and the plot is shamefully commonplace. Mr. Cooper seems to -be aware of his want of ability to write a story, or paint a character, -and he therefore wisely expends his whole strength on particular -incidents and scenes. In his line he is without a rival here or in -Europe. - - * * * * * - - _The Poetical Works of John Sterling. First American Edition. - One vol. Herman Hooker: Philadelphia._ - -Every man of taste will rejoice at this collected edition of the poems -of Sterling, the “Archæus” of Blackwood. To Rufus W. Griswold, the -editor, and Herman Hooker, the publisher, the American public is -indebted for this edition of the works of one of the most pure, -delicate, fanciful, and idiomatic, of the poets of the present day. - - * * * * * - - _Essays for Summer Hours. By Charles Lanman. Second Edition. - Boston: Hilliard, Grey & Co. London: Wiley & Putnam._ - -These essays are distinguished by grace, sweetness, and graphic force of -language. The author is a devout lover of nature in all her moods, but -especially in her more quiet aspects. He has produced a book which will -be no discredit to him. - - * * * * * - - _Tecumseh, or the West thirty years since. A Poem. By Geo. H. - Colton. Wiley & Putnam: New York & London. Moore & Wiley: - Philadelphia._ - -This book is an elegant specimen of American typography. Of the merits -of the poem we shall not speak until July, when we trust to have leisure -and space for the task. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: three ladies and a gentleman dressed in latest fashions] - - * * * * * - -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. - -A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain. -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 6, June 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XX, NO. -6, JUNE 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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