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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b840554 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68027 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68027) diff --git a/old/68027-0.txt b/old/68027-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index af6e50c..0000000 --- a/old/68027-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6486 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, -December 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. XXI, No. 6, December 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editors: George Rex Graham - Rufus W. Griswold - -Release Date: May 8, 2022 [eBook #68027] -[Most recently updated: November 24, 2022] - -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. XXI, -NO. 6, DECEMBER 1842 *** - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XXI. December, 1842 No. 6. - - - Contents - - Fiction and Literature - - Richard Dale - The Widow of Newbury - Malina Gray - Truth - The Persecutor’s Daughter - A Race for a Sweetheart - Harry Cavendish - The Ladies’ Library - The Hasty Marriage - Review Of New Books - Editor’s Table - - Poetry - - The Serenade - Sonnets - Sonnet - Noon - True Affection - The Farewell - The Holynights - The Pastor’s Visit - To the Night-Wind in Autumn - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - - - -[Illustration: Painted by E. Prentice, Engraved by H.S. Sadd -_Awaiting the Husband’s Return_ -_Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine._ - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XXI. PHILADELPHIA: DECEMBER, 1842. No. 6. - - * * * * * - - - - - RICHARD DALE. - - - BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC. - - -Among the many brave men who early contributed to render the navy of the -republic popular and respectable, the gallant seaman whose name is -placed at the head of this article is entitled to a conspicuous place; -equally on account of his services, his professional skill, and his -personal merit. Although his connection with the marine, created under -the constitution of 1789, was of short continuance, it left a durable -impression on the service; and, if we look back to the dark period of -the Revolution, we find him contending in some of the fiercest combats -of the period, always with heroism, and not unfrequently with success. -Circumstances, too, have connected his renown with one of the most -remarkable naval battles on record; a distinction of itself which fully -entitles him to a high place among those who have fought and bled for -the independence of their country, in stations of subordinate authority. - -Richard Dale was born in the colony of Virginia, on the 6th November, -1756. His birthplace was in the county of Norfolk, and not distant from -the well known port of the same name. His parents were native Americans, -of respectable standing, though of rather reduced circumstances. His -father, dying early, left a widow with five children, of whom the -subject of this memoir was the eldest. Some time after the death of his -father, his mother contracted a second marriage with a gentleman of the -name of Cooper, among the issue of which were two well known -ship-masters of Philadelphia. - -Young Dale manifested an inclination for the sea at a very early period -of life. The distrust of a parental control that has no foundation in -nature, and which is apt to be regarded with jealousy, stimulated if it -did not quicken this desire, and we find him at the tender age of -twelve, or in 1768, making a voyage between Norfolk and Liverpool, in a -vessel commanded by one of his own uncles. On his return home, he -appears to have passed nearly a twelve-month on shore; but his desire to -become a sailor still continuing, in the spring of 1770 he was regularly -apprenticed to a respectable merchant and ship-owner, of the borough of -Norfolk, named Newton. From this moment his fortune in life was cast, -and he continued devotedly employed in the profession until his -enterprise, prudence and gallantry enabled him finally to retire with -credit, an unblemished name, and a competency. - -During his apprenticeship, Dale appears to have been, most of the time, -employed in the West India trade. Every sailor has his chances and -hair-breadth escapes, and our young mariner met with two, at that period -of his life, which may be thought worthy of notice. On one occasion he -fell from the spars stowed on the belfry into the vessel’s hold, hitting -the kelson, a distance of near twenty feet; escaping, however, without -material injury. A much greater risk was incurred on another. While the -vessel to which he belonged was running off the wind, with a stiff -breeze, Dale was accidentally knocked overboard by the jib sheets, and -was not picked up without great difficulty. He was an hour in the water, -sustaining himself by swimming, and he ever spoke of the incident as one -of more peril than any other in a perilous career. - -When nineteen, or in 1775, Dale had risen to the station of chief mate -on board a large brig belonging to his owner. In this situation he -appears to have remained industriously engaged during the few first -months of the struggle for independence; the active warfare not having -yet extended itself as far south as his part of the country. Early in -1776, however, the aspect of things began to change, and it is probable -that the interruption to commerce rendered him the master of his own -movements. - -Virginia, in common with most of the larger and more maritime colonies, -had a sort of marine of its own; more especially anterior to the -Declaration of Independence. It consisted principally of bay craft, and -was employed in the extensive estuaries and rivers of that commonwealth. -On board of one of these light cruisers Dale was entered as a -lieutenant, in the early part of the memorable year 1776. While in this -service, he was sent a short distance for some guns, in a river craft; -but falling in with a tender of the Liverpool frigate, which ship was -then cruising on the Cape Henry station, he was captured and carried -into Norfolk. These tenders were usually smart little cruisers, another, -belonging to the same frigate, having been taken shortly before, by the -U. S. brig Lexington, after a sharp and bloody conflict. Resistance in -the case of Dale was consequently out of the question, his capture -having been altogether a matter of course. - -On reaching Norfolk, our young officer was thrown on board a -prison-ship. Here he found himself in the midst of those whom it was the -fashion to call “loyal subjects.” Many of them were his old school-mates -and friends. Among the latter was a young man of the name of Bridges -Gutteridge, a sailor like himself, and one who possessed his entire -confidence. Mr. Gutteridge, who it is believed subsequently took part -with his countrymen himself, was then employed by the British, in the -waters of the Chesapeake, actually commanding a tender in their service. -The quarrel was still recent; and honorable, as well as honest men, -under the opinions which prevailed in that day, might well be divided as -to its merits. Mr. Gutteridge had persuaded himself he was pursuing the -proper course. Entertaining such opinions, he earnestly set about the -attempt of making a convert of his captured friend. The usual arguments, -touching the sacred rights of the king—himself merely a legalized -usurper, by the way, if any validity is to be given to the claims of -hereditary right to the crown—and the desperate nature of the “rebel -cause,” were freely and strenuously used, until Dale began to waver in -his faith. In the end, he yielded and consented to accompany his friend -in a cruise against the vessels of the state. This occurred in the month -of May, and, hostilities beginning now to be active, the tender soon -fell in with a party of Americans, in some pilot boats, that were -employed in the Rappahannock. A warm engagement ensued, in which the -tender was compelled to run, after meeting with a heavy loss. It was a -rude initiation into the mysteries of war, the fighting being of a -desperate, and almost of a personal character. This was one of those -combats that often occurred about this period, and in those waters, most -of them being close and sanguinary. - -In this affair, Dale received a severe wound, having been hit in the -head by a musket ball; with this wound he was confined several weeks at -Norfolk, during which time he had abundance of leisure to reflect on the -false step into which he had been persuaded, and to form certain -healthful resolutions for the future. To use his own words, in speaking -of this error of his early life, he determined “never again to put -himself in the way of the bullets of his own country.” This resolution, -however, it was necessary to conceal, if he would escape the horrors of -a prison-ship, and he “bided his time,” fully determined to take service -again under the American flag, at the first fitting opportunity. - -In the peculiar state of the two countries at the time, and with the -doubtful and contested morality of the misunderstanding, there was -nothing extraordinary in this incident. Similar circumstances occurred -to many men, who, with the best intentions and purest motives, saw, or -fancied they saw, reasons for changing sides in what, in their eyes, was -strictly a family quarrel. In the case of Dale, however, the feature -most worthy of comment was the singleness of mind and simple integrity -with which he used to confess his own error, together with the manner in -which he finally became a convert to the true political faith. No -narrative of the life of this respectable seaman would be complete, -without including this temporary wavering of purpose; nor would any -delineation of his character be just, that did not point out the candor -and sincerity with which he, in after life, admitted his fault. - -Dale was only in his twentieth year when he received this instructive -lesson from the “bullets of his countrymen.” From that time, he took -good care not to place himself again in their way, going, in June or -July, to Bermuda, on a more peaceable expedition, in company with -William Gutteridge, a relative of his beguiling friend. On the return -passage, the vessel was captured by the Lexington, the brig just -mentioned, then a successful cruiser, under the orders of Capt. John -Barry; an officer who subsequently died at the head of the service. This -occurred just after the Declaration of Independence, and Dale -immediately offered himself as a volunteer under the national flag. He -was received and rated as a midshipman within a few hours of his -capture. This was the commencement of Dale’s service in the regular navy -of his native country. It was also the commencement of his acquaintance -with the distinguished commander of the Lexington, whose friendship and -respect he enjoyed down to the day of the latter’s death. While the brig -was out, our midshipman had another narrow escape from death, having, -together with several others, been struck senseless by lightning during -a severe thunder storm. - -Barry made the capture just mentioned near the end of his cruise, and he -soon after went into Philadelphia, which place Dale now saw for the -first time. Here Barry left the Lexington to take command of the -Effingham 28, a ship that never got to sea, leaving our new midshipman -in the brig. Capt. Hallock was Barry’s successor, and he soon rated -Dale, by this time an active and skilful seaman, a master’s mate. Early -in the autumn, the Lexington sailed for Cape François, on special duty. -On her return, in the month of December, she fell in with the Pearl -frigate,[1] and was captured without resistance, carrying an armament of -only a few fours. - -As it was blowing very fresh at the moment this capture was made, the -Pearl took out of the prize four or five officers, threw a small crew on -board, and directed the brig to follow her. By some accounts Dale was -left in the Lexington, while by others he was not. A succinct history of -the events of his life, written by a connection under his own eye, and -which is now before us, gives the latter version of the affair, and is -probably the true one. At all events, the remaining officers and crew of -the Lexington rose upon the captors in the course of the night, retook -the brig, and carried her into Baltimore.[2] - -The English landed several of their prisoners on Cape Henlopen, in -January, 1777, under some arrangement that cannot now be explained, -though probably it was connected with an exchange for the men taken and -carried away in the prize. Among these was Dale, who made the best of -his way to Philadelphia, when he received orders to proceed to -Baltimore; which he obeyed, and rejoined his brig, the command of which -had now been transferred to Capt. Henry Johnston. - -The next service on which the Lexington was employed was in the European -seas. In March, she sailed from Baltimore for Bordeaux, with despatches. -On her arrival, this brig was attached to a small squadron under the -orders of Capt. Lambert Wickes, who was in the Reprisal 16, having under -his command also the Dolphin 10, Capt. Samuel Nicholson. This force of -little vessels accomplished a bold and destructive cruise, making the -entire circuit of Ireland, though it was eventually chased into a French -port by a line-of-battle ship. Its object was the interception of -certain linen-ships, which it missed; its success, however, in the main, -was such as to excite great alarm among the English merchants, and to -produce warm remonstrances to France, from their government. - -At this time France was not at war with England, although she secretly -favored and aided the cause of the revolted colonies. The appearance of -American cruisers in the narrow seas, however, gave rise to so many -complaints, as to induce the French government, in preference to pushing -matters to extremities, temporarily to sequester the vessels. The -Lexington was included in this measure, having been detained in port -more than two months; or, until security was given that she would quit -the European seas. This was done, and the brig got to sea again on the -18th September, 1777.[3] - -It is probable that the recent difficulties had some effect on the -amount of the military stores on board all three of the American -vessels. At all events, it is certain that the Lexington sailed with a -short supply of both powder and shot, particularly of the latter. The -very next day she made an English cutter lying-to, which was approached -with a confidence that could only have proceeded from a mistake as to -her character. This cutter proved to be a man-of-war, called the Alert, -commanded by Lieutenant, afterward Admiral Bazely, having a strong crew -on board, and an armament of ten sixes. - -In the action that ensued, and which was particularly well fought on the -part of the enemy, the Americans were, in a measure, taken by surprise. -So little were the latter prepared for the conflict, that not a match -was ready when the engagement commenced, and several broadsides were -fired by discharging muskets at the vents of the guns. The firing killed -the wind, and there being considerable sea on, the engagement became -very protracted, during which the Lexington expended most of her -ammunition. - -After a cannonading of two hours, believing his antagonist to be too -much crippled to follow, and aware of his own inability to continue the -action much longer, Capt. Johnston made sail, and left the cutter, under -favor of a breeze that just then sprung up. The Lexington left the Alert -rapidly at first, but the latter having bent new sails, and being the -faster vessel, in the course of three or four hours succeeded in getting -alongside again, and of renewing the engagement. This second struggle -lasted an hour, the fighting being principally on one side. After the -Lexington had thrown her last shot, had broken up and used all the iron -that could be made available as substitutes, and had three of her -officers and several of her men slain, besides many wounded, Capt. -Johnston struck his colors. The first lieutenant, marine officer, and -master of the Lexington were among the slain. - -By this accident Dale became a prisoner for the third time. This -occurred when he wanted just fifty days of being twenty-one years old. -On this occasion, however, he escaped unhurt, though the combat had been -both fierce and sanguinary. The prize was taken into Plymouth, and her -officers, after undergoing a severe examination, in order to ascertain -their birthplaces, were all thrown into Mill Prison, on a charge of high -treason. Here they found the common men; the whole being doomed to a -rigorous and painful confinement. - -Either from policy or cupidity, the treatment received by the Americans, -in this particular prison, was of a cruel and oppressive character. -There is no apology for excessive rigor, or, indeed, for any constraint -beyond that which is necessary to security, toward an uncondemned man. -Viewed as mere prisoners of war, the Americans might claim the usual -indulgence; viewed as subjects still to be tried, they were rightfully -included in that healthful maxim of the law, which assumes that all are -innocent until they are proved to be guilty. So severe were the -privations of the Americans on this occasion, however, that, in pure -hunger, they caught a stray dog one day, skinned, cooked and ate him, to -satisfy their cravings for food. Their situation at length attracted the -attention of the liberal; statements of their wants were laid before the -public, and an appeal was made to the humanity of the English nation. -This is always an efficient mode of obtaining assistance, and the large -sum of sixteen thousand pounds was soon raised; thereby relieving the -wants of the sufferers, and effectually effacing the stain from the -national escutcheon; by demonstrating that the sufferers found a -generous sympathy in the breasts of the public. But man requires more -than food and warmth. Although suffering no longer from actual want and -brutal maltreatment, Dale and his companions pined for liberty—to be -once more fighting the battles of their country. Seeing no hopes of an -exchange, a large party of the prisoners determined to make an attempt -at escape. A suitable place was selected, and a hole under a wall was -commenced. The work required secrecy and time. The earth was removed, -little by little, in the pockets of the captives, care being had to -conceal the place, until a hole of sufficient size was made to permit -the body of a man to pass through. It was a tedious process, for the -only opportunity which occurred to empty their pockets, was while the -Americans were exercising on the walls of their prison, for a short -period of each day. By patience and perseverance they accomplished their -purpose, however, every hour dreading exposure and defeat. - -When all was ready, Capt. Johnston, most of his officers, and several of -his crew, or, as many as were in the secret, passed through the hole, -and escaped. This was in February, 1778. The party wandered about the -country in company, and by night, for more than a week; suffering all -sorts of privations, until it was resolved to take the wiser course of -separating. Dale, accompanied by one other, found his way to London, -hotly pursued. At one time the two lay concealed under some straw in an -out-house, while the premises were searched by those who were in quest -of them. On reaching London, Dale and his companion immediately got on -board a vessel about to sail for Dunkirk. A press-gang unluckily took -this craft in its rounds, and suspecting the true objects of the -fugitives, they were arrested, and, their characters being ascertained, -they were sent back to Mill Prison in disgrace. - -This was the commencement of a captivity far more tedious than the -former. In the first place they were condemned to forty days’ -confinement in the black hole, as the punishment for the late escape; -and, released from this durance, they were deprived of many of their -former indulgences. Dale himself took his revenge in singing “rebel -songs,” and paid a second visit to the black hole, as the penalty. This -state of things, with alternations of favor and punishment, continued -quite a year, when Dale, singly, succeeded in again effecting his great -object of getting free. - -The mode in which this second escape was made is known, but the manner -by which he procured the means he refused to his dying day to disclose. -At all events, he obtained a full suit of British uniform, attired in -which, and seizing a favorable moment, he boldly walked past all the -sentinels, and got off. That some one was connected with his escape who -might suffer by his revelations is almost certain; and it is a trait in -his character worthy of notice, that he kept this secret, with -scrupulous fidelity, for forty-seven years. It is not known that he ever -divulged it even to any individual of his own family. - -Rendered wary by experience, Dale now proceeded with great address and -caution. He probably had money, as well as clothes. At all events, he -went to London, found means to procure a passport, and left the country -for France, unsuspected and undetected. On reaching a friendly soil, he -hastened to l’Orient, and joined the force then equipping under Paul -Jones, in his old rank of a master’s mate. Here he was actively employed -for some months, affording the commodore an opportunity to ascertain his -true merits, when they met with something like their just reward. As -Dale was now near twenty-three, and an accomplished seaman, Jones, after -trying several less competent persons, procured a commission for him -from the commissioners, and made him the first lieutenant of his own -ship, the justly celebrated Bon Homme Richard. - -It is not our intention, in this article, to enter any farther into the -incidents of this well known cruise, than is necessary to complete the -present subject. Dale does not appear in any prominent situation, though -always discharging the duties of his responsible station, with skill and -credit, until the squadron appeared off Leith, with the intention of -seizing that town—the port of Edinburgh—and of laying it under -contribution. On this occasion, our lieutenant was selected to command -the boats that were to land, a high compliment to so young a man, as -coming from one of the character of Paul Jones. Every thing was ready, -Dale had received his final orders, and was in the very act of -proceeding to the ship’s side to enter his boat, when a heavy squall -struck the vessels, and induced an order for the men to come on deck, -and assist in shortening sail. The vessels were compelled to bear up -before it, to save their spars; this carried them out of the firth; and, -a gale succeeding, the enterprise was necessarily abandoned. This gale -proved so heavy, that one of the prizes actually foundered. - -This attempt of Jones, while it is admitted to have greatly alarmed the -coast, has often been pronounced rash and inconsiderate. Such was not -the opinion of Dale. A man of singular moderation in his modes of -thinking, and totally without bravado, it was his conviction that the -effort would have been crowned with success. He assured the writer, -years after the occurrence, that he was about to embark in the -expedition with feelings of high confidence, and that he believed -nothing but the inopportune intervention of the squall stood between -Jones and a triumphant _coup de main_. - -A few days later, Jones made a secret proposal to his officers, which -some affirm was to burn the shipping at North Shields, but which the -commanders of two of his vessels strenuously opposed, in consequence of -which the project was abandoned. The commodore himself, in speaking of -the manner in which this and other similar propositions were received by -his subordinates, extolled the ardor invariably manifested by the young -men, among whom Dale was one of the foremost. Had it rested with them, -the attempts at least would all have been made. - -On the 19th September occurred the celebrated battle between the Serapis -and the Bon Homme Richard. As the proper place to enter fully into the -details of that murderous combat will be in the biography of Jones, we -shall confine ourselves at present to incidents with which the subject -of this memoir was more immediately connected. - -The Bon Homme Richard had finally sailed on this cruise with only two -proper sea-lieutenants on board her. There was a third officer of the -name of Lunt, who has been indifferently called a lieutenant and the -sailing-master, but who properly filled the latter station. This -gentleman had separated from the ship in a fog, on the coast of Ireland, -while in the pursuit of some deserters, and never rejoined the squadron. -Another person of the same name, and believed to be the brother of the -master, was the second lieutenant. He was sent in a pilot-boat, -accompanied by a midshipman and several men, to capture a vessel in -sight, before Jones made the Baltic fleet coming round Flamborough Head. -This party was not able to return to the Bon Homme Richard, until after -the battle had terminated. In consequence of these two circumstances, -each so novel in itself, the American frigate fought this bloody and -arduous combat with only one officer on board her, of the rank of a -sea-lieutenant, who was Dale. This is the reason why the latter is so -often mentioned as _the_ lieutenant of the Bon Homme Richard, during -that memorable fight. The fact rendered his duties more arduous and -diversified, and entitles him to the greater credit for their proper -performance. - -Dale was stationed on the gun-deck, where of course he commanded in -chief, though it appears that his proper personal division was the -forward guns. Until the ships got foul of each other, this brought him -particularly into the hottest of the work; the Serapis keeping much on -the bows, or ahead of the Bon Homme Richard. It is known that Jones was -much pleased with his deportment, which, in truth, was every way worthy -of his own. When the alarm was given that the ship was sinking, Dale -went below himself to ascertain the real state of the water, and his -confident and fearless report cheered the men to renewed exertions. -Shortly after, the supply of powder was stopped, when our lieutenant -again quitted his quarters to inquire into the cause. On reaching the -magazine passage he was told by the sentinels that they had closed the -ingress, on account of a great number of strange and foreign faces that -they saw around them. On further inquiry, Dale discovered that the -master at arms, of his own head, had let loose all the prisoners—more -than a hundred in number—under the belief that the ship was sinking. -Dale soon saw the danger which might ensue, but finding the English much -alarmed at the supposed condition of the ship, he succeeded in mustering -them, and setting them at work at the pumps, where, by their exertions, -they probably prevented the apprehended calamity. For some time, at the -close of the action, all his guns being rendered useless, Dale was -employed principally in this important service. There is no question -that without some such succor, the Richard would have gone down much -earlier than she did. It is a singular feature of this every-way -extraordinary battle, that here were Englishmen, zealously employed in -aiding the efforts of their enemies, under the cool control of a -collected and observant officer. - -At length the cheerful intelligence was received that the enemy had -struck. Dale went on deck, and immediately demanded Jones’ permission to -take possession of the prize. It was granted, and had he never -manifested any other act of personal intrepidity, his promptitude on -this occasion, and the manner in which he went to work, to attain his -purpose, would have shown him to be a man above personal considerations, -when duty or honor pointed out his course. The main-yard of the Serapis -was hanging a-cock-bill, over the side of the American ship. The brace -was shot away, and the pendant hung within reach. Seizing the latter, -Dale literally swung himself off, and alighted alone on the quarter-deck -of the Serapis. Here he found no one but the brave Pierson, who had -struck his own flag; but the men below were still ignorant of the act. -We may form an opinion of the risk that the young man ran, in thus -boarding his enemy at night, and in the confusion of such a combat, for -the English were still firing below, by the fact that Mr. Mayrant, a -young man of South Carolina, and a midshipman of the Bon Homme Richard, -who led a party after the lieutenant, was actually run through the thigh -by a boarding pike, and by the hands of a man in the waist below. - -The first act of Dale, on getting on the quarter deck of the Serapis, -was to direct her captain to go on board the American ship. While thus -employed, the English first lieutenant came up from below, and finding -that the Americans had ceased their fire, he demanded if they had -struck. “No, sir,” answered Dale, “it is this ship that has struck, and -you are my prisoner.” An appeal to Capt. Pierson confirming this, the -English lieutenant offered to go below and silence the remaining guns of -the Serapis. To this Dale objected, and had both the officers passed on -board the Bon Homme Richard. In a short time, the English below were -sent from their guns, and full possession was obtained of the prize. - -As more men were soon sent from the Bon Homme Richard, the two ships -were now separated, the Richard making sail, and Jones ordering Dale to -follow with the prize. A sense of fatigue had come over the latter, in -consequence of the reaction of so much excitement and so great -exertions, and he took a seat on the binnacle. Here he issued an order -to brace the head yards aback, and to put the helm down. Wondering that -the ship did not pay off, he directed that the wheel-ropes should be -examined. It was reported that they were not injured, and that the helm -was hard down. Astonished to find the ship immovable under such -circumstances, there being a light breeze, Dale sprang upon his feet, -and then discovered, for the first time, that he had been severely -wounded, by a splinter, in the foot and ankle. The hurt, now that he was -no longer sustained by the excitement of battle, deprived him of the use -of his leg, and he fell. Just at this moment, Mr. Lunt, the officer who -had been absent in the pilot-boat, reached the Richard, and Dale was -forced to give up to him the command of the prize. The cause of the -Serapis’ not minding her helm was the fact that Capt. Pierson had -dropped an anchor under foot when the two ships got foul; a circumstance -of which the Americans were ignorant until this moment. - -Dale was some time laid up with his wound, but he remained with Jones in -his old station of first lieutenant, accompanying that officer, in the -Alliance, from the Texel to l’Orient. In the controversy which ensued -between the commodore and Landais, our lieutenant took sides warmly with -the first, and even offered to head a party to recover the Alliance, by -force. This measure not being resorted to, he remained with Jones, and -finally sailed with him for America, as his first lieutenant, in the -Ariel 20, a ship lent to the Americans, by the King of France. - -The Ariel quitted port in October, 1780, but encountered a tremendous -gale of wind off the Penmarks. Losing her masts, she was compelled to -return to refit. On this occasion Dale, in his responsible situation of -first lieutenant, showed all the coolness of his character, and the -resources of a thorough seaman. The tempest was almost a hurricane, and -of extraordinary violence. The Ariel sailed a second time about the -commencement of the year 1781, and reached Philadelphia on the 18th -February. During the passage home, she had a short action, in the night, -with a heavy British letter-of-marque, that gave her name as the -Triumph; and which ship is said to have struck, but to have made her -escape by treachery. Jones, who was greedy of glory, even fancied that -his enemy was a vessel of war, and that he had captured a vessel of at -least equal force. This was not Dale’s impression. He spoke of the -affair to the writer of this article, as one of no great moment, even -questioning whether their antagonist struck at all; giving it as his -belief she was a quick-working and fast-sailing letter-of-marque. He -distinctly stated that she got off by out-manœuvring the Ariel, which -vessel was badly manned, and had an exceedingly mixed and disaffected -crew. It is worthy of remark that, while two articles, enumerating the -services of Dale, have been written by gentlemen connected with himself, -and possessing his confidence, neither mentions this affair; a proof, in -itself, that Dale considered it one of little moment. - -The account which Dale always gave of the meeting between the Ariel and -Triumph—admitting such to have been the name of the English ship—so -different from that which has found its way into various publications, -on the representation of other actors in that affair, is illustrative of -the character of the man. Simple of mind, totally without exaggeration, -and a lover, as well as a practicer, of severe truth, he was a man whose -representations might be fully relied on. Even in his account of the -extraordinary combat between the Richard and Serapis, he stripped the -affair of all its romance, and of every thing that was wonderful; -rendering the whole clear, simple and intelligible as his own thoughts. -The only narratives of that battle, worthy of a seaman, have been -written rigidly after his explanations, which leave it a bloody and -murderous fight, but one wholly without the marvelous. - -On his arrival at Philadelphia, after an absence of four years, more -than one of which had been spent in prison, Dale was just twenty-four -years and two months old. He was now regularly put on the list of -lieutenants, by the marine committee of Congress; his former authority -proceeding from the agents of the government in Europe. It is owing to -this circumstance that the register of government places him so low as a -lieutenant. Dale now parted from Paul Jones, with whom he had served -near two years; and that, too, in some of the most trying scenes of the -latter’s life. The commodore was anxious to take his favorite lieutenant -with him to the America 74; but the latter declined the service, under -the impression it would be a long time before the ship got to sea. He -judged right, the America being transferred to the French in the end, -and Jones himself never again sailing under the American flag. - -The name of Dale will inseparably be connected with the battle of the -Richard and Serapis. His prominent position and excellent conduct -entitle him to this mark of distinction, and it says much for the -superior, when it confers fame to have been “Paul Jones’ first -lieutenant.” We smile, however, at the legends of the day, when we -recall the account of the “Lieutenants Grubb” and other heroes of -romance, who have been made to figure in the histories of that renowned -combat, and place them in contrast with the truth-loving, sincere, moral -and respectable subject of this memoir. The sword which Louis XVI. -bestowed on Jones, for this victory, passed into the hands of Dale, and -is now the property of a gallant son, a fitting mark of the services of -the father, on the glorious occasion it commemorates.[4] - -Dale was employed on board a schooner that was manned from the Ariel, -after reaching Philadelphia, and sent down the Delaware to convoy -certain public stores. The following June, he joined the Trumbull 28, -Captain Nicholson, as her first lieutenant. The Trumbull left the capes -of the Delaware on the 8th August, 1781, being chased off the land by -three of the enemy’s cruisers. The weather was squally and night set in -dark. In endeavoring to avoid her pursuers, the Trumbull found herself -alongside of the largest, a frigate of thirty-two guns, and an action -was fought under the most unfavorable circumstances. The Trumbull’s -fore-topmast was hanging over, or rather through her forecastle, her -crew was disorganized, and the vessel herself in a state of no -preparation for a conflict with an equal force; much less with that -actually opposed to her. The officers made great exertions, and -maintained an action of more than an hour, when the colors of the -American ship were struck to the Iris 32, and Monk 18. The former of -these vessels had been the American frigate Hancock, and the latter was -subsequently captured in the Delaware, by Barney in the Hyder Ally. - -This was the fourth serious affair in which Dale had been engaged that -war, and the fourth time he had been captured. As he was hurt also in -this battle, it made the third of his wounds. His confinement, however, -was short, and the treatment not a subject of complaint. He was taken -into New York, paroled on Long Island, and exchanged in November. - -No new service offering in a marine which, by this time, had lost most -of its ships, Dale obtained a furlough, and joined a large -letter-of-marque called the Queen of France, that carried twelve guns, -as her first officer. Soon after he was appointed to the command of the -same vessel. In the spring of 1782, this ship, in company with several -other letters-of-marque, sailed for France, making many captures by the -way. The ship of Dale, however, parted from the fleet, and, falling in -with an English privateer of fourteen guns, a severe engagement -followed, in which both parties were much cut up; they parted by mutual -consent. Dale did not get back to Philadelphia until February of the -succeeding year, or until about the time that peace was made. - -In common with most of the officers of the navy, Lieutenant Dale was -disbanded, as soon as the war ceased. He was now in the twenty-seventh -year of his age, with a perfect knowledge of his profession, in which he -had passed more than half his life, a high reputation for his rank, a -courage that had often been tried, a body well scarred, a character -beyond reproach, and not altogether without “money in his purse.” Under -the circumstances, he naturally determined to follow up his fortunes in -the line in which he had commenced his career. He became part owner of a -large ship, and sailed in her for London, December, 1783, in the station -of master. After this, he embarked successfully in the East India trade, -in the same character, commanding several of the finest ships out of the -country. In this manner he accumulated a respectable fortune, and began -to take his place among the worthies of the land in a new character. - -In September, 1791, Mr. Dale was married to Dorothy Crathorne, the -daughter of another respectable ship-master of Philadelphia, and then a -ward of Barry’s. With this lady he passed the remainder of his days, she -surviving him as his widow, and dying some years later than himself. No -change in his pursuits occurred until 1794, when the new government -commenced the organization of another marine, which has resulted in that -which the country now possesses. - -Dale was one of the six captains appointed under the law of 1794, that -directed the construction of as many frigates, with a view to resist the -aggressions of Algiers. Each of the new captains was ordered to -superintend the construction of one of the frigates, and Dale, who was -fifth in rank, was directed to assume the superintendence of the one -laid down at Norfolk, virtually the place of his nativity. This ship was -intended to be a frigate of the first class, but, by some mistake in her -moulds, she proved in the end to be the smallest of the six vessels then -built. It was the unfortunate Chesapeake, a vessel that never was in a -situation to reflect much credit on the service. Her construction, -however, was deferred, in consequence of an arrangement with Algiers, -and her captain was put on furlough. - -Dale now returned to the China trade, in which he continued until the -spring of 1798. The last vessel he commanded was called the Ganges. She -was a fine, fast ship, and the state of our relations with France -requiring a hurried armament, the government bought this vessel, in -common with several others, put an armament of suitable guns in her, -with a full crew, gave her to Dale, and ordered her on the coast as a -regular cruiser. - -In consequence of this arrangement, Capt. Dale was the first officer who -ever got to sea under the pennant of the present navy. He sailed in May, -1798, and was followed by the Constellation and Delaware in a few days. -The service of Dale in his new capacity was short, however, in -consequence of some questions relating to rank. The captains appointed -in 1794 claimed their old places, and, it being uncertain what might be -the final decision of the government, as there were many aspirants, Dale -declined serving until the matter was determined. In May, 1799, he -sailed for Canton again, in command of a strong letter-of-marque, under -a furlough. On his return from this voyage he found his place on the -list settled according to his own views of justice and honor, and -reported himself for service. Nothing offered, however, until the -difficulties with France were arranged; but, in May, 1801, he was -ordered to take command of a squadron of observation about to be sent to -the Mediterranean. - -Dale now hoisted his broad pennant, for the first and only time, and -assumed the title by which he was known for the rest of his days. He was -in the prime of life, being in his forty-fifth year, of an active, manly -frame, and had every prospect before him of a long and honorable -service. The ships put under his orders were the President 44, Capt. -James Barron; Philadelphia 38, Capt. Samuel Barron; Essex 32, Capt. -William Bainbridge; and Enterprise 12, Lieut. Com. Sterrett. A better -appointed, or a better commanded force, probably never sailed from -America. But there was little to do, under the timid policy and -defective laws of the day. War was not supposed to exist, although -hostilities did; and vessels were sent into foreign seas with crews -shipped for a period that would scarcely allow of a vessel’s being got -into proper order. - -The squadron sailed June 1st, 1801, and reached Gibraltar July 1st. The -Philadelphia blockaded the Tripolitan admiral, with two cruisers, in -Gibraltar, while the other vessels went aloft. A sharp action occurred -between the Enterprise and a Tripolitan of equal force, in which the -latter was compelled to submit, but was allowed to go into her own port -again, for want of legal authority to detain her. Dale appeared off -Tripoli, endeavored to negotiate a little about an exchange of -prisoners, and did blockade the port; but his orders fettered him in a -way to prevent any serious enterprises. In a word, no circumstances -occurred to allow the commodore to show his true character, except as it -was manifested in his humanity, prudence and dignity. As a superior, he -obtained the profound respect of all under his orders, and to this day -his name is mentioned with regard by those who then served under him. It -is thought that this squadron did much toward establishing the high -discipline of the marine. In one instance only had Dale an opportunity -of manifesting his high personal and professional qualities. The -President struck a rock in quitting Port Mahon, and for some hours she -was thought to be in imminent danger of foundering. Dale assumed the -command, and one of his lieutenants, himself subsequently a flag officer -of rare seamanship and merit, has often recounted to the writer his -admiration of the commodore’s coolness, judgment, and nerve, on so -trying an occasion. The ship was carried to Toulon, blowing a gale, and, -on examination, it was found that she was only saved from destruction by -the skilful manner in which the wood ends had been secured. - -The vigilance of Dale was so great, however, and his dispositions so -skilful, that the Tripolitans made no captures while he commanded in -those seas. In March, 1802, he sailed for home, under his orders, -reaching Hampton Roads in April, after a cruise of about ten months. The -succeeding autumn, Com. Dale received an order to hold himself in -readiness to resume the command from which he had just returned. Ever -ready to serve his country, when it could be done with honor, he would -cheerfully have made his preparations accordingly, but, by the order -itself, he ascertained that he was to be sent out without a captain in -his own ship. This, agreeably to the notions he entertained, was a -descent in the scale of rank, and he declined serving on such terms. -There being no alternative between obedience and resignation, he chose -the latter, and quitted the navy. At this time, he was the third captain -on the list, and it is no more than justice to say, that he stood second -to no other in the public estimation. - -Dale never went to sea again. Possessed of an ample fortune, and -possessing the esteem of all who knew him, he commanded the respect of -those with whom he differed in opinion touching the question which drove -him from the navy. With the latter he never quarreled, for, at the -proper period, he gave to it his two elder sons. To the last he retained -his interest in its success, and his care of mariners, in general, -extended far beyond the interests of this life. - -Many years previously to his death, Com. Dale entered into full -communion with the Protestant Episcopal Church, of which he proved a -consistent and pious member. Under the newly awakened feelings which -induced this step, he was the originater of a Mariner’s Church, in -Philadelphia, attending it in person, every Sunday afternoon, for a long -succession of years. He was as free with his purse, too, as with his -time; and his charities, though properly concealed, were believed to be -large and discriminating. With some it may be deemed a matter of moment, -with all it should be a proof of the estimation in which Dale was held -by certainly a very respectable part of his fellow citizens, that he was -named to be the first president of the Washington Benevolent Society; an -association that soon degenerated to serve the ends of party politics, -whatever may have been the design that influenced the few with which it -originated. - -The evening of the life of Dale was singularly peaceful and happy. It -was as calm as its morning had been tempestuous. It is true he had to -weep for the loss of his first-born son, a noble youth, who died of -wounds received in the action between his old ship, the President, and a -British squadron; but he had given the young man to his country, and -knew how to bear up under the privation. He died, himself, in the -seventieth year of his age, in his dwelling at Philadelphia, February -26th, 1826; departing in peace with God and man, as he fondly trusted -himself, and as those who survive have every reason to hope. - -By his marriage with Miss Crathorne, Com. Dale had several children, -five of whom lived to become men and women, viz. three sons and two -daughters. Of the former, Richard, the eldest, fell, at an early age, a -midshipman on board the President. John Montgomery, the second, is now a -commander in the navy, having served with Warrington, in the last -English war. This gentleman is married to a lady of the well known -family of Willing. Edward Crathorne, the youngest son, is a merchant of -Philadelphia. He is married and has children. The eldest daughter, -Sarah, married T. M’Kean Pettit, Esq., a judge of the District Court, in -Philadelphia, and is dead, leaving issue. Elizabeth, the youngest, is -the wife of Com. George Campbell Reed, of the navy, and has no issue. - -In considering the character of Dale, we are struck with its simple -modesty and frank sincerity, quite as much as with its more brilliant -qualities. His courage and constancy were of the highest order, -rendering him always equal to the most critical duties, and never -wearying in their performance. Such a man is perfectly free from all -exaggeration. As he was not afraid to act when his cooler judgment -approved, he had no distrusts to overcome ere he could forbear, as -prudence dictated. Jones found him a man ready and willing to second all -his boldest and most hazardous attempts, so long as reason showed the -probabilities of success; but the deed done, none more thoroughly -stripped it of all false coloring, or viewed it in a truer light than he -who had risked his life in aiding to achieve it. - -The person of Dale was in harmony with his moral qualities. It was -manly, seaman-like, and of singularly respectable bearing. Simplicity, -good faith, truth and courage were imprinted on his countenance, which -all who were thrown into his company soon discovered was no more than -the mirror of his mind. The navy has had more brilliant intellects, -officers of profounder mental attainments, and of higher natural gifts, -but it has had few leaders of cooler judgment, sounder discretion, more -inflexible justice, or indomitable resolution. He was of a nature, an -experience, and a professional skill to command respect and to inspire -confidence, tributes that were cheerfully paid by all who served under -his orders. The writer of this article has had extensive opportunities -of hearing character discussed among the sea-officers of his country; -few escape criticism, of some sort or other, for their professional -acts, and fewer still, as men; yet he cannot recall a single instance in -which he has ever heard a whisper of complaint against the public or -private career of Richard Dale. This total exemption from the usual -fortunes of the race may, in part, be owing to the shortness of the -latter’s service in the present marine, and to the limited acquaintance -of his cotemporaries, but it is difficult to believe that it is not -chiefly to be ascribed to the thoroughly seaman-like character of the -officer, and to the perfect truth and sterling probity of the man. - ------ - -[1] This ship has been differently stated to have been the Liverpool and -the Pearl. We follow what we think the best authorities. - -[2] The prize-officer of the Lexington was a young American, of a highly -respectable family, then an acting lieutenant in the English navy. His -prisoners seized an occasion to rise, at a moment when he had gone below -for an instant, in consequence of which he was dismissed the service; -living the remainder of his life, and dying, in his native country. - -[3] It is a curious feature of the times, that, the French ordering the -Americans to quit their ports with their prizes, the latter were taken -out a short distance to sea and sold, Frenchmen becoming the purchasers, -and finding means to secure the property. - -[4] This sword has, quite recently, become the subject of public -discussion, and of some private feeling, under circumstances not wholly -without interest to the navy and the country. At page 63, vol. 2, of -Mackenzie’s Life of Paul Jones, is the following note, viz.: - - “This sword was sent by Jones’ heirs to his valued friend, - Robert Morris, to whose favor he had owed his opportunities of - distinguishing himself. Mr. Morris gave the sword to the navy of - the United States. It was to be retained and worn by the senior - officer, and transmitted at his death, to his successor. After - passing through the hands of Commodore Barry, _and one or two - other senior officers_, it came into possession of Commodore - Dale, and now remains in his family, through some mistake in the - nature of the bequest, which seems to require that it should - either be restored to the navy in the person of its senior - officer, or else revert to the heirs of Mr. Robert Morris, from - one of whom the writer has received this information.” - - That Captain Mackenzie has been correctly informed as to a - portion of the foregoing statement, is as probable as it is - certain he has been misled as to the remainder. It would have - been more discreet, however, in a writer to have heard both - sides, previously to laying such a statement before the world. A - very little inquiry might have satisfied him that Commodore Dale - could not have held any thing as the senior officer of the navy, - since he never occupied that station. We believe the following - will be found to be accurate. - - Of the manner in which Commodore Barry became possessed of this - sword we know nothing beyond report, and the statement of - Captain Mackenzie. We understand that a female member of the - Morris family gives a version of the affair like that published - in the note we have quoted, but the accuracy of her - recollections can hardly be put in opposition to the _acts_ of - such men as Barry and Dale. - - The sword never passed through the hands “_of one or two other - senior officers_,” as stated by Captain Mackenzie, at all. It - was bequeathed by Commodore Barry to Commodore Dale, in his - will, and in the following words, viz. - - “Item, I give and bequeath to my good friend Captain Richard - Dale, _my_ gold-hilted sword, as a token of my esteem for him.” - - We have carefully examined the will, inventory, &c. of Commodore - Barry. The first is dated February 27, 1803; the will is proved - and the inventory filed in the following September, in which - month Commodore Barry died. Now, Commodore Dale was not in the - navy at all, when this sword was bequeathed to him, nor when he - received it. Dale resigned in the autumn of 1802; and he never - rose nearer to the head of the list of captains, than to be the - third in rank; Barry, himself, and Samuel Nicholson, being his - seniors, when he resigned. - - The inventory of Commodore Barry’s personal property is very - minute, containing articles of a value as low as one dollar. It - mentions _two_ swords, both of which are specifically - bequeathed—viz. “_my_ gold-hilted” and “_my_ silver-hilted - sword.” No allusion is made in the will to any trust. Only these - two swords were found among the assets, and each was delivered - agreeably to the bequest. The gold-hilted sword was known in the - family, as the “Paul Jones sword,” and there is not the smallest - doubt Commodore Barry intended to bequeath this particular - sword, in full property, to Commodore Dale. - - Let us next look to the probabilities of the case. The heirs of - Paul Jones, who left no issue, gave the sword to Robert Morris, - says Captain Mackenzie, as a mark of gratitude. This may very - well be true. But Mr. Morris “gave the sword to the navy of the - United States,” to be retained and worn by its senior officer. - It would have been a more usual course to have lodged the sword - in the Navy Department, had such been the intention. That - Commodore Barry did not view _his_ possession of the sword in - this light, is clear enough by his will. He gave it, _without_ - restraint of any sort, to a friend who was not in the navy at - all, and who never had been its senior officer. This he did, in - full possession of his mind and powers, six months before he - died, and under circumstances to render any misconception highly - improbable. - - Can we find any motive for the bequest of Commodore Barry? It - was not personal to himself, as the sword went out of his own - family. The _other sword_ he gave to a brother-in-law. “Paul - Jones’ sword” was bequeathed to a distinguished professional - friend—to one who, of all others, next to Jones himself, had - the best professional right to wear it—to “Paul Jones’ first - lieutenant.” Commodore Dale did leave sons, and some in the - navy; and the country will believe that the one who now owns the - sword has as good a moral right to wear it, as the remote - collaterals of Jones, and a much better right than the senior - officer of the navy, on proof as vague as that offered. His - _legal_ right to the sword seems to be beyond dispute. - - In the inventory of Commodore Barry’s personals, this sword is - thus mentioned, viz.—“a very elegant gold-hilted sword—$300.” - The other sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a handsome - silver-hilted, do. $100.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SERENADE. - - - Beneath a bower, where poplar branches long - Embracing wove Seclusion o’er the abode - Of hermit sage, what time the full moon rode - ’Mid spectre clouds her star-paved streets along, - Rose on the listening air a plaintive song, - Sweet as the harmony of an angel’s lyre, - And soft as sweet; breathed heavenward from a quire - Of Beauty, hid the encircling shades among. - Of mysteries high, I ween, that sage had dreamed— - Who now, upstarting, clasps his hands to hear - The _mystic notes of Nature’s Anthem_ clear, - Which holiest bards have heard and heavenly deemed! - ’Tis even thus as to that sage it seemed— - ’Tis Beauty makes the dreams of Wisdom, dear! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIDOW OF NEWBURY. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE.” - - -’Twas the eve of Newbury fair, and the time near the close of the long -reign of Harry the Eighth, after monasteries were suppressed. Reform -stalked through the land—all things were turned topsy-turvy—abbots and -monks beggared, that poor lords might thrive—priests permitted -marriage, and nuns driven from their pleasant retreats, were forced to -spin for a livelihood. But amid the greater marvels, the townspeople of -Newbury had often leisure to ask why Mistress Avery remained so long a -widow. - -Sitting in her embowered porch, watching the cavalcade of merchants, -buffoons and jugglers, on their way to the encampment and site of the -morrow’s revels, she attracted many a longing eye. The merchant, whose -wandering vocation led him from ancient Byzantium to the shores of the -Thames, who came to Newbury to exchange rich silks and foreign jewelry -for broadcloth, as he rode by the capacious square tenement, with its -deep, embayed windows of dark chesnut-wood, and caught a glimpse of the -fair owner, sighed when contrasting his own desolate, wandering lot with -that of the fortunate wooer of the rich, comely widow. Mistress Avery -was relict of the richest clothier of Newbury, who, dying, left her in -sole possession of looms, lands, tenements and leases. Handsome, young, -brisk, with riches unquestionable, she attracted tender regards from all -quarters—even the proud gentry of Berkshire, with genealogical tree -rooting from Norman marauder, far back as the conquest, disdained not an -alliance garnished with broad manors, woods of a century’s growth, and -goodly array of tenements, of which our widow held fee-simple. But when -pressed successively by belted knight and worshipful esquire, she -courteously declined their offers, alleging she was bent on marrying one -of her own class in life, (if she should change condition,) one who -could take upon himself, without degradation, the task of superintending -the looms. High born swains repulsed, the field was open to gallants of -lowlier rank. But these faring no better, and incurring the ridicule of -neighbors, suitors became shy and reserved, seeking to extract token of -favor ere they avowed themselves. If the curate called, ’twas merely an -inquiry after her soul’s health—the inquiry perhaps linked to a request -that she would, from her stores of boundless wealth, add a trifle to the -contributions of the poor’s box. The lawyer had his ever ready and -undeniable excuses for visiting—leases there were to sign, indentures -to cancel. Nor was the tailor barred his plea—was there not much -broadcloth yearly fashioned into apparel for lusty serving-man, active -apprentice? - -Behind Mistress Avery, as she sat gazing at the straggling pageantry, -there loitered in hall and doorway the apprentices and domestic servants -of the household. Distinguished amongst his companions, by superior -stature, stood John Winehcomb, chief apprentice. To him the widow oft -turned with remark on passing stranger; the soft regard thrown into her -address would have excused boldness in one far less favored by nature -than the apprentice, but his answers were submissive, modest, even -bashful. An acute observer might perhaps have detected a shade of -discontent on the widow’s handsome features, perhaps, as fancifully, -attributed it to the coyness and reserve of young Winehcomb; and, -indeed, as revolving months lengthened the period of widowhood, there -had not been wanting whispers, that ’Prentice John stood a fairer chance -with his mistress than all the knights or reputable burgher citizens and -yeomen of the county. His appearance certainly did not gainsay the -rumor—he had completed his twentieth year, health flushed his cheeks, -honesty and intelligence stamped his looks—the features were bold and -decided, though of modest expression. In character, he was one of those -gifted youths, in whom strict attention and unvarying promptitude supply -the place of experience, and who acquire the management and conduct of -business, in ordinary cases, rarely entrusted to men of mature years. -The clothier, when dying, recommended his spouse to confide business -affairs to John—she had done so; in the factory and with the workmen -’Prentice John was all and everything—from his word ’twas useless to -appeal. - -But when young Winehcomb’s credit with Mistress Avery was canvassed, the -gossips were at a loss to affix on decisive marks of favor or -tenderness. ’Tis true, he accompanied her to church, but so did the -other apprentices—walked by her side, sat next his mistress during -prayers, his arm was accepted, his hand arranged the cushions—but then, -was he not chief apprentice, would it not be slighting to prefer the -services of a junior? Look narrowly at his conduct—there were none of -the characteristics of a favored swain, no semblance of behavior -indicating one presumptuous of the honor, nor could the absence of these -tokens be attributed to natural timidity in the presence of the sex, for -at country meetings and fairs, where hoydenish romping was the usual -diversion of youth, John participated in rustic gallantries. Yet, sooth -to say, though the gossips were at fault, they were not wrong in their -conjectures; the widow was deeply in love with ’Prentice John, for his -sake had dismissed high-born suitors, wealthy citizens, and, we need -hardly say, (though scrupulously regardful of reputation,) had given him -many hints, which, alas! he was slow to understand. It might be -inexperience, want of self-confidence, or innate modesty, which withheld -the youth from tracing her encouragement to its real motive; but from -whatever cause, Mistress Avery, who had a very high opinion of her own -personal attractions, knew he must be perfectly well acquainted with her -riches, was greatly perplexed with his diffidence, his want of -susceptibility, and concluded the apprentice must be in love elsewhere -to withstand such allurements. - -One while, racked with jealousy, determined in very spite and vexation -to accept the offer of the first suitor, the next hour affection gained -the ascendancy, and she resolved to declare her love. But pride took -fire and caused a tumult in the heart, of which young Winehcomb, the -unconscious origin, was little aware. How provoking the calmness of his -replies, the quiet gaze which met her impassioned glance! Oft with -difficulty she refrained from bestowing a hearty cuff on the cold youth, -object of fond desire—as often, and with greater difficulty, did she -refrain from tenderer salute. To-morrow shall put this wilful-headed boy -to the test! If his heart be engaged, it is more than likely he has made -an assignation, which I will frustrate! So thought Mistress Avery, -revolving a scheme to bring young Diffidence on his knees, or to a -direct confession that he loved another. Under pretence of making -inquiries respecting the description of merchandise then passing the -house, borne on a long train of pack-horses, under conduct of merchants -of foreign aspect, the widow beckoned the apprentice (who was standing -at respectful distance, beneath the threshold, with his fellow -apprentices) to approach her chair, placed outside the house under cover -of the overarching porch. - -“John!” said the dame, fixing her large eyes on the youth, “I warrant -there is store enough of trinkets and finery in yon bales to satisfy the -wants of every maiden in Newbury. Happy the youth whose wages are -unspent, for to-morrow, by ’r Lady! he might buy the love of the most -hard-hearted damsel. Certes, no swain need die of love, if he have money -in his purse!” - -“If the love were bought by those foreign pedlar wares, it would not be -much for a Newbury lad to boast of,” replied the young man, -blushing—for the gaze of his mistress was keen and ardent. - -“Are the lads of Newbury then so disinterested, Master John,” exclaimed -the widow. “Well! I will put one, at least, to the proof. I must walk -through the fair, if only to chat with my tenants’ wives from Spene and -Thatcham, and shall need your protection, for these strange foreigners -may be rude, and Cicely is such a coward she would run away.” - -Mrs. Avery was rather baffled by the result of her own feint; for, -contrary to expectation, she could discover neither chagrin nor -disappointment; the apprentice answered cheerfully, he should be proud -to attend on his honored mistress, and would not forget a good cudgel, -more than a match for any foreigner’s steel—nay, to ensure her from -insult, he would bring all his fellow apprentices. This was more than -the lady desired. She was again puzzled, and declined, rather pettishly, -the extra corps of gallants, volunteered by the apprentice, more -especially, as she affirmed that it was contrary to the letter and -spirit of their indentures, which guaranteed festival and fair-days to -be at their own disposal. But they would gladly abandon the privilege to -do her service, rejoined the pertinacious and simple youth, with -ill-timed assiduity. - -“Fool!” muttered the widow between her teeth, but not so indistinctly as -to pass unheard by the apprentice, who immediately drew back abashed. - -A bright morrow gladdened the hearts of the good folk of Newbury. The -morn was occupied in the sale and purchase of commodities—the staple -article of the town was readily exchanged for foreign merchandise, or -broad Spanish pieces, as suited the inclination of the parties dealing. -These were busy hours for young Winehcomb and his associates, but amply -redeemed by the gayety and attractive dissipation of the afternoon. In -walking through the fair, Mistress Avery leaned on the youth’s arm, an -honor envied the apprentice by many an anxious, would-be suitor. Ere -growing tired of the drollery of the jugglers, mountebanks and buffoons, -or the more serious spectacle of the scenic moralites, they encountered -Master Luke Milner, the attorney, who thought the opportunity should not -be thrown away of endeavoring to gain the widow’s good graces. Master -Luke believed his chance very fair—he was of good family, on the -youthful side of thirty, but exceedingly foppish, after the style of the -London gallants, but caricatured—too many ribbons on doublet, too many -jewels on beaver, shoes garnished with roses large as sunflowers. “The -worshipful attorney will never do for me,” thought Mistress Avery! She -had often thought so, and was blind to many courtesies and compliments -which the learned man ventured to throw in with his legal opinions. But -now she had a part to play, a stratagem to practice on the feelings of -young Winehcomb. Love, like hunger, will break through every restraint; -she scrupled not making the lawyer’s vanity subservient to her policy, -and, accordingly, listened to his flattery with more than ordinary -attention, keeping an eye, the while, on ’Prentice John, to observe the -effect of the legal gallant’s honeyed speeches. Alas! for poor, -love-stricken Mistress Avery—no burning jealousy flushed the cheek of -John—lightened in his eye, or trembled through his frame! Hearing the -conversation grow each moment more interesting and tender, believing -himself one too many, he politely retired to a respectful distance. Was -he so cold and insensible, the handsome blockhead? soliloquized Mistress -Avery, heedless of the lawyer’s flowing speeches—I will break the -indentures—banish him the house! The wretch! - -Not cold, not insensible, Mistress Avery, for see! Even whilst he -loiters, there approaches a party from the village of Spene, with whom -our apprentice is intimate—he laughs, chats with the young men and -maidens, and finally, as the mirth grows more uproarious, salutes a very -handsome, fresh colored, smart young damsel. The dame, who witnessed the -scene, stung with jealousy, believing her suspicions confirmed, broke -off abruptly, whilst Master Luke was at the very _acme_ of his tender -theme; leaving the astonished gallant, cap in hand, to the derision of -acquaintance, who sarcastically advised him to repair the loss by writ -of error. - - - CHAPTER II. - -Though the widow took no notice of the incident which aroused her -jealousy, John was made sensible he had incurred her displeasure. She -walked silent, moody, reserved, scarcely replied to his remarks; her -large, dark eye flashed anger, but the apprentice, though awed, was -struck with its beauty, more struck than he had ever been. It was a new -sensation he experienced. He inwardly deprecated the threatened wrath, -wondered by what sad mischance he had incurred it, was more tremblingly -alive to her resentment, than when oft-times—during the course of -apprenticeship—conscious of deserving it. A strange, uneasy feeling -began to haunt him—he was sensible of loss of favor, and though, after -taxing memory, unconscious of merited disgrace—was surprised, -inquieted, by the deep dejection of spirits under which he labored. It -seemed as though he had incurred a loss, of which he knew not the extent -till now. His arm trembled, and she snappishly rebuked his unsteadiness; -he again encountered her glance—it was wild, angry, fierce, yet he felt -he could have looked forever. - -They were opposite one of those temporary taverns, erected for the -accommodation of the higher classes frequenting the fair—tricked out -with gaudy splendor, yet affording delicious viands, choice wines to -wearied strollers. It so happened that, passing by the open doorway, -their progress was arrested by Master Nathaniel Buttress, the wealthy -tanner—mean, avaricious, advanced in years, yet ardently longing to add -the widow’s possessions to his own accumulated riches. With studied bow, -and precise flourish of beaver, he bade Mistress Avery good day, and -followed up the salute by invitation to sip a glass of sack, the -fashionable beverage of the time. At fair-season, there was not the -slightest impropriety, either in the offer, or its acceptation—it was -quite in the usual license of these festivals. But ’Prentice John was -doubly surprised; in the first place, that the miserly tanner (his -niggardliness was proverbial) should have screwed up courage to treat -any one with the high-priced nectar—and that his arm, which he -gallantly offered, should have been accepted with alacrity by the fair -dame, who, our apprentice was aware, had oft made devious circuits, on -many occasions, to elude a meeting. Young Winehcomb found himself, -lacquey-fashion, following in the rear. He was deeply mortified—such -circumstance had never happened before—yet, though vexed, the annoyance -was only secondary to extreme surprise at the character of his own -feelings. He had valued highly the good will, kind words, and occasional -gifts of the lady, as proofs of favor, founded on his honesty, diligence -and promptitude, or, at least, without deeply analizing his feelings, -believed that in such spirit he received them. But now, smarting under -disgrace, it seemed as though lost favor was dear for its own -sake—bereft of smiles to which he had been insensible till the present -hour, he was unhappy, miserable. ’Prentice John had great difficulty in -withholding his cudgel from the tanner’s back, but though he gave him -not a beating, he mentally promised one. Master Buttress, elated with -good fortune, was more vain-glorious than cautious; unlike prudent -lover, uncertain of continuance of sudden favor, dreading loss of -vantage ground, snatched by eager rivals, he escorted the dame to a -conspicuous seat, whence they could behold the fair, from whence his -favored lot was visible to all. The ready drawers, ere ardor called, -hastened to place before the guests a tray laden with costly delicacies, -crowned with silver flagon full of the favorite potation. Young -Winehcomb, who sat apart, though partaking the dainties, was maddened to -behold his mistress listen so complacently to the addresses of the -veteran suitor. Could she be serious? And if she were—what then? Was -she not absolute mistress of herself, her wealth—and was he so -specially concerned in her choice? This self-questioning elicited the -conviction, startling though true, that he was deeply, personally -concerned. He was, then, undeniably in love with his mistress! Was the -passion of sudden growth, the birth of the present hour? Alas! no—it -had been long smouldering unconsciously—nay, if he doubted, memory -flashed innumerable, though till now, unnoticed facts proving its -existence—and he had foolishly let slip the golden chance of wooing -till too late—till his advantages were the prey of a successful -rival!—his own affection only brought to light by the torch of -jealousy. Such was the cruel, torturing position of young Winehcomb. -’Twas aggravated in being obliged to listen to the tanner’s flattery, to -witness its favorable reception. Nay, worse—he became conscious that -Mistress Avery remarked his inquietude, his ill-suppressed hatred of -Master Nathaniel, as her eye was often for a moment bent on him. He was -convinced she took pleasure in his torments, for on these occasions her -manner—though strictly within the rigid limits of propriety—invariably -was more marked and tender toward the detested, fulsome niggard. He had -heard, alas! such was the custom of the sex. Often was ’Prentice John -resolved on leaving the lovers to their own conversation, but restrained -anger on reflecting it was his duty to be present with and protect -Mistress Avery, till she quitted the fair and returned home. Nor did he -relish the notion of leaving the field altogether to the -tanner—jealousy united with sense of duty in detaining the youth. - -Master Buttress was in rare good humor; he could not deem otherwise but -that he was the fortunate, chosen man, and he found leisure in the -intervals of fits of gallantry, to conjure flitting visions of broad -manor added to broad manor, tenement to tenement, and to picture the -future Master—nay, Worshipful Master Nathaniel Buttress, richest -gentleman in the county of Berkshire. The only damp on his high spirits -was the present outlay; he had been drawn into expenses far beyond usual -habits; had never been guilty of similar extravagance; the veriest -prodigal of London could not have ordered a more costly board; and that -tall, rosy-cheeked lad imbibed the precious sack with the avidity of a -sponge, and never looked a tithe the better humored, but sat grinning -menaces at him—the donor of the feast! Well! well! all should soon be -remedied, and the disagreeable, lanky apprentice turned adrift. - -“But who is that now passing the tavern; is it not Master Luke Milner, -the attorney? How enviously he looks! he has the reputation of having -pressed hard his own suit, but in vain! If I invite him, he will gladly -come—drink the widow’s health—and it will save me half the reckoning!” -So reasoned the tanner. The lawyer accepted the invitation, though a -slight shade of displeasure, he could not wholly dispel, flushed his -brow. Master Luke entered, bowing lowly to the widow. Drawing a chair, -near as good manners admitted, to the fair dame, he carefully deposited -scented gloves and jeweled beaver on adjoining bench, and, in sitting, -showed anxiety to display a trim foot, though rather overshadowed by the -large roses. The tanner soon perceived that avarice had induced a -grievous oversight, for the widow was not quite won. It was both -unaccountable and annoying—how perverse these women are! she seemed now -disposed to extend as much favor to Master Luke as she had previously -exhibited to Master Buttress. ’Prentice John was pleased and distressed -at the scene—glad of the tanner’s discomfiture, he was enraged at the -other’s success. The elder suitor had shown indifference to the presence -of the apprentice, viewed him as a necessary appendage to the widow’s -state, or, at worst, a tax on his purse to the extent of sack imbibed; -but our lawyer, nearer John’s own age, and gifted with keener eye than -his rival, liked not young Winehcomb’s vicinity, his prying, resolute -gaze. - -“Mistress Avery,” said the lawyer blandly, “our young friend appears -uneasy; nor do I wonder, for more than once, in the fair, did I hear -red, pouting lips lament the absence of Jack Winehcomb. I pray thee, -suffer the lad to stroll where he lists; Master Nathaniel and your -unworthy servant, with permission, will zealously protect the pride and -boast of Newbury.” - -If John had broken any engagement by attendance on her, replied the -dame—and a keen smile, part malicious, part searching, lit up the -widow’s features as she gazed on the disconcerted youth—let him seek -Cicely, who was not far off, to take his place, and he had full -permission to absent himself. ’Prentice John, though vexed and out of -countenance, said he had no other engagement than duty enjoined, and he -was entirely at his mistress’ command. - -“Then I must not spoil Cicely’s holiday,” remarked the widow. The -apprentice was doubtful whether she spoke in displeasure or not—the -tone of voice and expression of countenance were equivocal. A quiet -smile, which played for an instant around her mouth, when he declared he -had no engagement, presaged returning favor, but the horizon was again -clouded. Mistress Avery, turning to the gallants, said the youth should -have his own way, that for herself she never found his presence -irksome—he was so stupid, she might talk treason in his company without -danger—what she was obliged to say was generally misunderstood. Stupid! -misunderstood! Were there, in these words, more meant than met the ear? -Had he been so blind, so deaf? Meanwhile the situation of the rivals was -far from pleasant; the tanner had introduced an enemy within the -fortress, whom he could neither dislodge nor compete with; the lawyer -was angry that he had not the field to himself; whilst fair Mistress -Avery, with impartial justice, hung the scales of favor suspended. -Neither could now positively declare he was the chosen swain. Half -suppressed taunts, and sarcasm clothed in ceremonious language, -threatened more open bickering, when Master Luke, with due regard to a -lady’s feelings, besought her to pardon their absence for a few minutes, -as he suddenly recollected an affair important to the welfare of his -friend, Master Buttress. The dame was condescending, declared she had -too much regard for Master Nathaniel to deem their absence a slight, -under the circumstances; so the lawyer, affecting to produce a leathern -note-case, retired with his rival. The apprentice felt his situation -awkward, but he was presently relieved; Mistress Avery bade him follow -the gentlemen unperceived, and if they drew weapons, or otherwise -exhibited hostilities, immediately interfere to prevent mischief. -Concealed by the angle of a canvass booth, he listened, unseen, to the -wordy strife. The lawyer was cool, sarcastic, overbearing; the tanner, -fiery and threatening. Presuming on youth, good figure, and flowing -rhetoric, the former contemned the pretensions of the elder rival, whom -he affirmed had nothing to recommend him but wealth not needed; why, -therefore, pursue a rivalry, when he could not lay claim to one certain -token of affection? And the man of law began enumerating the -distinguishing marks of favor which Dame Avery, spite of prudent, -cautious, self-restraint, could not avoid exhibiting as soon as he -entered the tavern. The tanner’s replication was in the same style. If -these be marks of affection, thought the listener, what would they say -to my pretensions if I told all? And ’Prentice John, as he listened and -commented on what he heard, grew a wiser, more knowing youth. - -“If thou wert a younger man, Master Nathaniel,” said the lawyer, “there -would be no need for these mutual taunts. We have a readier mode of -settling—” - -“Curse thy youth, and thee too,” exclaimed the tanner; “’cause thou art -a vain, braggart fop, with thy galloon and thy large cabbage roses, -think’st to brave it over me?—there!—and there!” And so saying, the -valiant tanner dealt successive cuffs on Master Luke’s doublet, and -drawing weapon, awaited the attack. Their rapiers—for the tanner, -though following a handicraft, yet, as owning broad lands, deemed -himself entitled to wear a weapon and dub himself gentleman—immediately -crossed, but the alert apprentice, with stout cudgel, threw himself -between and struck down their guard. - -“Good sirs! good sirs! forbear!” cried one hastening to assist young -Winehcomb. ’Twas the curate of Spene. The belligerents immediately -sheathed their weapons, muttering future vengeance. The holy man -requested to know the cause of quarrel, and offered to act as umpire. -This, after demur and consideration, was agreed to. Hearing each in -turn, he proposed, as more becoming their respective characters than -fighting, that the case should be stated to Mistress Avery—the election -left to the fair widow. As each deemed himself the favored candidate, -and, indeed, with good cause, for our dame had been gracious to both, -the curate’s proposal was accepted, and his eloquence solicited to open -the pleadings. The party thereupon returned to the tavern, the -apprentice not the least interested actor in the drama. - -The curate of Spene, though grave and sententious, threw into his speech -an under current of humor and _bonhommie_, which touched off the -pretensions of each suitor with dramatic effect and felicity. Neither -could question his impartiality, nor had he, as he affirmed, secret -preponderance either way; both were esteemed friends, both had received -the offices of the church at his hands, both had listened to his Sabbath -exhortations. Which of the twain reigned in the lady’s heart, to him he -should offer congratulation; to the other he could fairly say, that he -merited the honor for which he had unsuccessfully striven. - -There was a pause, a deep silence. The blushing widow must now speak, -declare herself, decide her own fate, and with it the fortunes of the -suitors. How ardently did ’Prentice John long for one of the many -opportunities of pleading his passion, oft thrown in his way, so -heedlessly neglected! Would she indeed make an election? then, farewell, -Newbury! in some far distant land would he hide his disgrace, forget his -folly. - -Mistress Avery said the gentlemen had certainly given her cause long to -remember Newbury Fair; yet they could not expect her mind made up on so -momentous a question of a sudden; besides, it was now Wednesday, which -had ever been an unlucky day with the Averys, but to-morrow (Thursday) -week they should have a decisive answer—her preference made -known—provided, and it was the only stipulation besides secrecy, they -both refrained pressing their amorous suits in the interim. - -So ended the conference, and as the rivals, with the curate, gallantly -bade the lady adieu (having promised obedience in every particular) -’Prentice John, in a paroxysm of anger and remorse, made firm resolve -that he would challenge to mortal combat the favored suitor, beat him -within an inch of life if he refused to fight, upbraid the widow for -secretly fomenting a passion which she laughed at, and flee, forever, -the town of Newbury. - -“You forget, John, I shall need your arm through the press,” exclaimed -the dame reproachfully. The apprentice started; he had been leaning -against the bench, lost in bitter reverie; he saw not his mistress was -waiting. Uttering an indistinct apology, he escorted the lady from the -tavern in time to witness that the tanner had been sufficiently adroit -to palm off half the expense of the entertainment on his rival. Whether -this was omen of higher fortune, the sequel will show. - -They scarcely spoke during the remainder of the walk, nor even after -reaching home. ’Prentice John was reserved, melancholy, brooding over -bitter reflections; the dame, sly, observant, oft casting furtive -glances at young Winehcomb, seemingly, as he thought, indulging secret -pleasure on beholding his misery. On the morrow they were together in -the compting-room; it was his duty to produce entries of the bales of -cloth sold during the business-period of the Fair; to account for the -same in bullion, or according to the terms of sale. - -“These for thyself, John,” said the widow, placing a few gold pieces on -the table, whilst she proceeded to place, under triple lock, the -remainder. They remained untouched. The third lock of the huge iron -chest duly shot, the dame arose, was surprised on beholding the money -still lying unappropriated; John looking like man under sentence of -death. - -“Have I grown niggardly, Master Winehcomb?” exclaimed the widow, “speak, -if you would have more.” - -John replied by asking if she thought the ten pieces sufficient to equip -him, and pay passage to Cadiz, where he heard an expedition was fitting -out, in which many Englishmen had volunteered. Mistress Avery, with a -calmness which confirmed his despair, replied in the negative, but -demanded why he should think of starting for Cadiz, ere, indeed, his -indentures were determined. The apprentice declared wildly, if she -married either tanner or lawyer, he would depart, even with no more than -the ten pieces, and for his reasons—he was not then sufficiently master -of himself to detail them! - -“But, John,” said the widow, in a tone of expostulation, whilst a smile -lurked in the eyes and round the mouth, “what am I to do if I say No? -they press me so hard!” - -The Newbury apprentice, at his mistress’ feet, taught the answer she -should give. On the following Monday, Master John Winehcomb was united -in marriage with Mistress Avery—the wedding celebrated by the grandest -entertainment ever beheld in the county of Berkshire, the fame whereof -spread even as far as the court of bluff Harry. If lacking splendor in -any particular, the omission was owing to the short time for -preparation, as no expense was spared. The unfortunate suitors, of -course, understood the affair from common report, and thought it -unnecessary to seek their fate at the widow’s domicil, when they could -learn it from every man, woman and child in the town. They were invited -to the wedding feast, but wisely declined, as the story of their strange -wooing was already abroad. - -It was the custom, in those days, for the bridegroom to salute the bride -on the cheek, in the church, after the ceremony was performed. - -“And you are ready to swear, Master John,” whispered the dame as the -bridegroom approached, “that you never saw that damsel before Fair-day, -whom you kissed at the Fair?” - -“No—nor since!” replied he, believing it a hint for his future conduct. - -Master Winehcomb lived happily—his wealth increased so quickly, with -the increasing demand for the staple article of Newbury, that when the -Earl of Surrey marched against James the Fourth of Scotland, who was -then ravaging the borders, the rich clothier accompanied the expedition -with a retinue of one hundred servants and artisans, clothed and armed -at his own expense. The memory of John Winehcomb and his rich and -handsome spouse was long preserved in their native town. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS. - - - BY MISS ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. - - - I. - - I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; - That only men incredulous of despair, - Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air - Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access - Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness - In hearts, as countries, lieth silent, bare - Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare - Of the free chartered heavens. Be still! express - Grief for thy dead in silence like to Death! - Most like a monumental statue set - In everlasting watch and moveless wo, - Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. - Touch it, spectator! Are its eyelids wet? - If it could weep it could arise and go! - - - - - II. - - When some belovéd voice, which was to you - Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, - And silence against which you dare not cry - Aches round you with an anguish dreadly new— - What hope, what help? What music will undo - That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh, - Not reason’s labored proof, not melody - Of viols, nor the dancers footing through; - Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, - Whose hearts leap upward from the cypress trees - To Venus’ star! nor yet the spheric laws - Self-chanted—nor the angels’ sweet “all hails,” - Met in the smile of God! Nay, none of these! - Speak, Christ at His right hand, and fill this pause. - - - - - III. - - What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil! - Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines - For all the heat o’ the sun, till it declines, - And Death’s mild curfew shall from work assoil. - God did anoint thee with his odorous oil - To wrestle, not to reign—and he assigns - All thy tears over like pure crystallines - Unto thy fellows, working the same soil. - To wear for amulets. So others shall - Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, - From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, - And God’s grace fructify through thee to all! - The least flower with a brimming cup may stand - And share its dew-drop with another near. - - - - - IV. - - The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel - A pleasant song, ballad or barcarolle, - She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, - Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel - Is full, and artfully her fingers feel, - With quick adjustment, provident control, - The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, - Out to the perfect thread. I hence appeal - To the dear Christian church—that we may do - Our Father’s business in these temples mirk, - So swift and steadfast, so intent and strong— - While so, apart from toil, our souls pursue - Some high, calm, spheric tune—proving our work - The better for the sweetness of our song. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET. - - - BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. - - - I dreamed last night, that I myself did lay - Within the grave—and after stood and wept— - My spirit sorrowed where its ashes slept— - ’Twas a strange dream, and yet meseems it may - Prefigure that which is akin to truth— - How sorrow we o’er perish’d dreams of youth! - High hopes, and aspirations doom’d to be - Crush’d, and o’er-mastered by earth’s destiny! - Fame, that the spirit loathing turns to ruth— - And that deluding faith so loath to part, - That earth will shrine for us one kindred heart; - Oh, ’tis the ashes of such things, that wring - Tears from the eyes! Hopes like to these depart, - And we bow down in dread, o’er-shadowed by death’s wing. - - * * * * * - - - - - MALINA GRAY. - - - BY ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - (Concluded from page 278.) - - - CHAPTER III. - - “I sigh when all my youthful friends caress— - They laugh in health, and future evils brave; - Love has for them a gentle power to bless, - While I shall moulder in my silent grave. - God of the just, thou gavest the bitter cup, - I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.” - - -We had penetrated to the depth of the pine grove, and it was difficult -to find our way out through the tangled undergrowth and the unequal -hollows; but Malina had become thoughtful for others once more, and -though excitement no longer made her own progress easy, she guarded me -with double care; lifted me over the hollows and carried me in her arms -when the thickets were too intricate or the ground very uneven. She -kissed me as we reached a foot-path which led to our cottage, and, -pointing to the door, would have left me to go home alone; but when she -saw that I was troubled regarding my torn frock, kindness of heart -prompted her to come back. She led me to the house, explained my -misfortune, and went away. I sat down on the door-sill and watched her -till she entered the portico of her mother’s dwelling, and when they -remarked on her dejected looks, and questioned me of the cause, I -answered that Malina was tired with walking so long in the woods, for it -seemed as if the tears which I had seen her shed and the passionate -words which she had uttered were a secret which I should do wrong to -mention. - -In about an hour Phebe Gray and our young minister stopped at the -door-yard gate to inquire for Malina. I told them that she had gone -home, and when Mr. Mosier lifted me in his arms, and, looking into my -face, asked what I had been crying about, I turned my head away to evade -his kiss and besought him to set me down. The contrast between his happy -face, the deep and almost brilliant expression of joy which lighted it -up, and the sorrowful look of poor Malina forced itself even on my -childish mind. I felt that which I had no power to comprehend, and from -that time never loved our minister nor Phebe Gray as I had loved them. -They walked home very slowly, she leaning on his arm with an air of -dependence and trustfulness which was full of feeling and feminine -delicacy; he would check their progress every few moments to point out -some familiar beauty in the landscape, as if they had never looked upon -it before. They loitered by the rock spring, and along the river road, -tranquil in their happiness, till the dusk almost concealed them as they -entered Mrs. Gray’s house. - -Almost every evening, for a week, our minister and Phebe Gray took their -walk around the pine grove, and always alone. Malina was confined to the -house. She had taken cold, Mrs. Gray said, and the night air was bad for -her lungs. But often, when her sister was loitering along the river’s -bank, happy in the wealth of her newly aroused affections, Malina might -be seen at her chamber window, with her cheek languidly supported by a -hand which was becoming thinner each day, and gazing earnestly after the -two beings dearest to her on earth, but whose happiness she could not -witness without emotions that were well nigh killing her. Her mother saw -nothing of this. She only knew that Malina was quieter than usual and -not very well, that her eyes were heavy and her step languid as she -moved around the house. She did not see the heart struggling against -itself, the stern principle which grew strong in the contest. She never -dreamed of that desolate and lonely sensation which haunted her -daughter’s pillow with watchfulness, and made her waking hours a season -of trial cruel as the grave. She saw that Malina was strangely affected; -true, she smiled still, but it was meekly, sadly, and it seemed as if -the music of her laugh was exhausted forever; her eyes grew misty and -sorrowful in their expression, and tears would sometimes fill them -without apparent cause. Still it was gravely asserted that Malina had -only a slight cold, a nervous attack which would go off in a day or two! -But there was something in her illness which Phebe could not comprehend; -a wish for solitude, and a strange nervous dread of any thing like -intimate conversation with herself, which prevented an acknowledgment of -her own deep causes of happiness. Her sensitive modesty made her -desirous of some encouragement to unburden her heart of its wealth of -hope even to her sister, and when she saw that Malina shunned her, that -her eyes had a wandering and estranged look whenever they turned upon -her face, she felt checked and almost repulsed in her confidence. If any -thing could have disturbed the pure happiness which reigned in her -bosom, it would have been this extraordinary mood in one who had from -childhood shared every thought and wish almost as soon as it was formed. -It had a power to disturb, though it could not entirely destroy the -tranquillity of her mind. - -“I will talk with her about it to-night,” murmured Phebe, as she opened -her chamber door one evening, after a long conversation with Mr. Mosier -in the portico. “I wish, though, she would ask some question, or even -look curious to know what keeps us together so much; I little thought to -have kept a secret from Malina so long.” - -As these thoughts passed through her mind, Phebe Gray gathered up the -bed-drapery, and lying down by her sister, passing an arm caressingly -over her waist, laid her blushing cheek against the now pallid face -which rested on the pillow. She felt that tears were upon it, and that -the snowy linen under her head was wet as if Malina had cried herself to -sleep. - -“Malina, wake up a minute, I have something to tell you,” murmured the -young girl, in a low, half timid whisper. - -The moonbeams lay full upon the bed, and Phebe Gray was looking -earnestly in the face of the beautiful sleeper. She could see the silken -lashes quivering on her cheek, and a tremulous motion of the lips, nay, -it seemed to her as if a single tear broke through the lashes and rolled -over the pale cheek, and she was certain that something like a faint -shudder crept through the form which was half circled by her arm. But -Malina gave no answer, and the gentle questioner was too sensitive for -another effort to win attention. She quietly laid her head on the pillow -and sunk to sleep, but not to indulge in the sweet, unbroken dream of -happiness which had shed roses over her couch so many nights. There was -sadness at heart, a presentiment of coming ill, and a solicitude -regarding her sister which kept her anxious and rendered her slumber -broken and unrefreshing. About midnight, when the stillness of her -chamber rendered every sound more than usually audible, she was -disturbed by the broken and half stifled sobs which arose from her -sister’s pillow. Again she stole her arm over the weeping girl, and -questioned her regarding the source of her grief. Malina only turned her -face away, and sobbed more bitterly than before. - -“Why will you not speak to me, Malina? what has come between us of -late?—speak to me, sister—you are in sorrow, and I have—oh how -much—cause for joy! yet we have all at once learned to conceal thoughts -from one another. Tell me what troubles you—for I cannot be entirely -happy while you are ill and so sad.” - -Malina redoubled her sobs, but amid the tumult of her grief she -murmured, “Tell me all, Phebe, all you feel, all you wish; but I have no -secrets, no sorrow. There is a little pain in my side, sometimes, and -that makes me low spirited. I have always been so healthy, you know, -that a little illness frightens me. Do not mind me, but talk of -yourself. You are happy, Phebe, _very_ happy! were not those your words? -tell me all—I can be glad and rejoice in any thing that gives you -pleasure—any thing on earth—if my heart were breaking. So let us talk -it all over now, the room is so quiet and dark, and we shall neither of -us get sleepy—do you think we shall, sister?—you may, but I have -almost forgotten how to sleep,” and, as Malina ceased speaking, she -stole an arm around her sister’s neck, and, choking back her sobs, -composed herself to listen. - -Phebe rose up in the bed, gathered the drapery around them, for the -moonbeams were bright enough to reveal her blushes, and, sinking to her -pillow, again murmured the story of her love, its return, and all the -bright anticipations that made her future so beautiful. Malina nerved -herself to listen; she uttered no word of distrust, and checked all -manifestations of discontent by a strong effort of self-control, when -all was told—when she was made certain that her sister and the only -being she had ever regarded with more than a sister’s love, were to be -married—that their wedding day was fixed, and, that the mother’s -sanction had already been granted—she remained silent for a moment, and -strove to gain the mastery over her feelings. When she spoke, her frame -shook with the bitter emotions which could not be altogether subdued, -but her voice was low and very calm. Mr. Mosier was poor, and Phebe not -yet of age. If he were installed in the old meeting-house, they would be -compelled to live with Mrs. Gray till something could be saved from his -small salary to purchase a dwelling and begin housekeeping. This thought -caused some anxiety to the engaged couple. The young clergyman had -learned something of Mrs. Gray’s real character, and was reluctant to -erect his domestic altar beneath her tyrannical auspices. Phebe, too, -longed for a quiet home of her own, a happy, free home, where she might -follow her own innocent impulses, unchecked and without fear. - -“You shall have that home, my sister,” said Malina Gray, twining her -arms around her companion, and kissing her with a gush of true -affection; “there is the old parsonage house; you shall have that, and -the money which dear minister Brown left to me; all are yours and _his_. -You will be happy there—very happy. I know he loved the old place. Now, -good night, Phebe; let us go to sleep!” and with a low gasping sob, -which was not the less painful that it gave no sound, Malina turned away -her head. - -Phebe was too disinterested and high-minded herself, for a thought of -refusing Malina’s generosity. - -“We shall, indeed, be happy,” she said; “you will come and live with us, -and by the time you are married, we shall have saved enough to pay all -the money back again. You _will_ live with us?” - -Malina thought of the quiet grave-yard, which could be seen from the -parsonage window, and answered— - -“I shall want no other home.” - -Phebe talked on, more cheerfully than usual, and when her sister did not -answer, she thought her asleep; but Malina had fainted, and lay -senseless upon her pillow. - -It was soon rumored through the village that our new minister was -engaged to Phebe Gray, and every body was delighted with the match. -Phebe was just the creature for a clergyman’s wife, quiet and gentle, -with manners that gave dignity to the softness of her disposition. In -the general satisfaction which reigned in the village, Malina was quite -overlooked. Her change of appearance was imputed to sadness at parting -with her sister; and, at times, when the wedding was talked of in her -presence, the rich color which burned over her cheeks, the brilliancy of -her eyes, and the flashes of wild merriment that sprung to her lips, -deceived the unobserving into a belief of her entire happiness. She -spent much of her time at the old parsonage, superintending the -arrangements of her sister’s home with a degree of taste and energy -which surprised all who witnessed her exertions. The rooms were all -newly arranged, delicate paper was purchased at New Haven for the walls, -new stepping stones were laid at the front door, green blinds gave a -look of elegance and seclusion to the windows; the profuse rose bushes -and lilac trees were pruned, and a white picket-fence hedged in the -little wilderness of flowers which blossomed in the front yard. The -cabinet maker, on School Hill, was busy with the furniture, all of a -superior kind. The carpet-weaver had borrowed two _quill-wheels_, and -all the spools, for a mile round, in order to expedite the progress of -sixty yards of striped carpeting through his cumbrous loom. The house -and its adornments were to be comfortable and elegant beyond any thing -that had been known in our village for a long time; and all was Malina’s -work. Her untiring assiduity created the little paradise which another -was to enjoy. Her money purchased the books which filled the little -study, whose window opened upon the most verdant corner of the orchard. -Her trembling hands placed a new inlaid flute on the little table, and -drew the easy chair close by, that the bridegroom might find every thing -ready and home-like in his new dwelling. - -One afternoon Malina was left alone; the workmen had departed to their -suppers, and her task was finished for the day. She had just hung the -pet robin in his old place by the dining-room window; he seemed to -recognize the room, and flew about his cage, chirping and fluttering his -wings, as if to thank her for bringing him home once more. It was the -first hour of repose that Malina had known for many weeks, and now, that -she had nothing more to perform, painful thoughts and regrets that would -no longer be stifled, fell back upon her heart, and she was, oh, how -desolate! There, in her blooming youth, she sat hopeless and weary of -life—for what is life to a woman without affection? The heart was full -of warm and generous feelings, burthened with a wealth of tenderness, -and yet she had no future, nothing to hope for, nothing to dread; her -destiny seemed consummated there and then. Youth is in itself so -hopeful, that we can scarcely imagine a creature in the first bud of -life yearning for the grave. But Malina was very sad. She looked through -the open door into the orchard; the green old apple trees were heavy -with blossoms, and through the garniture of thrifty leaves, and the rosy -shower which blushed among them, a corner of the old meeting-house met -her gaze—a portion of the grave-yard, and a new tomb-stone, which -gleamed out from the young grass which had already started up from our -minister’s death place. How green and quiet it looked—and oh, how -earnestly Malina Gray longed to lie down in that still spot, and be at -rest. Yet Malina was young, and no human being dreamed how wretched she -was. The orchard was full of singing birds that day, and there had been -a time when the gush of sweet sounds, that rose and swelled amid the -foliage, would have made her heart leap, but now it filled her eyes with -tears. The sunshine that played and quivered among the leaves—the wind -that now and then gushed through the heavy boughs, scattering the grass -with rosy flakes, and sighing as it swept off to the open plain—all -seemed a mockery. - -She was heart sick, and yearned to die. How cruel is that power by which -a broken heart draws thoughts of sadness from the sweet and beautiful -things of nature. Malina gazed through her tears at the change her own -hands had wrought. The unseemly plantains had disappeared from the back -door-step, and around the well-curb a bed of valley-lilies were just -forming their pearly buds. - -“They will be in blossom for Phebe’s hair,” murmured the young girl, -“and for mine—for am I not to be bridemaid?” - -With a mournful smile gleaming through her tears, Malina arose, and -tying on her bonnet, left the house. She met Phebe and Mr. Mosier near -the front gate. They were sauntering toward their new dwelling, tranquil -and happy; to them, every thing whispered of joy; the fragrant orchard, -the birds caroling within its shadows, and all the beautiful landscape -were full of pleasant associations. Every hope and thought in _their_ -bosoms blossomed in unison with nature. - -How true it is that thought and feeling, like the sun, give color to -outward things. The heart creates its own sunshine, or the cloud through -which nature is revealed to it. Phebe Gray and her betrothed husband -felt nothing but the sweet and the beautiful—their hearts were brimful -of sunshine. But, alas, for Malina, she looked through the cloud. - -Malina walked on. The two contented beings by the gate were happy enough -without her. She strove to smile cheerfully as they spoke to her, and in -a tone of forced playfulness forbade them entering the house till their -wedding day. - -Malina had gathered beneath the roof of that old parsonage house many -luxuries almost unknown in the neighborhood; every thing calculated to -gratify the fine taste of the young divine, or add to the comfort of her -sister, had been unsparingly purchased, till her patrimony was almost -exhausted. While this duty lasted, and the excitement of action was upon -her, Malina sustained the burthen of her sorrows with an aching, but -firm heart. She had taken no time for thought—scarcely for tears—but -worked on, as if toiling through a feverish dream. Her cheeks were -always flushed, and sometimes the music of her laugh rang loud and -strangely through the bridal chamber which she was decorating; but the -companions who assisted her were often startled by the reckless tone of -her laugh; it was too absent and wild for happiness or merriment, -entirely deficient in that low, rich melody, which had once made her -voice so full of healthy joy. Yet all the neighbors were commenting on -her generous conduct, and the brilliancy of her spirits; and it was -often remarked that Malina Gray was never so fond of company, so -careless in her mirth, or so startling in her wit, as she had been since -the engagement of her sister, and since she had recovered from the -slight cold which confined her to the house when that engagement was -first whispered in the village. - -To a heart capable of self-sacrifice, there is no feeling so lonely as -that which follows exhausted power. No conviction, so keenly painful, as -a knowledge that a beloved being, who has cost us the hopes of a life in -resigning, can be happy without our aid—that we have nothing to render -up—no aim for exertion—nothing to do but sit down and gaze upon the -blank which existence has become. Her task was done. The excitement -over, and then came to the heart of Malina Gray the toil and pain of -concealed suffering; the aching restlessness which eats into the bud of -human life. Once more it was rumored that she was ill, and, but for -other and more absorbing subjects, Mrs. Gray might have been alarmed for -the safety of her child; but she was so intent on other things, that the -poor girl and her sufferings remained unheeded at home, save by the -gentle Phebe and her betrothed husband. - -When Mrs. Gray invited our young minister to reside at her house, it was -probably with some vague expectation of the result which followed; and -when her consent was desired to his union with Phebe, it was given -promptly, and with evident satisfaction. But the young divine, though a -meek and true Christian, had a dignity of character and opinion which -sometimes proved at variance with the exactions of an ambitious and -arbitrary matron. She had expected that he would continue to reside in -her family, after the marriage, and looked forward to an extended -dominion in her own household, and increased influence in the church, to -be secured by this arrangement. But when he persisted in establishing an -independent home, in managing his own salary, and becoming the sole -protector of his future wife, whose state of moral servitude he could -not witness without pain, Mrs. Gray’s enthusiasm in favor of the match -gradually subsided, and when Malina insisted upon surrendering her newly -acquired property to the young couple, and giving them the parsonage for -a residence, the haughty woman became stern in her opposition, and while -she took every means to render her own house an unpleasant residence for -the parties, found some excuse to delay the wedding, from week to week, -and at last refused to sanction it, till Mr. Mosier should be regularly -installed in the pulpit, which he had now filled almost a year. Still -Mrs. Gray was not a woman to talk openly of a change in her opinions. -She was too calculating and subtle for useless words. - -It had been settled in church council, that our young minister should be -installed a few weeks after the time appointed for his marriage, and the -young couple submitted to the imposed delay without a murmur. During -these intervening weeks, and while Malina was occupied in embellishing -the parsonage, Mrs. Gray was observed to be absent from home more -frequently than usual. There was scarcely an influential church member -near the old meeting-house, with whom she had not taken her knitting -work, to spend a social afternoon; and several tea-parties were given in -a quiet way at her own house, where she presided over the silver -tea-urn, and old fashioned china, with more than ordinary condescension -and dignity. But these were all impromptu meetings, and invariably took -place when Mr. Mosier and Phebe were invited elsewhere. - -The parents of our young minister were aged and very respectable -farmers, residing in the vicinity of New Haven; but they were far from -wealthy, and the farm they cultivated was not their own property. A week -before the Sabbath appointed for the installation, Mr. Mosier -accompanied his intended bride and her mother on a visit to his parents, -where the haughty matron first learned that the man whom her daughter -was about to marry had been a _charity student_. A benevolent society -had paid his tuition at Yale College, at least that portion which he had -been unable to meet by his own exertions. There had been no concealment -of this truth on his part, for he had informed Phebe of the matter, and -believed Mrs. Gray already aware of it. But Phebe, in the generous -simplicity of her heart, never conceived it possible that the manner of -his education could be deemed a cause of reproach, and it had left no -impression on her mind; to her upright understanding there was no -degradation in the thought that her lover had been a _charity student_. - -Mrs. Gray gave no demonstration of the displeasure which filled her -bosom on receiving this intelligence, but she quietly made an excuse for -returning home with her daughter the next day, and, with every -appearance of disinterested kindness, insisted that Mr. Mosier should -not interrupt his visit to accompany them. “She could easily drive -home,” she said, “the horse was gentle, and the roads perfectly good; -her son-in-law must remain with his family; it would be cruel to force -him away so abruptly.” Mrs. Gray said all this in her usual manner, -shook hands with the old people, allowed the young divine to assist her -into the chaise, and pretended to be very intently occupied in searching -for something in her traveling basket, while he placed Phebe in her -seat, and, with her slender hand clasped in his own, was whispering his -farewell. - -“Remember, and be in readiness next Sabbath,” he said, in a low voice, -“tell Malina that she must take good care of you. I shall come on -Saturday evening.” - -Phebe murmured that she would be ready; but as she returned the farewell -clasp of his hand, tears started to her eyes. She could not have told -the reason, but a strange feeling of melancholy came over her, and it -seemed as if the parting were forever. She looked back as the chaise -drove away—he was standing on the door step by his parents, and the -whole group waved their hands, smiling cheerfully, as they saw her turn -for a last glance. But still her heart was heavy. - -What passed between Mrs. Gray and her daughter during their drive home, -we have no means of recording. But as Malina sat in her chamber window, -and saw the chaise toiling up the hill that afternoon, her sister leaned -forward, and she caught a glimpse of her face. It was white as marble, -and stained with tears. Malina had been ill, but she started up, hastily -girded her white morning wrapper to her waist, and went down. Mrs. Gray -loitered to give some directions to the “hired man” about her horse, and -Phebe was descending from the chaise without assistance. The moment her -foot touched the earth, she tottered, and would have fallen but for -Malina, who sprang forward, and flinging her arms around her, inquired -eagerly and kindly what had befallen her. - -Phebe attempted to speak, but the words died on her lips, and the color -left them; she lifted her hand as if to grasp at something for support, -and fainted in her sister’s arms. - -“Mother, what is the matter?—where is Mr. Mosier?—tell me, pray tell -me, what has made poor Phebe so ill, and why is she looking so -wretched?” - -Mrs. Gray turned, and saw that her child was senseless. - -“Go and bring some water,” she said to the man, “carry that basket in -with you, and make haste. Raise her head a little, you are crushing her -bonnet,” she continued, turning to Malina; “there, take it off—she will -come to, directly.” - -As she spoke, Mrs. Gray calmly untied her daughter’s bonnet, and held it -till the man came with water, while Malina stood trembling beneath the -weight of the fainting girl, tenderly smoothing back the bright tresses -from her forehead, and wildly kissing her pale lips, amid a thousand -vague questions, which no one thought of answering. - -Mrs. Gray took a pitcher of water from the man, who came panting from -the well, and laving her hands in it, laid them on the pale face which -Malina was still covering with tears and kisses. There was a faint -struggle, a gasping sigh, and after a little Phebe began to murmur upon -her sister’s bosom, like one just awaking from a dream. She shrunk from -her mother, when that stubborn woman would have assisted her to rise, -and clinging to Malina, walked with trembling steps toward the house. - -“Oh, not there—up, to our own room, Malina,” said the poor girl, as her -sister would have led her into the parlor. She was obliged to sit down -more than once in ascending the stairs; and when at length Malina laid -her upon the bed in their own dear room, she looked sadly around, and -reaching up her arms, clasped the bending neck of her sister, and began -to weep. - -“I must never see him again—never—never,” she said, while her voice -was broken with tears; “oh, Malina, did you think any human being could -be so cruel?” - -Malina started, and for one instant a flash of pleasure broke into her -eyes. It was an unworthy feeling, and the next moment her face was -flooded with shame that she had known it; and when she sat down by her -sister, and besought her to say what had thus unnerved her, it was with -as true sympathy as ever warmed the heart of a noble and -self-sacrificing woman. - -The cause of her sorrow was soon explained. Phebe had been commanded by -her arbitrary mother to give up all thoughts of a union with Mr. Mosier. -The gentle girl, for the first time in her life, had ventured to -expostulate with her parent. The hope of her young life was at stake, -and her heart trembled at the thought of separation from the man whom -she had learned to love so devotedly. It was all in vain. Mrs. Gray was -resolved, her prejudices were aroused, and to their gratification the -happiness of her child was as dust. - -Phebe had been educated with almost holy reverence for the authority of -a parent, and though her heart broke, she dared not oppose her mother’s -command. Her spirit withered beneath it, like a flower trodden to the -earth, but she submitted. Not so Malina. Once more she ventured to -reason with and oppose her mother, but only to call down resentment on -her own head. This was no sudden resolution in Mrs. Gray; she had gone -steadily to work, and planned out her own results. She was one of those -cold pattern women who never know an impulse—whose virtues are -polished, like marble, and as cold. She had paved her way quietly and -well. The next morning, while her two children were sorrowing in their -room, she was driving from house to house, exerting her influence over -better hearts and weaker minds than her own, to the ruin of those who -had loved and trusted her. And while Phebe lay upon a sick bed, a vestry -council was called at the old meeting-house, and a decision passed by a -majority of a single man, which deprived our young minister of the -pulpit he was to have taken as his own the following Sabbath. Many good -and just men of the congregation protested against this cruel and unjust -act; but in churches, as in communities, the good and the merciful do -not always constitute a majority. - -The decision of this church meeting was forwarded to Mr. Mosier, and -with it a letter from Mrs. Gray. The next morning he rode by our cottage -on horseback, slowly, and as one in deep and morbid thought. He crossed -the old bridge, and, as he did so, looked earnestly toward Mrs. Gray’s -dwelling. He paused a moment at the end, and then rode at a brisker pace -up the hill. - -Phebe had been feverish, and very low, all that morning. Malina was -watching by her side, and as she lay with her eyes closed in an -imperfect slumber, the sound of a horse coming up the road made her -start from the pillow, and while her cheek burned with a more feverish -red, she fixed her eyes upon the open sash. - -“It is he—I know it!” she said, clasping her hand, and looking into -Malina’s face; “I will get up; mother cannot refuse to let me see him -this once;” and with a kind of feverish joy the poor girl flung aside -the bed clothes, and stepped out on the floor. With trembling and eager -hands she gathered up her beautiful tresses, and began to braid them -about her head, earnestly beseeching Malina all the time to assist her -in getting ready to go down. - -The kind hearted sister required no entreaty. She helped to array the -invalid, though her own breath came gaspingly, and her hands shook like -aspens in performing their duty. - -“There, now—there, I am ready. See, do I look very ill, Malina?” said -the excited young creature, turning to her sister; “it will make his -heart ache to see how red my cheeks are. Do you think he will detect the -fever?” and dashing some lavender over her handkerchief with an -impetuosity all unlike her usual quiet movements, the half delirious -girl took her sister’s arm, and was hurrying from the room. But the -sound of a horse, rapidly passing the house, again came to her ear, and, -with a faint exclamation, she sprung to the window just in time to catch -a glimpse of her lover as he rode by. He lifted his face to the open -sash, and she saw that it was very pale. He saw her, checked his horse -an instant, half raised his hand, and then turning away with seeming -effort, he rode slowly down the hill. - -“He is gone,” exclaimed the unhappy girl, “gone without a word, almost -without a look!” - -And with a wavering step, Phebe Gray moved toward the bed, and amid the -confusion of her feverish thoughts, she called on Malina to come and -undo the bridal wreath which was girding her forehead so painfully. - -But Malina was away. She had caught one glimpse at the pale face -uplifted to her window, and with a wild impulse to see the minister once -more, she flung a shawl over her head, and left the room. With the speed -of an antelope, she darted through the garden, and forcing a passage -through the brushwood which lined a hollow beyond, leaped down upon the -natural basin of granite, where the rock-spring poured its waves, just -as he had dismounted, and was proceeding to dip up the water in his -palm, and bathe his forehead with it. He looked care-worn and pale, and -the expression of his eyes, as he dropped the water from his hand, and -turned them suddenly on the young girl, was that of a strong heart in -ruins, and with its energies prostrated. He held forth his hand and -tried to smile, but the attempt was a painful one, and died in a faint -quiver of the lips. - -Malina did not take his hand—she had no power—but stood with her left -foot half buried in the damp moss which lined the spring, and the other -planted hard against the granite basin; her hands clasped amid the -drapery of her shawl, and her eyes lifted to his, glittering with -excitement, and yet full of tears. The breath came pantingly through her -unquiet lips, and in the struggle of her emotions, the words of greeting -which she would have uttered, were broken into sobs. - -“This is very kind of you, Miss Gray,” said the young clergyman, in a -low voice, which had something of proud constraint in its tones; “I -inquired for you at the house, but your mother informed me that you were -engaged, and that your sister did not wish to see me.” - -“Not wish to see you!” exclaimed Malina, suddenly finding voice; -“Phebe—my poor Phebe—not wish to see you! Alas, for her, she cannot -see any one; this cruel business has broken her heart. Oh, Mr. Mosier, -why is it that such wrong can be done? why submit to it? what right has -my mother thus to interfere, to the unhappiness of her child?” - -Mr. Mosier did not reply, his thoughts were far away, and, though he -gazed earnestly on the enthusiastic face lifted to his, Malina knew that -he was not thinking of her. She felt humbled, and turned away her face -as one who had been rebuked. So she stood gazing, with a look of patient -humility, on the waters sparkling in the basin at her feet, till at last -he aroused himself and spoke. But she, who felt every word he uttered as -if it were a tone of music, had no share in his speech or his thoughts. -Things all too precious for her were rendered to another, and she must -endure the pain. - -“So she was ill, and _could_ not come. Yet she knew I was there, and sat -in the room all the time. I saw her at the window, and she looked—tell -me, Malina, my sweet, kind sister,” he added, suddenly, “did she wish to -see me?—would she come for a moment here or into the garden?” - -The young man looked anxious, and his cheek flushed brilliantly as he -spoke, for the moment his well regulated mind had lost its balance, and -the passions of earth were strong within him. It was but for a moment; -before Malina had time to reply, the flush died from his face. - -“No,” he added, with a sorrowful motion of the head, “it is wrong to -ask, foolish to desire an interview—comfort her, Malina, say that which -I cannot have permission to utter in her presence; say how deeply, how -earnestly I have loved her, how weary I am of the world, how lonely my -heart is now—say to her—alas! what message have I to send—I, who can -scarcely turn my face heavenward, the clouds are so dark that lie heaped -before me!” - -These words were uttered in a tone of such despondency that Malina once -more lifted her eyes, and would have spoken words of encouragement which -she was far from feeling, for her own wretchedness seemed completed in -that of the beings she most loved; but, while her lips were parted, he -made a sudden effort at composure, and saying that all might yet be -well, in a broken and hurried voice, he drew Malina toward him and -stooped to press his lips to her forehead, without seeming conscious of -the act—but she was all too conscious, the blood rushed to her cheeks, -and she trembled in his arms like a frightened child. He saw it not, for -to his thought she was a sister only, and though his lips had pressed -her forehead for the first time, he did not think of it, but mounted his -horse and rode away before she had power to utter a word or make a -gesture to detain him. - -He was gone forever, and she was alone—alone! how often is that word -misapplied; the loving and the loved are never alone—but so it was with -Malina Gray. - - - CHAPTER IV. - - “In the cold, damp earth we laid her, - When the forest cast its leaf, - And we sighed, that one so beautiful - Should have a lot so brief.” - - -“So, Madam, you refuse—my boy is dying, and he yearns to look once more -on the poor girl who would have been his wife in a single week.” - -It was but a few days after her interview with Mr. Mosier, that Malina -heard these words issue from her mother’s parlor, as she was passing -through the hall, from the chamber where she had just left Phebe -striving to beguile her weary thoughts with a book. The door was ajar, -and there was a power in the words which made her start and listen. It -was a deep, manly voice, that of an aged person, but entreaty, -tenderness and something almost like resentment, combined to render it -startling and pathetic. Malina held her breath, and, drawing a step -nearer, looked through the door. - -An aged man was standing before her mother, he held a cane without -resting on it, and a broad brimmed hat was in his left hand; firm and -erect he stood in the quiet room, the gray hair sweeping back from his -forehead, and his plain dress giving him the look of a patriarch; his -face was agitated, but so full of benevolence that Malina loved the old -man before she guessed who he was. Violent passions could seldom have -passed over those mild features, still they were disturbed as he spoke, -and the good old man was evidently struggling with strong and bitter -emotions. There was something in the grasp of his hand on the cane, and -in his dignified bearing, which awed the sympathy it excited. - -Mrs. Gray was sitting in her easy chair, looking rather earnestly at the -old man. She had been engaged in knitting when he entered, but had laid -the work on a little round stand by her side, and seemed rather anxious -to take it up again; but she was too punctilious for that, and very -blandly requested her visitor to resume the seat from which he had -risen. “No, I have not time to sit down, every minute is worth years to -me now—my only son is dying, and I am absent from his side.” The old -man now paused, his chin began to quiver, and turning away his face, he -strove to conceal the tears that broke into his eyes from the calm and -heartless woman who sat gazing upon him. - -“Madam,” he said, but his voice was broken, and his hand shook till the -hat fell from his grasp to the floor. “Madam, I beseech you, think -better of this! My boy cannot live forty-eight hours; the doctors told -me so before I left him. But I came from his bed side, when each lost -moment was as a drop of blood wrung from my heart, thinking that you -might refuse any messenger but his father. You are a woman and should -feel for him, and here I gave up five whole hours of this precious time -that he might look on the face of that poor girl before he dies; and his -mother—you have had children sleeping against your heart, madam—do you -think his mother would not find it a comfort if the soul of her only -child could go up to heaven from her bosom where he nestled in his first -infancy? Do you think she has no woman’s yearning wish for the last -embrace, the last endearing word? She loves the boy better than her own -soul, and he is dying before her eyes—but she gave him up. When she saw -that he moaned for the presence of one who had become dearer than his -own mother, she bade me come hither and bring the girl that her first -born might die in the arms he loved best—think, woman, every moment I -spend in talking here is wrung from the death bed of a child that was -all on earth that two old people had to love and hope for. I must -depart, but let _her_ go with me.” - -The old man unconsciously clasped his hands as he spoke, and tears fell -like rain over his withered cheeks. - -Mrs. Gray glanced at him with something of wonder in her face, and -extending out her hand, took up the knitting work as if to end the -conference. - -“And can you still refuse!” exclaimed the old man. - -“It would not be proper,” replied Mrs. Gray, quietly unscrewing the top -of her silver knitting case, “besides, Phebe is not well enough to ride -so far even if she desired it, and the fever may be contagious.” - -“If I could talk with the young lady I am sure she _would_ desire it,” -said the old man, almost humbly, for his heart grew heavy at the thought -of returning to the death bed of his son with his errand unaccomplished. -“Leave it to her good feelings, madam, and if they plead against me I -will depart and trouble you no more.” - -Neither the pleading voice, nor the agony of over-wrought feelings with -which the unhappy father spoke, reached the heart of Mrs. Gray. While -the old man stood before her, trembling beneath the burden of his grief, -she placed her needle in its sheath, twisted the worsted over her -finger, and went through the intricacies of a seam stitch before even -her eyes were lifted toward him. - -“You must recollect, Mr. Mosier,” she said, “Phebe is not at present -engaged to your son, and even if she were, I do not think it would be -exactly correct for her to visit him. I am sorry for the young -gentleman, very; I will see that our new minister mentions his case in -prayer next Sabbath; we all feel for him—but he would not be advised. -Indeed—” - -Here Mrs. Gray dropped a stitch, and paused while it was looped up -again. When she raised her eyes, the face of her auditor was stern, and -as calm as her own. The tears had dropped from his cheek, his hands were -both grasping the head of his cane, and if that pharisaical woman could -have shrunk from any thing, the solemn and reproving eyes which dwelt on -her face would have kindled the most generous blood of her heart into -blushes of shame. But it is hard to wring the die of shame from a -self-righteous heart. Mrs. Gray believed herself to be acting in a most -Christian-like spirit, in still retaining the heartless civility of her -manner toward the poor old man whom her own cruelty had bereaved. Her -heart was entombed in the self-conceit of its own sanctity, like dust in -the marble of a sarcophagus. - -“Woman,” said the old man, and this time his voice was firm, and -thrillingly solemn; “you have no heart. You are a mother, and should -know how much worse than death it is to see the child whom you have -loved and cherished, and woven in your very heart-strings, perishing -before your eyes. Oh, how proud we were of that boy! how his poor mother -loved him! what a day it was when she and I walked up the broad aisle of -that old meeting-house yonder, and saw him standing in the pulpit—a -minister of the gospel. We had prayed for that sight—toiled and slaved -for it—and were so happy—so very happy. He is on his death bed now. -Woman, _you_ have sent him there—you, who were a mother, thought -nothing of smiting a sister woman through the heart—you, a professor of -religion, can do murder more subtle and cruel than that which cleaves a -man through the brain, and look calm and speak softly, nay, smilingly -refuse the last dying request of your victim. Woman, I will not curse -you—that right rests with the high God of Heaven, who looketh down upon -the murder you have done, not as man looketh, not as the law -looketh—before _him_, shall you be arraigned, and that cold heart shall -be made to shudder at the depth of its own crime—_he_ will be thine -accuser—he, thy victim, who was so gentle, so sweet tempered, that -thoughts of revenge never entered his heart. In a few short hours he -will stand in the broad light of Heaven, sent there untimely; and even -as Abel bear witness against his brother, he shall bear witness against -thee! The Almighty may not place his mark upon thy brow—the law may not -brand thee—but one who can wring the life from a human being by silent -and moral cruelty, is not less a murderer than the man who smites his -brother to the heart with a poniard!” - -Mrs. Gray was at length moved—for the solemn and stern energy of that -pale old man might have startled the dead from their graves—the -knitting dropped from her hands, her eyes darkled with terror, and her -face turned white as a corpse beneath the snowy lace and the black and -false hair that shaded it. She would have spoken, but the pallid lips -trembled without uttering a sound, while the hands which rested in her -lap began to shiver, as she strove to lift them and motion him away. - -The old man left her where she sat, and went into the hall; but his -feelings had been too cruelly outraged, and there his strength gave way; -he sunk helplessly to a settee, and covering his face with his hands, -wept like a child. - -Malina had left the hall and stood in her sister’s chamber. Phebe was -dressed and seated by the window, pondering over the pages of a book, -though she had not turned a leaf that day. She did not raise her eyes -when the door opened, but seemed unconscious of a second person. - -“Come with me,” said Malina, grasping the hand which lay in her sister’s -lap, with fingers that clung to it like ice. “Come!” - -There was something in Malina’s face that frightened her companion from -the apathy that had for days settled on her spirits. She arose, without -a word, and was led down stairs, and into the hall. It was empty. Old -Mr. Mosier had departed, and the front door was left open behind him. - -“Phebe,” said Malina Gray, in a faint whisper, “_he_ is dying, and has -sent for you—his father sat there, but a moment since. Our mother has -refused that you should see him. He is pining to die with his head -against your heart. Sister, will you go?” - -“I will plead with her—kneel to her,” said Phebe Gray, and opening the -parlor door, she entered alone. - -Malina paused an instant, and turning through a side door, passed across -a small clover lot, toward the stables. A horse stood cropping the white -blossoms in a corner of the field. She looked around for some one to -help her, but the men were all away on the upper farm—so she drew -toward the gentle animal, and beckoning with her hand, uttered a few -coaxing words, and persuaded him toward the stables. He bent his neck -while her trembling hands placed the bit in his mouth, which was yet -half full of fragrant grass, and turned his head to watch her, as she -girded the saddle to his back. When she tied him to the garden fence, -and entered the house again, he followed her with his eyes, and, with a -short neigh, fell to tearing with his mouth the honeysuckle vines that -crept along the fence. - -As Malina entered the hall she saw Phebe gliding up stairs toward their -room; she was walking feebly, and held by the bannister as she went. -When the sisters stood within the chamber together, Phebe sunk to a -chair, while Malina looked earnestly in her face, and uttered a single -sentence— - -“Will you go?” - -“She has forbidden it,” replied Phebe, faintly. - -“Will you go?” said Malina, once more. - -“I dare not disobey her!” Phebe spoke with difficulty, and clasping both -hands over her face, moaned as if in pain, for the struggle within her -heart was terrible. - -When Phebe became sufficiently composed to look up, her sister was gone. -She was glad to be alone, and creeping toward the bed, knelt down and -prayed. - -Malina had snatched a bonnet and shawl from the bed while her sister’s -face was concealed, and gliding down stairs into the open air, she -mounted the horse and rode away. - -It was sunset as the poor girl came slowly over the old bridge, and rode -by our house. I was playing in the front yard, and ran out to meet -her—but all at once she drew the bridle tight, and the spirited horse -sprung forward on the way before my childish voice could be heard. The -gloom of coming night lay heavily amid the pine boughs, as the young -girl rode under them, and when she dashed up the road, and disappeared -over Fall’s Hill, both horse and rider were for one moment displayed in -bold relief against a pile of crimson and golden clouds which lay heaped -in the horizon. When she disappeared, it seemed, to my infant fancy, as -if the gates of heaven had unfolded to receive her. - -The night came on clear, and lighted both by moon and stars, the -solitary traveler still kept the road, accompanied only by her spirited -animal, and the shadow which seemed gliding along the dewy green-sward -by her side, like a silent guardian. It was late in the evening when the -horse checked himself at the fence before a red farm-house, with a -sloping roof, and two large trees embowering it with foliage. - -It seemed like supernatural instinct in the animal, for he had only been -there once before, and Malina, in the tumult of her thoughts, scarcely -knew where she wished to stop. There was a light twinkling through the -thick leaves of a tree bough that dropped over one of the front windows, -but it was very faint, and seemed forcing itself through the folds of a -window curtain. Malina grasped the horn of her saddle, and dropping -feebly down to the green-sward, moved toward the house. There was a -foot-path which led to the front door—she followed this, and found -herself in a dark entry, with a narrow stream of light falling through -the entrance to an inner room. The sound of a faint, wandering voice, -and of smothered sobs, stole from the room. Malina breathed heavily as -she touched the door, and glided into the room. It was indeed the -chamber of death. A solitary candle burned on the table, amid glasses -and vials, sending forth just sufficient light to reveal an old -fashioned tent bed, with its white drapery sweeping to the floor, and -its heavy fringes hanging motionless, as if they had been cut from -marble. At the foot of this bed knelt an old man; his hands were clasped -beneath his face, and the long gray hair swept thickly over them, as he -prayed. A female stood between Malina and the bed; she was bending over -the pillows which were heaped high upon it, and though the poor girl -could not see her face, she _felt_ that it was _his_ mother. She moved, -and the sound of her footstep on the sanded floor made the old lady lift -her head, and Malina saw his face once more. Oh, how white and changed -it was! The damp, black hair fell heavily over his forehead, shadows lay -about the closed eyelids, and there was an expression about the mouth, -which was not a smile, and yet seemed deathly and sweet. His head was -raised high with pillows, and though he seemed to sleep, the breath came -painfully from his lips, and with a struggle that constantly disturbed -the linen which lay in waves across his breast. - -Malina stood upright in the dim light, motionless as a thing of marble, -her eyes fixed on the dying man, and unconscious, in the force of her -grief, that to all in the room, save him who saw her not, she was a -stranger, and had intruded into the sanctuary of private grief. - -It mattered not; Malina’s step had been mistaken for that of a woman -from the kitchen, and no one knew that the wretched young creature was -there. - -There was a motion of the bed clothes, a faint murmur, and the dying man -opened his eyes—those large, eloquent eyes that Malina had thought upon -so often, and so thrillingly. There was a mist upon them now, but -through it broke a soft and strange light, heavenly and beautiful. The -old lady bent her ear, and listened to the faint murmur, which seemed -dying on his lips. - -“My father—when will he come back?—it is late!” - -The sound was very faint, but the old man had heard it amid the strong -agony of his prayer. He arose, and moving round the bed, bent over his -son. A light, almost preternatural, came to the eyes of that dying man, -and with a sudden effort he found voice to speak. - -“My father,” he said, “thank God—you have returned in time. Where is -she?” - -“My son,” said the old man, in a voice which he vainly strove to render -calm, “in a little time she will meet you in heaven—but she is not -here.” - -The invalid had turned his head upon the pillow, with a look of touching -eagerness; but it fell back—his eyes closed faintly, and after gasping -once or twice, he lay motionless, save the lips, which gave forth broken -but beautiful fragments of speech, such as came uppermost in his pure, -but wandering mind, for he was delirious now. The last vibrations of his -soul were disturbed by disappointment in his sole earthly wish. In the -broken murmurs that fell from his lips, Malina heard her own name, and -it unlocked the ice which seemed closing round her heart. With a sob -that broke to her lips amid a gush of tears, she sprung toward the bed, -and falling upon her knees, clasped the pale hand which fell over the -bed, and pressed her quivering lips repeatedly upon it, while her voice -mingled with the choking grief that shook her whole frame. - -“Forgive me! oh, let me stay!” she said, lifting her face to the old -woman, but still nervously grasping the dying man’s hand; “I loved him -better than she did—better than anybody could—better than my own soul! -Let me stay, and die with him! No one asked _me_ to come, but I am here. -You will not send me away?” - -The voice of Malina Gray was soft and low, like that of her sister; and -though broken with grief, it is probable that the dying man was -bewildered by the sound. He started from the pillow—a glorious lustre -broke through the mist which whelmed his eyes, and as Malina sprang to -her feet, his face fell upon her shoulder, and his cold cheek lay -against hers. It was very strange—Malina knew that he was dying, but a -flash of wild joy thrilled through her heart, and for the first time -since she had heard of his illness, a faint color broke into the cheek -which pressed his. She laid him gently upon the pillow, and parting the -damp hair from his forehead, pressed her lips tremblingly upon it, while -her sobs filled the chamber. When the dying man felt the touch of her -quivering mouth, a smile stole over his face—again the misty eyes were -unclosed, and feebly lifting his arm, he wound it over her neck and drew -her to his bosom, while the unformed words he would have spoken were -lost amid the dying music of his soul. A moment, and his arm fell softly -from Malina’s neck. The young creature lifted her face from his bosom, -and looking at his mother, murmured— - -“He loved _her_ living—but is he not mine in death?—mine, for ever and -ever!” - -She turned to lay her face near his heart once more, but there was no -color in her lips then. She started, and, with a cold shudder, bent her -cheek slowly to his bosom—it pressed heavily, and more heavily, on the -cold clay—her limbs relaxed, and she sunk across the bed, senseless as -the beautiful corpse which cumbered it. - -The gloom of death had shadowed that farm-house two days, and now it was -desolate. The kind neighbors who had walked in and out, ministering to -grief, no longer broke the solemn hush which pervaded the dwelling. The -departed was indeed the departed—for they had borne him over his -father’s threshold, and laid him down to sleep in the dark earth. Malina -followed him to the grave. She was a stranger, but no one asked why she -stood among the mourners, and without their sable vestments. When the -aged mother bent over the coffin, and looked upon the dead, the young -girl drew to her side, and fixed her eyes upon the cold still face which -had never met her glance coldly before. The mother wept, but Malina -could not shed a tear, although the solemn and hushed grief upon her -face awed even village curiosity. - -And now they were alone—the parents, and that poor girl. She was upon -her knees—her head was bent, and its redundant hair veiled her face, -while the broken hearted young creature begged a blessing from _his -mother_ before she went away. The sorrowing woman laid her hands upon -the bright tresses which flowed over her lap for a moment, then lifting -the suppliant to her bosom, wept over her. - -Mr. Mosier, when he heard the sobs of his wife, arose, and clasping his -hands over Malina’s head, silently besought a blessing on her. She drew -back, and he saw that her face was still calm; so taking her hands in -his, he began to persuade and reason with her. She listened, and gazed -earnestly in his face as he spoke. At last, tears started to her eyes, -and when the old man saw this, big drops began to stream down his own -cheek, and the clasp of his hand grew tremulous, as he led her from the -room. - -As the old man placed Malina in her saddle, he glanced in her face, and -a misgiving came to his heart. He questioned himself if it was safe to -trust her to the road without protection; but when he proposed -accompanying her part of the way, at least, she pleaded against it with -startling eagerness, and, thinking of his afflicted wife, he allowed her -to depart. - -Malina had a secret wish at her heart, which caused it to pant for -solitude. Her road lay close by the grave-yard where our young minister -was buried, and she yearned to stand once more by his death place, and -alone. When she reached the sacred place, she looked to the right and -left, timidly, as if her errand had been a wrong one. Her nerves were -strung to their utmost tension, and she was morbidly fearful of being -seen—every thing was solitary and quiet; the long grass bending to the -breeze, as it sighed over the graves, and the soft rustling sound which -whispered amid the leaves of a clump of weeping willows, that curtained -an entire household that had gone down to sleep together, were all the -sounds that fell upon her ear. She tied the horse to the fence, and -passing forward to _his_ grave, sat upon a pile of sods that had been -left by the sexton. She neither wept nor moved—but there she remained -in the bright sunshine, gazing hour after hour on a tuft of tiny white -blossoms, which sprung up from a sod which they had placed just over his -heart. Now and then, she twined her hands together as they reposed in -her lap—and as the sunshine went suddenly away, and heavy black clouds -rolled over the sky, with the lightning playing amid their ragged folds, -she smiled, and drew closer to the grave. - -At last, a roar of thunder burst from the clouds, big drops of rain came -down upon the graves, and bent the willows more droopingly to the earth. - -Malina lifted her eyes upward with a wild and startled look, then -turning them on the willows which sheltered that single family, and on -the congregation of graves which lay around her, all covered with long -grass, she rested them on the mound at her feet, murmuring— - -“Have all a covering from the cold rain, but thee?” - -As she spoke, Malina took off her shawl, and spreading it over the newly -made grave, cast herself upon it, and for the first time since she felt -his heart stop beating beneath hers, moaned and sobbed as if her very -life were going from her. - -In a few moments the garments of our poor mourner were saturated with -rain—still she clung closer to the grave, murmuring words of wild -endearment to the unconscious inmate, and congratulating herself, with -strange earnestness, that she was still able to shield his bosom from -the storm. - -At last, the clouds rolled away, and though the sun was just going down, -his last fires kindled a rainbow amid the water drops that yet filled -the air. Malina lifted her head, and gazed upward—a smile parted her -lips when she saw the rainbow, and pressing her cheek upon the grave -again, she whispered— - -“The angels have built thee a bridge, love!” - -The sun went down, and Malina arose from the grave, shivering from head -to foot. She gazed around, and was turning her eyes with a wistful look -on her late resting place, as if she meditated casting herself down -again, when a low neigh from the horse which still remained by the -fence, aroused her, and leaving the shawl behind, she hurried toward the -patient animal, and mounting him, rode away. - -Malina must have wandered from the usual road, in the strange -abstraction of her mind, for it was midnight when she came opposite the -old meeting-house. Prompted, doubtless, by some vague fear of returning -home, or perhaps allured to pause by the open gate, the weary and half -bewildered girl turned her horse, and riding close to the front door of -the parsonage house, dismounted, and allowed him to wander amid the -flower beds and rose bushes which filled the yard. Thrusting her hand -beneath the door sill, she took out a key, and fitted it to the lock, -but with difficulty, for her hands trembled; and though hot flushes -every moment darted through her frame, she was shivering with cold. She -went up stairs, holding feebly by the balusters, and guided by the -moonlight, which fell from a window overhead, she entered a room—that -which she had decorated as the bridal chamber of her sister Phebe, and -of the departed. A clear moonlight came through the windows, and lay -like flags of silver amid the black shadows which filled the apartment. -Every thing was still and motionless; not a breath stirred the bridal -ribands with which the muslin curtains were looped back. The bed lay -with the moonlight sleeping amid its pillows, like a snow drift, when -the air is calm; and the atmosphere was impregnated by the dead flowers -which had been profusely lavished on the toilet, and now hung crisp and -withered in their vases. Malina was very ill, and a fever burned through -her veins—her limbs were almost powerless, and her forehead seemed -girdled with iron. Still was she sensible of surrounding things, and her -heart swelled with the recollections which thronged on her aching brain. -She unfastened her damp dress, and with difficulty crept into bed. - -“Poor, poor Phebe,” she murmured, gathering the white counterpane over -her shivering form, “how little she thinks I am here—how she would pity -me, so ill, and all alone. Alas, how sad a thing this trouble is—I have -not thought of Phebe these many long days—I wonder if she is ill as I -am—if her head is so hot, and her limbs chilled, till they shake so. -This is a cold bed—very, very cold—but his is colder still. Oh, my -God! _he is dead_—and I have seen his grave. I—but it was not -me—no—he loved my sister. But I had his dying kiss! It was the last -throb of his heart that beat against mine, and chilled me so. That was -it—that was it!” - -With such fragments of speech, and moans of pain, Malina verged into the -delirium of a raging fever. At times she would weep, and call for her -sister, in tones of yearning tenderness—then notes of music would break -from her lips, and ring through every corner of the solitary house, as -if a prisoned angel were pleading for release there. When the fever came -on, fierce and strong, she began to ask for water—to weep, and wring -her hands, while she entreated some visionary being to leave her in the -grave-yard where _he_ was; where showers were continually falling and -weaving rainbows around those who thirsted for rest or drink; and so her -voice of suffering rose and swelled through the lone building all night. -When the day dawned, she was still awake and delirious; tears stood on -her crimson cheeks, and entreaties for water still rose to her parched -lips. - -It came at last—she knew not how it was, but a pale, sweet face bent -over her, a soft voice was speaking comfort, and a glass of water cooler -and more refreshing than she had ever tasted before was held to her -lips. She was just conscious enough to think that it was Phebe who -ministered to her wants, or some good seraph that looked as sweetly sad -and kind. Then she sunk to sleep, and it was many weeks before she awoke -from the dream that followed. - -It was Phebe Gray who stood by the sick bed of the sufferer. A villager -had seen Mrs. Gray’s horse that morning, bridled and with his saddle on, -trampling among the flower beds and feasting upon the choice rose bushes -which grew in the parsonage yard—he went in to secure the animal and -was terrified by the voice of suffering which issued from the house. He -went up stairs, saw the delirious young creature who occupied the bridal -chamber, and hastened to inform Mrs. Gray—but Phebe had struggled with -her own sufferings and stood over Malina’s sick bed many hours before -the mother had arranged her dress and prepared herself to pass through -the village with that degree of propriety which she considered due to -her character. - -Malina lay many weeks before the fever left her; then a cough set in and -a hectic spot settled and burned into her thin cheeks. The poor girl -smiled a sad quiet smile, when she heard them say each evening, that a -little over exertion had excited her, that she had taken a slight cold -which in the turn of her disease was felt more than usual. Still the -cough deepened, the crimson spot burned on, and she knew that the life -which kindled would soon be exhausted. And so it was, that autumn when -the woods were all flushed with those dyes which an early frost brings -to the foliage, when the nuts were ripe and the brown leaves fell in -showers over the crisp moss, Malina Gray was extended beneath the snowy -drapery which her own hands had gathered above the bridal bed. White -ribands were still knotted amid the folds which seemed brooding over her -like a cloud, and a few crimson fall flowers lay scattered upon the -pillow, some of them so close to the marble cheek that a faint tinge was -coldly reflected there. For two whole nights Phebe watched the beautiful -clay reposing in the dim light upon her own bridal bed, but scarcely -more changed than her own sweet self. Malina was the happiest, her heart -had broken amid the struggle of its suffering, but that of the watcher -lay crushed and withering in her young bosom. She felt that life was yet -strong within her; but hope, love, every thing that makes life pleasant -to a woman, had departed. She was still good, still pure almost as an -angel, but the sad smile which settled on her lips never deepened to a -laugh again, and no human being ever saw a tear in her changeless and -sorrowful eyes. - -They laid Malina Gray down to sleep beside old minister Brown—in the -very spot she had yearned to repose in. A large circle of neighbors -gathered around the grave, some in tears, and all very sorrowful. Mrs. -Gray stood by the coffin; her mourning was arranged with great care, and -a veil of new crape, deeply hemmed, fell decorously over her face, and -the white handkerchief, with which she concealed those maternal tears -proper for a mother, whose duty it was to be resigned under any -dispensation. But Phebe stood silent and motionless; no handkerchief was -lifted to her eyes, and the face which gleamed beneath the crape veil, -was profoundly calm, almost as that of the corpse. - -We had a new minister, on trial, of Mrs. Gray’s choosing, who performed -the funeral service, and when all was over, returned home with the -mourners; when they knelt in the little parlor that night, he prayed -earnestly, and with genuine tears, for the bereaved mother; he besought -the Lord to visit, with consolation, one who was a mother in Israel, a -bright and shining ornament in the Christian church; a woman who had -brought up her children in the fear and admonition of the Lord; whose -path was growing brighter and brighter to the perfect day when she would -reap a rich reward in heaven. - -Amid a few natural sobs which awoke in the widow’s heart, she murmured, -“Amen,” satisfied that her life had been one of perfect rectitude, and -that in all things she had been a pattern mother, and an ornament to the -church, which ought to be her consolation under any bereavement. - -The new minister was a very conscientious man, but practical in all his -ideas; he was honest in the high opinion which he entertained of Mrs. -Gray, and not sufficiently sensitive to shrink from offering his hand to -Phebe, when that lady delicately gave him to understand that the step -would be satisfactory to herself. The old parsonage house was still -empty, and Phebe’s inheritance. He was an installed pastor, and Miss -Gray’s engagement to his predecessor never entered his mind as an -objection. - -Phebe betrayed no emotion when the proposal was made. She simply -declined it, without giving a reason; and when he married another -person, and would have rented the parsonage, she said with decision—“It -must remain as my sister left it!” - -And when Mrs. Gray would have remonstrated, she answered, still with -firmness— - -“I am of age, mother, but still will obey you in all things else. Act as -you like regarding the other property—but no stranger shall ever live -in the parsonage. Poor Malina furnished it for _him_, and for me. She -died there, and so will I!” - - * * * * * - -It may be so, for the old house is still uninhabited. Every thing -remains as Malina left it; the bridal chamber, the easy chair, and the -flute upon the table; time has made little change in those silent -apartments, for every week Phebe, who has become a calm and sorrowful -old maid, goes up to the house alone, and remains there for many hours; -sometimes seated at the study table, and gazing at a grave which may be -seen through the trees. Once, a child gathering valley lilies, beneath -the window, saw her standing at the open sash, with her sad eyes turned -toward the grave-yard. She was talking to herself—the child dropped his -flowers and listened, for there was something so mournful in her voice, -that his little heart thrilled to the sound. - -“They tell me that he wearied himself, and died of fever,” she said; -“and that thou, my sister, perished naturally, and as we all must. Alas, -if I could but think so. Why not have told me how he was beloved before -it was too late? I would have given him up—and while you were happy, -this heart had not become so palsied and feelingless. Alas, it was well -that thy heart _could_ break, my poor, poor Malina!” - - * * * * * - - - - - NOON.[5] - - - BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. - - - ’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee - And worshiped, while the husbandman withdrew - From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man - Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount, - Or rested in the shadow of the palm. - - I, too, amid the overflow of day, - Behold the power which wields and cherishes - The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock - That overlooks the Hudson’s western marge, - I gaze upon the long array of groves, - The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in - The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun; - Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays - Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst, - The swelling river into his green gulfs, - Unshadowed save by passing sails above, - Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys - The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers, - That would not open in the early light, - Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool, - That darkly quivered all the morning long - In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun, - And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again, - The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within - Run the brown water-beetles to and fro. - - A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, - Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within - His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile, - Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog - Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade. - Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws, - No more sits listening by his den, but steals - Abroad, in safety, to the clover field, - And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while - A ceaseless murmur from the populous town - Swells o’er these solitudes; a mingled sound - Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash - Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang, - And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks, - And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet, - Innumerable, hurrying to and fro. - Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings - No pause to toil and care; with early day - Began the tumult, and shall only cease - When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds - Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest. - - Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain - And luxury possess the hearts of men, - Thus is it with the noon of human life. - We in our fervid manhood, in our strength - Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care, - Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh - Our spirits with the calm and beautiful - Of God’s harmonious universe, that won - Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire - Why we are here, and what the reverence - Man owes to man, and what the mystery - That links us to the greater world, beside - Whose borders we but hover for a space. - ------ - -[5] From an unpublished Poem. - - * * * * * - - - - - TRUTH. - - - BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. - - - “This above all!—to thine own self be true! - And it must follow, as the night the day, - Thou canst not then be false to any man.” - - - - CHAPTER I. - - A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE. - -“Mother! mother!” exclaimed a sweet, eager voice, and the speaker, a -child of thirteen years, burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at -work, “don’t you think there is to be a prize given on exhibition day -for the best composition! And I mean to try for it—sha’nt I?” - -She was a little, harum-scarum looking imp! I suppose she had run all -the way home from school, for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead -of her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was streaming in such -disorder about her glowing face, that you could not tell if she were -pretty or not; but you could see a pair of brilliant, gray or blue or -black eyes—they certainly changed their color with every new emotion; -but I think they were really gray—full of laughter, and love beaming -through the truant tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh, -warm soul. This change in the child’s eyes is no freak of a foolish -fancy; for every one noticed it; and her school-crony, Kate Sumner, used -to declare, that when Harriet was angry they were black; gray when she -was thoughtful; violet when sad; and when happy and loving, they changed -to the tenderest blue. - -Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and smoothed back the -rebellious curls, at the same time exclaiming, with a long drawn sigh, -“My _dear_ Harriet! how you _do_ look!” - -“Oh, mother! it’s not the least matter how _I_ look! If I were only a -beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, I would keep my hair as smooth as—as -_any_ thing; but I wouldn’t rub my cheeks though, as she does always, -just before she goes into a room where there’s company—would _you_, -mother?” - -The mother gazed at her child’s expressive face, as she spoke, with its -irregular, yet lovely features, the strange, bright eyes, the changing -cheek, the full and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, -“Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not change your simple, -innocent, childlike unconsciousness, for all Angelina’s beauty, spoiled -as it is by vanity and affectation.” - -“But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, for I want to write -it now, this minute!” - -“Harriet,” said Mrs. Carlton quietly, “go and brush your hair, change -your shoes, and mend that rent in your dress as neatly as you can.” - -Harriet half pouted; but she met her mother’s tranquil eye; the pout -changed to a good-humored smile, and kissing her affectionately, she -bounded off to do her bidding. - -While she is gone, you would like—would you not, dear reader?—to ask a -few questions about her. I can guess what they are, and will answer -them, to the best of my knowledge. - -Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, and a handsome house -in Tremont street, Boston. She has been a star in fashionable life, but -since the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, she has retired -from the gay world, and devoted herself to her child—a wild, frank, -happy, generous and impetuous creature, with half a dozen glaring -faults, and one rare virtue which nobly redeemed them all. That virtue, -patient reader, you must find out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a -glimpse of it in - - - CHAPTER II. - - AUNT ELOISE. - -Harriet was busy with her composition, when her aunt, who was on a visit -to Mrs. Carlton, entered the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak minded and -weak hearted lady of a very uncertain age—unhappily gifted with more -sensibility than sense. She really had a deal of feeling—for -herself—and an almost inexhaustible shower of tears, varied -occasionally by hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing -exigency in the fate of her friends demanded self-possession, energy, or -immediate assistance. If, too, there happened, as there will sometimes, -in all households, to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion by any -member of the family, such as sewing, watching with an invalid, shopping -with a country cousin, poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most -unfortunately seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain in the -side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness, or some trouble of the -kind, which quite precluded the propriety of asking her aid. - -Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified the family with a -wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell had interrupted, and every -evening she grew sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight -hour awakened. It was then that innumerable shades of former admirers -arose. Some doubted if they had ever been _more_ than shades; but Aunt -Eloise certainly knew best about that, and who had a right to deny, that -Mr. Smith had knelt to her for pity; that Colonel Green had vowed -eternal adoration; and that Lawyer Lynx had laid his heart, his hand, -and his fees, which were not quite a fortune, at her feet? - -Aunt Eloise had been—at least she hinted so—a beauty and a blue, in -her day; and, to maintain both characters, she rouged, wore false -ringlets, and scribbled love-verses, which she had a bad habit of -leaving, by accident, between the leaves of books in every frequented -room of the house. - -She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond of her niece, during -her early childhood, and imagined that she displayed a graceful -enthusiasm in exclaiming, every now and then, in her presence, and in -that of others, “Oh! you angel child! I do think she is the sweetest -creature! Come here and kiss me, you beauty!” &c. &c. But no one ever -saw Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to its little wants, -or doing any thing for its benefit. The only tangible proof of her -affection for her niece, was in the shape of bonbons and candy, which -she was in the habit of bringing home from her frequent walks in Tremont -street. Harriet regularly handed these forbidden luxuries to her mother, -and Mrs. Carlton as regularly threw them in the fire. - -“Isn’t it a pity to waste such nice things, mother? Why not give them to -some poor child in the street?” asked the little girl one day, as she -watched, with longing eyes, a paper full of the tempting poison, which -her mother was quietly emptying into the grate. - -Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her child— - -“That would be _worse_ than wasted, dear. It would be cruel to give to -another what I refuse to you on account of its unwholesomeness.” - -But Harriet had now been for a long time out of the spinster’s books—as -the saying is—and this misfortune occurred as follows— - -One morning, when she was about six years old, the child came into her -mother’s room from her aunt’s, where she had been alternately pelted, -scolded, and teased, till she was weary, and, seating herself in a -corner, remained for some time absorbed in thought. She had been reading -to her mother that morning, and one sentence, of which she had asked an -explanation, had made a deep impression upon her. It was this—“God -sends us trials and troubles to strengthen and purify our hearts.” She -now sat in her corner, without speaking or stirring, until her mother’s -voice startled her from her reverie. - -“Of what are you now thinking, Harriet?” - -“Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen and purify my heart?” - -“What do you mean, my child?” - -“Why, the book says he sends trials for that, and she is the greatest -trial _I_ have, you know.” - -The indignant maiden was just entering the room as this dialogue began, -and hearing her own name, she had stopped, unseen, to listen. Speechless -with rage, she returned to her chamber, and was never heard to call -Harriet an angel child again. - -But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s follies than they -deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s all-important composition. - -The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, took it into her head -sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; and officious too, particularly -where she thought her literary talents could come into play. She walked -up to Harriet and looked over her shoulder. - -“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, Harriet, I am glad to see -you taking to literary pursuits. Come, child! give me the pen and I will -improve that sentence for you.” - -“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.” - -“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!” - -“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I would like you to help me, -if it were not to be shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know, to -pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for a prize.” - -“For a prize! So much the more reason that you should be assisted. -There, dear, run away to your play and I will write it all for you. -You’ll be sure to win the prize.” - -With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had grown larger and -darker, and at the close, she turned them, full of astonishment, from -her aunt’s face to her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of the -latter, she replied, - -“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you know.” - -“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, “It is a very common -thing, I assure you!” - -“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” said Mrs. Carlton; -“pray let Harriet have her own way about it. It would be far better to -lose the prize, than to gain it thus dishonestly.” - -Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have _her_ own way; but -she said no more then, and Harriet pursued her employment without -further interruption. - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE PRIZE. - -The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had finished her story several -days before, and read it to her mother. It was a simple, graceful, -childlike effusion, with less of pretension and ornament, and more of -spirit and originality than the compositions of most children of the -same age contain. - -Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt Eloise had criticised it -without mercy. At the same time she was observed to smile frequently -with a cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself—an -expression which she always wore when she had a secret, and secrets she -had, in abundance—a new one almost every day—trivial, petty secrets, -which no one cared about but herself; but which _she_ guarded as -jealously as if they had been apples of gold. - -The exhibition day had arrived. - -“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, glancing for a moment -into the breakfast-room. - -She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful dress, made for the -occasion. She held the story in her hand, neatly enclosed in an -envelope, and her eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of -childhood. - -“Don’t be surprised, Harriet,” said her aunt, “at any thing that may -happen to-day. Only be thankful if the prize is yours, that’s all.” - -“If Kate Sumner don’t win it, I do _hope_ I shall!” replied the eager -child, and away she tripped to school. - -At twelve o’clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took their seats among the -audience, in the exhibition room. The usual exercises were completed, -and it only remained for the compositions to be read aloud by the -teacher. - -The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. Mr. Wentworth, the -teacher, looked first surprised, then amused, then vexed as he read, -while a gaily and fashionably dressed lady, who occupied a conspicuous -place in the assembly, was observed to toss her head and fan herself -with a very complacent air, while she met, with a nod, the conscious -eyes of a fair and beautiful, but haughty looking girl of fifteen seated -among the pupils. - -“By Angelina Burton,” said the teacher, as he concluded, and laying it -aside without further comment, he took up the next—“Lines to a Favorite -Tree,” by Catherine Sumner. - -It was short and simple, and ran as follows— - - Thy leaves’ lightest murmur, - Oh! beautiful tree! - Each bend of thy branches, - The stately, the free, - Each wild, wavy whisper, - Is music to me. - - I gaze thro’ thy labyrinth, - Golden and green, - Where the light loves to linger, - In glory serene, - Far up, till yon heaven-blue - Trembles between. - - I shut out the city, - Its sight and its sound, - And away, far away, - For the forest I’m bound, - For the noble old forest, - Which ages have crowned! - - I lean on its moss banks, - I stoop o’er its rills, - I see, thro’ its vistas, - The vapor-wreathed hills, - And my soul with a gush - Of wild happiness fills! - - I pine for the freshness, - The freedom, the health, - Which Nature can give me— - My soul’s dearest wealth - Is wasted in cities; - Where only, by stealth, - - The mountain-born breezes - Can fitfully play, - Where we steal but a glimpse - Of this glorious day, - And but by the calendar, - Learn it is May. - - But away with repining, - I’ll study, from thee, - A lesson of patience, - Oh! noble, old tree! - ’Mid dark walls imprisoned, - Thou droop’st not like me; - - But strivest forever, - Still up, strong and brave, - ’Till in Heaven’s pure sunshine, - Thy free branches wave! - Oh! thus may _I_ meet it, - No longer a slave! - -The next was a story, and Harriet Carlton’s eyes and cheeks changed -color as she listened. It was the same, yet not the same! The incidents -were hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a flowery and highly -wrought sentence had been introduced, which she had never heard before. - -She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and dismay, and though -several other inferior compositions were read, she was so absorbed in -reverie, that she heard no more until she was startled by Mr. -Wentworth’s voice calling her by name. She looked up. In his hand was -the prize—a richly chased, golden pencil-case, suspended to a chain of -the same material. The sound, the sight recalled her bewildered -faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she had formed a resolution, -which, however, it required all her native strength of soul to put in -practice. - -“Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!” and the teacher leaned forward to -throw the chain around her neck. The child drew back— - -“No, sir,” she said in a low, but firm and distinct voice, looking up -bravely in his face, “I did not write the story you have read.” - -“Not write it!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, “Why, then, does it bear your -name? Am I to understand, Miss Carlton, that you have asked another’s -assistance in your composition, and that you now repent the deception?” - -Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes first flashed, and then -filled with tears; her lip trembled with emotion, and she paused a -moment, as if disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge. - -A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused her, and she -answered, respectfully but firmly, - -“The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. Some one has -changed it without my knowledge. It was not so good as that you have -read; so I must not take the prize.” - -There was a murmur of applause through the assembly, and the teacher -bent upon the blushing girl a look of approval, which amply repaid her -for all the embarrassment she had suffered. - -Aunt Eloise took advantage of the momentary excitement to steal -unobserved from the room. Harriet took her seat, and Miss Angelina -Burton was next called up. The portly matron leaned smilingly forward; -and the graceful, little beauty, already affecting the airs of a fine -lady, sauntered up to the desk and languidly reached out her hand for -the prize. - -“I cannot say much for your taste in selection, Miss Burton. I do not -admire your author’s sentiments. The next time you wish to make an -extract, you must allow me to choose for you. There are better things -than this, even in the trashy magazine from which you have copied it.” - -And with this severe, but justly merited reproof of the imposition that -had been practiced, he handed the young lady, not the prize, which she -expected, but the MS. essay on Friendship, which she had copied, word -for word, from an old magazine. - -The portly lady turned very red, and the beauty, bursting into tears of -anger and mortification, returned to her seat discomfited. - -“Miss Catherine Sumner,” resumed the teacher, with a benign smile, to a -plain, yet noble-looking girl, who came forward as he spoke, “I believe -there can be no mistake about _your_ little effusion. I feel great -pleasure in presenting you the reward, due, not only to your mental -cultivation, but to the goodness of your heart. What! do _you_, too, -hesitate?” - -“Will you be kind enough, sir,” said the generous Kate, taking a paper -from her pocket, “to read Harriet’s story before you decide. I asked her -for a copy several days ago, and here it is.” - -“You shall read it to the audience yourself, my dear; I am sure they -will listen patiently to so kind a pleader in her friend’s behalf.” - -The listeners looked pleased and eager to hear the story; and Kate -Sumner, with a modest self-possession, which well became her, and with -her fine eyes lighting up as she read, did full justice to the pretty -and touching story, of which Harriet had been so cruelly robbed. - -“It is well worth reading,” said Mr. Wentworth, when she had finished; -“your friend has won the prize, my dear young lady; and, as she owes it -to your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of bestowing it, -yourself.” - -Kate’s face glowed with emotion as she hung the chain around Harriet’s -neck; and Harriet could not restrain her tears, while she whispered, - -“I will take it, _not_ as a prize, but as a gift from _you_, dear Kate!” - -“And now, Miss Sumner,” said Mr. Wentworth, in conclusion, “let me beg -your acceptance of these volumes, as a token of your teacher’s respect -and esteem,” and presenting her a beautifully bound edition of Milton’s -works, he bowed his adieu to the retiring audience. - - * * * * * - -“Will you lend me your prize-pencil this morning, Harriet?” said Mrs. -Carlton the next day. She was dressed for a walk, and Harriet wondered -why she should want the pencil to take out with her; but she immediately -unclasped the chain from her neck, and handed it to her mother without -asking any questions. - -She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying at the side of her plate, -with the single word, “Truth” engraved upon its seal. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: E. T. Parris., Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch, & - Smillie. -_True Affection._ -_Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine._] - - * * * * * - - - - - TRUE AFFECTION. - - - ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. - - - Matron in thy golden prime, - Well the world may envy thee; - Thou hast reached the happy time - When life holds her jubilee— - Midway on her pilgrimage, - Looking backward and before, - Where end infancy and age - On her being’s misty shore. - - Turning to the past, thine eye - Dwells upon a way of flowers— - Not a cloud upon the sky - ’Neath which passed the happy hours. - Clear the vision of the True!— - Standing on the verge of Time, - See! Hope opens to your view - Glories of the better clime! - - So the past and present life— - What the tale the present tells? - Childhood—maidenhood—a _wife_— - Thus the tide of being swells— - Mother! oh all else in this - Fade as stars before the sun, - Thou the highest point of bliss - Yielded to the True hast won. - - Love—communion—in these words - All the happiness we know; - Without them the world affords - Nought to bind the heart below; - “True Affection!” with unrest - We the boon demand of all; - Vainly seeking, still unblest— - Strangers at life’s carnival. - - Earnest, calm, unchanging love, - With no doubt its light to shade— - Oh, the happiness above - Is but this eternal made! - Thou hast found it—in thine eyes, - In the eyes that look to thine, - As the stars from summer skies - Sweetly do we see it shine. - - Exiles from a better sphere - Weary wanderers are we, - Doomed ’mid clouds to linger here, - Source of bliss, unknowing thee! - Save, when from the world apart - Thou upon our gloomy way - Shinest from a kindred heart, - Turning darkness into day! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PERSECUTOR’S DAUGHTER. - - - BY CHARLES J. PETERSON. - - -The last days of November are at hand, and the melancholy woods, shorn -of their foliage, stand skeleton-like against the cold, lowering sky; or -toss their branches to and fro, with a low moaning sound, in the fitful -tempest. Hark! how the gale swells out with the deep voice of a -cathedral organ, or dies plaintively away like the cry of a lost child -in the forest. The sky is covered with cloud-rifts of a deep, leaden -color, only a spot of blue sky being here and there visible; but -occasionally the sun, bursting, like a god, from the darkness that -encircles him, covers the brown hills with an effulgent glory, while the -opposite firmament is lit up with a dull, fiery glow, that has something -almost spectral in its aspect. The streams are swollen and discolored, -and roll their turbid waters hoarsely onward. Along the fields the brown -grass whistles in the wind, and the bare flower-stalks rattle, with a -melancholy tone, in the garden. Now and then, drops of rain plash -heavily to the ground. The wind comes with a sudden chill to the -nerves—the bay is crisped into foam by the fitful gusts—and along the -bleak coast the now mountain waves roll in with a hoarse, sullen roar, -forewarning us of shipwreck and death. Sad thoughts insensibly possess -the mind, and tales of sorrow, that had long been forgot, come up to our -memories. One such is even now heavy on our heart—listen! and we will -rehearse it. - -It was on just such a morning as this, many a long year ago, and far -away from our own happy land, that a little congregation was gathered -together in the hills to worship God. The time was in those sore and -evil days when the decree of a tyrannical king had gone forth, that no -man should worship, except as a corrupt hierarchy and lascivious court -might ordain—and when, all over Scotland, those who would not give up -the free birthright of their fathers, were driven to meet in mountain -glens, and on lonely moors, whither their pastors—the holy men who had -baptized them in infancy, and united them to the dear objects of their -love—had already been hunted. And often, in solitary places, where -hitherto only the cry of the eagle had been heard, the Sabbath hymn rose -sweetly up from tender maidens and tearful wives, while their brothers -and husbands listened with weapons in their hands, or watched from some -neighboring eminence, lest the fiery dragoons of Claverhouse should be -in sight. And when these God-defying troopers, with hands red with the -blood of the saints, burst into the little flock, woful was the tale, -and loud the wailing that went through all the vales around. Every new -Sabbath brought its tale of slaughter, until the land smoked with blood, -and the incense thereof went up from a hundred hills, crying for -vengeance to the Most High. - -And such a congregation had now met in the hollow of three hills, far -away from the usual track of the persecutors. A simple rock served the -hoary headed pastor for a pulpit; while hard by, a rivulet, brawling -over its pebbly bed, and then for a moment expanding into a mimic lake, -bottomed with silvery sands, formed the holy font for baptism. Around -was gathered the little flock—aged sires and young striplings, staid -matrons and meek-eyed maidens, young children and stalwart men—all -gazing upward into the pastor’s face, a sacred throng. But there was one -other there, who seemed equally with him an object of anxious interest, -and on whom every eye was occasionally turned—a bright, beautiful -being, with far more of heaven than earth in her deep, azure eyes. Oh! -lovely was that fair-haired girl, even as we may have dreamed a seraph -to be, all glorious with golden wings, under the throne of God. And now -there sat in those soft blue eyes an expression of meek sorrow, tempered -with high and holy faith, for many and sore had been the trials of Helen -Græme; but grace had been given her to endure them all, and even to rise -above them, with a courage which had made her dear unto every heart -among these wandering and persecuted ones. - -The father of Helen was the last son of a family which had been decaying -for centuries, and which, of all its once mighty possessions, retained -only the comparatively small estate of Craigburnie, in one of the -southern counties of Scotland. To rebuild the fortunes of his house had -been the darling wish of her father. For this purpose he had entered the -army of the Covenanters, during the wars of the great revolution, and -served with some distinction, though without permanent advantage, in -consequence of the return of the king. On the happening of this event, -Mr. Græme retired to his estate, soured and disappointed. Here he would -have been far more discontented than he was, but for his wife, a lady of -the meekest piety, and whose single minded charity was known throughout -all her native hills, for Mrs. Græme was the daughter of one of the -holiest ministers of the kirk, and inherited not only his piety, but the -fervent admiration with which he was regarded by his parishioners. She -early instilled into her child the pure precepts of our holy religion, -and often might the little girl be seen seated at her mother’s knee, -lisping the word of God, which the parent taught her thus early to -peruse. And, on the Sabbath, who listened more attentively to the -venerable pastor, or joined with sweeter voice in the anthem of praise? -Nurtured thus, what wonder that at seventeen she seemed the counterpart -of the mother, and was regarded by the poorer folk around the Brae—her -mother’s birthplace, and where she spent several months each -year—almost with veneration, for had not many of them, in times of sore -trial, been sustained by the bounty, and cheered by the smiles of the -heavenly girl? - -But at length her mother fell sick, and for many a weary month Helen -watched by the sufferer’s bed-side, a ministering angel. During this -illness she noticed that, at times, her father would seem lost in -thought, as if something weighed heavily on his mind; but Helen regarded -it little, attributing it to his suspense at her mother’s danger, for he -loved both her and his child with an intensity seemingly in -contradiction to his hard, unbending character, but which, in truth, was -the result of his total seclusion from the world; for the sympathies -thus shut out from others lavished themselves wholly on his wife and -daughter. At length, Mrs. Græme died, and for many days it seemed as if -that strong man’s heart would break, while Helen wept in silence, though -not less uncontrollably. Her father was now sterner than ever, though -not to her. He was more alone, often indulged in fits of musing, and was -absent at Edinburgh for some days—an unusual occurrence—and when he -came back it was as Sir Roland Græme, a title which men said he had -purchased by selling himself to the Court. Helen heard these -rumors—which, however, came to her ears in whispers, and which at first -she could not believe—with sorrow and despair of heart; but no word of -reproof broke from her lips. Her sufferings were endured silently; but -so deep was her grief, that she pined away, seeming to all eyes a being -lent awhile to earth, and gradually exhaling to heaven. Her father, -thinking her sorrow sprung wholly from her mother’s death, and wishing, -perhaps, that she should be from home when he should first act for the -government, sent her to her mother’s native vale, alleging, and -doubtless hoping, that change of air would restore her to health. It -were doing him no more than justice to say, that his paternal love was -fully aroused to Helen’s danger, and that he took the only possible -means to keep at his side this dear bud of her who was now in heaven. He -forgot how much the little family at the Brae leaned toward the -persecuted sect—he forgot the disaffected character of the district -into which Helen went—he forgot the danger lest her own feelings should -become enlisted in behalf of those against whom he was so soon to draw -his sword; remembering only—for was he not a father?—that his child’s -health was in danger, and that a residence in the mountain district -where she had been born, and where she had spent so many happy years, -was the sole chance of saving her life. - -And now Helen was once more amid the scenes where her childhood had been -spent, and every old counsel and prayer of her mother, recalled to mind -by the spots where they had been first heard, rose up before her, and -softened her heart; and often, at Sabbath eve, or in the still watches -of the night, it seemed to her as if the spirit of that sainted mother -hovered over her, whispering her heavenward, and bidding her never to -forget or forsake her God. All the sympathies which now surrounded her, -drew her to the persecuted sect; for her cousin and aunt were both among -the non-conformists; and though the little kirk, standing all alone in -the hills, a cool well in a parched desert, was now closed, and he who -had formerly ministered there an outcast, yet the sight and recognition -of him, at more than one stolen meeting, recalled to Helen’s mind the -time when he blessed her, nestling bird-like to her mother’s bosom, she -looking the while half affrightedly, yet oh, how reverentially, up into -the face of the mild old man! And was not her heart softened, even to -tears, when the patriarch, well remembering her—for none did he ever -forget—sought her among the crowd, and, laying his hands on her head, -blessed her, hoping that God still kept her in the way her mother had -trod? From that hour Helen became a changed being. The light heartedness -of youth was gone. She wept often, and prayed in solitary places by -herself; for lo! the struggle in her bosom, between duty to her parent, -and a higher duty to God, waxed stronger and stronger; but daily she -yearned more and more to the oppressed remnant, until finally it was -whispered in the scattered congregation that the persecutor’s -daughter—that child of many prayers—was to become a professed member -of the flock. And old men and nursing mothers in the church blessed God -as they heard it. - -On this Sabbath morning, Helen had, for the first time, openly attended -a meeting in the hills. At first, she had come with fear and trembling, -but when she saw the looks of kindly sympathy with which all regarded -her, she became more composed, and could enter on the holy duties of the -day in a fitting mood. And when the aged pastor gave out the hymn, and -the congregation joined in the sacred anthem, what voice sang of -redeeming love so sweetly as that of Helen? - -Lo! the vision of light has passed from our souls, and in place of that -seraphic countenance, we behold the face of a stern warrior, in every -feature of which we read of cruelty and blood. Even now he is hot in -pursuit of the suffering remnant, and with his troop of fiery dragoons -interrupts the Sabbath quiet of the vales and glens, with the jingling -of broad swords and the ribald jests of scoffers; and many a dark-browed -peasant scowls on the persecutor as he passes, and prays that God will -yet avenge his slaughtered saints. Nor, if the popular rumor is to be -believed, is that vengeance altogether withheld; for men say that Sir -Roland Græme, having sold his religion for the paltry honors of earth, -has been already cursed from on high, and that, sleeping or waking, he -finds no rest from the stingings of remorse; yet, like one who has -committed the unpardonable sin, he cannot draw back from his career of -blood, but is impelled onward, as if by some irresistible power, to -still darker crimes. Look upon his face again, and tell us if there is -not something there which you shudder to behold—something of untold -horror in that stern, God-defying brow, as if the arch-enemy had already -been suffered to affix his seal upon it. - -And whither was that man of blood going? Far, far over hill and dale, to -the slaughter of the saints. He had heard, through some traitor, of the -assemblage to be held that morning in the hills, and with the first dawn -of day he and his troopers had been in the saddle, thirsting to -participate in the bloody sacrament. For the last half hour he had -seemed lost in thought, and now he suddenly drew in his rein, and turned -to his lieutenant. - -“Lennox,” he said, “I believe I will not lead these brave fellows -to-day, but surrender the command to you. I see, over yonder hill, the -blue summit that looks down on the Brae, where my daughter is visiting. -I have not seen her for months, nor is it probable I shall be in this -district for many months more. The country here is widely disaffected, -and therefore an unbecoming residence for a child of mine. It has just -struck me that I might cross the hills, and bring her home with me this -afternoon. And yet something whispers to me that I ought rather to -pursue these traitors and schismatics,” he continued, as if to himself; -“however, I can trust to you, and it is imperative that my daughter -leave this district. We will meet here by four o’clock. Your road lies -down yonder glen. All I have to say is, ‘spare none!’” - -“I understand,” said the subordinate; “neither age nor sex.” - -“Neither age nor sex, nor even those of rank, if such there be,” sternly -said Sir Roland; “when the poison has sunk deep, nothing but the cautery -will cure. And hark ye! on the faithful execution of your commands -depends your hope of preferment. I would not spare my own child, if I -found her among these spawn of Satan!” - -And, with these memorable words, he ordered a detachment of his company -to follow him, and rode off, though at first reluctantly, in the -direction of the Brae. - -The route was passed in silence, for Sir Roland was buried in thought. -There was indeed cause for it. One or two things in the last letter he -had received from his daughter—and that missive had now been written a -month—made him feel uneasy, lest she looked more favorably on the -persecuted sect than became a daughter of his; and it was this fear, all -at once recalled to mind by the business on which he had set forth this -morning, that determined him so suddenly to leave the dispersion of the -conventicle to his lieutenant, while he should ride over to the Brae, -and bring his daughter home. Other thoughts, too, were busy within him. -The long coveted rank had brought little alleviation to his soured and -disappointed mind, for his fortune was now more than ever inadequate to -his condition, and all the peculiarly sensitive feelings of a proud man -were stung to the quick by the indignities to which, in consequence, he -was often exposed. Moreover, he was aware of the light in which he was -held, since his change of politics, not only by the common people, but -by large portions of the gentry; so that, on every hand, he was soured -and irritated, and longed to wreak on the Covenanters the hate which he -felt toward all men. - -And yet, as he approached the Brae, and saw at a distance the low roof -of the mansion from which he had taken his bride, gentler feelings stole -into his bosom. He thought of her whom he had once loved with all the -fervor of a first passion—he remembered the happy years they had spent -together—and when he recollected that she was now no more, and that the -last time he had beheld these roofs he had been in her company, a tear -almost gathered into his eye. Then he thought of his daughter. As her -image rose up before him, his heart was fully melted. With all the -sternness of his character he loved that daughter as few fathers -loved—ay! loved her doubly since her mother’s death, for she was now -the only object in the whole wide world on which he could bestow aught -of affection. And now, joy at the prospect of meeting her gave to his -spirits the glad exhilaration of boyhood, and quickening his pace, he -galloped gaily across the hills, nor drew his rein until he reached the -door of the old mansion. - -The Brae was an antique and partially dilapidated residence, at present -inhabited by the aunt of Helen, and a daughter about the age of Miss -Græme. At all times it wore a sombre, deserted look, but on this morning -it seemed peculiarly desolate, for the whole front of the house was -closed, and all the outhouses shut up. A strange fear came over the -father, as he beheld the absence of these signs of life, and he hastily -ordered one of the dragoons to dismount and knock at the door. The man -obeyed, but for a time knocked in vain. The sound of the hilt of his -heavy sword, striking on the door, echoed through the long hall of the -house; but no signs of life within were visible. The usual frown on the -face of Sir Roland grew darker, and he cried angrily— - -“Blow off the lock with a pistol, and search the house!” - -At this instant, however, and just as the trooper was proceeding to -execute this order, the face of an old woman was protruded from one of -the upper windows, while she demanded who was below. - -“Sir Roland Græme,” replied the leader; “where are the family? where is -Miss Græme? Is any one sick?” - -“They are all well, but out!” briefly said the woman. - -“Out—out!” exclaimed the persecutor, “and on Sunday, when there is no -church within miles. By G—,” he continued, striving to drown his fears -in rage, “is this a time to be out? Where have they gone? Answer truly, -on your life!” - -“May it please your honor,” said one of the dragoons, touching his cap, -“may they not have gone to this conventicle, and taken your daughter -with them?” - -Quick as lightning, Sir Roland wheeled round on the unthinking speaker, -and while the indentation on his brow became deeper than ever, and his -eye flashed with rage, he said— - -“_My_ daughter consorting with traitors and schismatics! Breathe but the -word again, and by the God of heaven I will cleave you to the chine!” -and his fingers played nervously with the hilt of his sword; but, seeing -the deprecating look of the trooper, he recovered himself, and added, -“tush! man, you are innocent, but take care how even innocently you -rouse the tiger.” - -“Tiger,” shrieked the old woman, who had known Sir Roland in former -days, and who now seemed impelled by some sudden gust of passion to -speak out, “it is well said; ay! one whose fangs have been in the hearts -of the persecuted remnant—but God will avenge his people. Know, false -persecutor, that your daughter _has_ gone forth to-day to become one of -the chosen few against whom, oh! man of sin, you have so often ridden -with steel and war horse, holding the commission of your master, the -Evil One. Go to, Roland Græme, I mind ye when ye were a boy, and little -did I think ye would ever become the Judas you are now.” - -It is probable that if her hearer had comprehended the whole of this -harangue, a bullet would have been the speaker’s reward; but the first -words of the old woman, when taken in connection with the desertion of -the house, and his own misgivings from Helen’s late letter, assured him -that his daughter had indeed attended the conventicle. The conviction -fell on his heart with agonizing force. Remembering the injunctions of -indiscriminate butchery he had laid on his subordinate, and well knowing -that the command would be fulfilled to the very letter, he staggered -back in his saddle, with a face whiter than ashes, and was fain to grasp -the pommel for support, while he exclaimed in tones wrung from him by -the keenest anguish— - -“My child!—my child!—I have murdered my child!” - -“What is that ye say?” screamed the old hag, leaning eagerly forward; -“have ye sent out your reiving dragoons against the Lord’s anointed? and -ye fear that they will slay your ain bairn. Oh! man of blood, the -judgment of God has come upon ye—the judgment has come upon ye!” - -But to the voice of the speaker, as well as to the astonished looks of -the dragoons, the father was insensible. He still remained clutching the -saddle, every feature of his face working with intense agony, and his -eyes glaring vacantly on the air. Those who looked on him shrunk back -aghast at the horror of his aspect; which, fearful as it was, only -faintly shadowed forth the torture of the soul within. The peril of his -only child stupefied him for a time. Then a succession of wild images -rose up to his mind. He saw his daughter flying before the ruthless -dragoons—he heard her cries for mercy, and the bitter sneer of -disbelief on the part of her pursuers—he beheld her lying a corpse on -the bare heath, her bosom gashed with brutal wounds, and her long fair -hair dabbled with blood. In that moment the memory of every one whom he -had slain came up before him—the mothers who had clung to his knees, -the babes who had looked innocently in his face as they died, the -daughters whose aged parents he had slain before their eyes. He thought -of the silvery headed patriarch whom he had shot for refusing the test, -and the prophetic warning of the victim that he, even he, the proud -persecutor, should curse the day he ever drew his sword against the -saints, came up to his memory. He groaned in anguish. For a time none -dared to intrude on his misery. One of his men, a trusty body adherent, -at length ventured to speak, by asking him if they had not better ride -with all haste after Lennox, in the hope that they might yet come up in -time. Starting, as if a shot had struck him, the father plunged his -rowels into the side of his steed, until the blood gushed forth, and -wheeling his horse sharp around, looked back sternly on his followers, -as he led the way at a fearful pace up the hill. Well did he know the -country around, and necessary, indeed, was that knowledge, for his -frantic gallop required the most intimate acquaintance with every turn -and inequality of the road. Over hill and dale, through glen and moor he -dashed, reckless of danger, for how could he think of aught but his -daughter? Oh! what would he not have given to be assured that he should -once more look into her soft blue eyes, that he should again press her -to his bosom. What now to him was rank or wealth? Perhaps he thought -that Helen would be able to reveal her name ere she fell a victim—but -no! for even if she spoke, would his subordinate believe her story? -Once, the very suspicion that she favored the Covenanters had angered -him, but now he would forgive every thing, only to be assured of her -safety. The contending emotions—hope and fear, love and anger, suspense -and despair—that agitated his bosom, made that hour’s ride an hour of -agony, such as he had never before thought a human being could endure, -and live. He felt that the curse of God was on him—that all the agonies -he had inflicted on others were now concentrated on himself—that he was -bound to the wheel of fire. His punishment had already begun. He had -rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty’s buckler, and found, -like him of old, that man could not contend against the Most High. - -We remember, when a boy, waking from a dream of horror, to find our -mother smiling over our sleep. Oh! never shall we forget the heavenly -radiance of that loved face, for radiant with heaven it seemed to us, -after the terrors of that midnight vision. Even so we feel when turning -from contemplating the tortures of the persecutor, to gaze on his -sainted child. The hour was now approaching noon, and Helen, in the -presence of the silent flock, had taken upon her those vows she could -never put off. Tears fell from many an eye as the worshipers beheld her -thus in their midst; and the old pastor was so affected that he could -scarcely speak. - -“God will reward you, my daughter, and give you strength,” he said; “I -bless His holy name that thou art delivered from the dominion of Baal. -It is hard, I know, to disobey a parent; but saith not the Scripture, -that we must leave father and mother, if required, and take up our cross -and follow Christ? Only persevere, and God will make your way plain to -you, guiding you, even as he led the children of Israel, with a pillar -of cloud by day, and of fire by night. Trials, and sore ones, we must -all have in this world—and I boast not, but only speak to cheer you, -when I say that mine have been many and hard, but God has given me grace -to endure all, even as He will give it unto you. But my race is nearly -run; the golden urn will soon be broken at the fountain. I only pray to -die like the martyrs of old, with my armor on, and my sword girt to my -thigh. Come, oh! Lord, most mighty,” he continued, raising his hands and -eyes rapturously above, “come, oh! Lord most gracious, and come -quickly!” - -A deep silence followed the conclusion of this prayer, while the tears -of many fell fast and thick. Every eye was fixed on the holy man, or -turned to Helen, for the countenances of both already seemed to glow, as -those of angels. None dared to draw a breath, lest they should dispel -the hushed stillness that so well accorded with the solemnity of the -moment. But suddenly a cry was heard, clear, loud and startling—“The -dragoons—the dragoons are here!” and had a voice come from the dead, it -would not have produced a more sudden change in the hearers. Every one -started up, and all eyes were turned toward the point whence the cry had -proceeded. There, on a gentle eminence, stood a shepherd waving his -plaid, and making gestures for the congregation to fly up the glen. In -an instant all was confusion. Mothers clasped their infants to their -bosoms, and looked up tremblingly, with faces whiter than ashes—maidens -clung to their lovers, and gazed around with dilated eyes and looks of -terror—and fathers and brothers, gathering around these dear ones, -hurried them on foot and horseback, in the direction indicated by the -sentinel. The escort of Helen and her aunt had been several armed -retainers, and these now rallied to the side of their mistress and the -pastor, prepared to make good their retreat, or defend themselves to the -last. Hoping to escape the notice of the pursuers, they dashed off in a -different direction from that pursued by the others of the congregation; -but just as they turned the angle of the hill, the pennons of the -troopers came into sight, and by the immediate diversion of a party in -pursuit of them, the fugitives knew they were detected. Pricking their -horses, they now hurried rapidly onward, and for several hundred yards -lost sight of their pursuers. At length, the little party reached the -brow of a slight acclivity. - -“Faster—faster,” said one who had looked back, “they gain on us—press -on.” - -Every eye was turned in the direction of the pursuers, and there, not -half the distance they had been before, were the dragoons, thundering -along with fiery haste. The sight gave new energy to the fugitives, who -urged on their steeds with redoubled vigor. For a while now the result -seemed doubtful. During this interval of suspense the feelings of the -fugitives were of the most conflicting character—the instinctive love -of life alternating with a holy resignation to whatever fate might be -assigned them. Now, as they gained on the troopers, the former -prevailed, and now, as they saw their pursuers drawing nigher, the -latter won the mastery. The emotions of each, meanwhile, were different. -The old pastor, with eyes uplifted, seemed rapturously awaiting -martyrdom—the aunt and cousin of Helen were pale and red by turns as -their fear or faith rose triumphant, while the serving men frowned -darkly as they looked behind, and appeared to wish for a chance to -exchange passes with their steel-clad oppressors. But the feelings of -Helen were most difficult to analyze, though perhaps they had less of -earth in them than those of any except the pastor. Subdued by the day’s -sacrifice of herself, and all glowing with divine faith and energy, what -had she to fear from death? Yet, even with this perfect resignation, she -could not avoid looking back on their pursuers, while her heart heat -quicker as the distance increased between the troopers and themselves. - -“We gain—we gain—press on, we shall escape,” shouted the leader of the -little party, “the Lord will yet deliver us from our enemies.” - -“Nay, nay,” said the pastor suddenly, “the hour has come—see ye not -that we are cut off in front, lo! the horses and the men-of-war.” - -A cry—almost a shriek—broke from Helen’s two female companions as they -looked ahead, and saw, emerging from a narrow ravine, another party of -dragoons, led by a tall, dark man far in advance of the rest, and all -riding with tumultuous haste. Helen spoke not, but only raised her eyes -to heaven, for escape was now impossible. The ravine ahead was the only -feasible outlet in that direction, from the glen up which the fugitives -had fled, and to turn back would be to fall on the swords of their -pursuers. The serving men looked aghast, and drew in their reins, which -example the rest of the party immediately followed. For a minute there -was a profound silence. At length the leader again spoke. - -“Why stand we here? Escape is impossible, unless we can cut our way -through. Let us charge the party behind, for that is the smaller. Form a -circle around the women—wheel—trot.” - -There was no time for consultation, and the proposal seemed to point out -the only feasible plan. With the words they wheeled their horses, and -dashed to the desperate attack. The dragoons seemed for an instant -astonished by the movement, but did not slacken their pace. Their leader -waved his sword, and turning to his men, led the onset in person, -shouting “God save the king and bishops,” while the Covenanters, -unsheathing their blades, raised the cry of “The sword of the Lord and -Gideon.” And thus, borne in the midst of those armed men as in the -embrace of a whirlwind, Helen was hurried toward the dragoons. And as -they galloped along, the heavenly girl, with heart uplifted, prayed, -while her countenance shone with a glory as of the cherubim. - -And who was it that dashed so frantically up the glen, as if fearful -that he might not arrive to whet his blade in the blood of the -fugitives? Who, but Sir Roland Græme, flying to save his daughter, and -even now almost maddened with the thought that he had come too late, for -the instant that he emerged from the ravine he recognized his child, and -now, when he saw her turned back to the pursuers, and his practiced eye -told him that he could not reach her until the two parties should be -engaged in deadly combat, the same sickening sensation of horror which -had attacked him at the Brae came over him again. With a sharp cry of -agony he ploughed his spurs into the already bloody sides of his horse, -and sprang forward at a pace even more frantic than that which he had -before led; but swift as was his progress it seemed to him only that of -a snail. On—on—he urged his gallant beast, and nearer and nearer the -fugitives and their first pursuers drew to each other. What though he -gained on the group!—he saw that the hostile parties would meet while -he would yet be far away. Oh! what were his feelings as this conviction -forced itself on him. If only another mile, in which to overtake them, -had been given him, he might perhaps have succeeded; but now hope was in -vain! Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow, while his heart throbbed -almost to bursting against his corselet. Did none recognize him, and -could they not understand his frantic signs? He -shouted—again—again—again. The dead might as well be expected to -hear. He waved his plumed hat on high, but, at that instant, with the -shock of an earthquake, the opponents met. A dizziness came over his -eyes, but with a mighty effort he rallied his reeling faculties, and -looked at the fight. Was his child yet alive? He saw the gleam of the -broadswords, the blaze of firearms, and all the tumult of the conflict, -but his daughter was not visible. Suddenly a sharp, quick, female -shriek, rising shrill over the uproar, met his ear. God of heaven, had -his Helen fallen! Another leap of his frantic steed, and he was near -enough to hear the shouts of the combatants and distinguish particular -persons. He trembled with eagerness, but lo! his daughter was still -unharmed, girt around as with a wall of steel, by the broadswords of her -defenders. He rose in his stirrups at the sight, and waving his hat -around his head, shouted with the voice of a Titan. Joy—joy! they -recognize him, and his child extends her arms toward him. She is saved. -But no! for at this very instant, when at length they understood by -their leader’s gestures that they were to desist, one of the dragoons, -availing himself of the confusion of the moment and thirsting for -vengeance for a wound he had received, aimed a pistol at the pastor’s -bosom, and though a fellow soldier struck aside his arm, it was only to -wing the deadly ball to another heart, even that of Helen, who all along -had been nestled by the side of the holy man. She fell back into his -arms, the blood gushing from her bosom, and for an instant they thought -her gone. But when the pastor called on her name she faintly opened her -eyes, pressed his hand, smiled sweetly, and murmuring of heaven, sank -away apparently into a slumber. - -One wild cry of horror had risen, at her fall, from those immediately -around her, telling the tale of her murder; but the father needed not -this confirmation of his worst fears, for he had seen the shot and -beheld her fall. Galloping wildly forward, with a few gigantic leaps he -reached the offender, whom he smote to the earth with a single blow of -his broadsword. The next instant he was by his daughter’s side, the -group opening awe-struck to let him pass. He spoke not, but oh! the -terrible agony of his countenance. Putting them aside with arms -extended, he approached and gazed down into the face of his child—gazed -as Sapphira did when the apostle told her doom, and she saw the bearers -returning from her husband’s burial. And for a minute of profound -silence he continued gazing thus, into that fair sweet face, on which, -though now stilled as in death, there yet lingered a smile of heavenly -joy. He shuddered as he looked, and his countenance became livid as that -of a corpse. He essayed to speak, but though his lips moved, no sound -proceeded from them. At length slowly, almost reluctantly, he stooped -down and took her hand. - -“Helen—Helen,” he said, in a choking voice, “you are not dead. Say -so—tell me I am not your murderer. Oh! speak, and forgive me.” - -The dying girl faintly opened her eyes, and gazed vacantly into her -father’s face. Her senses were fast deserting her. She did not recognize -him. - -“Oh God! my child is dying,” groaned the father. “Helen, Helen,” he -continued, raising his voice, “do you not know me? I am your -father—your murderer. Do not look on me with such strange eyes! Helen, -Helen dear, say, if only by a smile, that you forgive me. Oh! Lord God -of heaven,” he exclaimed, lifting his eyes agonizingly above, “have -mercy on me—suffer her to live to forgive me—crush not the bruised -reed,” and hot tears gushed from his eyes and trickled in his daughter’s -face. - -“Who weeps?” faintly said the dying sufferer, “weep not for me. Tell my -father how I love him, and die blessing him—” - -“Thank thee, Almighty Father, I thank thee,” gasped the penitent. -“Helen, here is your father—I am he.” - -For the first time, now, the dying girl seemed fully to comprehend her -situation. She looked a minute around the group, and then, with a sweet -smile, her eyes rested on her father’s face. She faintly pressed his -hand. Tears gushed from his eyes like rain, and though he strove to -speak he could not for his sobs. She murmured of him, of her mother, of -heaven, and then they knew she was dead. The father looked on her a -moment, and with a groan—which none there ever forgot—sunk helpless to -her side. They raised him, but he was a corpse. “Vengeance is mine,” -saith the Lord, “and I will repay.” - - * * * * * - - - - - A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. - - - BY MR. SEBA SMITH. - - -Hardly any event creates a stronger sensation in a thinly settled New -England village, especially among the young folks, than the arrival of a -fresh and blooming miss, who comes to make her abode in the -neighborhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, the only lawyer in the -place, and a very respectable man of course, told Farmer Jones one -afternoon that his wife’s sister, a smart girl of eighteen, was coming -in a few days to reside in his family, the news flew like wildfire -through Pond village, and was the principal topic of conversation for a -week. Pond village is situated upon the margin of one of those numerous -and beautiful sheets of water that gem the whole surface of New England, -like the bright stars in an evening sky, and received its appellation to -distinguish it from two or three other villages in the same town, which -could not boast of a similar location. When Farmer Jones came in to his -supper about sunset that afternoon, and took his seat at the table, the -eyes of the whole family were upon him, for there was a peculiar working -about his mouth and a knowing glance of his eye, that always told them -when he had something of interest to communicate. But Farmer Jones’ -secretiveness was large, and his temperament not the most active, and he -would probably have rolled the important secret as a sweet morsel under -his tongue for a long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was of rather an -impatient and prying turn of mind, contrived to draw it from him. - -“Now, Mr. Jones,” said she, as she handed him his cup of tea, “what is -it you are going to say? Do out with it; for you’ve been chawing -something or other over in your mind ever since you came into the -house.” - -“It’s my tobacher, I s’pose,” said Mr. Jones, with another knowing -glance of his eye. - -“Now, father, what is the use?” said Susan; “we all know you’ve got -something or other you want to say, and why can’t you tell us what -’tis?” - -“La, who cares what ’tis?” said Mrs. Jones; “if it was any thing worth -telling, we shouldn’t have to wait for it, I dare say.” - -Hereupon Mrs. Jones assumed an air of the most perfect indifference, as -the surest way of conquering what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones’ -obstinacy, which by the way was a very improper term to apply in the -case; for it was purely the working of secretiveness without the least -particle of obstinacy attached to it. - -There was a pause for two or three minutes in the conversation, till Mr. -Jones passed his cup to be filled a second time, when with a couple of -preparatory hems he began to let out the secret. - -“We are to have a new neighbor here in a few days,” said Mr. Jones, -stopping short when he had uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and -filling his mouth with food. - -Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said not a word, but -attended to the affairs of the table, as though she had not noticed what -was said. The farmer’s secretiveness had at last worked itself out, and -he began again. - -“Squire Johnson’s wife’s sister is coming here in a few days, and is -going to live with ’em.” - -The news being thus fairly divulged, it left free scope for -conversation. - -“Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck up piece,” said Mrs. Jones. - -“I shouldn’t think she would be,” said Susan, “for there aint a more -sociabler woman in the neighborhood than Miss Johnson. So if she’s at -all like her sister I think we shall like her.” - -“I wonder how old she is,” said Stephen, who was just verging toward the -close of his twenty-first year. - -“The squire called her eighteen,” said Mr. Jones, giving a wink to his -wife, as much as to say, that’s about the right age for Stephen. - -“I wonder if she is handsome,” said Susan, who was somewhat vain of her -own looks, and having been a sort of reigning belle in Pond village for -some time, felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival. - -“I dare be bound she’s handsome,” said Mrs. Jones, “if she’s sister to -Miss Johnson; for where’ll you find a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, -go the town through?” - -After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson’s store, and told the -news to young Charles Robinson and all the young fellows who were -gathered there for a game at quoits and a ring at wrestling. And Susan -went directly over to Mr. Bean’s and told Patty, and Patty went round to -the Widow Davis’ and told Sally, and before nine o’clock the matter was -pretty well understood in about every house in the village. - -At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, a chaise was -seen to drive up to Squire Johnson’s door. Of course the eyes of the -whole village were turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was just -coming in from milking, set her pail down on the grass by the side of -the road as soon as the chaise came in sight, and watched it till it -reached the squire’s door, and the gentleman and lady had got out and -gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing up the ironing that afternoon, -and she had just taken a hot iron from the fire as the chaise passed the -door, and she ran with it in her hand and stood on the door steps till -the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, and entering the house, was -over. Old Mrs. Bean stood with her head out of the window, her -iron-bowed spectacles resting upon the top of her forehead, her -shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows to defend her red eyes from -the rays of the setting sun, and her skinny chin protruding about three -inches in advance of a couple of stubs of teeth, which her open mouth -exposed fairly to view. - -“Seems to me they are dreadful loving,” said old Mrs. Bean, as she saw -Mrs. Johnson descend the steps and welcome her sister with a kiss. - -“La me, if there isn’t the squire kissing of her tu,” said Patty; “well, -I declare, I would a waited till I got into the house, I’ll die if I -wouldn’t. It looks so vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out doors -tu; I should think Squire Johnson would be ashamed of himself.” - -“Well, I shouldn’t,” said young John Bean, who came up at that moment, -and who had passed the chaise just as the young lady alighted from it. -“I shouldn’t be ashamed to kiss sich a pretty gal as that any how; I’d -kiss her wherever I could ketch her, if it was in the meetin-house.” - -“Why, is she handsome, Jack?” said Patty. - -“Yes, she’s got the prettiest little puckery kind of a mouth I’ve seen -this six months. Her cheeks are red, and her eyes shine like new -buttons.” - -“Well,” replied Patty, “if she’ll only take the shine off of Susan Jones -when she goes to meetin, Sunday, I sha’n’t care.” - -While these observations were going on at old Mr. Bean’s, Charles -Robinson and a group of young fellows with him were standing in front of -Robinson’s store, a little farther down the road, and watching the scene -that was passing at Squire Johnson’s. They witnessed the whole with -becoming decorum, now and then making a remark about the fine horse and -the handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire bend his head down -and give the young lady a kiss, when they all burst out into a loud -laugh. In a moment, being conscious that their laugh must be heard and -noticed at the squire’s, they, in order to do away the impression it -must necessarily make, at once turned their heads the other way, and -Charles Robinson, who was quick at an expedient, knocked off the hat of -the lad who was standing next to him, and then they all laughed louder -than before. - -“Here comes Jack Bean,” said Charles, “now we shall hear something about -her, for Jack was coming by the squire’s when she got out of the chaise. -How does she look, Jack?” - -“Handsome as a picter,” said Jack. “I haint seen a prettier gal since -last Thanksgiving Day, when Jane Ford was here to visit Susan Jones.” - -“Black eyes or blue?” said Charles. - -“Blue,” said Jack, “but all-fired bright.” - -“Tall or short?” said Stephen Jones, who was rather short himself, and -therefore felt a particular interest on that point. - -“Rather short,” said Jack, “but straight and round as our young colt.” - -“Do you know what her name is?” said Charles. - -“They called her Lucy when she got out of the chaise,” said Jack, “and -as Miss Johnson’s name was Brown before she was married, I s’pose her -name must be Lucy Brown.” - -“Just such a name as I like,” said Charles Robinson; “Lucy Brown sounds -well. Now suppose, in order to get acquainted with her, we all hands -take a sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, and invite -her to go with us.” - -“Agreed,” said Stephen Jones. “Agreed,” said Jack Bean. “Agreed,” said -all hands. - -The question then arose, who should carry the invitation to her; and the -young men being rather bashful on that score, it was finally settled -that Susan Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany her to the -boat, where they should all be in waiting to receive her. The next day -was a very long day, at least to most of the young men of Pond village; -and promptly, an hour before sunset, most of them were assembled, with -half a score of their sisters and female cousins, by a little stone -wharf on the margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All the girls in -the village, of a suitable age, were there, except Patty Bean. She had -undergone a good deal of fidgeting and fussing during the day, to -prepare for the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new bonnet was not -done; and as for wearing her old flap-sided bonnet, she declared she -would not, if she never went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy Brown -were seen coming down the road. In a moment all were quiet, the laugh -and the joke were hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When they -arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of introducing Miss Brown to -each of the ladies and gentlemen present. - -“But how in the world are you going to sail?” said Miss Brown, “for -there isn’t a breath of wind; and I don’t see any sail-boat, neither.” - -“Oh, the less wind we have, the better, when we sail here,” said Charles -Robinson; “and there is our sail-boat,” pointing to a flat-bottomed -scow-boat, some twenty feet long by ten wide. - -“We don’t use no sails,” said Jack Bean; “sometimes, when the wind is -fair, we put up a bush to help pull along a little, and when ’tisn’t, we -row.” - -The party were soon embarked on board the scow, and a couple of oars -were set in motion, and they glided slowly and pleasantly over as lovely -a sheet of water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In one hour’s -time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted with Miss Lucy Brown. -She had talked in the most lively and fascinating manner; she had told -stories and sung songs. Among others, she had given Moore’s boat song, -with the sweetest possible effect; and by the time they returned to the -landing, it would hardly be too much to say that half the young men in -the party were decidedly in love with her. - -A stern regard to truth requires a remark to be made here, not -altogether favorable to Susan Jones, which is the more to be regretted, -as she was in the main an excellent hearted girl, and highly esteemed by -the whole village. It was observed that as the company grew more and -more pleased with Miss Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less and less -animated, till at last she became quite reserved, and apparently sad. -She, however, on landing, treated Miss Brown with respectful attention, -accompanied her home to Squire Johnson’s door, and cordially bade her -good night. - -The casual glimpses which the young men of Pond village had of Miss -Brown during the remainder of the week, as she occasionally stood at the -door, or looked out at the window, or once or twice when she walked out -with Susan Jones, and the fair view they all had of her at meeting on -the Sabbath, served but to increase their admiration, and to render her -more and more an object of attraction. She was regarded by all as a -prize, and several of them were already planning what steps it was best -to take in order to win her. The two most prominent candidates, however, -for Miss Brown’s favor, were Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. Their -position and standing among the young men of the village seemed to put -all others in the back ground. Charles, whose father was wealthy, had -every advantage which money could procure. But Stephen, though poor, had -decidedly the advantage over Charles in personal recommendations. He had -more talent, was more sprightly and intelligent, and more pleasing in -his address. From the evening of the sail on the pond, they had both -watched every movement of Miss Brown with the most intense interest; -and, as nothing can deceive a lover, each had, with an interest no less -intense, watched every movement of the other. They had ceased to speak -to each other about her, and if her name was mentioned in their -presence, both were always observed to color. - -The second week after her arrival, through the influence of Squire -Johnson, the district school was offered to Miss Brown on the other side -of the pond, which offer was accepted, and she went immediately to take -charge of it. This announcement at first threw something of a damper -upon the spirits of the young people of Pond village. But when it was -understood the school would continue but a few weeks, and being but a -mile and a half distant, Miss Brown would come home every Saturday -afternoon, and spend the Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be -reconciled to the temporary arrangement. The week wore away heavily, -especially to Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. They counted the days -impatiently till Saturday, and on Saturday they counted the long and -lagging hours till noon. They had both made up their minds that it would -be dangerous to wait longer, and they had both resolved not to let -another Sabbath pass without making direct proposals to Miss Brown. - -Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles Robinson, and, in any -enterprise where both were concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, -except where money could carry the palm, and then, of course, it was -always borne away by Charles. As Miss Lucy had been absent most of the -week, and was to be at home that afternoon, Charles Robinson had made an -arrangement with his mother and sisters to have a little tea party in -the evening, for the purpose of inviting Miss Brown; and then, of -course, he should walk home with her in the evening; and then, of -course, would be a good opportunity to break the ice, and make known to -her his feelings and wishes. Stephen Jones, however, was more prompt in -his movements. He had got wind of the proposed tea party, although -himself and sister, for obvious reasons, had not been invited, and he -resolved not to risk the arrival of Miss Brown and her visit to Mr. -Robinson’s, before he should see her. She would dismiss her school at -noon, and come the distance of a mile and a half round the pond home. -His mind was at once made up. He would go round and meet her at the -school-house, and accompany her on her walk. There, in that winding road -around those delightful waters, with the tall and shady trees over head, -and the wild grape-vines twining round their trunks, and climbing to the -branches, while the wild birds were singing through the woods, and the -wild ducks playing in the coves along the shore, surely there, if any -where in the world, could a man bring his mind up to the point of -speaking of love. - -Accordingly, a little before noon, Stephen washed and brushed himself -up, and put on his Sunday clothes, and started on his expedition. In -order to avoid observation, he took a back route across the field, -intending to come into the road by the pond, a little out of the -village. As ill luck would have it, Charles Robinson had been out in the -same direction, and was returning with an armful of green boughs and -wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for the evening. He saw Stephen, -and noticed his dress, and the direction he was going, and he at once -smoked the whole business. His first impulse was to rush upon him and -collar him, and demand that he should return back. But then he -recollected that in the last scratch he had with Stephen, two or three -years before, he had a little the worst of it, and he instinctively -stood still while Stephen passed on without seeing him. It flashed upon -his mind at once that the question must now be reduced to a game of -speed. If he could by any means gain the school-house first, and engage -Miss Lucy to walk home with him, he should consider himself safe. But if -Stephen should reach the school-house first, he should feel a good deal -of uneasiness for the consequences. Stephen was walking very leisurely, -and unconscious that he was in any danger of a competitor on the course, -and it was important that his suspicions should not be awakened. -Charles, therefore, remained perfectly quiet till Stephen had got a -little out of hearing, and then he threw down his bushes and flowers, -and ran to the wharf below the store with his utmost speed. He had one -advantage over Stephen. He was ready at a moment’s warning to start on -an expedition of this kind, for Sunday clothes were an every-day affair -with him. There was a light canoe, belonging to his father, lying at the -wharf, and a couple of stout boys were there fishing. Charles hailed -them, and told them if they would row him across the pond as quick as -they possibly could, he would give them a quarter of a dollar a piece. -This, in their view, was a splendid offer for their services, and they -jumped on board with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a -paddle, and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and help propel her -ahead. The distance by water was a little less than by land, and -although Stephen had considerably the start of him, he believed he -should be able to reach the school-house first, especially if Stephen -should not see him and quicken his pace. In one minute after he arrived -at the wharf, the boat was under full way. The boys laid down to the -oars with right good will, and Charles put out all his strength upon the -paddle. They were shooting over the water twice as fast as a man could -walk, and Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when they had -gone about half a mile, they came in the range of a little opening in -the trees on the shore, where the road was exposed to view, and there, -at that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy walk. Charles’ -heart was in his mouth. Still it was possible Stephen might not see -them, for he had not yet looked round. Lest the sound of the oars might -attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming in sight, -ordered the boys to stop rowing, and he grasped his paddle with -breathless anxiety, and waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just -as he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, where the boat -would be out of his sight, Stephen turned his head and looked round. He -stopped short, turned square round, and stood for the space of a minute -looking steadily at the boat. Then lifting his hand, and shaking his -fist resolutely at Charles, as much as to say I understand you, he -started into a quick run. - -“Now, boys,” said Charles, “buckle to your oars for your lives, and if -you get to the shore so I can reach the school-house before Stephen -does, I’ll give you half a dollar a piece.” - -This of course added new life to the boys and increased speed to the -boat. Their little canoe flew over the water almost like a bird, -carrying a white bone in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the -glassy wave behind her. Charles’ hands trembled, but still he did good -execution with his paddle. Although Stephen upon the run was a very -different thing from Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had strong -hopes of winning the race and gaining his point. He several times caught -glimpses of Stephen through the trees, and, as well as he could judge, -the boat had a little the best of it. But when they came out into the -last opening, where for a little way they had a fair view of each other, -Charles thought Stephen ran faster than ever; and although he was now -considerably nearer the school-house than Stephen was, he still trembled -for the result. They were now within fifty rods of the shore, and -Charles appealed again to the boys’ love of money. - -“Now,” said he, “we have not a minute to spare. If we gain the point, -I’ll give you a dollar apiece.” - -The boys strained every nerve, and Charles’ paddle made the water fly -like the tail of a wounded shark. When within half a dozen rods of the -shore, Charles urged them again to spring with all their might, and one -of the boys making a desperate plunge upon his oar, snapped it in two. -The first pull of the other oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw -at once that the delay must be fatal, if he depended on the boat to -carry him ashore. The water was but three feet deep, and the bottom was -sandy. He sprung from the boat, and rushed toward the shore as fast as -he was able to press through the water. He flew up the bank, and along -the road, till he reached the school-house. The door was open, but he -could see no one within. Several children were at play round the door, -who, having seen Charles approach with such haste, stood with mouths and -eyes wide open, looking at him. - -“Where’s the schoolma’m?” said Charles, hastily, to one of the largest -boys. - -“Why?” said the boy, opening his eyes still wider, “is any of the folks -dead?” - -“You little rascal, I say, where’s the schoolma’m?” - -“She jest went down that road,” said the boy, “two or three minutes -ago.” - -“Was she alone?” said Charles. - -“She started alone,” said the boy, “and a man met her out there a little -ways, and turned about and went with her.” - -Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and that he might as -well give it up for a bad job, and go home. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown -walked very leisurely home through the woods, and Charles and the boys -went very leisurely in the boat across the pond. They even stopped by -the way, and caught a mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their -lines into the boat when they started. And when they reached the wharf, -Charles, in order to show that he had been a fishing, took a large -string of the fish in his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss -Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, had undoubtedly been -informed of the proposed tea-party for the evening, to which she was to -be invited, and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones were not invited; -and when Miss Lucy’s invitation came, she sent word back, that she was -_engaged_. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FAREWELL. - - - Farewell, farewell—O! ne’er from me - Till now that word hath hopeless passed; - But, sweet one, faltered forth to thee, - It seems this once as ’twere the last— - The last that thou wilt ever hear - From him who knows thy worth too well; - I’ll stifle one relenting tear, - That mingles in this last farewell. - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - - - CONCLUSION. - -I was now alone in the world; I had neither ship, nor home; and she I -had loved was wedded to another. It is strange how misanthropical a man -becomes, after disappointment has soured his disposition, and destroyed, -one after another, the beautiful dreams of his youth. When I sat down -and thought of the hopes of my earlier years, now gone forever; when I -speculated upon my future prospects; when I recalled to mind how few of -the friends I had begun life with remained, an indescribable sadness -came over me, and, had it not been for my manhood, I would have found a -relief in tears. My zest for society was gone. I cared little for the -ordinary business of life. I only longed for a fitting opportunity to -re-enter the service, and distinguish myself by some gallant deed, which -I did not care to survive, for even fame had become hateful to me, since -it reminded me how insufficient it was to win or retain the love of -woman. In a word, I had become a misanthrope, and was fast losing all -the energy of my character in sickly regrets over the past. - -Of the St. Clairs I had not inquired since my return, and their names, -from motives of delicacy perhaps, were never mentioned in my presence. -Yet they occupied a large portion of my thoughts, and often would I -start, and my heart flutter, when, in the streets, I fancied, for a -moment, that I recognized the form of Annette. But a nearer approach -made evident my mistake, and dissipated my embarrassment. Much, however, -as I thought of her, I had never inquired to whom she had been married; -yet my curiosity on this point continually gained strength; and when I -had been a fortnight in Newport without hearing any allusion to her, I -began to wish that some one would break the ominous silence which seemed -to hang around her and her family. Still I dared not trust myself to -broach the subject. I continued, therefore, ignorant of their present -situation, and of all that concerned them. - -There is, not far from the town, and situated in one of the most -beautiful portions of the island, a favorite resort which has long been -known by the familiar and characteristic name of “The Glen.” The spot is -one where the deity of romance might sit enshrined. Here, on a still -summer night, we might, without much stretch of fancy, look for fairies -to come forth and gambol, or listen to the light music of airy spirits -hovering above us. The whole place reminds you of an enchanted bower, -and dull must be his heart who does not feel the stirrings of the -divinity within him as he gazes on the lovely scenery around. He who can -listen here unmoved to the low gurgle of the brook, or the light rustle -of the leaves in the summer wind, must be formed of the coarsest clods -of clay, nor boast one spark of our immortal nature. - -The glen was my favorite resort, and thither would I go and spend whole -afternoons, listening to the laughing prattle of the little river, or -striving to catch, in pauses of the breeze, the murmur of the -neighboring sea. A rude bench had been constructed under some trees, in -a partially open glade, at the lower extremity of the ravine, and here I -usually sat, indulging in those dreamy, half-sick reveries which are -characteristic of youth. The stream, which brawled down the ravine, in a -succession of rapids and cascades, here glided smoothly along on a level -bottom, its banks fringed with long grass interspersed with wild roses, -and its bed strewed with pebbles, round and silvery, that glistened in -the sunbeams, which, here and there, struggled through the trees, and -shimmered on the stream. Faint and low came to the ear the sound of the -mill, situated at the upper end of the ravine; while occasionally a bird -whistled on the stillness, or a leaf floated lazily down into the river, -and went on its way, a tiny bark. The seclusion of my favorite retreat -was often enlivened by the appearance of strangers, but as they -generally remained only a few minutes, I had the spot, for most of the -time, to myself. Here I dreamed away the long summer afternoons, often -lingering until the moon had risen, to make the scene seem even more -beautiful, under her silvery light. I had no pleasure in any other spot. -Perhaps it was because I had once been here with Annette, when we were -both younger, and I, at least, happier; and I could remember plucking a -flower for her from a time-worn bush that still grew on the margin of -the stream. God knows how we love to haunt the spot made dear to us by -old and tender recollections! - -I was sitting, one afternoon, on the rude bench I have spoken of, -listlessly casting pebbles into the river, when I heard the sound of -approaching voices, but I was so accustomed to the visits of strangers, -that I did not pause to look up. Directly the voices came nearer, and -suddenly a word was spoken that thrilled through every nerve of my -system. It was only a single word, but that voice!—surely it could be -none other than Annette’s. My sensations, at that moment, I will not -pretend to analyze. I longed to look up, and yet I dared not. My heart -fluttered wildly, and I could feel the blood rushing in torrents to my -face; but, if I had been called on at that instant to speak, I could not -have complied for worlds. Luckily the tree, under whose shadow I sat, -concealed me from the approaching visitors, and I had thus time to rally -my spirits ere the strangers came up. As they drew near I recognized the -voice of Mr. St. Clair, and then that of Annette’s cousin Isabel, while -there were one or two other speakers who were strangers to me. Doubtless -one of them was Annette’s husband, and, as this thought flashed across -me, I looked up, impelled by an irresistible impulse. The party were now -within almost twenty yards, coming gaily down the glen. Foremost in the -group walked Isabel, leaning on the arm of a tall, gentlemanly looking -individual, and turning ever and anon around to Annette, who followed -immediately behind, at the side of her father. Another lady, attended by -a gentleman, made up the rest of the company. Where could Annette’s -husband be? was the question that occurred to me—and who was the -distinguished looking gentleman on whose arm Isabel was so familiarly -leaning? But my thoughts were cut short by a conversation which now -began, and of which, during a minute, I was an unknown auditor—for my -position still concealed me from the party, and my surprise at first, -and afterwards delicacy, prevented me from appearing. - -“Ah! Annette,” said Isabel, archly, turning around to her cousin, “do -you know this spot, but especially that rose-bush yonder?—here, right -beyond that old tree—you seem wonderfully ignorant all at once! I -wonder where the donor of that aforesaid rose-bud is now. I would lay a -guinea that it is yet in your possession, preserved in some favorite -book, pressed out between the leaves. Come, answer frankly, is it not -so, my sweet coz?” - -I could hear no reply, if one was made, and immediately another voice -spoke. It was that of Isabel’s companion, coming to the aid of Annette. - -“You are too much given to believe that Annette follows your example, -Isabel—now do you turn penitent, and let me be father confessor—how -many rose-buds, ay! and for that matter, even leaves, have you in your -collection, presented to you by your humble servant, before we had pity -on each other, and were married? I found a flower, last week, in a copy -of Spenser, and, if I remember aright, I was the donor of the trifle.” - -“Oh! you betray yourself,” gaily retorted Isabel, “but men are -foolish—and of all foolish men I ever met with, a certain Albert -Marston was, before his marriage, the most foolish. I take credit to -myself,” she continued, in the same playful strain, “for having worked -such a reformation in him since that event. But this is not what we were -talking of—you wish to divert me from my purpose by this light Cossack -warfare—but it won’t do,” she continued, and I fancied she stamped her -foot prettily, as she was wont to do at Clairville Hall, when she was -disposed to have her way; “no—no—Annette must be the one to turn -penitent, and I will play father confessor. Say, now, fair coz, was it -not a certain fancy to see this same rose-bush, that induced you to -insist on coming here?” - -During this conversation the parties had remained nearly stationary at -some distance from me. Strange suspicions began to flash through my -mind, as soon as Isabel commenced her banter; and these suspicions had -now been changed into a certainty. Annette was still unmarried, and it -was Isabel’s wedding at which I had come so near being present, at -Clairville Hall. Nor was this all. I was still loved. Oh! the wild, the -rapturous feelings of that moment. I could with difficulty restrain -myself from rising and rushing toward them; but motives of delicacy -forbade me thus to reveal that the conversation had been overheard. And -yet should I remain in my present position, and play the listener still -further? I knew not what to do. All these considerations flashed through -my mind in the space of less than a minute, during which the party had -been silent, apparently enjoying Annette’s confusion. - -“Come, not ready to answer yet?” began Isabel; “well, if you will not, -you shan’t have the rose from that bush, for which you’ve come. Let us -go back,” she said, playfully. - -The whole party seemed to enter into the jest, and laughingly retraced -their steps. This afforded me the opportunity for which I longed. -Hastily rising from my seat, I glided unnoticed from tree to tree, until -I reached a copse on the left of the glen, and advancing up the ravine, -under cover of this screen, I re-entered the path at a bend some -distance above the St. Clairs. Here I listened for a moment, and caught -the sound of their approaching voices. Determining no longer to be a -listener to their conversation, I proceeded down the glen, and, as I -turned the corner, a few paces in advance, I came full in sight of the -approaching group. In an instant the gay laughing of the party ceased, -and I saw Annette shrink blushing behind her father. Isabel was the -first to speak. Darting forward, with that frankness and gaiety which -always characterized her, she grasped my hand, and said— - -“You don’t know how happy we all are to see you. Where could you have -come from?—and how could you have made such a mistake as to -congratulate Annette, instead of me, on being married? But come, I must -surrender you to the others—I see they are dying to speak to you. -Uncle, Annette—how lucky it was that we came here to-day!” - -“My dear boy,” said Mr. St. Clair, warmly pressing my hand, “I cannot -tell how rejoiced I am to see you. We heard a rumor that you were lost, -and we all wept—Isabel for the first time for years. It was but a few -days since that we heard you were at Newport, and, as we were coming -hither, I hastened my journey, determined to search you out. We are on -our way there now, and only stopped here a few minutes to relieve -ourselves after a long ride. This day shall be marked with a white -stone. But here I have been keeping you from speaking to Annette—we old -men, you know, are apt to be garrulous.” - -My eyes, indeed, had been seeking Annette, who, still covered with -blushes, and unable to control her embarrassment, sought to conceal them -by keeping in the back ground. As for me, I had become wonderfully -self-possessed. I now advanced and took her hand. It trembled in my own, -and when I spoke, though she replied faintly, she did not dare to look -into my face, except for a moment, after which her eyes again sought the -ground in beautiful embarrassment. My unexpected appearance, combined -with her cousin’s late raillery, covered her face with blushes, and, for -some time, she could not rally herself sufficient to participate in the -conversation. - -What more have I to tell? I was now happy, and for my misanthropy, it -died with the cause that produced it. Mr. St. Clair said that the -wedding need not be delayed, and in less than a month I led Annette to -the altar. Years have flown since then, but I still enjoy unalloyed -felicity, and Annette seems to my eyes more beautiful than ever. It only -remains for me to bid my readers FAREWELL! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HOLYNIGHTS. - - - BY HENRY MORFORD. - - - Some say that ’gainst the time that season comes - Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated - The bird of dawning singeth all night long, - And then they say no sprite dares stir abroad, - The nights are wholesome then, no planets strike, - No fairy takes or witch hath power to charm, - So hallowed and so gracious is the time. - Hamlet. - - Hushed be the voice of mirthfulness, - And stilled be the plaintive tones of care, - That from too many a heart recess - Go forth to float on the midnight air; - It is no time for the wild excess, - No time for the loose unbridled reign - That passion gives to her votaries - When they sever away the golden chain. - - Stilled on the ears of the seraph choir - Let the lingering hymns of the season go, - As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire - To the anthem of love and peace below; - And let us keep in a holy mood - The coming hours of that sacred time - When the word went forth for the hush of blood - And the passing knell for the soul of crime! - - When the hosts of the upper region stirred - That another star came forth to shine, - And the rush of an angel’s wing was heard - O’er the moonlit plains of Palestine, - And a softer light o’er the earth was flung - And the pale stars waxed no longer dim, - And forth on a thousand harps outrung - The rising notes of the angels’ hymn. - - The same bright stars that then looked down - With a guardian watch o’er hill and plain, - Unfading gems in the starry crown - Glittering on in the blue remain, - And the solemn awe that crept them round - As they watched their flocks that holy time, - An echo with us to-night has found - In the new-born light of another clime. - - It has been felt this many a year, - The sacred spell of the season’s death, - And the brighter glow of the starry sphere - As it came that time with the angels’ breath, - For brighter yet the stars gleam out - As the noisome vapor shrinks away - From the open glade that it hung about - Darkened and damp this many a day. - - List how the spirit-breathings come - Upon our ears from the voice sublime - Of him who ruled in the spirits’ home, - Who wrote and sang for the end of time! - Hark how he tells when the time is near, - The bird of the dawn sings all night long - And the fairy legions disappear - When he comes abroad with his matin song. - - No spirits forth, nor the rank compound - That glows with the witches’ midnight toil, - No deeps of the forest-close resound - With the wizard shriek and the caldron boil. - No planets chill the warm heart’s blood - With the mockery of a demon fire, - No vapors veil with a sickly shroud - The moss-grown top of the old church spire,— - - For he who stood in that dreadful watch - On the gray rampart of Elsinore - Told how they ceased from their revel catch - And their reign at the Christmas time was o’er; - We feel it now, as he felt it then, - That the air is full of holiness, - And we need not forms from the earth again - Of the starry hosts to guard and bless. - - Then stilled on the ears of the seraph choir - Let the lingering hymns of the season go, - As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire - To the anthem of love and peace below; - And let us keep in a holy mood - The passing hours of that sacred time - When the word went forth for the hush of blood - And the passing knell for the soul of crime! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE LADIES’ LIBRARY. - - - BY W. A. JONES. - - -That admirable manual of “_les petites morales_,” and even of higher -matters occasionally, the Spectator, contains a paper which we hesitate -not to accept as a just specimen of cotemporary satire on female -education; we refer to the catalogue of a Ladies’ Library. This -heterogeneous collection embraces heroical romances and romancing -histories, the ranting tragedies of the day, with the libertine comedies -of the same period. In a word, it leads us to infer pretty plainly the -insignificant pretensions the gentle women of Queen Anne’s day could lay -to any thing like refinement of education, or even a correct propriety -in dress and demeanor. Tell me your company, and I will disclose your -own character; speak that I may know you, are trite maxims; but give me -a list of your favorite authors is by no means so common, though at -least as true, a test. The literary and indirectly the moral depravity -of taste exhibited by the women of that age, is easily accounted for, -when we once learn the fashionable authors and the indifferent -countenance given to any authors but those of the most frivolous -description. The queen herself was an illiterate woman, and we are told -never once had the curiosity to look into the classic productions of -Pope. King William, the preceding sovereign, was so ignorant of books -and the literary character, as to offer Swift, with whom he had been -agreeably prepossessed, the place of captain of a regiment of horse. - -Indulging ourselves in a rapid transition, we pass from this era to the -epoch of Johnson and Burke, and Goldsmith and Sheridan, we come to the -reign of George III. Here we find the scene altered. From the gay saloon -we are dropped, as if by magic, into the library or conversation room. -We read not of balls, but of literary dinners and æsthetic teas, and we -meet for company, not thoughtless, dressy dames of fashion and minions -of the goddess of pleasure, but grave, precise professors in petticoats, -women who had exchanged a world of anxiety for the turn of a head-dress, -or the shape of a flounce for an equally wise anxiety about the -philosophy of education, the success of their sonnets and tragedies, and -moral tales for the young. The pedantry of authorship and dogmatic -conversation superseded the more harmless pedantry of dress. Then we -read of the stupidest company in the world, which arrogated to itself -the claim of being the best. A race of learned ladies arose; _bas -bleus_, the Montagues, the Mores, the Sewards, the Chapones, patronized -by such prosing old formalists as Doctors Gregory and Aiken, and even by -one man of vigorous talent, Johnson, and one man of real genius, -Richardson. The last two endured much, because they were flattered much. - -When we speak thus contemptuously of learned ladies, we intend to -express a disgust at the pretensions of those who pass under that name. -Genuine learning can never be despised, whoever may be its possessor; -but of genuine learning it is not harsh to suspect a considerable -deficiency where there is so much of display and anxious rivalry. Even -where the learning is exact and solid, it is to be remembered that many -departments are utterly unsuited to the female mind; where, at best, -little can be accomplished and that of a harsh repulsive nature. We want -no Daciers, no Somervilles, no Marcets, but give us as you will as many -Inchbalds, Burneys, Edgeworths, Misses Barrett, as can be had for love -or money. - -From the ladies we seek literature, not learning, in its old scholastic -sense. They certainly have received pleasure from books, and are bound -to return the gratification in a similar way by delighting us. And this -they can do in their legitimate attempts. It shall be a prominent object -of the present general introduction to a short series of critical -sketches, to attempt a definition of the limits which should bound those -attempts, and also to endeavor at suggesting the proper studies for -ladies, and the authors that ought to rank as favorites with the fair. -In a list of the latter, female writers should bear a considerable -proportion, and will assuredly not be forgotten. - -We believe the question as to the relative sexual distinctions of -intellectual character, is now generally considered as settled. There is -allowed to be a species of genius essentially feminine. Equality is no -more arrogated than superiority of ability, and it would be as wisely -arrogated. The most limited observation of life and the most superficial -acquaintance with books, must effectually demonstrate the superior -capacity of man for the great works of life and speculation. It is true, -great geniuses are rare and seldom needed, and the generality of women -rank on a par with the generality of men. In many cases, women of talent -surpass men of an equal calibre of mere talent, through other and -constitutional causes—a greater facility of receiving and transmitting -impressions, greater instinctive subtlety of apprehension, and a -livelier sympathy. We cordially admit the female intellect, in the -ordinary concerns of life and the current passages of society, has often -the advantage of the masculine understanding. Cleverness outshines solid -ability, and a smart woman is much more showy than a profound man. In -certain walks of authorship, too, women are pre-eminently successful; in -cases narrative of real or fictitious events, (in the last implying a -strain of ready invention,) in lively descriptions of natural beauty or -artificial manners; in the development of the milder sentiments, -especially the sentiment of love; in airy, comic ridicule. On the other -hand, the highest attempts of women in poetry have uniformly failed. We -have read of no female epic of even a respectable rank: those who have -written tragedies, have written moral lectures (of an inferior sort) -like Hannah More; or anatomies of the passions, direct and formal, like -Joanna Baillie; or an historical sketch, as Rienzi. We are apt to -suspect that the personal charms of Sappho proved too much for the -admirers of her poetic rhapsodies, otherwise Longinus has done her foul -injustice; for the fragment he quotes is to be praised and censured -solely for its obscurity. This would have been a great merit in -Lycophron. - -In the volume of British Poetesses, edited by Mr. Dyce, it is -astonishing to find how little real poetry he has been able to collect -out of the writings of near a century of authors, scattered over the -surface of five or six centuries. It must be allowed that some of the -finest shortest pieces by female writers have appeared since the -publication of that selection. In the volume referred to, much sensible -verse and some sprightly copies of verses occur; a fair share of pure -reflective sentiment, delivered in pleasing language rarely rising above -correctness; of high genius there is not a particle,—no pretensions to -sublimity or fervor. The best piece and the finest poem, we think, ever -composed by woman, is the charming ballad of Auld Robin Gray. That is a -genuine bit of true poesy, and perfect in the highest department of the -female imagination in the pathos of domestic tragedy. In the present -century we have Mrs. Howitt and Mrs. Southey, but chief of all, Miss -Barrett.[6] The finest attempts of the most pleasing writer of this -class, do not rise so high as the delightful ballad above named. They -are sweet, plaintive, moral strains, the melodious notes of a lute, -tuned by taper fingers in a romantic bower, not the deep, majestic, -awful tones of the great organ, or the spirited and stirring blasts of -the trumpet. The ancient bard struck wild and mournful, or hearty and -vigorous, notes from his harp—perchance placed “on a rock whose -frowning brow,” &c. and striving with the rough symphonies of the -tempest; but the sybil of modern days plays elegant and pretty, or soft -and tender airs upon her flageolet or accordion, in the boudoir or -saloon. - -A poet is, from the laws both of physiology and philology,—masculine. -His vocation is manly, or rather divine. And we have never heard any -traits of feminine character attributed to the great poet, (in the Greek -sense,) the Creator of the universe. The muses are represented as -females, but then they are the inspirers, never the composers, of verse. -So should be the poet’s muse, as she is often the poet’s theme. There -are higher themes, but of an abstract nature, in general: ethical, -religious, metaphysical. Let female beauty then sit for her portrait -instead of being the painter. Let poets chant her charms, but let her -not spoil a fair ideal image by writing bad verses. If all were rightly -viewed, a happy home would seem preferable to a seat on Parnassus, and -the Fountain of Content would furnish more palatable draughts than the -Font of Helicon. The quiet home is not always the muses’ bower; though -we trust the muses’ bower is placed in no turbulent society. - -Women write for women. They may entertain, but cannot, from the nature -of the case, become instructors to men. They know far less of life, -their circle of experience is confined. They are unfitted for many paths -of active exertion, and consequently are rendered incapable of forming -just opinions on many matters. We do not include a natural incapacity -for many studies, and as natural a dislike for many more. Many kinds of -learning, and many actual necessary pursuits and practices, it is deemed -improper for a refined woman to know. How, then, _can_ a female author -become a teacher of men? - -Literature would miss many pleasant associations if the names of the -best female writers were expunged from a list of classic authors, and -the world would lose many delightful works—the novel of sentiment and -the novel of manners, letter writing, moral tales for children, books of -travels, gossiping memoirs—Mrs. Inchbald, Madame D’Arblay, Miss -Edgeworth, Lady M. W. Montague, Miss Martineau, and Miss Sedgwick, with -a host besides. Women have sprightliness, cleverness, smartness, though -but little wit. There is a body and substance in true wit, with a -reflectiveness rarely found apart from a masculine intellect. In all -English comedy, we recollect but two female writers of sterling value, -Mrs. Conley and Mrs. Guthrie, and their plays are formed on the Spanish -model, and made up of incident and intrigue, much more than of fine -repartees or brilliant dialogue. We know of no one writer of the other -sex, that has a high character for humor—no Rabelais, no Sterne, no -Swift, no Goldsmith, no Dickens, no Irving. The female character does -not admit of it. - -Women cannot write history. It requires too great solidity, and too -minute research for their quick intellects. They write, instead, -delightful memoirs. Who, but an antiquary or historical commentator, had -not rather read Lucy Hutchinson’s Life of her Husband, than any of the -professed histories of the Commonwealth—and exchange Lady Fanshawe for -the other royalist biographers. - -Neither are women to turn politicians or orators. We hope never to hear -of a female Burke; she would be an overbearing termagant. A spice of a -talent for scolding, is the highest form of eloquence we can -conscientiously allow the ladies. - -Criticism is for men; when women assume it, they write scandal. The -current notion of criticism with most, is that of libelous abuse. From -all such, Heaven defend us. - -Women feel more than they think, and (sometimes) say more than do. They -are consequently better adapted to describe sentiments, than to -speculate on causes and effects. They are more at home in their letters, -than in tracts of political economy. - -The proper faculties in women to cultivate most assiduously are, the -taste and the religious sentiment; the first, as the leading trait of -the intellectual; and the last, as the governing power of the moral -constitution. Give a woman a pure taste and high principles, and she is -safe from the arts of the wiliest libertine. Let her have all other -gifts but these, and she is comparatively defenceless. Taste purifies -the heart as well as the head, and religion strengthens both. The -strongest propensities to pleasure are not so often the means of -disgrace and ruin, as the carelessness of ignorant virtue, and an -unenlightened moral sense. This makes all the difference in the world, -between the daughter of a poor countryman, and the child of an educated -gentleman. Both have the same desires, but how differently directed and -controlled. Yet we find nineteen lapses from virtue in the one case, -where we find one in the other. - -Believing that what does not interest, does not benefit the mind, we -would avoid all pedantic lectures to women, on all subjects to which -they discover any aversion. Study should be made a pleasure, and reading -pure recreation. In a general sense, we would say the best works for -female readers are those that tend to form the highest domestic -character. Works of the highest imagination, as being above that -condition, and scientific authors, who address a different class of -faculties, are both unsuitable. An admirable wife may not relish the -sublimity of Milton or Hamlet; and a charming companion be ignorant of -the existence of such a science as Algebra. A superficial acquaintance -with the elements of the physical sciences, is worse than total -unacquaintance with them. - -Religion should be taught as a sentiment, not as an abstract principle, -or in doctrinal positions, a sentiment of love and grateful obedience; -morality, impressed as the practical exercise of self-denial and active -benevolence. In courses of reading, too much is laid down of a dry -nature. Girls are disgusted with tedious accounts of battles and -negotiations, dates and names. The moral should be educed best filled -for the female heart, and apart from the romantic periods, and the -reigns of female sovereigns, or epochs when the women held a very -prominent place in the state, or in public regard. We would have women -affectionate wives, obedient daughters, agreeable companions, skilful -economists, judicious friends; but we must confess it does not fall -within our scheme to make them legislators or lawyers, diplomatists or -politicians. We therefore think nine tenths of all history is absolutely -useless for women. Too many really good biographies of great and good -men and women can hardly be read, and will be read to much greater -advantage than histories, as they leave a definite and individual -impression. The reading good books of travels, is, next to going over -the ground in person, the best method of studying geography. Grammar and -rhetoric,[7] (after a clear statement of the elements and chief rules,) -are best learnt in the perusal of classic authors, the essayists, &c.; -and, in the same way, the theory of taste and the arts. The most -important of accomplishments is not systematically treated in any -system—conversation. But a father and mother of education, can teach -this better than any professor. Expensive schools turn out half-trained -pupils. Eight years at home, well employed, and two at a good but not -fashionable school, are better than ten years spent in the most popular -female seminary, conducted in the ordinary style. Such is a meagre -outline of our idea of female education, into which we have digressed -unawares. - -Female authors should constitute a fair proportion of a lady’s -library—and those masculine writers who have something of the -tenderness and purity of the feminine character in their works. The -subjects and authors we propose for occasional consideration, will -embrace specimens of each, in prose and poetry, fiction and reality, -satire and sentiment. We think we may promise a less erudite paper for -the second number, though to some readers all that is not very lively is -proportionably dull. - ------ - -[6] This lady’s failure in an attempt to translate Æschylus, is a fair -confirmation of our opinion of the inability of the female imagination -to soar beyond a certain height. - -[7] The benefit flowing from _these_ studies is chiefly of a negative -character. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: A. L. Dick. -__The Pastor’s Visit__ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PASTOR’S VISIT. - - - ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. - - - The noon is past—the sun declines - Below the western hills; - Upon the peasant’s face joy shines. - And peace his bosom fills. - He stands beside the cottage door, - His wife and children round, - With that content which evermore - Doth with the true abound. - - The pastor, pausing on his way, - Surveys the happy scene; - If all mankind were pure as they - Slights tasks for him, I ween! - Not in the peasant’s cottage dwell - Sin and her joyless train, - He thinks of palace, dome and cell, - And passes on again! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HASTY MARRIAGE. - - - A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BRIDAL.” - - -How few “look before they leap,” even in an affair of so much moment as -matrimony. We fear the fault is in our system. We educate our daughters -superficially—for _display_ rather than usefulness—to catch the eye -rather than win the heart. Our girls are taught in early life, either -directly or indirectly, that marriage is the great object of woman’s -ambition, and in endeavoring to secure that object, and to surpass in -the race of conquest their companions and rivals, they sometimes wed -rashly and to the sacrifice of happiness. Difficult, we are aware, is -the task of discrimination with the young and inexperienced. Pure and -artless themselves, they are apt to imagine the possession of like -virtues by all others, and to conceive it impossible for a fine form and -a handsome face to be associated with a false heart. Alas! how often are -they disappointed! How frequently do the sudden attachments of early -life prove hollow and unsubstantial! How often is it discovered that the -first dream of love, which has been so extravagantly eulogized by poets -and romancers, was a mere delusion that would not bear the test of time -and of reason! With what bitterness of disappointment have many started -from this dream! Stripped of the rainbow coloring with which the fancy -is apt to paint an object of idolatry, how prominent appear the darkness -and the deformity! How broad the contrast between the just view of truth -and the rapid and prejudiced survey of passion! How often do we see -beings standing before the altar, pledging themselves to each other for -weal and for wo, who, comparatively speaking, were strangers but -yesterday! Knowing little of each other’s lives and dispositions, merits -or demerits, they are willing to risk peace of mind for long years, and -to identify destinies for time, perhaps for eternity! Can we wonder that -strife sometimes mars the domestic circle—that wives are left lonely -and deserted—that the agency of man should so often be invoked to part -beings who have been joined together by an ordinance of God! - -A happy union is indeed a scene upon which, without irreverence, we may -suppose the angels in Heaven gaze from their bright places of abode with -delight and approval. An unnatural or a discordant marriage, on the -other hand, must form a source of delight to the arch enemy of mankind, -for in it he can recognize the soul of evil. That the young should seek -for and cling to a kindred spirit is natural. The undivided possession -of a pure heart is perhaps the very acme of human felicity. “One home, -one wife, and one God,” is the sentiment of one of the wisest of his -race, and it is only when man is on the shady side of fifty that he -begins to appreciate the truth of this philosophy in all its solemnity -and force. Then his pleasures of life are derived as much from the past -as the future, and the associations of that past, if mingled with -virtue, fidelity, patriotism and religion, are indeed blissful. - -We pity the lonely and the desolate—the loveless and the unloved—the -being without a wife or a friend—without one trusting and confiding -spirit, to whom the heart may turn in its hour of sorrow and pour out -its inmost and saddest thoughts. The cold and selfish mortal who passes -year after year without experiencing the delightful concord of sentiment -to be found in a kindred soul, is indeed the most miserable of his -species. Even his joys are robbed of half their delight, because -unshared by another, by one to whom he is allied by love and friendship. -Wretched indeed is the isolated individual who, mingling with the -multitude, can single out no destiny identified with his—no faithful -and devoted heart, the breath of whose existence seems bound up with -his. Nature has denied to such a being the holiest impulses that warm -and agitate the human breast. Even the birds are mated, and without a -ministering angel “a sweet companion,” the first born was lonely and -desolate in the garden of Eden. So it must ever be with the frail and -feeble things of mortal existence. If Paradise could not be appreciated -and enjoyed alone, how can man reconcile loneliness to his fallen -condition? The desire of the heart is for sweet companionship—the -inward craving of the spirit is for a being to love. Can we wonder then -that in this country, where early marriage is taught to be desirable, so -many should choose rashly? - -We remember Annette Delisle as a being of yesterday. She sang well—she -danced well—and in many respects she was a beauty. Not one of our -beauties at the time, for her form was too slight and sylph-like,—her -joy was too gushing—her spirits too redundant. She dressed from early -childhood with taste and elegance, and wore her dark hair in long -ringlets over her shoulders. She had many friends, and even at sixteen -her admirers were liberal in number and profuse in flattery. Her mother, -a weak and vain woman, was proud of her daughter—proud of the attention -that daughter received, and eager to display her on every occasion. Thus -she not only frequently accompanied her to public balls, which were then -more fashionable and somewhat more select than at present, but she -permitted her to accept of numerous invitations to parties, and to -mingle almost nightly during the winter season in the gay scenes of our -metropolis. The father, good-natured man, was a manufacturer, and was so -wedded to business, that he could not spare time even for the proper -care of his favorite child. Alas! this good nature in fathers! It -sometimes degenerates into a sad vice, and is the source of much misery -in after life. The man who lacks the energy to control his own -household,—who is either too negligent, or too weak to point out the -true path and to direct the footsteps of his offspring therein, is -guilty of much that is unpardonable. - -But such a father was Mr. Delisle, while the mother, worse if possible, -gave the reins almost wholly into the hands of her daughter, and was but -too fond of the hollow and unmeaning admiration which the practiced in -art and in compliment among the sterner sex are so apt to bestow upon -the vain and empty, whether old or young. - -The result of this course upon Annette Delisle may well be imagined. -While she sparkled in the ball room, and glittered in the giddy throng, -her heart, her mind, and her morals were neglected. The mazes of the -world, its quicksands and its hypocrisy were unknown to her. She -flirted, laughed and trifled with the many, caught one hour by a fine -form, another by a rich voice, and a third by a dashing exterior. And -yet, in the depths of that young girl’s breast, were rich and true -affections. Properly trained, she would have graced any circle. Her mind -was good by nature—her spirit was benevolent and cheerful—and many of -the lights of beauty flashed and brightened around her. Despite her -artificial manner, and her air of coquetry, her feelings were deep and -strong. Her being was one of impulse, and her attachments, even to her -school companions, were animated by truth and fidelity. Thus it was when -Annette discovered that the society of Howard Leroy possessed an unusual -charm for her—that she saw him approach with pleasure—that she -listened with more than her wonted attention to his remarks—that she -felt the blood mount to her cheek at his compliments—that she found her -eyes following as he wandered through the ball room—that she lisped his -name even in her dreams. - -Never can I forget the dashing Leroy. He was what is usually denominated -“a handsome fellow”—one of the butterflies of society—a ladies’ man, -in the general acceptation, and a favorite also with his own sex. He -rode well, talked well, and sang an excellent song. This latter -qualification was in some respects a fatal gift, for it introduced him -into many a gay circle from which he otherwise would have been -excluded—made him sought for, and vain of his voice, and thus won him -away from the more useful pursuits of life. Leroy, moreover, was fond of -poetry—was able to quote glowing passages, and had, withal, a touch of -romance in his character, which served not a little to enhance him in -the estimation of some of his female acquaintance. He assumed a -remarkable degree of independence—was rather bold and reckless in his -manner and language, and possessed the faculty of talking for hours in -relation to the prominent beauties of Moore, Byron and Bulwer. These -were the traits of character which won upon the mind and heart of -Annette Delisle. Her education and mode of life had fitted her for the -arts of such a man. She fancied him something superior to the ordinary -fop—to the mere merchant or shopkeeper. Leroy became her ardent and -enthusiastic admirer. The fact soon reached the ears of her father. He -roused himself for the moment, and proceeded to investigate the -realities of the case. Leroy he ascertained to be an idle, dissolute -pretender, and dependent, he feared, upon the gaming-table for his means -of subsistence. He was of good family, and had received a fair -education. But he had gone astray from the path of rectitude in early -life, and now contrived to appear on the principal promenades as a -fashionable lounger—but the world wondered how! - -The manufacturer was terrified at the prospect for his daughter, whom he -really loved, but it was too late. Leroy saw the storm coming, and -prevailed upon Annette, by falsehood and misrepresentation, to consent -to a secret marriage. Fondly and long she clung to the delusion that her -husband had been slandered—that one who could _talk_ so well, and -_profess_ so much, could not be a villain. He _was_ not one, perhaps, in -the usual interpretation; but we can conceive of no more heartless -wretch than the man who deliberately deceives and betrays a fond and -confiding woman. Leroy never loved Annette with a true and exalted -affection. He felt himself bankrupt in fortune, and nearly so in -character, and he was base enough to become the husband of an -unsuspecting girl, in the hope of a dependency upon the bounty of her -father. Deceived in this, for the old manufacturer would have nothing to -do with him, he soon threw off the mask. At first cold and indifferent, -he speedily grew harsh and unkind. True, there were moments when his -better nature prevailed, and he would endeavor, by apparent contrition -and well turned promises, to atone for his conduct. But, they were few -and far between, and diminished in number as time rolled on. Strange, -despite the giddy character of Annette—despite the little care which -had been bestowed upon her principles, she clung to him with the true -fidelity of woman. She loved him with her whole soul, and while the -pride of her woman nature repelled the idea of any public exposure of -her situation, and while she even concealed from her parents much of the -unworthy conduct of Leroy, she still cherished a belief of his ultimate -reform. Night after night she sat in her quiet chamber, or gazed -earnestly from the window, in the hope that the form of her husband -might appear before the midnight hour. Who may paint the agony of her -mind at such moments—the jealous fears that shot like daggers through -her breast, as to his haunts and his society—the apprehension of danger -and of death—the terrible fancies which mingled him in some dreadful -scene at the gaming table—and, worse than all, the oft repelled, but -still returning conviction, that the wine cup was too familiar with his -lips! - -God, in pity look down upon and impart moral courage to the lonely wives -of the world—the dejected ones to whom home is desolate, whose hearts -are breaking slowly, secretly, string by string—who live only for their -little ones, and because they know it wrong to plunge unbidden into -eternity! Beings who have ventured their all of earthly happiness, and -have lost all—who have been deceived, betrayed, and are now deserted! -Pity and console them, Great Creator, for the misery of unrequited love, -of wounded pride, of crushed affection, of hopeless despair throughout -this life, can only be soothed and softened by a heavenly influence! - -Poor Annette! Step by step her husband plunged on in the downward path. -Ray after ray departed from the light of her beauty. Wider and wider -became the gulf between the manufacturer and his son-in-law. But, horror -of horrors! the crisis soon came! The resource of gambling failed at -last with Leroy, and _then_—he resorted to forgery!—ay! he forged the -name of George Delisle, the father of his wife, and fled the country in -order to escape the penalty of his crime! - - * * * * * - -But a few days have gone by since we saw Annette. Only five years have -elapsed since her marriage. What a change! The lily has supplanted the -rose—the eye has lost its fire—the step its buoyancy—the form its -grace. She is a doomed and broken hearted woman. Disease has “marked her -for his own.” Loss of sleep—mental anxiety—the disgrace—the -shame—the ignominy of her husband’s career, are hurrying her rapidly to -a premature grave! - -Mothers, be warned! Virtue, Integrity and Religion are the only safe -companions for your budding and beautiful daughters! - - * * * * * - - - - - TO THE NIGHT-WIND IN AUTUMN. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “TECUMSEH.” - - - Whence art thou, spirit wind? - Soothing with thy low voice the ear of Night, - And breathing o’er the wakeful, pensive mind - An influence of pleased yet sad delight. - - Thou tell’st not of thy birth, - O viewless wanderer from land to land: - But gathering all the secrets of the earth - Where’er, unseen, thy airy wings expand, - - At this hushed, holy hour, - When time seems part of vast eternity, - Thou dost reveal them with a magic power, - Saddening the soul with thy weird minstrelsy. - - All nature seems to hear, - The woods, the waters, and each silent star; - What, that can thus enchain their earnest ear, - Bring’st thou of untold tidings from afar? - - Is it of new, fair lands, - Of fresh-lit worlds that in the welkin burn! - Do new oäses gem Zahara’s sands, - Or the lost Pleiad to the skies return? - - Nay! ’tis a voice of grief, - Of grief subdued, but deepened through long years, - The soul of Sorrow, seeking not relief, - Still gathering bitter knowledge without tears. - - For thou, since earth was young - And rose green Eden purpled with the morn, - Its solemn wastes and homes of men among, - Circling all zones, thy mourning flight hast borne. - - Empires have risen in might, - And peopled cities through the outspread earth, - And thou hast passed them at the hour of night - Listing the sounds of revelry and mirth. - - Again thou hast gone by— - City and empire were alike o’erthrown, - Temple and palace, fall’n confusedly, - In marble ruin on the desert strown. - - In time-long solitudes, - Where dark, old mountains pierced the silent air, - Bright rivers roamed, and stretched untraversed woods, - Thou joy’dst to hope that these were changeless there. - - Lo! as the ages passed, - Thou found’st them struck with alteration dire, - The streams new-channeled, forests earthward cast, - The crumbling mountains scathed with storm and fire. - - Gone but a few short hours, - Beauty and bloom beguiled thy wanderings, - And thou mad’st love unto the virgin flowers, - Sighing through green trees and by mossy springs. - - Now on the earth’s cold bed, - Fallen and faded, waste their forms away, - And all around the withered leaves are shed, - Mementos mute of Nature’s wide decay. - - Vain is the breath of morn; - Vainly the night-dews on their couches weep; - In vain thou call’st them at thy soft return, - No more awaking from their gloomy sleep. - - . . . . . . . . - - Oh hush! Oh hush! sweet wind! - Thou melancholy soul! be still, I pray, - Nor pierce this heart so long in grief resigned, - With ’plainings for the loved but lifeless clay. - - Ah! now by thee I hear - The earnest, gentle voices, as of old: - They speak—in accents tremulously clear— - The young, the beautiful, the noble-souled. - - The beautiful, the young, - The form of light, the wise and honored head— - Thou bring’st the music of a lyre unstrung!— - Oh cease!—with tears I ask it—they are _dead_! - - . . . . . . . . - - While mortal joys depart, - While loved ones lie beneath the grave’s green sod, - May we not fail to hear, with trembling heart, - In thy low tone the “still small voice of God.” - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Natural History of New York: By Authority. Albany, Thurlow - Weed, Printer to the State. New York, Wiley & Putnam, and D. - Appleton & Co._ - -We are among those who believe that, as characterizing the present age, -the cultivation of purely mechanical and natural science has been -carried much too far, or rather, has been made too exclusive and -absorbing. It is not the _highest_ science—for it concerns only that -which is around us—which is altogether outward. Man is always greater -than the world of nature in which he lives, and just as clearly must the -_science_ of man, the philosophy of his moral and intellectual being, -rank far above that of the soulless creation which was made to minister -to his wants. When, therefore, this lower science so draws to itself the -life of any age, as to disparage and shut out the higher, it works a -positive injury to the well-being of that age. Still it is only thus in -comparison with a nobler and more lofty study that we would venture to -cast the faintest reproach upon that natural science which in no slight -degree absorbs the intellectual effort of the present generation. -Regarded as related to, and a part of, a complete system of education, -it becomes most important and necessary; and its cultivation, even to -apparent excess, a cause of rejoicing and a source of the highest hope. - -We need scarcely say, then, that we look upon the explorations which -have been made “by authority” into the Geology and general Natural -History of several of the most important States in the Union, as among -the proudest achievements of the present day. Most of them, it is true, -grew out of designs not the highest on the part of those by whom they -were originated. The development of resources, the discovery of mineral -wealth, or other elements of power, formed in most cases the principal -aim of those at whose instance these surveys were undertaken. But this -is of little importance. The results are, on this account, none the less -valuable to the cause of natural science, nor is our joy at their -successful prosecution the less ardent or sincere. In all the States in -which they have been undertaken, they have been fruitful of the best -results; and the facts thus brought together will be found of priceless -value to students and inquirers for ages to come. - -The State of New York has just completed her survey, which has been -conducted on a scale commensurate with her wealth and enterprise. The -different departments of the survey were, in 1836, assigned to eight -gentlemen well qualified for the task, and from that time until their -completion, the explorations were conducted with energy and enthusiasm. -The reports are to be published in ten magnificent quarto volumes, of -which the first is now before us. A more splendid monument of -intelligent enterprise in the cause of science, has seldom been erected -by any State. The first volume contains only a portion of the first -report on Zoology, by Mr. James E. DeKay, to whom this department was -committed. Governor Seward has written an introduction to the work, -which occupies nearly two hundred pages. It is valuable as a historical -record of the progress of the arts, the sciences, and the various -branches of enterprise and industry in the State, though as a literary -performance it can claim no especial merit. It is, indeed, little more -than a compendium of the history of the State, and of its general -statistics, of which the different portions have been contributed by -different persons. The portion of the Zoological Report which this -volume contains—relating merely to the Mammalia of the State—is highly -valuable, and, to the naturalist, exceedingly interesting. Previous to -this survey, no complete Zoology of the State had been attempted. In -1813, Samuel L. Mitchell commenced an account of the fishes of New York, -which was the first work on the subject ever undertaken; and the impulse -given to the science by his labors in fact laid the foundation for -whatever has been effected in the same department since. Several other -branches of Zoology had received some slight attention before the -commencement of the State survey. Bachman, a well known naturalist of -South Carolina, had made interesting discoveries in the families of -smaller quadrupeds, and much valuable information concerning the -ornithology of the State had been collected by Wilson, Audubon, Cooper, -Bonaparte and DeKay. Barnes had classified the Unionidæ of the lakes and -rivers, and the Mollusca of the sea coast had been well studied by Dr. -Gay, of New York city. But the report of Mr. DeKay in this department -presents by far a more full and comprehensive account of the Zoology of -New York than had ever before been made. The State was divided into four -Zoological districts: first, the western district, embracing all the -western portion of the State, as far east as the sources of the Mohawk; -second, the northern, comprising all that portion of the State lying -north of the Mohawk valley; third, the valley of the Hudson, including -all the counties watered by that river and its tributaries; and fourth, -the Atlantic district, embracing Long Island. In regard to its natural -history, the northern district is by far the most important. Strange as -it may seem to those who are accustomed to hear only of the wealth, the -refinement, and the advanced civilization of the “Empire State,” there -is embraced in this northern district a great tract of a thousand square -miles, lying in loneliness, fresh as it came from the hand of God, -untouched, and almost unvisited by man. It is clad with forests of great -and majestic beauty, echoing only the sigh of the tempest, the screams -of the untamed dwellers in its wilds, and now and then the rifle of the -hunter, who there finds game, such as in long gone times the red men -loved to chase. It is thickly overspread with lakes, embosomed in -mountains, now lying calmly and smilingly beneath the sun, and the next -hour lashed into frowns, when - - “The tempest shooteth, from the steep, - The shadow of its coming.” - -Travelers who would wander through it, must provide themselves with -guides, and trust to hunting and chance for food and lodging. No one -_lives_ there—the whole is one vast, solitary wilderness, untouched by -man—lying in its own majesty—unconscious even that the foot of the -adventurous Genoese has been set upon the continent. - - “Still this great solitude is quick with life; - Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers - They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, - And birds that scarce have learned the fear of man, - Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, - Startlingly beautiful.” - -This vast wild region is inhabited by many animals that are rarely found -in any other portion of the State. The bear, the moose, the panther, the -deer, and most fur-bearing animals, make their homes among its -mountains. Arctic birds, too, that are never known farther south, are -seen in abundance. The whole district covers an area of about six -thousand square miles. The western district is eminent for its fertility -and beauty, and has also a high degree of zoological interest. - -The number of quadrupeds enumerated in the report, as found within the -State, is something more than one hundred. Each of these is -scientifically and fully described. Included in the volume are a great -number of illustrations, taken with the greatest care from the living -animals or the best specimens that could be found. The real colors are -preserved, and in every case the relative size is indicated. The -outlines, for the purpose of accuracy, were always taken with a camera -lucida, and the illustrations, drawn by Hill, were lithographed by -Endicott. - -The whole style of the work is eminently worthy the enterprise, results -of which it contains, and the State which undertook its fulfilment. We -look for the forthcoming volumes with no little interest. The botanical -department has been under the charge of John Toney; the mineralogical -and chemical were assigned to Lewis C. Beck; the geological to W. W. -Mather, Ebenezer Emmons, James Hall, and Leonard Vanuxem, and the -palæontological to Timothy A. Conrad. Beside these reports, the results -of the survey appear in eight several collections of specimens of the -animals, plants, soils, minerals, rocks and fossils, found within the -State—one of which collections constitutes a museum of natural history -at the capital of the State, and the others are distributed among -collegiate institutions. We rejoice at the completion of this great -survey, and hope soon to see a similar exploration effected in every -State of the Union. The cause of science will receive from it an aid of -which scientific men alone can rightly estimate the value. - - * * * * * - - _The Holy War, made by Shaddai upon Diabolus, for the Regaining - of the Metropolis of the World. By John Bunyan. Philadelphia, - American Sunday School Union._ - -The celebrated Dr. Owen was occasionally one of the hearers of Bunyan, -when he preached in London; and being asked by Charles the Second how a -learned man, like him, could listen to the prating of an illiterate -tinker, he is said to have replied, “May it please your Majesty, could I -possess that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would gladly relinquish -all my scholarship.” His genius as an author was even greater than he -exhibited in the pulpit. Southey, Macauley, and other eminent critics, -regard him as one of the “immortal authors of England.” The Pilgrim’s -Progress has been the most popular of his sixty or seventy works. -Probably no book by an uninspired writer has been more universally read. -The Holy War was written ten years after the appearance of that -beautiful creation, and if not equal to it in all respects, is certainly -one of the most ingenious allegories in the language, as well as one of -the most _useful_ exhibitions of practical Christianity. The edition -before us is superior to any other printed in America, in its typography -and illustrations. - - * * * * * - - _The Little Gift_; _Useful Stories_; _Poems for Little Folks_. - _Three small volumes._ - -Mr. Colman, of New York, in the autumn of every year, publishes numerous -miniature gift books for children, with fine engravings, instructive -tales and poems, etc., of which the above are specimens. - - * * * * * - - _Thulia: A Poem: By J. C. Palmer, M. D., U. S. N. Illustrated - with Twelve Original Designs, by A. Agate, Artist of the late - Exploring Expedition. One volume, octavo. New York, Samuel - Colman._ - -This beautifully printed and illustrated volume resembles very much, in -its appearance, the elegant edition of Gray’s “Elegy,” published several -years since in London. We can say no more in praise of its typography -and embellishments. The poem itself possesses considerable merit. Doctor -Palmer was attached to the Exploring Expedition which returned to this -country last summer from the southern seas, and “Thulia” is founded on -incidents which occurred on the war-ship Peacock, and the schooner -Flying Fish, while in the Antarctic ocean. The verse is free and -melodious, and the ideas and illustrations generally appropriate and -poetical. We quote a lyric that will convey to the reader a just idea of -the poet’s style. - - ANTARCTIC MARINER’S SONG. - - Sweetly, from the land of roses, - Sighing comes the northern breeze; - And the smile of dawn reposes, - All in blushes, on the seas. - Now within the sleeping sail, - Murmurs soft the gentle gale. - Ease the sheet, and keep away: - Glory guides us South to-day! - - Yonder, see! the icy portal - Opens for us to the Pole; - And, where never entered mortal, - Thither speed we to the goal. - Hopes before and doubts behind, - On we fly before the wind. - Steady, so—now let it blow! - Glory guides, and South we go. - - Vainly do these gloomy borders, - All their frightful forms oppose; - Vainly frown these frozen warders, - Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snow. - Though, beneath the ghastly skies, - Curdled all the ocean lies, - Lash we up its foam anew— - Dash we all its terrors through! - - Circled by these columns hoary, - All the field of fame is ours; - Here to carve a name in story, - Or a tomb beneath these towers. - Southward still our way we trace, - Winding through an icy maze. - Luff her to—there she goes through! - Glory leads, and we pursue. - -The notes appended to the poem contain the most interesting account of -the expedition that has yet been given to the public. - - * * * * * - - _Scenes in the Holy Land: one volume square duodecimo. - Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union._ - -This work is founded on, or rather is a free translation of, the “Scènes -Evangéliques” of Napoleon Roussel, published a year or two since in -Paris. It contains an account of the principal incidents in the lives of -the Savior and of the great apostle of the Gentiles, written with -singular simplicity and perspicuity, and illustrated with numerous -etchings by a clever French artist. It is published, we believe, as a -juvenile gift book for the holiday season. - - * * * * * - - _Ladies’ Annual Register for 1843. New York, S. Colman._ - -The Ladies’ Annual Register is a neat little annuary, edited for several -years by Mrs. Gilman, of Charleston. It embraces, beside the usual -contents of the almanacs, many useful recipes for the housewife, with -anecdotes, poems, etc. - - * * * * * - - _Biblical and Prophetical Works of Rev. George Bush, D. D., - author of “The Life of Mohammed,” etc., and Professor of Hebrew - in the New York City University. New York, Dayton & Newman._ - -Professor Bush is one of the most profound and ingenious scholars and -critics of the present age, and we perceive with pleasure that he is -rapidly multiplying the fruits of his industrious pen. To all the lovers -of sound biblical exposition it must be gratifying to know that the -Hebrew Scriptures are in a fair way to develop their riches to the -English reader more fully than ever before. Professor Bush’s -commentaries on the Old Testament, now extending to six volumes, embrace -all the works of the Pentateuch but the last two, and these, we learn, -he proposes shortly to enter upon. His careful study, his scrupulous -fidelity in eliciting the exact meaning of the original, and his -peculiar tact in explaining it, have made his Notes everywhere popular, -so that before the completion of the series, the first volume has -reached a sixth edition, the second a fifth, etc. In all of them will be -found discussions on the most important points of biblical science, -extending far beyond the ordinary dimensions of expository notes, and -amounting in fact to elaborate dissertations of great value. Among the -subjects thus extensively treated are, in Genesis, the temptation and -the fall, the dispersion from Babel, the prophecies of Noah, the -character of Melchizedec, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the -history of Joseph, and the prophetical benedictions of Jacob; in Exodus, -the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, the miracles of the magicians, the -pillar of cloud as the seat of the Shekinah, the decalogue, the Hebrew -theocracy, the tabernacle, the cherubim, the candle-stick, the shew -bread, the altar, &c.; in Leviticus, a clear and minute specification of -the different sacrifices, the law of marriage, including the case of -marriage with a deceased wife’s sister, very largely considered, and a -full account of the Jewish festivals. The sixth volume, including Joshua -and Judges, contains an ample and erudite exposition of the Song of -Deborah, and an extended discussion on the subject of Jeptha’s vow, with -a view to determine whether the Jewish warrior really sacrificed his -daughter. The Professor gives an array of very strong reasons in favor -of the negative. - -In his celebrated “Treatise on the Millennium,” which merely as a -literary performance has received the highest commendations of the -critics, our author has assumed the position that the millennium, -_strictly so called_, is past. But by the millennium he does not -understand the golden age of the church, which he, in common with nearly -all good men, regards as a future era. He contends that as the memorable -period of the thousand years of the apocalypse is distinguished mainly -by the binding of the symbolical dragon, we must first determine by the -legitimate canons of interpretation what is shadowed forth by this -mystic personage, before we can assure ourselves of the true character -of the millennial age. But the dragon, he supposes, is the grand -hieroglyphic of Paganism—the “binding of the dragon,” but a figurative -phrase for the suppression of Paganism within the limits of the Roman -empire, a fulfilment which he contends commenced in the reign of -Constantine, and was consummated in that of Theodosius, his successor. -Professor Bush draws largely on the pages of Gibbon in support of his -theory, assuming all along the great foundation principle that _the -apocalypse of John is but a series of pictured emblems, shadowing forth -the ecclesiastical and civil history of the world_. From a cursory -examination of his Treatise, we are inclined to adopt the opinion of one -of the first theologians of our country, that if his premises be -admitted, his conclusion is irresistible; and that _he_ did not know how -to gainsay the premises. - -In the Hierophant, a monthly publication of which he is editor, he -enters elaborately into the nature of the prophetic symbols, and in the -last number brings out some grand results as to the physical destiny of -the globe. He assumes that a fair construction of the language of the -prophets is far from countenancing the idle dreams of Miller and his -school respecting the literal conflagration of the heavens and the -earth, and does not even teach that such a catastrophe is _ever_ to take -place. He denies not that this _may_ possibly be the finale which awaits -our planet and the solar system, but if so, it is to be gathered rather -from astronomy than revelation—from the apocalypse of Newton, Laplace -and Herschell, than from that of John. - -In general literature, in science and in art, America has furnished some -of the best names in the world of letters; but it is in theology and -religious philosophy that our countrymen have made the greatest -advances. We need but allude to Edwards, Dwight, Emmons, Marsh, Beecher, -Alexander, Stuart, McIlvaine, and Bush in proof of this. Perhaps we may -add to the list Orestes Brownson, who, however erratic and peculiar, is -a man of singular genius and sincerity. In our endeavors to keep the -readers of this magazine advised of the condition of our literature, we -should fail of our intent if at times we did not notice books and -authors of a grave character. The useful and the true is in every thing -the national aim. The writings of which we have spoken particularly in -this brief notice, are distinguished for remarkable directness of -language and logical clearness, as much as for profound scholarship, and -they are among the most original works of their class brought out in our -times. - - * * * * * - - _Songs, Odes, and other Poems, on National Subjects: Compiled - from Various Sources: by William McCarty. Three volumes - duodecimo. Philadelphia, W. McCarty._ - -Mr. McCarty is a bookseller, of the long established house of McCarty & -Davis, in Market street. He is an antiquary also, and has in his -chambers one of the best collections of books relating to our history -and antiquities to be found in this country. Several years ago he -“formed the plan of gathering together our national songs and ballads, -deeming the task, however humble,” he says, “one of which the result -would be acceptable to his countrymen.” He has since gleaned from all -the files of magazines, newspapers and other periodicals, in the public -libraries and in his own possession, published since Braddock’s defeat -at DuQuesne, every scrap of verse, “good, bad, or indifferent,” relating -to men, manners and events in America, and had them printed in three -neat volumes, the first of which contains the “patriotic,” the second -the “military,” and the third the “naval.” It is certainly a very -curious collection. Some of the pieces, indeed, were written by -foreigners, and have as little relation to any thing in America as to -the quackeries of Græfenberg; and others are not decidedly poetical; but -by far the greater number belong to one or another of the divisions in -which the compiler has placed them, and, as he well remarks, “the -present and future generations of Americans will hardly disdain those -strains, however homely, which cheered and animated our citizen soldiers -and seamen, ‘in the times that tried men’s souls,’ at the camp-fire or -on the forecastle.” We perceive that Mr. McCarty has copied from our -Magazine for October most of the pieces included in the article on “The -Minstrelsy of the Revolution.” We have many others not embraced in his -volumes, of which we intend to present a few additional specimens to our -readers, in connection, perhaps, with some of the most curious verses in -the books he has given us. - - * * * * * - - _Wing-and-Wing, or Le Feu-Follet. By the author of “The Red - Rover,” “The Pilot,” “The Path Finder,” etc. Two volumes, - duodecimo. Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard._ - -We received this novel too recently to be able to do it justice in our -present number. It is a story of the sea, and from a cursory examination -we are inclined to believe it equal to Mr. Cooper’s most celebrated -naval romances. The scene is in the Mediterranean, in the memorable -years 1798 and 1799. Le Feu-Follet is a French privateer, commanded by -Raoul Yvard, a skilful, bold and chivalrous sailor, and the interest of -the tale turns principally upon the manœuvres by which he preserves her -from capture by the English frigate Prosperine. The character second in -importance on board the republican privateer is Ithule Bolt, a shrewd -Yankee, who, impressed into the British navy, had shared in the dangers -of Nelson’s victory, and now added to a patriotic hatred of the English, -some slight ill will created by what he deemed unjustifiable appliances -of the lash during his service on board the Prosperine. Blended with the -main narrative is a history of the loves of the commander of Le -Feu-Follet and a beautiful Italian girl, Ghita Giuntotardi, one of our -author’s most admirably drawn heroines. Those who would know more of the -plot we refer to the book itself, or to the Yankee lieutenant, who in -due time returned to the United Slates, married a widow, and “settled in -life” somewhere in the Granite State. He is said at the present moment -to be an active abolitionist, a patron of the temperance cause, and a -terror to evil doers, under the appellation of Deacon Bolt. We are -pleased to learn that the publishers have fixed the price of -Wing-and-Wing at half a dollar—lower by fifty per cent. at least than -an American novel was ever sold for before. For this reason, as well as -on account of its remarkable merit, we predict for it a sale equal to -that of “The Spy,” or “The Red Rover.” - - * * * * * - - _The Poets and Poetry of America: with a Historical - Introduction. By Rufus W. Griswold. Third edition. With - Illustrations by the First Artists._ - -Messrs. Carey & Hart have just issued a new edition of this work, with -beautiful illustrations from paintings by Leslie, Inman, Creswick, -Sully, Thompson, Verbryck, Hoyt, and Harding, engraved by Cheney, -Cushman, Dodson, and Forrest. We believe that no other book of so -expensive a character has passed to a second edition in the United -States during the year. The fact that this has reached a _third_ edition -in six months seems to indicate that our poetical literature is properly -appreciated, in our own country, at least. The price of the third -edition has very properly been reduced to two dollars and a half. - - * * * * * - - _The Little Boys’ and Girls’ Library: Edited by Mrs. Sarah J. - Hale. Six books, small quarto. New York, Edward Dunigan._ - -The stories in these little volumes are written with taste and -simplicity. Though Mrs. Hale’s incidents are generally pleasing, we do -not in all cases approve their tendency. With deference for her better -judgment, we think the boy who, in “The Way to Save,” bought the glass -box, was much wiser than he who bought the draught board. - - * * * * * - - _The Youth’s Keepsake: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift for Young - People._ _The Annualette: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift for - Children. Philadelphia, Thomas, Cowperthwaite & Co._ - -Two very beautiful and interesting annuals, of the character of which -the titles are sufficiently descriptive. - - * * * * * - - _Sporting Scenes and Sundry Sketches: being the Miscellaneous - Writings of J. Cypress, jr. Edited by Frank Forester. In Two - vols., 12mo. New York, Gould, Banks & Co., 1842._ - -“J. Cypress, jr.” was the late William P. Hawes, of the city of New -York; and “Frank Forester” is the name by which one of the finest -scholars, critics, and writers, whose productions have ever given a -charm to our periodical literature—Henry William Herbert, the author of -“Cromwell,” and numerous tales and other compositions in this -Magazine—is known in the “sporting world.” Mr. Hawes was educated for -the bar; his writings were generally on political or sporting topics, in -the daily gazettes, or the magazines. The admirable series of papers, -entitled “Fire Island Ana,” was written for the American Monthly, while -that work was under Mr. Herbert; and most of his later compositions -appeared in the “Turf Register.” We have not room to do them justice. -They have never been excelled in this country, in richness of humor, -freshness, or originality. Mr. Hawes had the modesty of genius. He lived -in the quiet enjoyment of the life and the scenes he so felicitously -delineated, and was unknown as a writer beyond the limited circle of his -intimate friends until they and the world were deprived of his presence. - - * * * * * - - _The Task, and other Poems: By William Cowper. One volume, - duodecimo. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart._ - -Among the poets who have written in the English language on religious -themes, Cowper unquestionably ranks next to Milton in genius, and before -him as a teacher. The Presbyterian poet is admired for his sublime -conceptions and his unequaled mastery of language and the intricacies of -rhythm; but the bard of Olney is loved by the good and the true as a -friend. The new edition of the Task is one of the most beautiful -specimens of typography produced in this country, and the etchings, by -Cheney, which illustrate it, are of course admirably executed. - - * * * * * - - _The Way of Life: By Charles Hodge, Professor in the Theological - Seminary of Princeton, New Jersey. One volume duodecimo, pp. - 348. Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union._ - -Among the many very excellent works published by the American Sunday -School Union, we know of none written with more ability, or calculated -to do more good than this admirable treatise. The plenary inspiration of -the Scriptures, the great practical doctrines they teach, and the -influence which these doctrines should exert upon the heart and life, -are set forth by the learned author with candor, simplicity and -eloquence. - - * * * * * - - _Books for Youth: Heroines of Sacred History, by Mrs. Steele; - Philip and his Garden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; Rocky Island, by - Samuel Wilberforce; Alice Benden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; - Clementine Cuvier, by John Angell James; The Simple Flower, by - Charlotte Elizabeth; The Flower of Innocence, by Charlotte - Elizabeth; and Moral Tales, by Robert Merry. New York, John S. - Taylor & Co._ - -The eight volumes, of which we have given the titles above, are bound in -a uniform style, and constitute a very neat and excellent library for -juvenile readers. We know of no books that can be more appropriately -presented to the young in the approaching holidays than those of -Archdeacon Wilberforce, John Angell James, and Charlotte Elizabeth. - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITOR’S TABLE. - - -Miss Barrett.—In this number will be found a series of sonnets by Miss -Elizabeth B. Barrett, among the first of her contributions to any -American periodical. They were originally intended for “Arcturus,” to -which magazine they were sent; but arriving after the discontinuance of -that periodical, its editors placed them at our disposal, “thinking the -good company into which they would be introduced in ‘Graham,’ would be -every way agreeable to the fair authoress.” - -Miss Barrett’s productions are unique in this age of lady authors. They -have the “touch of nature” in common with the best; they have, too, -sentiment, passion and fancy in the highest degree, without reminding us -of Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Norton, or L. E. L. Her excellence is her own; her -mind is colored by what it feeds on; the fine tissue of her flowing -style comes to us from the loom of Grecian thought. She is the learned -poetess of the day, familiar with Homer and Æschylus and Sophocles, and -to the musings of Tempe she has added the inspiration of Christianity, -“above all Greek, all Roman fame.” She has translated the Prometheus to -the delight of scholars, and has lately contributed a series of very -remarkable prose papers to the London Athenæum. Her reading Greek -recalls to us Roger Ascham’s anecdote of Lady Jane Grey; but Lady Jane -Grey has left us no such verses. - -A striking characteristic of Miss Barrett’s prose, is its prevailing -seriousness, approaching to solemnity—a garb borrowed from the -“sceptred pale” of her favorite Greek drama of fate. She loses much with -the general reader by a dim mysticism; but many of her later poems are -free from any such defect. The great writers whom she loves will teach -her the plain, simple, universal language of poetry. - -Her dreams and abstractions, though “caviare to the generale,” have -their admirers, who will ever find in pure and elevated philosophy -expressed in the words of enthusiasm the living presence of poetry. On -Parnassus there are many groves: far from the dust of the highway, -embosomed in twilight woods that seem to symbol Reverence and Faith -trusting on the unseen, we may hear in the whispering of the trees, the -wavering breath of insect life, the accompaniment of our poet’s strain. -Despise not dreams and reveries. With Cowley, Miss Barrett vindicates -herself. “The father of poets tells us, even dreams, too, are from God.” - -We cannot here do justice to Miss Barrett’s volume of the Seraphim, or -to her other poems. We cannot here illustrate as we would the lofty tone -of her conceptions, which in grandeur and human interest belong to the -highest and most enduring of lyrical strains. She has thrown aside -sentimentality, the fluency without thought, the cheap eloquence that -marks a certain school of lady poets, for the genuine language of -emotion, the fire-new currency of speech forged in the secret chambers -of the heart. From two volumes of her poetry before us, (unfamiliar as -yet to American readers—they cannot be so long,) we quote one poem, -perhaps not the most brilliant of all, but inferior to none of the rest -in the pathos, the tenderness, the deep Christian sympathy with human -life, which dwell in the soul of this rare poetess. - - THE SLEEP. - - “He giveth His beloved sleep.”—_Psalm cxxvii. 2._ - - Of all the thoughts of God that are - Borne inward unto souls afar, - Along the Psalmist’s music deep— - Now tell me if that any is, - For gift or grace surpassing this— - “He giveth his beloved sleep?” - - What would we give to our beloved? - The hero’s heart, to be unmoved— - The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep— - The senate’s shout to patriot vows— - The monarch’s crown, to light the brows?— - “He giveth _His_ beloved sleep.” - - What do we give to our beloved? - A little faith, all undisproved— - A little dust, to overweep— - And bitter memories, to make - The whole earth blasted for our sake! - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, - But have no tune to charm away - Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep: - But never doleful dream again - Shall break the happy slumber, when - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - O earth, so full of dreary noises! - O men, with wailing in your voices! - O delved gold, the wailers heap! - O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall! - God makes a silence through you all, - And “giveth His beloved sleep!” - - His dew drops mutely on the hill; - His cloud above it saileth still, - Though on its slope men toil and reap! - More softly than the dew is shed, - Or cloud is floated overhead, - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - Ha! men may wonder while they scan - A living, thinking, feeling man, - In such a rest his heart to keep; - But angels say—and through the word - I ween their blessed smile is _heard_— - “He giveth His beloved sleep!” - - For me my heart that erst did go, - Most like a tired child at a show, - That sees through tears the juggler’s leap,— - Would now its wearied vision close, - Would childlike on _His_ love repose, - Who “giveth His beloved sleep!” - - And friends!—dear friends!—when it shall be - That this low breath is gone from me, - And round my bier ye come to weep— - Let me, most loving of you all, - Say, not a tear must o’er her fall— - “He giveth His beloved sleep!” - -Stars that Have Set in MDCCCXLII.—Among the dead of the year now -drawing to a close, America laments her Marsh and Channing, and Europe, -Sismondi and some less brilliant luminaries. - -The Rev. James Marsh, D.D. was, at the time of his death, the third day -of July, Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in the -University of Vermont. He was a calm, chaste scholar, an earnest and -profound thinker, and a powerful and eloquent advocate of the highest -principles of religion and philosophy, with the perfect simplicity and -grandeur of whose life were blended the rarest virtues that adorn -humanity. His principal published writings, excepting a few articles in -the leading reviews, and some translations from the German, are devoted -to those high and spiritual principles of philosophy, of which Coleridge -and Kant were the most celebrated European exponents. We are pleased to -learn that Professor Torrey, one of the dearest friends of the departed, -is now superintending the publication of a complete edition of his -works. - -The name of William Ellery Channing has been long familiar to the -readers of America and Great Britain. He was equally popular in both -countries, and in both was regarded as one of the greatest authors of -the age. The first edition of his collected writings we believe was -published some five or six years since in Glasgow, and the last, in six -octavo volumes, in Boston, in the winter of 1840. We presume his later -productions, unprinted sermons, etc.—sufficient to fill several -additional volumes—will soon be published, with his memoirs. Doctor -Channing was for a long period the leading divine of the Unitarian -belief, and though an ardent controvertist, was regarded by all men with -love and reverence. The purity of his life, his high aims, his candor, -and the dignity and beauty of his diction, won for him a reputation that -will endure when most of the names now prominent in the world of letters -are forgotten. He died in Bennington, in Vermont, on his return way from -an excursion among the Green Mountains in search of health, on the -second day of October. - -John Charles Leonard de Sismondi was one of the most celebrated -historical, political and æsthetical writers of the time. He died near -Geneva, on the twenty-fifth of June, in his sixty-ninth year. He was the -author of New Principles of Political Economy, A History of the Italian -Republics, A History of the Literature of Southern Europe, A History of -France, Julia Severn, a romance, and several other works, making in the -aggregate about one hundred and fifty volumes, in the French editions. -As a historian he has rarely been surpassed, and in every department of -letters he exercised a powerful influence for nearly half a century. - -Mr. James Grahame, author of the excellent History of the United Slates -which bears his name; Sir Robert Kerr Porter, the traveler; Theodore E. -Hook, the novelist, biographer, and dramatic writer; and Robert Mudie, -author of several works on natural history, etc. were better known in -this country than any of the other literary characters who have died in -Europe during the present year. - - * * * * * - -New Books.—We received several new works too late to be noticed -properly in our present number, of which we have space to mention -particularly only Mr. Norman’s “Rambles in Yucatan,” and Mr. Lester’s -observations on “The Condition and Fate of England,” both from the press -of Messrs. Langley, of New York. The first is an exceedingly interesting -work, and the last quite as good as the same author’s “Glory and Shame -of England.” We shall endeavor to do them full justice in our Magazine -for January. - -The End of the Year.—With the present number we bring to a close -another year of the publication of Graham’s Magazine. The many -improvements which since our last anniversary have been effected in the -work, and the extraordinary accessions to our subscription list—between -twenty and thirty thousand in twelve months!—impart to us a -satisfaction which we trust is shared in some degree by our million -readers. - -Since the commencement of the present year, Rufus W. Griswold has become -associated with the proprietor in the editorship of the Magazine; and to -our corps of contributors have been added William C. Bryant and Richard -H. Dana, the first American poets, and the equals of any now living in -the world; James Fenimore Cooper, the greatest of living novelists; -Charles F. Hoffman, one of the most admired poets and prose writers of -our country; Elizabeth B. Barrett, the truest female poet who has -written in the English language; J. H. Mancur, the author of “Henri -Quatre;” George H. Colton, the author of “Tecumseh;” H. T. Tuckerman, -the author of “Isabelle, or Sicily,” etc.; the author of “A New Home” -and “Forest Life,” who, under the name of “_Mary Clavers_,” has won a -reputation second to that of none of the writers of her sex in America; -Mrs. E. F. Ellet, the well known author of “The Characters of Schiller,” -etc.; Mrs. Seba Smith, whose elegant and truthful compositions are as -universally admired as they are read; and several others, whom we have -not now space to mention. All these, with our favorite old writers, -Professor Longfellow, George Hill, Edgar A. Poe, Mrs. Embury, Mrs. -Stephens, and others, we shall retain for our succeeding volumes. - -We shall likewise receive regular contributions during the ensuing year, -from N. P. Willis, whose many admirable qualities as a writer have made -his name familiar wherever English literature is read; T. C. Grattan, -the popular author of “Highways and Byways,” “The Heiress of Bruges,” -etc.; “_Maria del Occidente_,” the author of “Zophiel,” and many others, -whose names will from month to month grace our pages. - -Let our Past speak for our Future. The improvements made in Graham’s -Magazine, in 1842, will be surpassed by those that we shall introduce in -1843. In all the departments of our work we shall remain in advance of -every other candidate for the public favor. - - * * * * * - -The Author of the Sketch Book.—In a notice of the Miscellanies of Sir -Walter Scott, in the number of this Magazine for September, we made -allusion to reviews of various publications of Mr. Washington Irving, -which we had good reason for believing were written by that gentleman -himself. We learn with pleasure, from one who speaks on the subject by -authority, that Mr. Irving is guiltless of the imputed self laudation. -He did indeed write the article in the London Quarterly on his -“Chronicles of Grenada,” and received for it the sum we mentioned; but, -like so many of the modern “reviews,” it had very little relation to the -work which gave it a title, or to its author. - - * * * * * - -H. Hastings Weld.—We notice that this talented and agreeable writer, -formerly editor of the Brother Jonathan, has taken the editorial charge -of the United States Saturday Post, a family newspaper of the largest -class and circulation. We feel assured that the humor and vivacity of -Mr. Weld’s pen will tend to make the paper still more popular, and to -add greatly to the already enormous subscription list. This paper -already circulates more copies weekly than any other family newspaper in -the Union. - - * * * * * - -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. - -In the story _Malina Gray_, this concluding installment had two parts -titled Chapter III. The second Chapter III has been corrected to Chapter -IV. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XXI, -NO. 6, DECEMBER 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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} - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} - .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%; max-width:40em;} - </style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842, by Various</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editors: George Rex Graham</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em;'>Rufus W. Griswold</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 8, 2022 [eBook #68027]<br /> -[Most recently updated: November 24, 2022]</p></p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images generously made available by the Internet Archive</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XXI, NO. 6, DECEMBER 1842 ***</div> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXI.</span> December, 1842 No. 6.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Contents</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Fiction and Literature</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ric'>Richard Dale</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wid'>The Widow of Newbury</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#mal'>Malina Gray</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#tru'>Truth</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#per'>The Persecutor’s Daughter</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rac'>A Race for a Sweetheart</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#har'>Harry Cavendish</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#lad'>The Ladies’ Library</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#has'>The Hasty Marriage</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review Of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#edi'>Editor’s Table</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Poetry</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#the'>The Serenade</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#son'>Sonnets</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonn'>Sonnet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#noo'>Noon</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#aff'>True Affection</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#far'>The Farewell</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#hol'>The Holynights</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#pas'>The Pastor’s Visit</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#win'>To the Night-Wind in Autumn</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='a young woman standing by a window' id='iid-0001' style='width:85%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Painted by E. Prentice Engraved by H.S. Sadd</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>Awaiting the Husband’s Return</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXI.</span> PHILADELPHIA: DECEMBER, 1842. <span class='sc'>No. 6.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='ric'></a>RICHARD DALE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the many brave men who early contributed -to render the navy of the republic popular and respectable, -the gallant seaman whose name is placed -at the head of this article is entitled to a conspicuous -place; equally on account of his services, his professional -skill, and his personal merit. Although his -connection with the marine, created under the constitution -of 1789, was of short continuance, it left a -durable impression on the service; and, if we look -back to the dark period of the Revolution, we find -him contending in some of the fiercest combats of the -period, always with heroism, and not unfrequently -with success. Circumstances, too, have connected -his renown with one of the most remarkable naval -battles on record; a distinction of itself which fully -entitles him to a high place among those who have -fought and bled for the independence of their country, -in stations of subordinate authority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Richard Dale was born in the colony of Virginia, -on the 6th November, 1756. His birthplace was in -the county of Norfolk, and not distant from the well -known port of the same name. His parents were -native Americans, of respectable standing, though -of rather reduced circumstances. His father, dying -early, left a widow with five children, of whom the -subject of this memoir was the eldest. Some time -after the death of his father, his mother contracted a -second marriage with a gentleman of the name of -Cooper, among the issue of which were two well -known ship-masters of Philadelphia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Young Dale manifested an inclination for the sea -at a very early period of life. The distrust of a -parental control that has no foundation in nature, and -which is apt to be regarded with jealousy, stimulated -if it did not quicken this desire, and we find him at -the tender age of twelve, or in 1768, making a voyage -between Norfolk and Liverpool, in a vessel commanded -by one of his own uncles. On his return -home, he appears to have passed nearly a twelve-month -on shore; but his desire to become a sailor -still continuing, in the spring of 1770 he was regularly -apprenticed to a respectable merchant and -ship-owner, of the borough of Norfolk, named Newton. -From this moment his fortune in life was cast, -and he continued devotedly employed in the profession -until his enterprise, prudence and gallantry enabled -him finally to retire with credit, an unblemished -name, and a competency.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During his apprenticeship, Dale appears to have -been, most of the time, employed in the West India -trade. Every sailor has his chances and hair-breadth -escapes, and our young mariner met with two, at -that period of his life, which may be thought worthy -of notice. On one occasion he fell from the spars -stowed on the belfry into the vessel’s hold, hitting the -kelson, a distance of near twenty feet; escaping, however, -without material injury. A much greater risk -was incurred on another. While the vessel to which -he belonged was running off the wind, with a stiff -breeze, Dale was accidentally knocked overboard -by the jib sheets, and was not picked up without -great difficulty. He was an hour in the water, sustaining -himself by swimming, and he ever spoke of -the incident as one of more peril than any other in a -perilous career.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When nineteen, or in 1775, Dale had risen to the -station of chief mate on board a large brig belonging -to his owner. In this situation he appears to have -remained industriously engaged during the few first -months of the struggle for independence; the active -warfare not having yet extended itself as far south as -his part of the country. Early in 1776, however, the -aspect of things began to change, and it is probable -that the interruption to commerce rendered him the -master of his own movements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Virginia, in common with most of the larger and -more maritime colonies, had a sort of marine of its -own; more especially anterior to the Declaration of -Independence. It consisted principally of bay craft, -and was employed in the extensive estuaries and -rivers of that commonwealth. On board of one of -these light cruisers Dale was entered as a lieutenant, -in the early part of the memorable year 1776. While -in this service, he was sent a short distance for some -guns, in a river craft; but falling in with a tender of -the Liverpool frigate, which ship was then cruising -on the Cape Henry station, he was captured and carried -into Norfolk. These tenders were usually smart -little cruisers, another, belonging to the same frigate, -having been taken shortly before, by the U. S. brig -Lexington, after a sharp and bloody conflict. Resistance -in the case of Dale was consequently out of the -question, his capture having been altogether a matter -of course.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On reaching Norfolk, our young officer was thrown -on board a prison-ship. Here he found himself in -the midst of those whom it was the fashion to call -“loyal subjects.” Many of them were his old school-mates -and friends. Among the latter was a young -man of the name of Bridges Gutteridge, a sailor like -himself, and one who possessed his entire confidence. -Mr. Gutteridge, who it is believed subsequently took -part with his countrymen himself, was then employed -by the British, in the waters of the Chesapeake, actually -commanding a tender in their service. The -quarrel was still recent; and honorable, as well as -honest men, under the opinions which prevailed in -that day, might well be divided as to its merits. Mr. -Gutteridge had persuaded himself he was pursuing -the proper course. Entertaining such opinions, he -earnestly set about the attempt of making a convert -of his captured friend. The usual arguments, touching -the sacred rights of the king—himself merely a -legalized usurper, by the way, if any validity is to -be given to the claims of hereditary right to the -crown—and the desperate nature of the “rebel -cause,” were freely and strenuously used, until Dale -began to waver in his faith. In the end, he yielded -and consented to accompany his friend in a cruise -against the vessels of the state. This occurred in -the month of May, and, hostilities beginning now to -be active, the tender soon fell in with a party of -Americans, in some pilot boats, that were employed -in the Rappahannock. A warm engagement ensued, -in which the tender was compelled to run, after -meeting with a heavy loss. It was a rude initiation -into the mysteries of war, the fighting being of a -desperate, and almost of a personal character. This -was one of those combats that often occurred about -this period, and in those waters, most of them being -close and sanguinary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In this affair, Dale received a severe wound, having -been hit in the head by a musket ball; with this -wound he was confined several weeks at Norfolk, -during which time he had abundance of leisure to -reflect on the false step into which he had been persuaded, -and to form certain healthful resolutions for -the future. To use his own words, in speaking of -this error of his early life, he determined “never -again to put himself in the way of the bullets of his -own country.” This resolution, however, it was necessary -to conceal, if he would escape the horrors -of a prison-ship, and he “bided his time,” fully determined -to take service again under the American -flag, at the first fitting opportunity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the peculiar state of the two countries at the -time, and with the doubtful and contested morality of -the misunderstanding, there was nothing extraordinary -in this incident. Similar circumstances occurred -to many men, who, with the best intentions and -purest motives, saw, or fancied they saw, reasons -for changing sides in what, in their eyes, was strictly -a family quarrel. In the case of Dale, however, the -feature most worthy of comment was the singleness -of mind and simple integrity with which he used to -confess his own error, together with the manner in -which he finally became a convert to the true political -faith. No narrative of the life of this respectable -seaman would be complete, without including -this temporary wavering of purpose; nor would any -delineation of his character be just, that did not point -out the candor and sincerity with which he, in after -life, admitted his fault.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was only in his twentieth year when he received -this instructive lesson from the “bullets of his -countrymen.” From that time, he took good care -not to place himself again in their way, going, in -June or July, to Bermuda, on a more peaceable expedition, -in company with William Gutteridge, a -relative of his beguiling friend. On the return passage, -the vessel was captured by the Lexington, the -brig just mentioned, then a successful cruiser, under -the orders of Capt. John Barry; an officer who subsequently -died at the head of the service. This occurred -just after the Declaration of Independence, -and Dale immediately offered himself as a volunteer -under the national flag. He was received and rated -as a midshipman within a few hours of his capture. -This was the commencement of Dale’s service in -the regular navy of his native country. It was also -the commencement of his acquaintance with the distinguished -commander of the Lexington, whose -friendship and respect he enjoyed down to the day of -the latter’s death. While the brig was out, our midshipman -had another narrow escape from death, -having, together with several others, been struck -senseless by lightning during a severe thunder storm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Barry made the capture just mentioned near the -end of his cruise, and he soon after went into Philadelphia, -which place Dale now saw for the first time. -Here Barry left the Lexington to take command of -the Effingham 28, a ship that never got to sea, leaving -our new midshipman in the brig. Capt. Hallock -was Barry’s successor, and he soon rated Dale, by -this time an active and skilful seaman, a master’s -mate. Early in the autumn, the Lexington sailed for -Cape François, on special duty. On her return, in -the month of December, she fell in with the Pearl -frigate,<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> and was captured without resistance, carrying -an armament of only a few fours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As it was blowing very fresh at the moment this -capture was made, the Pearl took out of the prize -four or five officers, threw a small crew on board, -and directed the brig to follow her. By some accounts -Dale was left in the Lexington, while by -others he was not. A succinct history of the events -of his life, written by a connection under his own -eye, and which is now before us, gives the latter -version of the affair, and is probably the true one. -At all events, the remaining officers and crew of -the Lexington rose upon the captors in the course of -the night, retook the brig, and carried her into Baltimore.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The English landed several of their prisoners on -Cape Henlopen, in January, 1777, under some arrangement -that cannot now be explained, though -probably it was connected with an exchange for the -men taken and carried away in the prize. Among -these was Dale, who made the best of his way to -Philadelphia, when he received orders to proceed to -Baltimore; which he obeyed, and rejoined his brig, -the command of which had now been transferred to -Capt. Henry Johnston.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next service on which the Lexington was employed -was in the European seas. In March, she -sailed from Baltimore for Bordeaux, with despatches. -On her arrival, this brig was attached to a small -squadron under the orders of Capt. Lambert Wickes, -who was in the Reprisal 16, having under his command -also the Dolphin 10, Capt. Samuel Nicholson. -This force of little vessels accomplished a bold and -destructive cruise, making the entire circuit of Ireland, -though it was eventually chased into a French -port by a line-of-battle ship. Its object was the interception -of certain linen-ships, which it missed; -its success, however, in the main, was such as to -excite great alarm among the English merchants, -and to produce warm remonstrances to France, from -their government.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this time France was not at war with England, -although she secretly favored and aided the cause of -the revolted colonies. The appearance of American -cruisers in the narrow seas, however, gave rise to -so many complaints, as to induce the French government, -in preference to pushing matters to extremities, -temporarily to sequester the vessels. The Lexington -was included in this measure, having been detained -in port more than two months; or, until security was -given that she would quit the European seas. This -was done, and the brig got to sea again on the 18th -September, 1777.<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is probable that the recent difficulties had some -effect on the amount of the military stores on board -all three of the American vessels. At all events, it -is certain that the Lexington sailed with a short supply -of both powder and shot, particularly of the latter. -The very next day she made an English cutter lying-to, -which was approached with a confidence that -could only have proceeded from a mistake as to her -character. This cutter proved to be a man-of-war, -called the Alert, commanded by Lieutenant, afterward -Admiral Bazely, having a strong crew on -board, and an armament of ten sixes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the action that ensued, and which was particularly -well fought on the part of the enemy, the Americans -were, in a measure, taken by surprise. So -little were the latter prepared for the conflict, that -not a match was ready when the engagement commenced, -and several broadsides were fired by discharging -muskets at the vents of the guns. The firing -killed the wind, and there being considerable sea on, -the engagement became very protracted, during -which the Lexington expended most of her ammunition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a cannonading of two hours, believing his -antagonist to be too much crippled to follow, and -aware of his own inability to continue the action -much longer, Capt. Johnston made sail, and left the -cutter, under favor of a breeze that just then sprung -up. The Lexington left the Alert rapidly at first, but -the latter having bent new sails, and being the faster -vessel, in the course of three or four hours succeeded -in getting alongside again, and of renewing the engagement. -This second struggle lasted an hour, the -fighting being principally on one side. After the -Lexington had thrown her last shot, had broken up -and used all the iron that could be made available as -substitutes, and had three of her officers and several -of her men slain, besides many wounded, Capt. -Johnston struck his colors. The first lieutenant, -marine officer, and master of the Lexington were -among the slain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this accident Dale became a prisoner for the -third time. This occurred when he wanted just fifty -days of being twenty-one years old. On this occasion, -however, he escaped unhurt, though the combat -had been both fierce and sanguinary. The prize -was taken into Plymouth, and her officers, after undergoing -a severe examination, in order to ascertain -their birthplaces, were all thrown into Mill Prison, -on a charge of high treason. Here they found the -common men; the whole being doomed to a rigorous -and painful confinement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Either from policy or cupidity, the treatment received -by the Americans, in this particular prison, -was of a cruel and oppressive character. There is -no apology for excessive rigor, or, indeed, for any -constraint beyond that which is necessary to security, -toward an uncondemned man. Viewed as mere -prisoners of war, the Americans might claim the -usual indulgence; viewed as subjects still to be tried, -they were rightfully included in that healthful maxim -of the law, which assumes that all are innocent until -they are proved to be guilty. So severe were the -privations of the Americans on this occasion, however, -that, in pure hunger, they caught a stray dog -one day, skinned, cooked and ate him, to satisfy their -cravings for food. Their situation at length attracted -the attention of the liberal; statements of their wants -were laid before the public, and an appeal was made -to the humanity of the English nation. This is always -an efficient mode of obtaining assistance, and the -large sum of sixteen thousand pounds was soon -raised; thereby relieving the wants of the sufferers, -and effectually effacing the stain from the national -escutcheon; by demonstrating that the sufferers -found a generous sympathy in the breasts of the -public. But man requires more than food and -warmth. Although suffering no longer from actual -want and brutal maltreatment, Dale and his companions -pined for liberty—to be once more fighting the -battles of their country. Seeing no hopes of an exchange, -a large party of the prisoners determined to -make an attempt at escape. A suitable place was -selected, and a hole under a wall was commenced. -The work required secrecy and time. The earth -was removed, little by little, in the pockets of the -captives, care being had to conceal the place, until a -hole of sufficient size was made to permit the body -of a man to pass through. It was a tedious process, -for the only opportunity which occurred to empty -their pockets, was while the Americans were exercising -on the walls of their prison, for a short period -of each day. By patience and perseverance they -accomplished their purpose, however, every hour -dreading exposure and defeat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When all was ready, Capt. Johnston, most of his -officers, and several of his crew, or, as many as -were in the secret, passed through the hole, and -escaped. This was in February, 1778. The party -wandered about the country in company, and by -night, for more than a week; suffering all sorts of -privations, until it was resolved to take the wiser -course of separating. Dale, accompanied by one -other, found his way to London, hotly pursued. At -one time the two lay concealed under some straw in -an out-house, while the premises were searched by -those who were in quest of them. On reaching London, -Dale and his companion immediately got on -board a vessel about to sail for Dunkirk. A press-gang -unluckily took this craft in its rounds, and suspecting -the true objects of the fugitives, they were -arrested, and, their characters being ascertained, -they were sent back to Mill Prison in disgrace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was the commencement of a captivity far -more tedious than the former. In the first place they -were condemned to forty days’ confinement in the -black hole, as the punishment for the late escape; -and, released from this durance, they were deprived -of many of their former indulgences. Dale himself -took his revenge in singing “rebel songs,” and paid -a second visit to the black hole, as the penalty. This -state of things, with alternations of favor and punishment, -continued quite a year, when Dale, singly, -succeeded in again effecting his great object of getting -free.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mode in which this second escape was made -is known, but the manner by which he procured the -means he refused to his dying day to disclose. At -all events, he obtained a full suit of British uniform, -attired in which, and seizing a favorable moment, he -boldly walked past all the sentinels, and got off. -That some one was connected with his escape who -might suffer by his revelations is almost certain; and -it is a trait in his character worthy of notice, that he -kept this secret, with scrupulous fidelity, for forty-seven -years. It is not known that he ever divulged -it even to any individual of his own family.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rendered wary by experience, Dale now proceeded -with great address and caution. He probably -had money, as well as clothes. At all events, he -went to London, found means to procure a passport, -and left the country for France, unsuspected and undetected. -On reaching a friendly soil, he hastened -to l’Orient, and joined the force then equipping under -Paul Jones, in his old rank of a master’s mate. -Here he was actively employed for some months, -affording the commodore an opportunity to ascertain -his true merits, when they met with something like -their just reward. As Dale was now near twenty-three, -and an accomplished seaman, Jones, after -trying several less competent persons, procured a -commission for him from the commissioners, and -made him the first lieutenant of his own ship, the -justly celebrated Bon Homme Richard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is not our intention, in this article, to enter any -farther into the incidents of this well known cruise, -than is necessary to complete the present subject. -Dale does not appear in any prominent situation, -though always discharging the duties of his responsible -station, with skill and credit, until the squadron -appeared off Leith, with the intention of seizing that -town—the port of Edinburgh—and of laying it under -contribution. On this occasion, our lieutenant was -selected to command the boats that were to land, -a high compliment to so young a man, as coming -from one of the character of Paul Jones. Every -thing was ready, Dale had received his final orders, -and was in the very act of proceeding to the ship’s -side to enter his boat, when a heavy squall struck the -vessels, and induced an order for the men to come -on deck, and assist in shortening sail. The vessels -were compelled to bear up before it, to save their -spars; this carried them out of the firth; and, a gale -succeeding, the enterprise was necessarily abandoned. -This gale proved so heavy, that one of the -prizes actually foundered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This attempt of Jones, while it is admitted to have -greatly alarmed the coast, has often been pronounced -rash and inconsiderate. Such was not the opinion -of Dale. A man of singular moderation in his modes -of thinking, and totally without bravado, it was his -conviction that the effort would have been crowned -with success. He assured the writer, years after the -occurrence, that he was about to embark in the expedition -with feelings of high confidence, and that he -believed nothing but the inopportune intervention of -the squall stood between Jones and a triumphant -<span class='it'>coup de main</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few days later, Jones made a secret proposal to -his officers, which some affirm was to burn the shipping -at North Shields, but which the commanders of -two of his vessels strenuously opposed, in consequence -of which the project was abandoned. The -commodore himself, in speaking of the manner in -which this and other similar propositions were received -by his subordinates, extolled the ardor invariably -manifested by the young men, among whom -Dale was one of the foremost. Had it rested with -them, the attempts at least would all have been made.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the 19th September occurred the celebrated -battle between the Serapis and the Bon Homme -Richard. As the proper place to enter fully into the -details of that murderous combat will be in the biography -of Jones, we shall confine ourselves at present -to incidents with which the subject of this -memoir was more immediately connected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Bon Homme Richard had finally sailed on -this cruise with only two proper sea-lieutenants on -board her. There was a third officer of the name of -Lunt, who has been indifferently called a lieutenant -and the sailing-master, but who properly filled the -latter station. This gentleman had separated from -the ship in a fog, on the coast of Ireland, while in -the pursuit of some deserters, and never rejoined -the squadron. Another person of the same name, -and believed to be the brother of the master, was the -second lieutenant. He was sent in a pilot-boat, accompanied -by a midshipman and several men, to -capture a vessel in sight, before Jones made the Baltic -fleet coming round Flamborough Head. This -party was not able to return to the Bon Homme -Richard, until after the battle had terminated. In -consequence of these two circumstances, each so -novel in itself, the American frigate fought this -bloody and arduous combat with only one officer on -board her, of the rank of a sea-lieutenant, who -was Dale. This is the reason why the latter is so -often mentioned as <span class='it'>the</span> lieutenant of the Bon Homme -Richard, during that memorable fight. The fact rendered -his duties more arduous and diversified, and -entitles him to the greater credit for their proper -performance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was stationed on the gun-deck, where of -course he commanded in chief, though it appears -that his proper personal division was the forward -guns. Until the ships got foul of each other, this -brought him particularly into the hottest of the work; -the Serapis keeping much on the bows, or ahead of -the Bon Homme Richard. It is known that Jones was -much pleased with his deportment, which, in truth, -was every way worthy of his own. When the alarm -was given that the ship was sinking, Dale went below -himself to ascertain the real state of the water, and -his confident and fearless report cheered the men to -renewed exertions. Shortly after, the supply of powder -was stopped, when our lieutenant again quitted -his quarters to inquire into the cause. On reaching -the magazine passage he was told by the sentinels -that they had closed the ingress, on account of a -great number of strange and foreign faces that they -saw around them. On further inquiry, Dale discovered -that the master at arms, of his own head, had -let loose all the prisoners—more than a hundred in -number—under the belief that the ship was sinking. -Dale soon saw the danger which might ensue, but -finding the English much alarmed at the supposed -condition of the ship, he succeeded in mustering -them, and setting them at work at the pumps, where, -by their exertions, they probably prevented the apprehended -calamity. For some time, at the close of -the action, all his guns being rendered useless, Dale -was employed principally in this important service. -There is no question that without some such succor, -the Richard would have gone down much earlier -than she did. It is a singular feature of this every-way -extraordinary battle, that here were Englishmen, -zealously employed in aiding the efforts of their -enemies, under the cool control of a collected and -observant officer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the cheerful intelligence was received -that the enemy had struck. Dale went on deck, and -immediately demanded Jones’ permission to take -possession of the prize. It was granted, and had he -never manifested any other act of personal intrepidity, -his promptitude on this occasion, and the -manner in which he went to work, to attain his purpose, -would have shown him to be a man above personal -considerations, when duty or honor pointed out -his course. The main-yard of the Serapis was hanging -a-cock-bill, over the side of the American ship. -The brace was shot away, and the pendant hung -within reach. Seizing the latter, Dale literally swung -himself off, and alighted alone on the quarter-deck of -the Serapis. Here he found no one but the brave -Pierson, who had struck his own flag; but the men -below were still ignorant of the act. We may form -an opinion of the risk that the young man ran, in -thus boarding his enemy at night, and in the confusion -of such a combat, for the English were still -firing below, by the fact that Mr. Mayrant, a young -man of South Carolina, and a midshipman of the -Bon Homme Richard, who led a party after the -lieutenant, was actually run through the thigh by a -boarding pike, and by the hands of a man in the -waist below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first act of Dale, on getting on the quarter -deck of the Serapis, was to direct her captain to go -on board the American ship. While thus employed, -the English first lieutenant came up from below, and -finding that the Americans had ceased their fire, he -demanded if they had struck. “No, sir,” answered -Dale, “it is this ship that has struck, and you are my -prisoner.” An appeal to Capt. Pierson confirming -this, the English lieutenant offered to go below and -silence the remaining guns of the Serapis. To this -Dale objected, and had both the officers passed on -board the Bon Homme Richard. In a short time, -the English below were sent from their guns, and -full possession was obtained of the prize.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As more men were soon sent from the Bon Homme -Richard, the two ships were now separated, the -Richard making sail, and Jones ordering Dale to follow -with the prize. A sense of fatigue had come -over the latter, in consequence of the reaction of so -much excitement and so great exertions, and he took -a seat on the binnacle. Here he issued an order to -brace the head yards aback, and to put the helm -down. Wondering that the ship did not pay off, he -directed that the wheel-ropes should be examined. It -was reported that they were not injured, and that the -helm was hard down. Astonished to find the ship -immovable under such circumstances, there being -a light breeze, Dale sprang upon his feet, and then -discovered, for the first time, that he had been severely -wounded, by a splinter, in the foot and ankle. -The hurt, now that he was no longer sustained by the -excitement of battle, deprived him of the use of his -leg, and he fell. Just at this moment, Mr. Lunt, the -officer who had been absent in the pilot-boat, reached -the Richard, and Dale was forced to give up to him -the command of the prize. The cause of the Serapis’ -not minding her helm was the fact that Capt. -Pierson had dropped an anchor under foot when the -two ships got foul; a circumstance of which the -Americans were ignorant until this moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was some time laid up with his wound, but -he remained with Jones in his old station of first -lieutenant, accompanying that officer, in the Alliance, -from the Texel to l’Orient. In the controversy which -ensued between the commodore and Landais, our -lieutenant took sides warmly with the first, and even -offered to head a party to recover the Alliance, by -force. This measure not being resorted to, he remained -with Jones, and finally sailed with him for -America, as his first lieutenant, in the Ariel 20, a -ship lent to the Americans, by the King of France.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ariel quitted port in October, 1780, but encountered -a tremendous gale of wind off the Penmarks. -Losing her masts, she was compelled to -return to refit. On this occasion Dale, in his responsible -situation of first lieutenant, showed all the -coolness of his character, and the resources of a -thorough seaman. The tempest was almost a hurricane, -and of extraordinary violence. The Ariel -sailed a second time about the commencement of the -year 1781, and reached Philadelphia on the 18th -February. During the passage home, she had a -short action, in the night, with a heavy British letter-of-marque, -that gave her name as the Triumph; and -which ship is said to have struck, but to have made -her escape by treachery. Jones, who was greedy of -glory, even fancied that his enemy was a vessel of -war, and that he had captured a vessel of at least -equal force. This was not Dale’s impression. He -spoke of the affair to the writer of this article, as one -of no great moment, even questioning whether their -antagonist struck at all; giving it as his belief -she was a quick-working and fast-sailing letter-of-marque. -He distinctly stated that she got off by out-manœuvring -the Ariel, which vessel was badly manned, -and had an exceedingly mixed and disaffected -crew. It is worthy of remark that, while two articles, -enumerating the services of Dale, have been -written by gentlemen connected with himself, and -possessing his confidence, neither mentions this affair; -a proof, in itself, that Dale considered it one of little -moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The account which Dale always gave of the meeting -between the Ariel and Triumph—admitting such -to have been the name of the English ship—so different -from that which has found its way into various -publications, on the representation of other actors in -that affair, is illustrative of the character of the man. -Simple of mind, totally without exaggeration, and a -lover, as well as a practicer, of severe truth, he was -a man whose representations might be fully relied -on. Even in his account of the extraordinary combat -between the Richard and Serapis, he stripped the -affair of all its romance, and of every thing that was -wonderful; rendering the whole clear, simple and -intelligible as his own thoughts. The only narratives -of that battle, worthy of a seaman, have been written -rigidly after his explanations, which leave it a bloody -and murderous fight, but one wholly without the -marvelous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On his arrival at Philadelphia, after an absence of -four years, more than one of which had been spent -in prison, Dale was just twenty-four years and two -months old. He was now regularly put on the list -of lieutenants, by the marine committee of Congress; -his former authority proceeding from the agents of -the government in Europe. It is owing to this circumstance -that the register of government places -him so low as a lieutenant. Dale now parted from -Paul Jones, with whom he had served near two -years; and that, too, in some of the most trying -scenes of the latter’s life. The commodore was -anxious to take his favorite lieutenant with him to -the America 74; but the latter declined the service, -under the impression it would be a long time before -the ship got to sea. He judged right, the America -being transferred to the French in the end, and Jones -himself never again sailing under the American flag.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of Dale will inseparably be connected -with the battle of the Richard and Serapis. His -prominent position and excellent conduct entitle him -to this mark of distinction, and it says much for the -superior, when it confers fame to have been “Paul -Jones’ first lieutenant.” We smile, however, at the -legends of the day, when we recall the account of -the “Lieutenants Grubb” and other heroes of romance, -who have been made to figure in the histories -of that renowned combat, and place them in contrast -with the truth-loving, sincere, moral and respectable -subject of this memoir. The sword which Louis -XVI. bestowed on Jones, for this victory, passed into -the hands of Dale, and is now the property of a gallant -son, a fitting mark of the services of the father, -on the glorious occasion it commemorates.<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was employed on board a schooner that was -manned from the Ariel, after reaching Philadelphia, -and sent down the Delaware to convoy certain public -stores. The following June, he joined the Trumbull -28, Captain Nicholson, as her first lieutenant. The -Trumbull left the capes of the Delaware on the 8th -August, 1781, being chased off the land by three of -the enemy’s cruisers. The weather was squally and -night set in dark. In endeavoring to avoid her pursuers, -the Trumbull found herself alongside of the -largest, a frigate of thirty-two guns, and an action -was fought under the most unfavorable circumstances. -The Trumbull’s fore-topmast was hanging over, or -rather through her forecastle, her crew was disorganized, -and the vessel herself in a state of no preparation -for a conflict with an equal force; much -less with that actually opposed to her. The officers -made great exertions, and maintained an action of -more than an hour, when the colors of the American -ship were struck to the Iris 32, and Monk 18. The -former of these vessels had been the American frigate -Hancock, and the latter was subsequently captured -in the Delaware, by Barney in the Hyder Ally.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was the fourth serious affair in which Dale -had been engaged that war, and the fourth time he -had been captured. As he was hurt also in this -battle, it made the third of his wounds. His confinement, -however, was short, and the treatment not a -subject of complaint. He was taken into New York, -paroled on Long Island, and exchanged in November.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No new service offering in a marine which, by -this time, had lost most of its ships, Dale obtained a -furlough, and joined a large letter-of-marque called -the Queen of France, that carried twelve guns, as -her first officer. Soon after he was appointed to the -command of the same vessel. In the spring of 1782, -this ship, in company with several other letters-of-marque, -sailed for France, making many captures -by the way. The ship of Dale, however, parted -from the fleet, and, falling in with an English privateer -of fourteen guns, a severe engagement followed, -in which both parties were much cut up; they parted -by mutual consent. Dale did not get back to Philadelphia -until February of the succeeding year, or -until about the time that peace was made.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In common with most of the officers of the navy, -Lieutenant Dale was disbanded, as soon as the war -ceased. He was now in the twenty-seventh year of -his age, with a perfect knowledge of his profession, -in which he had passed more than half his life, a -high reputation for his rank, a courage that had often -been tried, a body well scarred, a character beyond -reproach, and not altogether without “money in his -purse.” Under the circumstances, he naturally determined -to follow up his fortunes in the line in -which he had commenced his career. He became -part owner of a large ship, and sailed in her for -London, December, 1783, in the station of master. -After this, he embarked successfully in the East -India trade, in the same character, commanding -several of the finest ships out of the country. In this -manner he accumulated a respectable fortune, and -began to take his place among the worthies of the -land in a new character.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In September, 1791, Mr. Dale was married to -Dorothy Crathorne, the daughter of another respectable -ship-master of Philadelphia, and then a ward -of Barry’s. With this lady he passed the remainder -of his days, she surviving him as his widow, and dying -some years later than himself. No change in his pursuits -occurred until 1794, when the new government -commenced the organization of another marine, which -has resulted in that which the country now possesses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was one of the six captains appointed under -the law of 1794, that directed the construction of as -many frigates, with a view to resist the aggressions -of Algiers. Each of the new captains was ordered -to superintend the construction of one of the frigates, -and Dale, who was fifth in rank, was directed to -assume the superintendence of the one laid down at -Norfolk, virtually the place of his nativity. This -ship was intended to be a frigate of the first class, -but, by some mistake in her moulds, she proved in -the end to be the smallest of the six vessels then -built. It was the unfortunate Chesapeake, a vessel -that never was in a situation to reflect much credit -on the service. Her construction, however, was -deferred, in consequence of an arrangement with -Algiers, and her captain was put on furlough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale now returned to the China trade, in which he -continued until the spring of 1798. The last vessel -he commanded was called the Ganges. She was a -fine, fast ship, and the state of our relations with -France requiring a hurried armament, the government -bought this vessel, in common with several -others, put an armament of suitable guns in her, with -a full crew, gave her to Dale, and ordered her on the -coast as a regular cruiser.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In consequence of this arrangement, Capt. Dale -was the first officer who ever got to sea under the -pennant of the present navy. He sailed in May, -1798, and was followed by the Constellation and -Delaware in a few days. The service of Dale in -his new capacity was short, however, in consequence -of some questions relating to rank. The -captains appointed in 1794 claimed their old places, -and, it being uncertain what might be the final decision -of the government, as there were many aspirants, -Dale declined serving until the matter was -determined. In May, 1799, he sailed for Canton -again, in command of a strong letter-of-marque, under -a furlough. On his return from this voyage he -found his place on the list settled according to his -own views of justice and honor, and reported himself -for service. Nothing offered, however, until the -difficulties with France were arranged; but, in -May, 1801, he was ordered to take command of a -squadron of observation about to be sent to the -Mediterranean.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale now hoisted his broad pennant, for the first -and only time, and assumed the title by which he was -known for the rest of his days. He was in the prime -of life, being in his forty-fifth year, of an active, -manly frame, and had every prospect before him of -a long and honorable service. The ships put under -his orders were the President 44, Capt. James Barron; -Philadelphia 38, Capt. Samuel Barron; Essex -32, Capt. William Bainbridge; and Enterprise 12, -Lieut. Com. Sterrett. A better appointed, or a better -commanded force, probably never sailed from America. -But there was little to do, under the timid -policy and defective laws of the day. War was not -supposed to exist, although hostilities did; and vessels -were sent into foreign seas with crews shipped for a -period that would scarcely allow of a vessel’s being -got into proper order.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The squadron sailed June 1st, 1801, and reached -Gibraltar July 1st. The Philadelphia blockaded the -Tripolitan admiral, with two cruisers, in Gibraltar, -while the other vessels went aloft. A sharp action -occurred between the Enterprise and a Tripolitan of -equal force, in which the latter was compelled to -submit, but was allowed to go into her own port -again, for want of legal authority to detain her. Dale -appeared off Tripoli, endeavored to negotiate a little -about an exchange of prisoners, and did blockade -the port; but his orders fettered him in a way to -prevent any serious enterprises. In a word, no circumstances -occurred to allow the commodore to -show his true character, except as it was manifested -in his humanity, prudence and dignity. As a superior, -he obtained the profound respect of all under his -orders, and to this day his name is mentioned with -regard by those who then served under him. It is -thought that this squadron did much toward establishing -the high discipline of the marine. In one instance -only had Dale an opportunity of manifesting his high -personal and professional qualities. The President -struck a rock in quitting Port Mahon, and for some -hours she was thought to be in imminent danger of -foundering. Dale assumed the command, and one of -his lieutenants, himself subsequently a flag officer of -rare seamanship and merit, has often recounted to -the writer his admiration of the commodore’s coolness, -judgment, and nerve, on so trying an occasion. -The ship was carried to Toulon, blowing a gale, -and, on examination, it was found that she was only -saved from destruction by the skilful manner in which -the wood ends had been secured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The vigilance of Dale was so great, however, and -his dispositions so skilful, that the Tripolitans made -no captures while he commanded in those seas. In -March, 1802, he sailed for home, under his orders, -reaching Hampton Roads in April, after a cruise of -about ten months. The succeeding autumn, Com. -Dale received an order to hold himself in readiness -to resume the command from which he had just returned. -Ever ready to serve his country, when it -could be done with honor, he would cheerfully have -made his preparations accordingly, but, by the order -itself, he ascertained that he was to be sent out without -a captain in his own ship. This, agreeably to -the notions he entertained, was a descent in the scale -of rank, and he declined serving on such terms. -There being no alternative between obedience and -resignation, he chose the latter, and quitted the navy. -At this time, he was the third captain on the list, and -it is no more than justice to say, that he stood second -to no other in the public estimation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale never went to sea again. Possessed of an -ample fortune, and possessing the esteem of all who -knew him, he commanded the respect of those with -whom he differed in opinion touching the question -which drove him from the navy. With the latter he -never quarreled, for, at the proper period, he gave -to it his two elder sons. To the last he retained his -interest in its success, and his care of mariners, in -general, extended far beyond the interests of this life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many years previously to his death, Com. Dale -entered into full communion with the Protestant -Episcopal Church, of which he proved a consistent -and pious member. Under the newly awakened -feelings which induced this step, he was the originater -of a Mariner’s Church, in Philadelphia, attending -it in person, every Sunday afternoon, for a long -succession of years. He was as free with his purse, -too, as with his time; and his charities, though properly -concealed, were believed to be large and discriminating. -With some it may be deemed a matter -of moment, with all it should be a proof of the estimation -in which Dale was held by certainly a very -respectable part of his fellow citizens, that he was -named to be the first president of the Washington -Benevolent Society; an association that soon degenerated -to serve the ends of party politics, whatever -may have been the design that influenced the few -with which it originated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening of the life of Dale was singularly -peaceful and happy. It was as calm as its morning -had been tempestuous. It is true he had to weep -for the loss of his first-born son, a noble youth, who -died of wounds received in the action between his -old ship, the President, and a British squadron; but -he had given the young man to his country, and knew -how to bear up under the privation. He died, himself, -in the seventieth year of his age, in his dwelling at -Philadelphia, February 26th, 1826; departing in peace -with God and man, as he fondly trusted himself, and -as those who survive have every reason to hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By his marriage with Miss Crathorne, Com. Dale -had several children, five of whom lived to become -men and women, viz. three sons and two daughters. -Of the former, Richard, the eldest, fell, at an early -age, a midshipman on board the President. John -Montgomery, the second, is now a commander in the -navy, having served with Warrington, in the last -English war. This gentleman is married to a lady -of the well known family of Willing. Edward Crathorne, -the youngest son, is a merchant of Philadelphia. -He is married and has children. The eldest -daughter, Sarah, married T. M’Kean Pettit, Esq., a -judge of the District Court, in Philadelphia, and is -dead, leaving issue. Elizabeth, the youngest, is the -wife of Com. George Campbell Reed, of the navy, -and has no issue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In considering the character of Dale, we are -struck with its simple modesty and frank sincerity, -quite as much as with its more brilliant qualities. -His courage and constancy were of the highest order, -rendering him always equal to the most critical duties, -and never wearying in their performance. Such -a man is perfectly free from all exaggeration. As he -was not afraid to act when his cooler judgment approved, -he had no distrusts to overcome ere he could -forbear, as prudence dictated. Jones found him a -man ready and willing to second all his boldest and -most hazardous attempts, so long as reason showed -the probabilities of success; but the deed done, none -more thoroughly stripped it of all false coloring, or -viewed it in a truer light than he who had risked his -life in aiding to achieve it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The person of Dale was in harmony with his moral -qualities. It was manly, seaman-like, and of singularly -respectable bearing. Simplicity, good faith, -truth and courage were imprinted on his countenance, -which all who were thrown into his company -soon discovered was no more than the mirror of his -mind. The navy has had more brilliant intellects, -officers of profounder mental attainments, and of -higher natural gifts, but it has had few leaders of -cooler judgment, sounder discretion, more inflexible -justice, or indomitable resolution. He was of a nature, -an experience, and a professional skill to command -respect and to inspire confidence, tributes that -were cheerfully paid by all who served under his -orders. The writer of this article has had extensive -opportunities of hearing character discussed among -the sea-officers of his country; few escape criticism, -of some sort or other, for their professional acts, and -fewer still, as men; yet he cannot recall a single instance -in which he has ever heard a whisper of complaint -against the public or private career of Richard -Dale. This total exemption from the usual fortunes -of the race may, in part, be owing to the shortness -of the latter’s service in the present marine, and to -the limited acquaintance of his cotemporaries, but -it is difficult to believe that it is not chiefly to -be ascribed to the thoroughly seaman-like character -of the officer, and to the perfect truth and sterling -probity of the man.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This ship has been differently stated to have been the -Liverpool and the Pearl. We follow what we think the -best authorities.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The prize-officer of the Lexington was a young American, -of a highly respectable family, then an acting lieutenant -in the English navy. His prisoners seized an occasion -to rise, at a moment when he had gone below for an -instant, in consequence of which he was dismissed the service; -living the remainder of his life, and dying, in his -native country.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a curious feature of the times, that, the French -ordering the Americans to quit their ports with their prizes, -the latter were taken out a short distance to sea and sold, -Frenchmen becoming the purchasers, and finding means to -secure the property.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_4'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This sword has, quite recently, become the subject of -public discussion, and of some private feeling, under circumstances -not wholly without interest to the navy and -the country. At page 63, vol. 2, of Mackenzie’s Life of Paul -Jones, is the following note, viz.:</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r8'> - -<p class='pindent'>“This sword was sent by Jones’ heirs to his valued -friend, Robert Morris, to whose favor he had owed his -opportunities of distinguishing himself. Mr. Morris gave -the sword to the navy of the United States. It was to be -retained and worn by the senior officer, and transmitted -at his death, to his successor. After passing through the -hands of Commodore Barry, <span class='it'>and one or two other senior -officers</span>, it came into possession of Commodore Dale, and -now remains in his family, through some mistake in the -nature of the bequest, which seems to require that it should -either be restored to the navy in the person of its senior -officer, or else revert to the heirs of Mr. Robert Morris, -from one of whom the writer has received this information.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That Captain Mackenzie has been correctly informed as to -a portion of the foregoing statement, is as probable as it is -certain he has been misled as to the remainder. It would -have been more discreet, however, in a writer to have heard -both sides, previously to laying such a statement before the -world. A very little inquiry might have satisfied him that -Commodore Dale could not have held any thing as the -senior officer of the navy, since he never occupied that -station. We believe the following will be found to be -accurate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the manner in which Commodore Barry became possessed -of this sword we know nothing beyond report, and -the statement of Captain Mackenzie. We understand that -a female member of the Morris family gives a version of -the affair like that published in the note we have quoted, -but the accuracy of her recollections can hardly be put in -opposition to the <span class='it'>acts</span> of such men as Barry and Dale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sword never passed through the hands “<span class='it'>of one or two -other senior officers</span>,” as stated by Captain Mackenzie, at all. -It was bequeathed by Commodore Barry to Commodore -Dale, in his will, and in the following words, viz.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Item, I give and bequeath to my good friend Captain -Richard Dale, <span class='it'>my</span> gold-hilted sword, as a token of my -esteem for him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have carefully examined the will, inventory, &c. of -Commodore Barry. The first is dated February 27, 1803; -the will is proved and the inventory filed in the following -September, in which month Commodore Barry died. Now, -Commodore Dale was not in the navy at all, when this -sword was bequeathed to him, nor when he received it. -Dale resigned in the autumn of 1802; and he never rose -nearer to the head of the list of captains, than to be the -third in rank; Barry, himself, and Samuel Nicholson, being -his seniors, when he resigned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The inventory of Commodore Barry’s personal property -is very minute, containing articles of a value as low as one -dollar. It mentions <span class='it'>two</span> swords, both of which are specifically -bequeathed—viz. “<span class='it'>my</span> gold-hilted” and “<span class='it'>my</span> silver-hilted -sword.” No allusion is made in the will to any -trust. Only these two swords were found among the assets, -and each was delivered agreeably to the bequest. -The gold-hilted sword was known in the family, as the -“Paul Jones sword,” and there is not the smallest doubt -Commodore Barry intended to bequeath this particular -sword, in full property, to Commodore Dale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us next look to the probabilities of the case. The heirs -of Paul Jones, who left no issue, gave the sword to Robert -Morris, says Captain Mackenzie, as a mark of gratitude. -This may very well be true. But Mr. Morris “gave the -sword to the navy of the United States,” to be retained and -worn by its senior officer. It would have been a more -usual course to have lodged the sword in the Navy Department, -had such been the intention. That Commodore Barry -did not view <span class='it'>his</span> possession of the sword in this light, is -clear enough by his will. He gave it, <span class='it'>without</span> restraint of -any sort, to a friend who was not in the navy at all, and -who never had been its senior officer. This he did, in full -possession of his mind and powers, six months before he -died, and under circumstances to render any misconception -highly improbable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Can we find any motive for the bequest of Commodore -Barry? It was not personal to himself, as the sword went -out of his own family. The <span class='it'>other sword</span> he gave to a brother-in-law. -“Paul Jones’ sword” was bequeathed to a distinguished -professional friend—to one who, of all others, next -to Jones himself, had the best professional right to wear it—to -“Paul Jones’ first lieutenant.” Commodore Dale did -leave sons, and some in the navy; and the country will believe -that the one who now owns the sword has as good a -moral right to wear it, as the remote collaterals of Jones, and -a much better right than the senior officer of the navy, on -proof as vague as that offered. His <span class='it'>legal</span> right to the sword -seems to be beyond dispute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the inventory of Commodore Barry’s personals, this -sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a very elegant gold-hilted -sword—$300.” The other sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a -handsome silver-hilted, do. $100.”</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div><h1><a id='the'></a>THE SERENADE.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Beneath a bower, where poplar branches long</p> -<p class='line0'>Embracing wove Seclusion o’er the abode</p> -<p class='line0'>Of hermit sage, what time the full moon rode</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid spectre clouds her star-paved streets along,</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose on the listening air a plaintive song,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sweet as the harmony of an angel’s lyre,</p> -<p class='line0'>And soft as sweet; breathed heavenward from a quire</p> -<p class='line0'>Of Beauty, hid the encircling shades among.</p> -<p class='line0'>Of mysteries high, I ween, that sage had dreamed—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who now, upstarting, clasps his hands to hear</p> -<p class='line0'>The <span class='it'>mystic notes of Nature’s Anthem</span> clear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which holiest bards have heard and heavenly deemed!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis even thus as to that sage it seemed—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis Beauty makes the dreams of Wisdom, dear!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wid'></a>THE WIDOW OF NEWBURY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>’Twas the eve of Newbury fair, and the time -near the close of the long reign of Harry the Eighth, -after monasteries were suppressed. Reform stalked -through the land—all things were turned topsy-turvy—abbots -and monks beggared, that poor lords might -thrive—priests permitted marriage, and nuns driven -from their pleasant retreats, were forced to spin for -a livelihood. But amid the greater marvels, the -townspeople of Newbury had often leisure to ask -why Mistress Avery remained so long a widow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sitting in her embowered porch, watching the -cavalcade of merchants, buffoons and jugglers, on -their way to the encampment and site of the morrow’s -revels, she attracted many a longing eye. The -merchant, whose wandering vocation led him from -ancient Byzantium to the shores of the Thames, who -came to Newbury to exchange rich silks and foreign -jewelry for broadcloth, as he rode by the capacious -square tenement, with its deep, embayed windows -of dark chesnut-wood, and caught a glimpse of the -fair owner, sighed when contrasting his own desolate, -wandering lot with that of the fortunate wooer of the -rich, comely widow. Mistress Avery was relict of -the richest clothier of Newbury, who, dying, left her -in sole possession of looms, lands, tenements and -leases. Handsome, young, brisk, with riches unquestionable, -she attracted tender regards from all -quarters—even the proud gentry of Berkshire, with -genealogical tree rooting from Norman marauder, -far back as the conquest, disdained not an alliance -garnished with broad manors, woods of a century’s -growth, and goodly array of tenements, of which -our widow held fee-simple. But when pressed successively -by belted knight and worshipful esquire, -she courteously declined their offers, alleging she -was bent on marrying one of her own class in life, -(if she should change condition,) one who could take -upon himself, without degradation, the task of superintending -the looms. High born swains repulsed, the -field was open to gallants of lowlier rank. But these -faring no better, and incurring the ridicule of neighbors, -suitors became shy and reserved, seeking to -extract token of favor ere they avowed themselves. -If the curate called, ’twas merely an inquiry after -her soul’s health—the inquiry perhaps linked to a request -that she would, from her stores of boundless -wealth, add a trifle to the contributions of the poor’s -box. The lawyer had his ever ready and undeniable -excuses for visiting—leases there were to sign, indentures -to cancel. Nor was the tailor barred his -plea—was there not much broadcloth yearly fashioned -into apparel for lusty serving-man, active apprentice?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Behind Mistress Avery, as she sat gazing at the -straggling pageantry, there loitered in hall and doorway -the apprentices and domestic servants of the -household. Distinguished amongst his companions, -by superior stature, stood John Winehcomb, chief -apprentice. To him the widow oft turned with remark -on passing stranger; the soft regard thrown -into her address would have excused boldness in -one far less favored by nature than the apprentice, -but his answers were submissive, modest, even bashful. -An acute observer might perhaps have detected -a shade of discontent on the widow’s handsome features, -perhaps, as fancifully, attributed it to the coyness -and reserve of young Winehcomb; and, indeed, -as revolving months lengthened the period of widowhood, -there had not been wanting whispers, that -’Prentice John stood a fairer chance with his mistress -than all the knights or reputable burgher citizens -and yeomen of the county. His appearance certainly -did not gainsay the rumor—he had completed his -twentieth year, health flushed his cheeks, honesty -and intelligence stamped his looks—the features -were bold and decided, though of modest expression. -In character, he was one of those gifted youths, in -whom strict attention and unvarying promptitude -supply the place of experience, and who acquire the -management and conduct of business, in ordinary -cases, rarely entrusted to men of mature years. The -clothier, when dying, recommended his spouse to -confide business affairs to John—she had done so; in -the factory and with the workmen ’Prentice John -was all and everything—from his word ’twas useless -to appeal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But when young Winehcomb’s credit with Mistress -Avery was canvassed, the gossips were at a loss to -affix on decisive marks of favor or tenderness. ’Tis -true, he accompanied her to church, but so did the -other apprentices—walked by her side, sat next his -mistress during prayers, his arm was accepted, his -hand arranged the cushions—but then, was he not -chief apprentice, would it not be slighting to prefer -the services of a junior? Look narrowly at his -conduct—there were none of the characteristics of a -favored swain, no semblance of behavior indicating -one presumptuous of the honor, nor could the absence -of these tokens be attributed to natural timidity in -the presence of the sex, for at country meetings and -fairs, where hoydenish romping was the usual diversion -of youth, John participated in rustic gallantries. -Yet, sooth to say, though the gossips were at fault, -they were not wrong in their conjectures; the widow -was deeply in love with ’Prentice John, for his sake -had dismissed high-born suitors, wealthy citizens, -and, we need hardly say, (though scrupulously regardful -of reputation,) had given him many hints, -which, alas! he was slow to understand. It might -be inexperience, want of self-confidence, or innate -modesty, which withheld the youth from tracing her -encouragement to its real motive; but from whatever -cause, Mistress Avery, who had a very high opinion -of her own personal attractions, knew he must be -perfectly well acquainted with her riches, was greatly -perplexed with his diffidence, his want of susceptibility, -and concluded the apprentice must be in love -elsewhere to withstand such allurements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One while, racked with jealousy, determined in -very spite and vexation to accept the offer of the first -suitor, the next hour affection gained the ascendancy, -and she resolved to declare her love. But pride took -fire and caused a tumult in the heart, of which young -Winehcomb, the unconscious origin, was little aware. -How provoking the calmness of his replies, the quiet -gaze which met her impassioned glance! Oft with -difficulty she refrained from bestowing a hearty cuff -on the cold youth, object of fond desire—as often, -and with greater difficulty, did she refrain from tenderer -salute. To-morrow shall put this wilful-headed -boy to the test! If his heart be engaged, it -is more than likely he has made an assignation, -which I will frustrate! So thought Mistress Avery, -revolving a scheme to bring young Diffidence on his -knees, or to a direct confession that he loved another. -Under pretence of making inquiries respecting the -description of merchandise then passing the house, -borne on a long train of pack-horses, under conduct -of merchants of foreign aspect, the widow beckoned -the apprentice (who was standing at respectful distance, -beneath the threshold, with his fellow apprentices) -to approach her chair, placed outside the house -under cover of the overarching porch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“John!” said the dame, fixing her large eyes on -the youth, “I warrant there is store enough of trinkets -and finery in yon bales to satisfy the wants of -every maiden in Newbury. Happy the youth whose -wages are unspent, for to-morrow, by ’r Lady! he -might buy the love of the most hard-hearted damsel. -Certes, no swain need die of love, if he have money -in his purse!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If the love were bought by those foreign pedlar -wares, it would not be much for a Newbury lad to -boast of,” replied the young man, blushing—for the -gaze of his mistress was keen and ardent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are the lads of Newbury then so disinterested, -Master John,” exclaimed the widow. “Well! I -will put one, at least, to the proof. I must walk -through the fair, if only to chat with my tenants’ -wives from Spene and Thatcham, and shall need -your protection, for these strange foreigners may be -rude, and Cicely is such a coward she would run -away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Avery was rather baffled by the result of her -own feint; for, contrary to expectation, she could -discover neither chagrin nor disappointment; the -apprentice answered cheerfully, he should be proud -to attend on his honored mistress, and would not forget -a good cudgel, more than a match for any -foreigner’s steel—nay, to ensure her from insult, he -would bring all his fellow apprentices. This was -more than the lady desired. She was again puzzled, -and declined, rather pettishly, the extra corps of -gallants, volunteered by the apprentice, more especially, -as she affirmed that it was contrary to the letter -and spirit of their indentures, which guaranteed -festival and fair-days to be at their own disposal. -But they would gladly abandon the privilege to do -her service, rejoined the pertinacious and simple -youth, with ill-timed assiduity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fool!” muttered the widow between her teeth, -but not so indistinctly as to pass unheard by the -apprentice, who immediately drew back abashed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A bright morrow gladdened the hearts of the good -folk of Newbury. The morn was occupied in the -sale and purchase of commodities—the staple article -of the town was readily exchanged for foreign merchandise, -or broad Spanish pieces, as suited the inclination -of the parties dealing. These were busy -hours for young Winehcomb and his associates, but -amply redeemed by the gayety and attractive dissipation -of the afternoon. In walking through the fair, -Mistress Avery leaned on the youth’s arm, an honor -envied the apprentice by many an anxious, would-be -suitor. Ere growing tired of the drollery of the jugglers, -mountebanks and buffoons, or the more serious -spectacle of the scenic moralites, they encountered -Master Luke Milner, the attorney, who thought the -opportunity should not be thrown away of endeavoring -to gain the widow’s good graces. Master Luke -believed his chance very fair—he was of good family, -on the youthful side of thirty, but exceedingly foppish, -after the style of the London gallants, but caricatured—too -many ribbons on doublet, too many -jewels on beaver, shoes garnished with roses large -as sunflowers. “The worshipful attorney will never -do for me,” thought Mistress Avery! She had often -thought so, and was blind to many courtesies and -compliments which the learned man ventured to -throw in with his legal opinions. But now she had -a part to play, a stratagem to practice on the feelings -of young Winehcomb. Love, like hunger, will -break through every restraint; she scrupled not -making the lawyer’s vanity subservient to her policy, -and, accordingly, listened to his flattery with more -than ordinary attention, keeping an eye, the while, -on ’Prentice John, to observe the effect of the -legal gallant’s honeyed speeches. Alas! for poor, -love-stricken Mistress Avery—no burning jealousy -flushed the cheek of John—lightened in his eye, or -trembled through his frame! Hearing the conversation -grow each moment more interesting and tender, -believing himself one too many, he politely retired to -a respectful distance. Was he so cold and insensible, -the handsome blockhead? soliloquized Mistress -Avery, heedless of the lawyer’s flowing speeches—I -will break the indentures—banish him the house! -The wretch!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not cold, not insensible, Mistress Avery, for see! -Even whilst he loiters, there approaches a party from -the village of Spene, with whom our apprentice is -intimate—he laughs, chats with the young men and -maidens, and finally, as the mirth grows more uproarious, -salutes a very handsome, fresh colored, -smart young damsel. The dame, who witnessed the -scene, stung with jealousy, believing her suspicions -confirmed, broke off abruptly, whilst Master Luke -was at the very <span class='it'>acme</span> of his tender theme; leaving -the astonished gallant, cap in hand, to the derision of -acquaintance, who sarcastically advised him to repair -the loss by writ of error.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Though the widow took no notice of the incident -which aroused her jealousy, John was made sensible -he had incurred her displeasure. She walked silent, -moody, reserved, scarcely replied to his remarks; -her large, dark eye flashed anger, but the apprentice, -though awed, was struck with its beauty, more struck -than he had ever been. It was a new sensation he -experienced. He inwardly deprecated the threatened -wrath, wondered by what sad mischance he had incurred -it, was more tremblingly alive to her resentment, -than when oft-times—during the course of apprenticeship—conscious -of deserving it. A strange, -uneasy feeling began to haunt him—he was sensible -of loss of favor, and though, after taxing memory, -unconscious of merited disgrace—was surprised, inquieted, -by the deep dejection of spirits under which -he labored. It seemed as though he had incurred a -loss, of which he knew not the extent till now. His -arm trembled, and she snappishly rebuked his unsteadiness; -he again encountered her glance—it was -wild, angry, fierce, yet he felt he could have looked -forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were opposite one of those temporary taverns, -erected for the accommodation of the higher classes -frequenting the fair—tricked out with gaudy splendor, -yet affording delicious viands, choice wines to wearied -strollers. It so happened that, passing by the -open doorway, their progress was arrested by Master -Nathaniel Buttress, the wealthy tanner—mean, -avaricious, advanced in years, yet ardently longing -to add the widow’s possessions to his own accumulated -riches. With studied bow, and precise flourish -of beaver, he bade Mistress Avery good day, and followed -up the salute by invitation to sip a glass of -sack, the fashionable beverage of the time. At fair-season, -there was not the slightest impropriety, either -in the offer, or its acceptation—it was quite in the -usual license of these festivals. But ’Prentice John -was doubly surprised; in the first place, that the -miserly tanner (his niggardliness was proverbial) -should have screwed up courage to treat any one with -the high-priced nectar—and that his arm, which he -gallantly offered, should have been accepted with -alacrity by the fair dame, who, our apprentice was -aware, had oft made devious circuits, on many -occasions, to elude a meeting. Young Winehcomb -found himself, lacquey-fashion, following in the rear. -He was deeply mortified—such circumstance had -never happened before—yet, though vexed, the annoyance -was only secondary to extreme surprise at -the character of his own feelings. He had valued -highly the good will, kind words, and occasional -gifts of the lady, as proofs of favor, founded on his -honesty, diligence and promptitude, or, at least, without -deeply analizing his feelings, believed that in -such spirit he received them. But now, smarting -under disgrace, it seemed as though lost favor was -dear for its own sake—bereft of smiles to which he -had been insensible till the present hour, he was unhappy, -miserable. ’Prentice John had great difficulty -in withholding his cudgel from the tanner’s back, but -though he gave him not a beating, he mentally promised -one. Master Buttress, elated with good fortune, -was more vain-glorious than cautious; unlike -prudent lover, uncertain of continuance of sudden -favor, dreading loss of vantage ground, snatched by -eager rivals, he escorted the dame to a conspicuous -seat, whence they could behold the fair, from whence -his favored lot was visible to all. The ready drawers, -ere ardor called, hastened to place before the guests -a tray laden with costly delicacies, crowned with -silver flagon full of the favorite potation. Young -Winehcomb, who sat apart, though partaking the -dainties, was maddened to behold his mistress listen -so complacently to the addresses of the veteran -suitor. Could she be serious? And if she were—what -then? Was she not absolute mistress of herself, -her wealth—and was he so specially concerned -in her choice? This self-questioning elicited the -conviction, startling though true, that he was deeply, -personally concerned. He was, then, undeniably in -love with his mistress! Was the passion of sudden -growth, the birth of the present hour? Alas! no—it -had been long smouldering unconsciously—nay, if -he doubted, memory flashed innumerable, though till -now, unnoticed facts proving its existence—and he -had foolishly let slip the golden chance of wooing -till too late—till his advantages were the prey of a -successful rival!—his own affection only brought to -light by the torch of jealousy. Such was the cruel, -torturing position of young Winehcomb. ’Twas -aggravated in being obliged to listen to the tanner’s -flattery, to witness its favorable reception. Nay, -worse—he became conscious that Mistress Avery -remarked his inquietude, his ill-suppressed hatred of -Master Nathaniel, as her eye was often for a moment -bent on him. He was convinced she took pleasure -in his torments, for on these occasions her manner—though -strictly within the rigid limits of propriety—invariably -was more marked and tender toward -the detested, fulsome niggard. He had heard, alas! -such was the custom of the sex. Often was ’Prentice -John resolved on leaving the lovers to their own -conversation, but restrained anger on reflecting it -was his duty to be present with and protect Mistress -Avery, till she quitted the fair and returned home. -Nor did he relish the notion of leaving the field altogether -to the tanner—jealousy united with sense of -duty in detaining the youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Master Buttress was in rare good humor; he could -not deem otherwise but that he was the fortunate, -chosen man, and he found leisure in the intervals of fits -of gallantry, to conjure flitting visions of broad manor -added to broad manor, tenement to tenement, and to -picture the future Master—nay, Worshipful Master -Nathaniel Buttress, richest gentleman in the county -of Berkshire. The only damp on his high spirits was -the present outlay; he had been drawn into expenses -far beyond usual habits; had never been guilty of -similar extravagance; the veriest prodigal of London -could not have ordered a more costly board; and -that tall, rosy-cheeked lad imbibed the precious sack -with the avidity of a sponge, and never looked a -tithe the better humored, but sat grinning menaces at -him—the donor of the feast! Well! well! all should -soon be remedied, and the disagreeable, lanky apprentice -turned adrift.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But who is that now passing the tavern; is it not -Master Luke Milner, the attorney? How enviously -he looks! he has the reputation of having pressed -hard his own suit, but in vain! If I invite him, he -will gladly come—drink the widow’s health—and it -will save me half the reckoning!” So reasoned the -tanner. The lawyer accepted the invitation, though -a slight shade of displeasure, he could not wholly -dispel, flushed his brow. Master Luke entered, -bowing lowly to the widow. Drawing a chair, near -as good manners admitted, to the fair dame, he carefully -deposited scented gloves and jeweled beaver -on adjoining bench, and, in sitting, showed anxiety -to display a trim foot, though rather overshadowed -by the large roses. The tanner soon perceived that -avarice had induced a grievous oversight, for the -widow was not quite won. It was both unaccountable -and annoying—how perverse these women are! -she seemed now disposed to extend as much favor to -Master Luke as she had previously exhibited to Master -Buttress. ’Prentice John was pleased and distressed -at the scene—glad of the tanner’s discomfiture, -he was enraged at the other’s success. The -elder suitor had shown indifference to the presence -of the apprentice, viewed him as a necessary appendage -to the widow’s state, or, at worst, a tax on his -purse to the extent of sack imbibed; but our lawyer, -nearer John’s own age, and gifted with keener eye -than his rival, liked not young Winehcomb’s vicinity, -his prying, resolute gaze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mistress Avery,” said the lawyer blandly, “our -young friend appears uneasy; nor do I wonder, for -more than once, in the fair, did I hear red, pouting -lips lament the absence of Jack Winehcomb. I pray -thee, suffer the lad to stroll where he lists; Master -Nathaniel and your unworthy servant, with permission, -will zealously protect the pride and boast of -Newbury.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If John had broken any engagement by attendance -on her, replied the dame—and a keen smile, part -malicious, part searching, lit up the widow’s features -as she gazed on the disconcerted youth—let him seek -Cicely, who was not far off, to take his place, and he -had full permission to absent himself. ’Prentice -John, though vexed and out of countenance, said he -had no other engagement than duty enjoined, and he -was entirely at his mistress’ command.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I must not spoil Cicely’s holiday,” remarked -the widow. The apprentice was doubtful -whether she spoke in displeasure or not—the tone of -voice and expression of countenance were equivocal. -A quiet smile, which played for an instant around -her mouth, when he declared he had no engagement, -presaged returning favor, but the horizon was again -clouded. Mistress Avery, turning to the gallants, -said the youth should have his own way, that for herself -she never found his presence irksome—he was -so stupid, she might talk treason in his company -without danger—what she was obliged to say was -generally misunderstood. Stupid! misunderstood! -Were there, in these words, more meant than met the -ear? Had he been so blind, so deaf? Meanwhile -the situation of the rivals was far from pleasant; the -tanner had introduced an enemy within the fortress, -whom he could neither dislodge nor compete with; -the lawyer was angry that he had not the field to -himself; whilst fair Mistress Avery, with impartial -justice, hung the scales of favor suspended. Neither -could now positively declare he was the chosen -swain. Half suppressed taunts, and sarcasm clothed -in ceremonious language, threatened more open -bickering, when Master Luke, with due regard to a -lady’s feelings, besought her to pardon their absence -for a few minutes, as he suddenly recollected an affair -important to the welfare of his friend, Master Buttress. -The dame was condescending, declared she -had too much regard for Master Nathaniel to deem -their absence a slight, under the circumstances; so -the lawyer, affecting to produce a leathern note-case, -retired with his rival. The apprentice felt his situation -awkward, but he was presently relieved; Mistress -Avery bade him follow the gentlemen unperceived, -and if they drew weapons, or otherwise exhibited -hostilities, immediately interfere to prevent -mischief. Concealed by the angle of a canvass booth, -he listened, unseen, to the wordy strife. The lawyer -was cool, sarcastic, overbearing; the tanner, fiery -and threatening. Presuming on youth, good figure, -and flowing rhetoric, the former contemned the pretensions -of the elder rival, whom he affirmed had -nothing to recommend him but wealth not needed; -why, therefore, pursue a rivalry, when he could not -lay claim to one certain token of affection? And the -man of law began enumerating the distinguishing -marks of favor which Dame Avery, spite of prudent, -cautious, self-restraint, could not avoid exhibiting as -soon as he entered the tavern. The tanner’s replication -was in the same style. If these be marks of -affection, thought the listener, what would they say -to my pretensions if I told all? And ’Prentice John, -as he listened and commented on what he heard, -grew a wiser, more knowing youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If thou wert a younger man, Master Nathaniel,” -said the lawyer, “there would be no need for these -mutual taunts. We have a readier mode of settling—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curse thy youth, and thee too,” exclaimed the -tanner; “ ’cause thou art a vain, braggart fop, with -thy galloon and thy large cabbage roses, think’st -to brave it over me?—there!—and there!” And so -saying, the valiant tanner dealt successive cuffs on -Master Luke’s doublet, and drawing weapon, awaited -the attack. Their rapiers—for the tanner, though -following a handicraft, yet, as owning broad lands, -deemed himself entitled to wear a weapon and -dub himself gentleman—immediately crossed, but -the alert apprentice, with stout cudgel, threw himself -between and struck down their guard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good sirs! good sirs! forbear!” cried one hastening -to assist young Winehcomb. ’Twas the curate -of Spene. The belligerents immediately sheathed -their weapons, muttering future vengeance. The -holy man requested to know the cause of quarrel, -and offered to act as umpire. This, after demur and -consideration, was agreed to. Hearing each in turn, -he proposed, as more becoming their respective -characters than fighting, that the case should be stated -to Mistress Avery—the election left to the fair widow. -As each deemed himself the favored candidate, and, -indeed, with good cause, for our dame had been -gracious to both, the curate’s proposal was accepted, -and his eloquence solicited to open the pleadings. -The party thereupon returned to the tavern, the apprentice -not the least interested actor in the drama.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The curate of Spene, though grave and sententious, -threw into his speech an under current of humor and -<span class='it'>bonhommie</span>, which touched off the pretensions of each -suitor with dramatic effect and felicity. Neither -could question his impartiality, nor had he, as he -affirmed, secret preponderance either way; both -were esteemed friends, both had received the offices -of the church at his hands, both had listened to his -Sabbath exhortations. Which of the twain reigned -in the lady’s heart, to him he should offer congratulation; -to the other he could fairly say, that he merited -the honor for which he had unsuccessfully striven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause, a deep silence. The blushing -widow must now speak, declare herself, decide her -own fate, and with it the fortunes of the suitors. How -ardently did ’Prentice John long for one of the many -opportunities of pleading his passion, oft thrown in -his way, so heedlessly neglected! Would she indeed -make an election? then, farewell, Newbury! in some -far distant land would he hide his disgrace, forget -his folly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mistress Avery said the gentlemen had certainly -given her cause long to remember Newbury Fair; -yet they could not expect her mind made up on so -momentous a question of a sudden; besides, it was -now Wednesday, which had ever been an unlucky -day with the Averys, but to-morrow (Thursday) week -they should have a decisive answer—her preference -made known—provided, and it was the only stipulation -besides secrecy, they both refrained pressing -their amorous suits in the interim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So ended the conference, and as the rivals, with -the curate, gallantly bade the lady adieu (having promised -obedience in every particular) ’Prentice John, -in a paroxysm of anger and remorse, made firm resolve -that he would challenge to mortal combat the -favored suitor, beat him within an inch of life if he -refused to fight, upbraid the widow for secretly fomenting -a passion which she laughed at, and flee, -forever, the town of Newbury.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You forget, John, I shall need your arm through -the press,” exclaimed the dame reproachfully. The -apprentice started; he had been leaning against the -bench, lost in bitter reverie; he saw not his mistress -was waiting. Uttering an indistinct apology, he escorted -the lady from the tavern in time to witness that -the tanner had been sufficiently adroit to palm off -half the expense of the entertainment on his rival. -Whether this was omen of higher fortune, the sequel -will show.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They scarcely spoke during the remainder of the -walk, nor even after reaching home. ’Prentice John -was reserved, melancholy, brooding over bitter reflections; -the dame, sly, observant, oft casting furtive -glances at young Winehcomb, seemingly, as he -thought, indulging secret pleasure on beholding his -misery. On the morrow they were together in the -compting-room; it was his duty to produce entries -of the bales of cloth sold during the business-period -of the Fair; to account for the same in bullion, or -according to the terms of sale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These for thyself, John,” said the widow, placing -a few gold pieces on the table, whilst she proceeded -to place, under triple lock, the remainder. They remained -untouched. The third lock of the huge iron -chest duly shot, the dame arose, was surprised on -beholding the money still lying unappropriated; John -looking like man under sentence of death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have I grown niggardly, Master Winehcomb?” -exclaimed the widow, “speak, if you would have -more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John replied by asking if she thought the ten pieces -sufficient to equip him, and pay passage to Cadiz, -where he heard an expedition was fitting out, in which -many Englishmen had volunteered. Mistress Avery, -with a calmness which confirmed his despair, replied -in the negative, but demanded why he should think -of starting for Cadiz, ere, indeed, his indentures were -determined. The apprentice declared wildly, if she -married either tanner or lawyer, he would depart, -even with no more than the ten pieces, and for his -reasons—he was not then sufficiently master of himself -to detail them!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, John,” said the widow, in a tone of expostulation, -whilst a smile lurked in the eyes and round -the mouth, “what am I to do if I say No? they press -me so hard!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Newbury apprentice, at his mistress’ feet, -taught the answer she should give. On the following -Monday, Master John Winehcomb was united in -marriage with Mistress Avery—the wedding celebrated -by the grandest entertainment ever beheld in -the county of Berkshire, the fame whereof spread -even as far as the court of bluff Harry. If lacking -splendor in any particular, the omission was owing -to the short time for preparation, as no expense was -spared. The unfortunate suitors, of course, understood -the affair from common report, and thought it -unnecessary to seek their fate at the widow’s domicil, -when they could learn it from every man, -woman and child in the town. They were invited -to the wedding feast, but wisely declined, as the story -of their strange wooing was already abroad.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the custom, in those days, for the bridegroom -to salute the bride on the cheek, in the church, -after the ceremony was performed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you are ready to swear, Master John,” -whispered the dame as the bridegroom approached, -“that you never saw that damsel before Fair-day, -whom you kissed at the Fair?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—nor since!” replied he, believing it a hint -for his future conduct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Master Winehcomb lived happily—his wealth increased -so quickly, with the increasing demand for -the staple article of Newbury, that when the Earl of -Surrey marched against James the Fourth of Scotland, -who was then ravaging the borders, the rich -clothier accompanied the expedition with a retinue -of one hundred servants and artisans, clothed and -armed at his own expense. The memory of John -Winehcomb and his rich and handsome spouse was -long preserved in their native town.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='son'></a>SONNETS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MISS ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                I.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;</p> -<p class='line0'>That only men incredulous of despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air</p> -<p class='line0'>Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access</p> -<p class='line0'>Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness</p> -<p class='line0'>In hearts, as countries, lieth silent, bare</p> -<p class='line0'>Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the free chartered heavens. Be still! express</p> -<p class='line0'>Grief for thy dead in silence like to Death!</p> -<p class='line0'>Most like a monumental statue set</p> -<p class='line0'>In everlasting watch and moveless wo,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.</p> -<p class='line0'>Touch it, spectator! Are its eyelids wet?</p> -<p class='line0'>If it could weep it could arise and go!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                II.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When some belovéd voice, which was to you</p> -<p class='line0'>Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,</p> -<p class='line0'>And silence against which you dare not cry</p> -<p class='line0'>Aches round you with an anguish dreadly new—</p> -<p class='line0'>What hope, what help? What music will undo</p> -<p class='line0'>That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>Not reason’s labored proof, not melody</p> -<p class='line0'>Of viols, nor the dancers footing through;</p> -<p class='line0'>Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose hearts leap upward from the cypress trees</p> -<p class='line0'>To Venus’ star! nor yet the spheric laws</p> -<p class='line0'>Self-chanted—nor the angels’ sweet “all hails,”</p> -<p class='line0'>Met in the smile of God! Nay, none of these!</p> -<p class='line0'>Speak, Christ at His right hand, and fill this pause.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                III.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil!</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines</p> -<p class='line0'>For all the heat o’ the sun, till it declines,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Death’s mild curfew shall from work assoil.</p> -<p class='line0'>God did anoint thee with his odorous oil</p> -<p class='line0'>To wrestle, not to reign—and he assigns</p> -<p class='line0'>All thy tears over like pure crystallines</p> -<p class='line0'>Unto thy fellows, working the same soil.</p> -<p class='line0'>To wear for amulets. So others shall</p> -<p class='line0'>Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,</p> -<p class='line0'>And God’s grace fructify through thee to all!</p> -<p class='line0'>The least flower with a brimming cup may stand</p> -<p class='line0'>And share its dew-drop with another near.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                IV.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel</p> -<p class='line0'>A pleasant song, ballad or barcarolle,</p> -<p class='line0'>She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel</p> -<p class='line0'>Is full, and artfully her fingers feel,</p> -<p class='line0'>With quick adjustment, provident control,</p> -<p class='line0'>The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll,</p> -<p class='line0'>Out to the perfect thread. I hence appeal</p> -<p class='line0'>To the dear Christian church—that we may do</p> -<p class='line0'>Our Father’s business in these temples mirk,</p> -<p class='line0'>So swift and steadfast, so intent and strong—</p> -<p class='line0'>While so, apart from toil, our souls pursue</p> -<p class='line0'>Some high, calm, spheric tune—proving our work</p> -<p class='line0'>The better for the sweetness of our song.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonn'></a>SONNET.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I dreamed last night, that I myself did lay</p> -<p class='line0'>Within the grave—and after stood and wept—</p> -<p class='line0'>My spirit sorrowed where its ashes slept—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas a strange dream, and yet meseems it may</p> -<p class='line0'>Prefigure that which is akin to truth—</p> -<p class='line0'>How sorrow we o’er perish’d dreams of youth!</p> -<p class='line0'>High hopes, and aspirations doom’d to be</p> -<p class='line0'>Crush’d, and o’er-mastered by earth’s destiny!</p> -<p class='line0'>Fame, that the spirit loathing turns to ruth—</p> -<p class='line0'>And that deluding faith so loath to part,</p> -<p class='line0'>That earth will shrine for us one kindred heart;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, ’tis the ashes of such things, that wring</p> -<p class='line0'>Tears from the eyes! Hopes like to these depart,</p> -<p class='line0'>And we bow down in dread, o’er-shadowed by death’s wing.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mal'></a>MALINA GRAY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ANN S. STEPHENS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'>(Concluded from page 278.)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“I sigh when all my youthful friends caress—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  They laugh in health, and future evils brave;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Love has for them a gentle power to bless,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  While I shall moulder in my silent grave.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>God of the just, thou gavest the bitter cup,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>We had penetrated to the depth of the pine grove, -and it was difficult to find our way out through the -tangled undergrowth and the unequal hollows; but -Malina had become thoughtful for others once more, -and though excitement no longer made her own progress -easy, she guarded me with double care; lifted -me over the hollows and carried me in her arms -when the thickets were too intricate or the ground -very uneven. She kissed me as we reached a foot-path -which led to our cottage, and, pointing to the -door, would have left me to go home alone; but when -she saw that I was troubled regarding my torn frock, -kindness of heart prompted her to come back. She -led me to the house, explained my misfortune, and -went away. I sat down on the door-sill and watched -her till she entered the portico of her mother’s dwelling, -and when they remarked on her dejected looks, -and questioned me of the cause, I answered that Malina -was tired with walking so long in the woods, -for it seemed as if the tears which I had seen her -shed and the passionate words which she had uttered -were a secret which I should do wrong to mention.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In about an hour Phebe Gray and our young minister -stopped at the door-yard gate to inquire for Malina. -I told them that she had gone home, and when -Mr. Mosier lifted me in his arms, and, looking into -my face, asked what I had been crying about, I -turned my head away to evade his kiss and besought -him to set me down. The contrast between his -happy face, the deep and almost brilliant expression -of joy which lighted it up, and the sorrowful look of -poor Malina forced itself even on my childish mind. -I felt that which I had no power to comprehend, and -from that time never loved our minister nor Phebe -Gray as I had loved them. They walked home very -slowly, she leaning on his arm with an air of dependence -and trustfulness which was full of feeling -and feminine delicacy; he would check their progress -every few moments to point out some familiar -beauty in the landscape, as if they had never looked -upon it before. They loitered by the rock spring, -and along the river road, tranquil in their happiness, -till the dusk almost concealed them as they entered -Mrs. Gray’s house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Almost every evening, for a week, our minister -and Phebe Gray took their walk around the pine -grove, and always alone. Malina was confined to -the house. She had taken cold, Mrs. Gray said, and -the night air was bad for her lungs. But often, when -her sister was loitering along the river’s bank, happy -in the wealth of her newly aroused affections, Malina -might be seen at her chamber window, with her -cheek languidly supported by a hand which was becoming -thinner each day, and gazing earnestly after -the two beings dearest to her on earth, but whose -happiness she could not witness without emotions -that were well nigh killing her. Her mother saw -nothing of this. She only knew that Malina was -quieter than usual and not very well, that her eyes -were heavy and her step languid as she moved around -the house. She did not see the heart struggling -against itself, the stern principle which grew strong -in the contest. She never dreamed of that desolate -and lonely sensation which haunted her daughter’s -pillow with watchfulness, and made her waking -hours a season of trial cruel as the grave. She saw -that Malina was strangely affected; true, she smiled -still, but it was meekly, sadly, and it seemed as if -the music of her laugh was exhausted forever; her -eyes grew misty and sorrowful in their expression, -and tears would sometimes fill them without apparent -cause. Still it was gravely asserted that Malina -had only a slight cold, a nervous attack which would -go off in a day or two! But there was something in -her illness which Phebe could not comprehend; a -wish for solitude, and a strange nervous dread of -any thing like intimate conversation with herself, -which prevented an acknowledgment of her own -deep causes of happiness. Her sensitive modesty -made her desirous of some encouragement to unburden -her heart of its wealth of hope even to her -sister, and when she saw that Malina shunned her, -that her eyes had a wandering and estranged look -whenever they turned upon her face, she felt checked -and almost repulsed in her confidence. If any thing -could have disturbed the pure happiness which -reigned in her bosom, it would have been this extraordinary -mood in one who had from childhood shared -every thought and wish almost as soon as it was -formed. It had a power to disturb, though it could -not entirely destroy the tranquillity of her mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will talk with her about it to-night,” murmured -Phebe, as she opened her chamber door one evening, -after a long conversation with Mr. Mosier in the -portico. “I wish, though, she would ask some question, -or even look curious to know what keeps us -together so much; I little thought to have kept a -secret from Malina so long.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As these thoughts passed through her mind, Phebe -Gray gathered up the bed-drapery, and lying down -by her sister, passing an arm caressingly over her -waist, laid her blushing cheek against the now pallid -face which rested on the pillow. She felt that tears -were upon it, and that the snowy linen under her -head was wet as if Malina had cried herself to sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Malina, wake up a minute, I have something to -tell you,” murmured the young girl, in a low, half -timid whisper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moonbeams lay full upon the bed, and Phebe -Gray was looking earnestly in the face of the beautiful -sleeper. She could see the silken lashes quivering -on her cheek, and a tremulous motion of the lips, -nay, it seemed to her as if a single tear broke through -the lashes and rolled over the pale cheek, and she -was certain that something like a faint shudder crept -through the form which was half circled by her arm. -But Malina gave no answer, and the gentle questioner -was too sensitive for another effort to win attention. -She quietly laid her head on the pillow and sunk to -sleep, but not to indulge in the sweet, unbroken dream -of happiness which had shed roses over her couch so -many nights. There was sadness at heart, a presentiment -of coming ill, and a solicitude regarding -her sister which kept her anxious and rendered her -slumber broken and unrefreshing. About midnight, -when the stillness of her chamber rendered every -sound more than usually audible, she was disturbed -by the broken and half stifled sobs which arose from -her sister’s pillow. Again she stole her arm over -the weeping girl, and questioned her regarding the -source of her grief. Malina only turned her face -away, and sobbed more bitterly than before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why will you not speak to me, Malina? what -has come between us of late?—speak to me, sister—you -are in sorrow, and I have—oh how much—cause -for joy! yet we have all at once learned to conceal -thoughts from one another. Tell me what troubles -you—for I cannot be entirely happy while you are ill -and so sad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina redoubled her sobs, but amid the tumult of -her grief she murmured, “Tell me all, Phebe, all you -feel, all you wish; but I have no secrets, no sorrow. -There is a little pain in my side, sometimes, and that -makes me low spirited. I have always been so -healthy, you know, that a little illness frightens me. -Do not mind me, but talk of yourself. You are happy, -Phebe, <span class='it'>very</span> happy! were not those your words? -tell me all—I can be glad and rejoice in any thing -that gives you pleasure—any thing on earth—if my -heart were breaking. So let us talk it all over now, -the room is so quiet and dark, and we shall neither -of us get sleepy—do you think we shall, sister?—you -may, but I have almost forgotten how to sleep,” and, -as Malina ceased speaking, she stole an arm around -her sister’s neck, and, choking back her sobs, composed -herself to listen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe rose up in the bed, gathered the drapery -around them, for the moonbeams were bright enough -to reveal her blushes, and, sinking to her pillow, -again murmured the story of her love, its return, and -all the bright anticipations that made her future so -beautiful. Malina nerved herself to listen; she uttered -no word of distrust, and checked all manifestations -of discontent by a strong effort of self-control, -when all was told—when she was made certain that -her sister and the only being she had ever regarded -with more than a sister’s love, were to be married—that -their wedding day was fixed, and, that the mother’s -sanction had already been granted—she remained -silent for a moment, and strove to gain the -mastery over her feelings. When she spoke, her -frame shook with the bitter emotions which could -not be altogether subdued, but her voice was low -and very calm. Mr. Mosier was poor, and Phebe -not yet of age. If he were installed in the old meeting-house, -they would be compelled to live with Mrs. -Gray till something could be saved from his small -salary to purchase a dwelling and begin housekeeping. -This thought caused some anxiety to the engaged -couple. The young clergyman had learned something -of Mrs. Gray’s real character, and was reluctant -to erect his domestic altar beneath her tyrannical -auspices. Phebe, too, longed for a quiet home -of her own, a happy, free home, where she might -follow her own innocent impulses, unchecked and -without fear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall have that home, my sister,” said Malina -Gray, twining her arms around her companion, -and kissing her with a gush of true affection; “there -is the old parsonage house; you shall have that, and -the money which dear minister Brown left to me; -all are yours and <span class='it'>his</span>. You will be happy there—very -happy. I know he loved the old place. Now, -good night, Phebe; let us go to sleep!” and with a -low gasping sob, which was not the less painful that -it gave no sound, Malina turned away her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe was too disinterested and high-minded herself, -for a thought of refusing Malina’s generosity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shall, indeed, be happy,” she said; “you -will come and live with us, and by the time you are -married, we shall have saved enough to pay all the -money back again. You <span class='it'>will</span> live with us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina thought of the quiet grave-yard, which -could be seen from the parsonage window, and answered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall want no other home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe talked on, more cheerfully than usual, and -when her sister did not answer, she thought her -asleep; but Malina had fainted, and lay senseless -upon her pillow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was soon rumored through the village that our -new minister was engaged to Phebe Gray, and every -body was delighted with the match. Phebe was just -the creature for a clergyman’s wife, quiet and gentle, -with manners that gave dignity to the softness of her -disposition. In the general satisfaction which reigned -in the village, Malina was quite overlooked. Her -change of appearance was imputed to sadness at -parting with her sister; and, at times, when the wedding -was talked of in her presence, the rich color -which burned over her cheeks, the brilliancy of her -eyes, and the flashes of wild merriment that sprung -to her lips, deceived the unobserving into a belief of -her entire happiness. She spent much of her time at -the old parsonage, superintending the arrangements -of her sister’s home with a degree of taste and energy -which surprised all who witnessed her exertions. -The rooms were all newly arranged, delicate paper -was purchased at New Haven for the walls, new -stepping stones were laid at the front door, green -blinds gave a look of elegance and seclusion to the -windows; the profuse rose bushes and lilac trees -were pruned, and a white picket-fence hedged in -the little wilderness of flowers which blossomed in -the front yard. The cabinet maker, on School -Hill, was busy with the furniture, all of a superior -kind. The carpet-weaver had borrowed two <span class='it'>quill-wheels</span>, -and all the spools, for a mile round, in order -to expedite the progress of sixty yards of striped carpeting -through his cumbrous loom. The house and -its adornments were to be comfortable and elegant -beyond any thing that had been known in our village -for a long time; and all was Malina’s work. Her -untiring assiduity created the little paradise which -another was to enjoy. Her money purchased the -books which filled the little study, whose window -opened upon the most verdant corner of the orchard. -Her trembling hands placed a new inlaid flute on the -little table, and drew the easy chair close by, that the -bridegroom might find every thing ready and home-like -in his new dwelling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One afternoon Malina was left alone; the workmen -had departed to their suppers, and her task was -finished for the day. She had just hung the pet robin -in his old place by the dining-room window; he -seemed to recognize the room, and flew about his -cage, chirping and fluttering his wings, as if to thank -her for bringing him home once more. It was the -first hour of repose that Malina had known for many -weeks, and now, that she had nothing more to perform, -painful thoughts and regrets that would no -longer be stifled, fell back upon her heart, and she -was, oh, how desolate! There, in her blooming -youth, she sat hopeless and weary of life—for what -is life to a woman without affection? The heart -was full of warm and generous feelings, burthened -with a wealth of tenderness, and yet she had no -future, nothing to hope for, nothing to dread; her -destiny seemed consummated there and then. Youth -is in itself so hopeful, that we can scarcely imagine -a creature in the first bud of life yearning for the -grave. But Malina was very sad. She looked through -the open door into the orchard; the green old apple -trees were heavy with blossoms, and through the -garniture of thrifty leaves, and the rosy shower which -blushed among them, a corner of the old meeting-house -met her gaze—a portion of the grave-yard, and -a new tomb-stone, which gleamed out from the young -grass which had already started up from our minister’s -death place. How green and quiet it looked—and -oh, how earnestly Malina Gray longed to lie -down in that still spot, and be at rest. Yet Malina -was young, and no human being dreamed how -wretched she was. The orchard was full of singing -birds that day, and there had been a time when the -gush of sweet sounds, that rose and swelled amid the -foliage, would have made her heart leap, but now it -filled her eyes with tears. The sunshine that played -and quivered among the leaves—the wind that now -and then gushed through the heavy boughs, scattering -the grass with rosy flakes, and sighing as it swept -off to the open plain—all seemed a mockery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was heart sick, and yearned to die. How -cruel is that power by which a broken heart draws -thoughts of sadness from the sweet and beautiful -things of nature. Malina gazed through her tears at -the change her own hands had wrought. The unseemly -plantains had disappeared from the back -door-step, and around the well-curb a bed of valley-lilies -were just forming their pearly buds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They will be in blossom for Phebe’s hair,” murmured -the young girl, “and for mine—for am I not to -be bridemaid?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a mournful smile gleaming through her tears, -Malina arose, and tying on her bonnet, left the house. -She met Phebe and Mr. Mosier near the front gate. -They were sauntering toward their new dwelling, -tranquil and happy; to them, every thing whispered -of joy; the fragrant orchard, the birds caroling within -its shadows, and all the beautiful landscape were full -of pleasant associations. Every hope and thought in -<span class='it'>their</span> bosoms blossomed in unison with nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How true it is that thought and feeling, like the -sun, give color to outward things. The heart creates -its own sunshine, or the cloud through which nature -is revealed to it. Phebe Gray and her betrothed -husband felt nothing but the sweet and the beautiful—their -hearts were brimful of sunshine. But, alas, -for Malina, she looked through the cloud.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina walked on. The two contented beings by -the gate were happy enough without her. She strove -to smile cheerfully as they spoke to her, and in a tone -of forced playfulness forbade them entering the house -till their wedding day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had gathered beneath the roof of that old -parsonage house many luxuries almost unknown in -the neighborhood; every thing calculated to gratify -the fine taste of the young divine, or add to the comfort -of her sister, had been unsparingly purchased, -till her patrimony was almost exhausted. While -this duty lasted, and the excitement of action was -upon her, Malina sustained the burthen of her sorrows -with an aching, but firm heart. She had taken -no time for thought—scarcely for tears—but worked -on, as if toiling through a feverish dream. Her -cheeks were always flushed, and sometimes the -music of her laugh rang loud and strangely through -the bridal chamber which she was decorating; but -the companions who assisted her were often startled -by the reckless tone of her laugh; it was too absent -and wild for happiness or merriment, entirely deficient -in that low, rich melody, which had once -made her voice so full of healthy joy. Yet all the -neighbors were commenting on her generous conduct, -and the brilliancy of her spirits; and it was -often remarked that Malina Gray was never so fond -of company, so careless in her mirth, or so startling -in her wit, as she had been since the engagement of -her sister, and since she had recovered from the -slight cold which confined her to the house when -that engagement was first whispered in the village.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To a heart capable of self-sacrifice, there is no -feeling so lonely as that which follows exhausted -power. No conviction, so keenly painful, as a -knowledge that a beloved being, who has cost us -the hopes of a life in resigning, can be happy without -our aid—that we have nothing to render up—no -aim for exertion—nothing to do but sit down and -gaze upon the blank which existence has become. -Her task was done. The excitement over, and then -came to the heart of Malina Gray the toil and pain -of concealed suffering; the aching restlessness which -eats into the bud of human life. Once more it was -rumored that she was ill, and, but for other and more -absorbing subjects, Mrs. Gray might have been -alarmed for the safety of her child; but she was so -intent on other things, that the poor girl and her sufferings -remained unheeded at home, save by the -gentle Phebe and her betrothed husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Mrs. Gray invited our young minister to reside -at her house, it was probably with some vague -expectation of the result which followed; and when -her consent was desired to his union with Phebe, it -was given promptly, and with evident satisfaction. -But the young divine, though a meek and true Christian, -had a dignity of character and opinion which -sometimes proved at variance with the exactions of -an ambitious and arbitrary matron. She had expected -that he would continue to reside in her -family, after the marriage, and looked forward to -an extended dominion in her own household, and -increased influence in the church, to be secured by -this arrangement. But when he persisted in establishing -an independent home, in managing his own -salary, and becoming the sole protector of his future -wife, whose state of moral servitude he could not -witness without pain, Mrs. Gray’s enthusiasm in -favor of the match gradually subsided, and when -Malina insisted upon surrendering her newly acquired -property to the young couple, and giving -them the parsonage for a residence, the haughty -woman became stern in her opposition, and while -she took every means to render her own house an -unpleasant residence for the parties, found some excuse -to delay the wedding, from week to week, and -at last refused to sanction it, till Mr. Mosier should -be regularly installed in the pulpit, which he had -now filled almost a year. Still Mrs. Gray was not -a woman to talk openly of a change in her opinions. -She was too calculating and subtle for useless words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It had been settled in church council, that our -young minister should be installed a few weeks after -the time appointed for his marriage, and the young -couple submitted to the imposed delay without a -murmur. During these intervening weeks, and -while Malina was occupied in embellishing the parsonage, -Mrs. Gray was observed to be absent from -home more frequently than usual. There was -scarcely an influential church member near the old -meeting-house, with whom she had not taken her -knitting work, to spend a social afternoon; and -several tea-parties were given in a quiet way at her -own house, where she presided over the silver tea-urn, -and old fashioned china, with more than ordinary -condescension and dignity. But these were all -impromptu meetings, and invariably took place -when Mr. Mosier and Phebe were invited elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The parents of our young minister were aged and -very respectable farmers, residing in the vicinity of -New Haven; but they were far from wealthy, and -the farm they cultivated was not their own property. -A week before the Sabbath appointed for the installation, -Mr. Mosier accompanied his intended bride -and her mother on a visit to his parents, where the -haughty matron first learned that the man whom her -daughter was about to marry had been a <span class='it'>charity -student</span>. A benevolent society had paid his tuition -at Yale College, at least that portion which he had -been unable to meet by his own exertions. There -had been no concealment of this truth on his part, for -he had informed Phebe of the matter, and believed -Mrs. Gray already aware of it. But Phebe, in the -generous simplicity of her heart, never conceived it -possible that the manner of his education could be -deemed a cause of reproach, and it had left no impression -on her mind; to her upright understanding -there was no degradation in the thought that her -lover had been a <span class='it'>charity student</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray gave no demonstration of the displeasure -which filled her bosom on receiving this intelligence, -but she quietly made an excuse for returning -home with her daughter the next day, and, with every -appearance of disinterested kindness, insisted that -Mr. Mosier should not interrupt his visit to accompany -them. “She could easily drive home,” she -said, “the horse was gentle, and the roads perfectly -good; her son-in-law must remain with his family; -it would be cruel to force him away so abruptly.” -Mrs. Gray said all this in her usual manner, shook -hands with the old people, allowed the young divine -to assist her into the chaise, and pretended to be -very intently occupied in searching for something in -her traveling basket, while he placed Phebe in her -seat, and, with her slender hand clasped in his own, -was whispering his farewell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Remember, and be in readiness next Sabbath,” -he said, in a low voice, “tell Malina that she must -take good care of you. I shall come on Saturday -evening.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe murmured that she would be ready; but as -she returned the farewell clasp of his hand, tears -started to her eyes. She could not have told the -reason, but a strange feeling of melancholy came -over her, and it seemed as if the parting were forever. -She looked back as the chaise drove away—he -was standing on the door step by his parents, and -the whole group waved their hands, smiling cheerfully, -as they saw her turn for a last glance. But -still her heart was heavy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What passed between Mrs. Gray and her daughter -during their drive home, we have no means of -recording. But as Malina sat in her chamber window, -and saw the chaise toiling up the hill that afternoon, -her sister leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse -of her face. It was white as marble, and stained -with tears. Malina had been ill, but she started up, -hastily girded her white morning wrapper to her -waist, and went down. Mrs. Gray loitered to give -some directions to the “hired man” about her horse, -and Phebe was descending from the chaise without -assistance. The moment her foot touched the earth, -she tottered, and would have fallen but for Malina, -who sprang forward, and flinging her arms around -her, inquired eagerly and kindly what had befallen -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe attempted to speak, but the words died on -her lips, and the color left them; she lifted her hand -as if to grasp at something for support, and fainted in -her sister’s arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother, what is the matter?—where is Mr. -Mosier?—tell me, pray tell me, what has made poor -Phebe so ill, and why is she looking so wretched?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray turned, and saw that her child was -senseless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go and bring some water,” she said to the man, -“carry that basket in with you, and make haste. -Raise her head a little, you are crushing her bonnet,” -she continued, turning to Malina; “there, -take it off—she will come to, directly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she spoke, Mrs. Gray calmly untied her daughter’s -bonnet, and held it till the man came with water, -while Malina stood trembling beneath the weight of -the fainting girl, tenderly smoothing back the bright -tresses from her forehead, and wildly kissing her -pale lips, amid a thousand vague questions, which -no one thought of answering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray took a pitcher of water from the man, -who came panting from the well, and laving her -hands in it, laid them on the pale face which Malina -was still covering with tears and kisses. There was -a faint struggle, a gasping sigh, and after a little -Phebe began to murmur upon her sister’s bosom, -like one just awaking from a dream. She shrunk -from her mother, when that stubborn woman would -have assisted her to rise, and clinging to Malina, -walked with trembling steps toward the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, not there—up, to our own room, Malina,” -said the poor girl, as her sister would have led her -into the parlor. She was obliged to sit down more -than once in ascending the stairs; and when at -length Malina laid her upon the bed in their own -dear room, she looked sadly around, and reaching -up her arms, clasped the bending neck of her sister, -and began to weep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must never see him again—never—never,” she -said, while her voice was broken with tears; “oh, -Malina, did you think any human being could be so -cruel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina started, and for one instant a flash of pleasure -broke into her eyes. It was an unworthy feeling, -and the next moment her face was flooded with -shame that she had known it; and when she sat -down by her sister, and besought her to say what -had thus unnerved her, it was with as true sympathy -as ever warmed the heart of a noble and self-sacrificing -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cause of her sorrow was soon explained. -Phebe had been commanded by her arbitrary mother -to give up all thoughts of a union with Mr. Mosier. -The gentle girl, for the first time in her life, had -ventured to expostulate with her parent. The hope -of her young life was at stake, and her heart trembled -at the thought of separation from the man whom -she had learned to love so devotedly. It was all in -vain. Mrs. Gray was resolved, her prejudices were -aroused, and to their gratification the happiness of -her child was as dust.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe had been educated with almost holy reverence -for the authority of a parent, and though her -heart broke, she dared not oppose her mother’s command. -Her spirit withered beneath it, like a flower -trodden to the earth, but she submitted. Not so Malina. -Once more she ventured to reason with and -oppose her mother, but only to call down resentment -on her own head. This was no sudden resolution in -Mrs. Gray; she had gone steadily to work, and -planned out her own results. She was one of those -cold pattern women who never know an impulse—whose -virtues are polished, like marble, and as cold. -She had paved her way quietly and well. The next -morning, while her two children were sorrowing in -their room, she was driving from house to house, -exerting her influence over better hearts and weaker -minds than her own, to the ruin of those who had -loved and trusted her. And while Phebe lay upon a -sick bed, a vestry council was called at the old -meeting-house, and a decision passed by a majority -of a single man, which deprived our young minister -of the pulpit he was to have taken as his own the -following Sabbath. Many good and just men of the -congregation protested against this cruel and unjust -act; but in churches, as in communities, the good -and the merciful do not always constitute a majority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The decision of this church meeting was forwarded -to Mr. Mosier, and with it a letter from Mrs. Gray. -The next morning he rode by our cottage on horseback, -slowly, and as one in deep and morbid thought. -He crossed the old bridge, and, as he did so, looked -earnestly toward Mrs. Gray’s dwelling. He paused -a moment at the end, and then rode at a brisker pace -up the hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe had been feverish, and very low, all that -morning. Malina was watching by her side, and as -she lay with her eyes closed in an imperfect slumber, -the sound of a horse coming up the road made -her start from the pillow, and while her cheek burned -with a more feverish red, she fixed her eyes upon -the open sash.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is he—I know it!” she said, clasping her hand, -and looking into Malina’s face; “I will get up; -mother cannot refuse to let me see him this once;” -and with a kind of feverish joy the poor girl flung -aside the bed clothes, and stepped out on the floor. -With trembling and eager hands she gathered up her -beautiful tresses, and began to braid them about her -head, earnestly beseeching Malina all the time to assist -her in getting ready to go down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The kind hearted sister required no entreaty. She -helped to array the invalid, though her own breath -came gaspingly, and her hands shook like aspens in -performing their duty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, now—there, I am ready. See, do I look -very ill, Malina?” said the excited young creature, -turning to her sister; “it will make his heart ache -to see how red my cheeks are. Do you think he -will detect the fever?” and dashing some lavender -over her handkerchief with an impetuosity all unlike -her usual quiet movements, the half delirious girl -took her sister’s arm, and was hurrying from the -room. But the sound of a horse, rapidly passing the -house, again came to her ear, and, with a faint exclamation, -she sprung to the window just in time to -catch a glimpse of her lover as he rode by. He -lifted his face to the open sash, and she saw that it -was very pale. He saw her, checked his horse -an instant, half raised his hand, and then turning -away with seeming effort, he rode slowly down the -hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is gone,” exclaimed the unhappy girl, “gone -without a word, almost without a look!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with a wavering step, Phebe Gray moved toward -the bed, and amid the confusion of her feverish -thoughts, she called on Malina to come and undo the -bridal wreath which was girding her forehead so -painfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Malina was away. She had caught one -glimpse at the pale face uplifted to her window, -and with a wild impulse to see the minister once -more, she flung a shawl over her head, and left the -room. With the speed of an antelope, she darted -through the garden, and forcing a passage through -the brushwood which lined a hollow beyond, leaped -down upon the natural basin of granite, where the -rock-spring poured its waves, just as he had dismounted, -and was proceeding to dip up the water in -his palm, and bathe his forehead with it. He looked -care-worn and pale, and the expression of his eyes, -as he dropped the water from his hand, and turned -them suddenly on the young girl, was that of a strong -heart in ruins, and with its energies prostrated. He -held forth his hand and tried to smile, but the attempt -was a painful one, and died in a faint quiver of the -lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina did not take his hand—she had no power—but -stood with her left foot half buried in the damp -moss which lined the spring, and the other planted -hard against the granite basin; her hands clasped -amid the drapery of her shawl, and her eyes lifted to -his, glittering with excitement, and yet full of tears. -The breath came pantingly through her unquiet lips, -and in the struggle of her emotions, the words of -greeting which she would have uttered, were broken -into sobs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is very kind of you, Miss Gray,” said the -young clergyman, in a low voice, which had something -of proud constraint in its tones; “I inquired -for you at the house, but your mother informed me -that you were engaged, and that your sister did not -wish to see me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not wish to see you!” exclaimed Malina, suddenly -finding voice; “Phebe—my poor Phebe—not -wish to see you! Alas, for her, she cannot see any -one; this cruel business has broken her heart. Oh, -Mr. Mosier, why is it that such wrong can be done? -why submit to it? what right has my mother thus to -interfere, to the unhappiness of her child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Mosier did not reply, his thoughts were far -away, and, though he gazed earnestly on the enthusiastic -face lifted to his, Malina knew that he was -not thinking of her. She felt humbled, and turned -away her face as one who had been rebuked. So -she stood gazing, with a look of patient humility, on -the waters sparkling in the basin at her feet, till at -last he aroused himself and spoke. But she, who -felt every word he uttered as if it were a tone of music, -had no share in his speech or his thoughts. -Things all too precious for her were rendered to -another, and she must endure the pain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So she was ill, and <span class='it'>could</span> not come. Yet she -knew I was there, and sat in the room all the time. -I saw her at the window, and she looked—tell me, -Malina, my sweet, kind sister,” he added, suddenly, -“did she wish to see me?—would she come for a -moment here or into the garden?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man looked anxious, and his cheek -flushed brilliantly as he spoke, for the moment his -well regulated mind had lost its balance, and the -passions of earth were strong within him. It was -but for a moment; before Malina had time to reply, -the flush died from his face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” he added, with a sorrowful motion of the -head, “it is wrong to ask, foolish to desire an interview—comfort -her, Malina, say that which I cannot -have permission to utter in her presence; say how -deeply, how earnestly I have loved her, how weary -I am of the world, how lonely my heart is now—say -to her—alas! what message have I to send—I, who -can scarcely turn my face heavenward, the clouds -are so dark that lie heaped before me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These words were uttered in a tone of such despondency -that Malina once more lifted her eyes, -and would have spoken words of encouragement -which she was far from feeling, for her own wretchedness -seemed completed in that of the beings she -most loved; but, while her lips were parted, he made -a sudden effort at composure, and saying that all -might yet be well, in a broken and hurried voice, he -drew Malina toward him and stooped to press his -lips to her forehead, without seeming conscious of -the act—but she was all too conscious, the blood -rushed to her cheeks, and she trembled in his arms -like a frightened child. He saw it not, for to his -thought she was a sister only, and though his lips -had pressed her forehead for the first time, he did not -think of it, but mounted his horse and rode away before -she had power to utter a word or make a gesture -to detain him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was gone forever, and she was alone—alone! -how often is that word misapplied; the loving and -the loved are never alone—but so it was with Malina -Gray.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><a id='chap'></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“In the cold, damp earth we laid her,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  When the forest cast its leaf,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And we sighed, that one so beautiful</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Should have a lot so brief.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, Madam, you refuse—my boy is dying, and -he yearns to look once more on the poor girl who -would have been his wife in a single week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was but a few days after her interview with Mr. -Mosier, that Malina heard these words issue from -her mother’s parlor, as she was passing through the -hall, from the chamber where she had just left Phebe -striving to beguile her weary thoughts with a book. -The door was ajar, and there was a power in the -words which made her start and listen. It was a -deep, manly voice, that of an aged person, but entreaty, -tenderness and something almost like resentment, -combined to render it startling and pathetic. -Malina held her breath, and, drawing a step nearer, -looked through the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An aged man was standing before her mother, he -held a cane without resting on it, and a broad brimmed -hat was in his left hand; firm and erect he stood -in the quiet room, the gray hair sweeping back from -his forehead, and his plain dress giving him the look -of a patriarch; his face was agitated, but so full of -benevolence that Malina loved the old man before -she guessed who he was. Violent passions could -seldom have passed over those mild features, still -they were disturbed as he spoke, and the good old -man was evidently struggling with strong and bitter -emotions. There was something in the grasp of his -hand on the cane, and in his dignified bearing, which -awed the sympathy it excited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray was sitting in her easy chair, looking -rather earnestly at the old man. She had been engaged -in knitting when he entered, but had laid the -work on a little round stand by her side, and seemed -rather anxious to take it up again; but she was too -punctilious for that, and very blandly requested her -visitor to resume the seat from which he had risen. -“No, I have not time to sit down, every minute is -worth years to me now—my only son is dying, and I -am absent from his side.” The old man now paused, -his chin began to quiver, and turning away his face, -he strove to conceal the tears that broke into his eyes -from the calm and heartless woman who sat gazing -upon him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Madam,” he said, but his voice was broken, and -his hand shook till the hat fell from his grasp to the -floor. “Madam, I beseech you, think better of this! -My boy cannot live forty-eight hours; the doctors -told me so before I left him. But I came from his -bed side, when each lost moment was as a drop of -blood wrung from my heart, thinking that you might -refuse any messenger but his father. You are a woman -and should feel for him, and here I gave up five -whole hours of this precious time that he might look -on the face of that poor girl before he dies; and his -mother—you have had children sleeping against -your heart, madam—do you think his mother would -not find it a comfort if the soul of her only child -could go up to heaven from her bosom where he -nestled in his first infancy? Do you think she has no -woman’s yearning wish for the last embrace, the last -endearing word? She loves the boy better than her -own soul, and he is dying before her eyes—but she -gave him up. When she saw that he moaned for -the presence of one who had become dearer than his -own mother, she bade me come hither and bring the -girl that her first born might die in the arms he loved -best—think, woman, every moment I spend in talking -here is wrung from the death bed of a child that -was all on earth that two old people had to love and -hope for. I must depart, but let <span class='it'>her</span> go with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man unconsciously clasped his hands as -he spoke, and tears fell like rain over his withered -cheeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray glanced at him with something of wonder -in her face, and extending out her hand, took up -the knitting work as if to end the conference.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And can you still refuse!” exclaimed the old man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would not be proper,” replied Mrs. Gray, -quietly unscrewing the top of her silver knitting -case, “besides, Phebe is not well enough to ride so -far even if she desired it, and the fever may be contagious.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I could talk with the young lady I am sure she -<span class='it'>would</span> desire it,” said the old man, almost humbly, -for his heart grew heavy at the thought of returning -to the death bed of his son with his errand unaccomplished. -“Leave it to her good feelings, madam, and -if they plead against me I will depart and trouble -you no more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Neither the pleading voice, nor the agony of over-wrought -feelings with which the unhappy father -spoke, reached the heart of Mrs. Gray. While the -old man stood before her, trembling beneath the burden -of his grief, she placed her needle in its sheath, -twisted the worsted over her finger, and went through -the intricacies of a seam stitch before even her eyes -were lifted toward him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must recollect, Mr. Mosier,” she said, -“Phebe is not at present engaged to your son, and -even if she were, I do not think it would be exactly -correct for her to visit him. I am sorry for the -young gentleman, very; I will see that our new minister -mentions his case in prayer next Sabbath; we all -feel for him—but he would not be advised. Indeed—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here Mrs. Gray dropped a stitch, and paused while -it was looped up again. When she raised her eyes, -the face of her auditor was stern, and as calm as her -own. The tears had dropped from his cheek, his -hands were both grasping the head of his cane, and -if that pharisaical woman could have shrunk from -any thing, the solemn and reproving eyes which -dwelt on her face would have kindled the most -generous blood of her heart into blushes of shame. -But it is hard to wring the die of shame from a self-righteous -heart. Mrs. Gray believed herself to be -acting in a most Christian-like spirit, in still retaining -the heartless civility of her manner toward the -poor old man whom her own cruelty had bereaved. -Her heart was entombed in the self-conceit of its -own sanctity, like dust in the marble of a sarcophagus.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Woman,” said the old man, and this time his -voice was firm, and thrillingly solemn; “you have -no heart. You are a mother, and should know how -much worse than death it is to see the child whom -you have loved and cherished, and woven in your -very heart-strings, perishing before your eyes. Oh, -how proud we were of that boy! how his poor mother -loved him! what a day it was when she and I -walked up the broad aisle of that old meeting-house -yonder, and saw him standing in the pulpit—a minister -of the gospel. We had prayed for that sight—toiled -and slaved for it—and were so happy—so very -happy. He is on his death bed now. Woman, <span class='it'>you</span> -have sent him there—you, who were a mother, -thought nothing of smiting a sister woman through -the heart—you, a professor of religion, can do murder -more subtle and cruel than that which cleaves -a man through the brain, and look calm and speak -softly, nay, smilingly refuse the last dying request of -your victim. Woman, I will not curse you—that -right rests with the high God of Heaven, who looketh -down upon the murder you have done, not as -man looketh, not as the law looketh—before <span class='it'>him</span>, -shall you be arraigned, and that cold heart shall be -made to shudder at the depth of its own crime—<span class='it'>he</span> -will be thine accuser—he, thy victim, who was so -gentle, so sweet tempered, that thoughts of revenge -never entered his heart. In a few short hours he -will stand in the broad light of Heaven, sent there -untimely; and even as Abel bear witness against his -brother, he shall bear witness against thee! The -Almighty may not place his mark upon thy brow—the -law may not brand thee—but one who can wring -the life from a human being by silent and moral -cruelty, is not less a murderer than the man who -smites his brother to the heart with a poniard!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray was at length moved—for the solemn -and stern energy of that pale old man might have -startled the dead from their graves—the knitting -dropped from her hands, her eyes darkled with terror, -and her face turned white as a corpse beneath -the snowy lace and the black and false hair that -shaded it. She would have spoken, but the pallid -lips trembled without uttering a sound, while the -hands which rested in her lap began to shiver, as she -strove to lift them and motion him away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man left her where she sat, and went into -the hall; but his feelings had been too cruelly outraged, -and there his strength gave way; he sunk -helplessly to a settee, and covering his face with his -hands, wept like a child.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had left the hall and stood in her sister’s -chamber. Phebe was dressed and seated by the -window, pondering over the pages of a book, though -she had not turned a leaf that day. She did not raise -her eyes when the door opened, but seemed unconscious -of a second person.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come with me,” said Malina, grasping the hand -which lay in her sister’s lap, with fingers that clung -to it like ice. “Come!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something in Malina’s face that frightened -her companion from the apathy that had for -days settled on her spirits. She arose, without a -word, and was led down stairs, and into the hall. -It was empty. Old Mr. Mosier had departed, and -the front door was left open behind him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Phebe,” said Malina Gray, in a faint whisper, -“<span class='it'>he</span> is dying, and has sent for you—his father sat -there, but a moment since. Our mother has refused -that you should see him. He is pining to die with -his head against your heart. Sister, will you go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will plead with her—kneel to her,” said Phebe -Gray, and opening the parlor door, she entered -alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina paused an instant, and turning through a -side door, passed across a small clover lot, toward -the stables. A horse stood cropping the white blossoms -in a corner of the field. She looked around for -some one to help her, but the men were all away on -the upper farm—so she drew toward the gentle animal, -and beckoning with her hand, uttered a few -coaxing words, and persuaded him toward the -stables. He bent his neck while her trembling -hands placed the bit in his mouth, which was yet -half full of fragrant grass, and turned his head to -watch her, as she girded the saddle to his back. -When she tied him to the garden fence, and entered -the house again, he followed her with his eyes, and, -with a short neigh, fell to tearing with his mouth the -honeysuckle vines that crept along the fence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As Malina entered the hall she saw Phebe gliding -up stairs toward their room; she was walking feebly, -and held by the bannister as she went. When the -sisters stood within the chamber together, Phebe -sunk to a chair, while Malina looked earnestly in -her face, and uttered a single sentence—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has forbidden it,” replied Phebe, faintly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you go?” said Malina, once more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare not disobey her!” Phebe spoke with difficulty, -and clasping both hands over her face, moaned -as if in pain, for the struggle within her heart was -terrible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Phebe became sufficiently composed to look -up, her sister was gone. She was glad to be alone, -and creeping toward the bed, knelt down and prayed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had snatched a bonnet and shawl from the -bed while her sister’s face was concealed, and gliding -down stairs into the open air, she mounted the -horse and rode away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was sunset as the poor girl came slowly over the -old bridge, and rode by our house. I was playing in -the front yard, and ran out to meet her—but all at -once she drew the bridle tight, and the spirited horse -sprung forward on the way before my childish voice -could be heard. The gloom of coming night lay -heavily amid the pine boughs, as the young girl rode -under them, and when she dashed up the road, and -disappeared over Fall’s Hill, both horse and rider -were for one moment displayed in bold relief against -a pile of crimson and golden clouds which lay heaped -in the horizon. When she disappeared, it seemed, -to my infant fancy, as if the gates of heaven had unfolded -to receive her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night came on clear, and lighted both by moon -and stars, the solitary traveler still kept the road, -accompanied only by her spirited animal, and the -shadow which seemed gliding along the dewy green-sward -by her side, like a silent guardian. It was -late in the evening when the horse checked himself -at the fence before a red farm-house, with a sloping -roof, and two large trees embowering it with foliage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It seemed like supernatural instinct in the animal, -for he had only been there once before, and Malina, -in the tumult of her thoughts, scarcely knew where -she wished to stop. There was a light twinkling -through the thick leaves of a tree bough that dropped -over one of the front windows, but it was very faint, -and seemed forcing itself through the folds of a window -curtain. Malina grasped the horn of her saddle, -and dropping feebly down to the green-sward, moved -toward the house. There was a foot-path which led -to the front door—she followed this, and found herself -in a dark entry, with a narrow stream of light -falling through the entrance to an inner room. The -sound of a faint, wandering voice, and of smothered -sobs, stole from the room. Malina breathed heavily -as she touched the door, and glided into the room. -It was indeed the chamber of death. A solitary -candle burned on the table, amid glasses and vials, -sending forth just sufficient light to reveal an old -fashioned tent bed, with its white drapery sweeping -to the floor, and its heavy fringes hanging motionless, -as if they had been cut from marble. At the -foot of this bed knelt an old man; his hands were -clasped beneath his face, and the long gray hair -swept thickly over them, as he prayed. A female -stood between Malina and the bed; she was bending -over the pillows which were heaped high upon -it, and though the poor girl could not see her face, -she <span class='it'>felt</span> that it was <span class='it'>his</span> mother. She moved, and the -sound of her footstep on the sanded floor made the -old lady lift her head, and Malina saw his face once -more. Oh, how white and changed it was! The -damp, black hair fell heavily over his forehead, -shadows lay about the closed eyelids, and there was -an expression about the mouth, which was not a -smile, and yet seemed deathly and sweet. His head -was raised high with pillows, and though he seemed -to sleep, the breath came painfully from his lips, and -with a struggle that constantly disturbed the linen -which lay in waves across his breast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina stood upright in the dim light, motionless -as a thing of marble, her eyes fixed on the dying -man, and unconscious, in the force of her grief, that -to all in the room, save him who saw her not, she -was a stranger, and had intruded into the sanctuary -of private grief.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It mattered not; Malina’s step had been mistaken -for that of a woman from the kitchen, and no one -knew that the wretched young creature was there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a motion of the bed clothes, a faint -murmur, and the dying man opened his eyes—those -large, eloquent eyes that Malina had thought upon -so often, and so thrillingly. There was a mist upon -them now, but through it broke a soft and strange -light, heavenly and beautiful. The old lady bent her -ear, and listened to the faint murmur, which seemed -dying on his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father—when will he come back?—it is -late!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sound was very faint, but the old man had -heard it amid the strong agony of his prayer. He -arose, and moving round the bed, bent over his son. -A light, almost preternatural, came to the eyes of -that dying man, and with a sudden effort he found -voice to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father,” he said, “thank God—you have returned -in time. Where is she?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My son,” said the old man, in a voice which he -vainly strove to render calm, “in a little time she -will meet you in heaven—but she is not here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The invalid had turned his head upon the pillow, -with a look of touching eagerness; but it fell back—his -eyes closed faintly, and after gasping once or -twice, he lay motionless, save the lips, which gave -forth broken but beautiful fragments of speech, such -as came uppermost in his pure, but wandering mind, -for he was delirious now. The last vibrations of his -soul were disturbed by disappointment in his sole -earthly wish. In the broken murmurs that fell from -his lips, Malina heard her own name, and it unlocked -the ice which seemed closing round her -heart. With a sob that broke to her lips amid a -gush of tears, she sprung toward the bed, and falling -upon her knees, clasped the pale hand which fell -over the bed, and pressed her quivering lips repeatedly -upon it, while her voice mingled with the choking -grief that shook her whole frame.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me! oh, let me stay!” she said, lifting -her face to the old woman, but still nervously grasping -the dying man’s hand; “I loved him better than -she did—better than anybody could—better than my -own soul! Let me stay, and die with him! No one -asked <span class='it'>me</span> to come, but I am here. You will not send -me away?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The voice of Malina Gray was soft and low, like -that of her sister; and though broken with grief, it -is probable that the dying man was bewildered by -the sound. He started from the pillow—a glorious -lustre broke through the mist which whelmed his -eyes, and as Malina sprang to her feet, his face fell -upon her shoulder, and his cold cheek lay against -hers. It was very strange—Malina knew that he -was dying, but a flash of wild joy thrilled through -her heart, and for the first time since she had heard -of his illness, a faint color broke into the cheek -which pressed his. She laid him gently upon the -pillow, and parting the damp hair from his forehead, -pressed her lips tremblingly upon it, while her sobs -filled the chamber. When the dying man felt the -touch of her quivering mouth, a smile stole over his -face—again the misty eyes were unclosed, and feebly -lifting his arm, he wound it over her neck and drew -her to his bosom, while the unformed words he would -have spoken were lost amid the dying music of his -soul. A moment, and his arm fell softly from Malina’s -neck. The young creature lifted her face -from his bosom, and looking at his mother, murmured—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He loved <span class='it'>her</span> living—but is he not mine in death?—mine, -for ever and ever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She turned to lay her face near his heart once -more, but there was no color in her lips then. She -started, and, with a cold shudder, bent her cheek -slowly to his bosom—it pressed heavily, and more -heavily, on the cold clay—her limbs relaxed, and -she sunk across the bed, senseless as the beautiful -corpse which cumbered it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gloom of death had shadowed that farm-house -two days, and now it was desolate. The kind neighbors -who had walked in and out, ministering to grief, -no longer broke the solemn hush which pervaded the -dwelling. The departed was indeed the departed—for -they had borne him over his father’s threshold, -and laid him down to sleep in the dark earth. Malina -followed him to the grave. She was a stranger, -but no one asked why she stood among the mourners, -and without their sable vestments. When the aged -mother bent over the coffin, and looked upon the -dead, the young girl drew to her side, and fixed her -eyes upon the cold still face which had never met her -glance coldly before. The mother wept, but Malina -could not shed a tear, although the solemn and hushed -grief upon her face awed even village curiosity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now they were alone—the parents, and that -poor girl. She was upon her knees—her head was -bent, and its redundant hair veiled her face, while -the broken hearted young creature begged a blessing -from <span class='it'>his mother</span> before she went away. The sorrowing -woman laid her hands upon the bright tresses -which flowed over her lap for a moment, then lifting -the suppliant to her bosom, wept over her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Mosier, when he heard the sobs of his wife, -arose, and clasping his hands over Malina’s head, -silently besought a blessing on her. She drew back, -and he saw that her face was still calm; so taking -her hands in his, he began to persuade and reason -with her. She listened, and gazed earnestly in his -face as he spoke. At last, tears started to her eyes, -and when the old man saw this, big drops began to -stream down his own cheek, and the clasp of his -hand grew tremulous, as he led her from the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the old man placed Malina in her saddle, he -glanced in her face, and a misgiving came to his -heart. He questioned himself if it was safe to trust -her to the road without protection; but when he proposed -accompanying her part of the way, at least, -she pleaded against it with startling eagerness, and, -thinking of his afflicted wife, he allowed her to depart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had a secret wish at her heart, which -caused it to pant for solitude. Her road lay close by -the grave-yard where our young minister was buried, -and she yearned to stand once more by his death -place, and alone. When she reached the sacred -place, she looked to the right and left, timidly, as if -her errand had been a wrong one. Her nerves were -strung to their utmost tension, and she was morbidly -fearful of being seen—every thing was solitary and -quiet; the long grass bending to the breeze, as it -sighed over the graves, and the soft rustling sound -which whispered amid the leaves of a clump of -weeping willows, that curtained an entire household -that had gone down to sleep together, were all the -sounds that fell upon her ear. She tied the horse to -the fence, and passing forward to <span class='it'>his</span> grave, sat upon -a pile of sods that had been left by the sexton. She -neither wept nor moved—but there she remained in -the bright sunshine, gazing hour after hour on a tuft -of tiny white blossoms, which sprung up from a sod -which they had placed just over his heart. Now -and then, she twined her hands together as they reposed -in her lap—and as the sunshine went suddenly -away, and heavy black clouds rolled over the sky, -with the lightning playing amid their ragged folds, -she smiled, and drew closer to the grave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last, a roar of thunder burst from the clouds, -big drops of rain came down upon the graves, and -bent the willows more droopingly to the earth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina lifted her eyes upward with a wild and -startled look, then turning them on the willows -which sheltered that single family, and on the congregation -of graves which lay around her, all covered -with long grass, she rested them on the mound at -her feet, murmuring—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have all a covering from the cold rain, but thee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she spoke, Malina took off her shawl, and -spreading it over the newly made grave, cast herself -upon it, and for the first time since she felt his -heart stop beating beneath hers, moaned and sobbed -as if her very life were going from her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few moments the garments of our poor mourner -were saturated with rain—still she clung closer to the -grave, murmuring words of wild endearment to the -unconscious inmate, and congratulating herself, with -strange earnestness, that she was still able to shield -his bosom from the storm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last, the clouds rolled away, and though the sun -was just going down, his last fires kindled a rainbow -amid the water drops that yet filled the air. Malina -lifted her head, and gazed upward—a smile parted -her lips when she saw the rainbow, and pressing her -cheek upon the grave again, she whispered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The angels have built thee a bridge, love!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun went down, and Malina arose from the -grave, shivering from head to foot. She gazed -around, and was turning her eyes with a wistful -look on her late resting place, as if she meditated -casting herself down again, when a low neigh from -the horse which still remained by the fence, aroused -her, and leaving the shawl behind, she hurried toward -the patient animal, and mounting him, rode away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina must have wandered from the usual road, -in the strange abstraction of her mind, for it was -midnight when she came opposite the old meeting-house. -Prompted, doubtless, by some vague fear of -returning home, or perhaps allured to pause by the -open gate, the weary and half bewildered girl -turned her horse, and riding close to the front door -of the parsonage house, dismounted, and allowed -him to wander amid the flower beds and rose bushes -which filled the yard. Thrusting her hand beneath -the door sill, she took out a key, and fitted it to the -lock, but with difficulty, for her hands trembled; and -though hot flushes every moment darted through her -frame, she was shivering with cold. She went up -stairs, holding feebly by the balusters, and guided -by the moonlight, which fell from a window overhead, -she entered a room—that which she had -decorated as the bridal chamber of her sister Phebe, -and of the departed. A clear moonlight came -through the windows, and lay like flags of silver -amid the black shadows which filled the apartment. -Every thing was still and motionless; not a breath -stirred the bridal ribands with which the muslin curtains -were looped back. The bed lay with the -moonlight sleeping amid its pillows, like a snow -drift, when the air is calm; and the atmosphere was -impregnated by the dead flowers which had been -profusely lavished on the toilet, and now hung crisp -and withered in their vases. Malina was very ill, -and a fever burned through her veins—her limbs -were almost powerless, and her forehead seemed -girdled with iron. Still was she sensible of surrounding -things, and her heart swelled with the -recollections which thronged on her aching brain. -She unfastened her damp dress, and with difficulty -crept into bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor, poor Phebe,” she murmured, gathering -the white counterpane over her shivering form, -“how little she thinks I am here—how she would -pity me, so ill, and all alone. Alas, how sad a thing -this trouble is—I have not thought of Phebe these -many long days—I wonder if she is ill as I am—if -her head is so hot, and her limbs chilled, till they -shake so. This is a cold bed—very, very cold—but -his is colder still. Oh, my God! <span class='it'>he is dead</span>—and I -have seen his grave. I—but it was not me—no—he -loved my sister. But I had his dying kiss! It was -the last throb of his heart that beat against mine, and -chilled me so. That was it—that was it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With such fragments of speech, and moans of -pain, Malina verged into the delirium of a raging -fever. At times she would weep, and call for her -sister, in tones of yearning tenderness—then notes -of music would break from her lips, and ring -through every corner of the solitary house, as if a -prisoned angel were pleading for release there. -When the fever came on, fierce and strong, she -began to ask for water—to weep, and wring her -hands, while she entreated some visionary being to -leave her in the grave-yard where <span class='it'>he</span> was; where -showers were continually falling and weaving rainbows -around those who thirsted for rest or drink; -and so her voice of suffering rose and swelled -through the lone building all night. When the day -dawned, she was still awake and delirious; tears -stood on her crimson cheeks, and entreaties for -water still rose to her parched lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It came at last—she knew not how it was, but a -pale, sweet face bent over her, a soft voice was -speaking comfort, and a glass of water cooler and -more refreshing than she had ever tasted before was -held to her lips. She was just conscious enough to -think that it was Phebe who ministered to her wants, -or some good seraph that looked as sweetly sad and -kind. Then she sunk to sleep, and it was many weeks -before she awoke from the dream that followed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was Phebe Gray who stood by the sick bed of -the sufferer. A villager had seen Mrs. Gray’s horse -that morning, bridled and with his saddle on, trampling -among the flower beds and feasting upon the -choice rose bushes which grew in the parsonage -yard—he went in to secure the animal and was terrified -by the voice of suffering which issued from the -house. He went up stairs, saw the delirious young -creature who occupied the bridal chamber, and -hastened to inform Mrs. Gray—but Phebe had struggled -with her own sufferings and stood over Malina’s -sick bed many hours before the mother had arranged -her dress and prepared herself to pass through the -village with that degree of propriety which she -considered due to her character.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina lay many weeks before the fever left her; -then a cough set in and a hectic spot settled and -burned into her thin cheeks. The poor girl smiled -a sad quiet smile, when she heard them say each evening, -that a little over exertion had excited her, that -she had taken a slight cold which in the turn of her -disease was felt more than usual. Still the cough -deepened, the crimson spot burned on, and she knew -that the life which kindled would soon be exhausted. -And so it was, that autumn when the woods were all -flushed with those dyes which an early frost brings -to the foliage, when the nuts were ripe and the brown -leaves fell in showers over the crisp moss, Malina -Gray was extended beneath the snowy drapery which -her own hands had gathered above the bridal bed. -White ribands were still knotted amid the folds which -seemed brooding over her like a cloud, and a few -crimson fall flowers lay scattered upon the pillow, -some of them so close to the marble cheek that a -faint tinge was coldly reflected there. For two -whole nights Phebe watched the beautiful clay reposing -in the dim light upon her own bridal bed, but -scarcely more changed than her own sweet self. -Malina was the happiest, her heart had broken amid -the struggle of its suffering, but that of the watcher -lay crushed and withering in her young bosom. She -felt that life was yet strong within her; but hope, -love, every thing that makes life pleasant to a woman, -had departed. She was still good, still pure almost as -an angel, but the sad smile which settled on her lips -never deepened to a laugh again, and no human being -ever saw a tear in her changeless and sorrowful eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They laid Malina Gray down to sleep beside old -minister Brown—in the very spot she had yearned -to repose in. A large circle of neighbors gathered -around the grave, some in tears, and all very sorrowful. -Mrs. Gray stood by the coffin; her mourning -was arranged with great care, and a veil of new -crape, deeply hemmed, fell decorously over her -face, and the white handkerchief, with which she -concealed those maternal tears proper for a mother, -whose duty it was to be resigned under any dispensation. -But Phebe stood silent and motionless; no -handkerchief was lifted to her eyes, and the face -which gleamed beneath the crape veil, was profoundly -calm, almost as that of the corpse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had a new minister, on trial, of Mrs. Gray’s -choosing, who performed the funeral service, and -when all was over, returned home with the mourners; -when they knelt in the little parlor that night, -he prayed earnestly, and with genuine tears, for the -bereaved mother; he besought the Lord to visit, -with consolation, one who was a mother in Israel, a -bright and shining ornament in the Christian church; -a woman who had brought up her children in the -fear and admonition of the Lord; whose path was -growing brighter and brighter to the perfect day -when she would reap a rich reward in heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amid a few natural sobs which awoke in the -widow’s heart, she murmured, “Amen,” satisfied -that her life had been one of perfect rectitude, and -that in all things she had been a pattern mother, and -an ornament to the church, which ought to be her -consolation under any bereavement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new minister was a very conscientious man, -but practical in all his ideas; he was honest in the -high opinion which he entertained of Mrs. Gray, and -not sufficiently sensitive to shrink from offering his -hand to Phebe, when that lady delicately gave him -to understand that the step would be satisfactory to -herself. The old parsonage house was still empty, -and Phebe’s inheritance. He was an installed pastor, -and Miss Gray’s engagement to his predecessor -never entered his mind as an objection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe betrayed no emotion when the proposal was -made. She simply declined it, without giving a -reason; and when he married another person, and -would have rented the parsonage, she said with -decision—“It must remain as my sister left it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And when Mrs. Gray would have remonstrated, -she answered, still with firmness—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am of age, mother, but still will obey you in -all things else. Act as you like regarding the other -property—but no stranger shall ever live in the parsonage. -Poor Malina furnished it for <span class='it'>him</span>, and for -me. She died there, and so will I!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<p class='pindent'>It may be so, for the old house is still uninhabited. -Every thing remains as Malina left it; the bridal -chamber, the easy chair, and the flute upon the -table; time has made little change in those silent -apartments, for every week Phebe, who has become -a calm and sorrowful old maid, goes up to the house -alone, and remains there for many hours; sometimes -seated at the study table, and gazing at a -grave which may be seen through the trees. Once, -a child gathering valley lilies, beneath the window, -saw her standing at the open sash, with her sad eyes -turned toward the grave-yard. She was talking to -herself—the child dropped his flowers and listened, -for there was something so mournful in her voice, -that his little heart thrilled to the sound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They tell me that he wearied himself, and died -of fever,” she said; “and that thou, my sister, perished -naturally, and as we all must. Alas, if I could -but think so. Why not have told me how he was -beloved before it was too late? I would have given -him up—and while you were happy, this heart had -not become so palsied and feelingless. Alas, it was -well that thy heart <span class='it'>could</span> break, my poor, poor -Malina!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='noo'></a>NOON.<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee</p> -<p class='line0'>And worshiped, while the husbandman withdrew</p> -<p class='line0'>From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man</p> -<p class='line0'>Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or rested in the shadow of the palm.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  I, too, amid the overflow of day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Behold the power which wields and cherishes</p> -<p class='line0'>The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock</p> -<p class='line0'>That overlooks the Hudson’s western marge,</p> -<p class='line0'>I gaze upon the long array of groves,</p> -<p class='line0'>The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in</p> -<p class='line0'>The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;</p> -<p class='line0'>Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays</p> -<p class='line0'>Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,</p> -<p class='line0'>The swelling river into his green gulfs,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unshadowed save by passing sails above,</p> -<p class='line0'>Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys</p> -<p class='line0'>The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>That would not open in the early light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool,</p> -<p class='line0'>That darkly quivered all the morning long</p> -<p class='line0'>In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again,</p> -<p class='line0'>The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within</p> -<p class='line0'>Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within</p> -<p class='line0'>His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.</p> -<p class='line0'>Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws,</p> -<p class='line0'>No more sits listening by his den, but steals</p> -<p class='line0'>Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,</p> -<p class='line0'>And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while</p> -<p class='line0'>A ceaseless murmur from the populous town</p> -<p class='line0'>Swells o’er these solitudes; a mingled sound</p> -<p class='line0'>Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang,</p> -<p class='line0'>And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,</p> -<p class='line0'>And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.</p> -<p class='line0'>Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings</p> -<p class='line0'>No pause to toil and care; with early day</p> -<p class='line0'>Began the tumult, and shall only cease</p> -<p class='line0'>When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds</p> -<p class='line0'>Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain</p> -<p class='line0'>And luxury possess the hearts of men,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus is it with the noon of human life.</p> -<p class='line0'>We in our fervid manhood, in our strength</p> -<p class='line0'>Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care,</p> -<p class='line0'>Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh</p> -<p class='line0'>Our spirits with the calm and beautiful</p> -<p class='line0'>Of God’s harmonious universe, that won</p> -<p class='line0'>Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire</p> -<p class='line0'>Why we are here, and what the reverence</p> -<p class='line0'>Man owes to man, and what the mystery</p> -<p class='line0'>That links us to the greater world, beside</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose borders we but hover for a space.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_5'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f5'><a href='#r5'>[5]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>From an unpublished Poem.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tru'></a>TRUTH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“This above all!—to thine own self be true!</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And it must follow, as the night the day,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Thou canst not then be false to any man.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother! mother!” exclaimed a sweet, eager -voice, and the speaker, a child of thirteen years, -burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at work, -“don’t you think there is to be a prize given on -exhibition day for the best composition! And I mean -to try for it—sha’nt I?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was a little, harum-scarum looking imp! I -suppose she had run all the way home from school, -for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead of -her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was -streaming in such disorder about her glowing face, -that you could not tell if she were pretty or not; but -you could see a pair of brilliant, gray or blue or black -eyes—they certainly changed their color with every -new emotion; but I think they were really gray—full -of laughter, and love beaming through the truant -tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh, -warm soul. This change in the child’s eyes is no -freak of a foolish fancy; for every one noticed it; -and her school-crony, Kate Sumner, used to declare, -that when Harriet was angry they were black; gray -when she was thoughtful; violet when sad; and -when happy and loving, they changed to the tenderest -blue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and -smoothed back the rebellious curls, at the same time -exclaiming, with a long drawn sigh, “My <span class='it'>dear</span> -Harriet! how you <span class='it'>do</span> look!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, mother! it’s not the least matter how <span class='it'>I</span> look! -If I were only a beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, -I would keep my hair as smooth as—as <span class='it'>any</span> thing; -but I wouldn’t rub my cheeks though, as she does -always, just before she goes into a room where -there’s company—would <span class='it'>you</span>, mother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mother gazed at her child’s expressive face, -as she spoke, with its irregular, yet lovely features, -the strange, bright eyes, the changing cheek, the full -and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, -“Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not -change your simple, innocent, childlike unconsciousness, -for all Angelina’s beauty, spoiled as it is by -vanity and affectation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, -for I want to write it now, this minute!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Harriet,” said Mrs. Carlton quietly, “go and -brush your hair, change your shoes, and mend that -rent in your dress as neatly as you can.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harriet half pouted; but she met her mother’s -tranquil eye; the pout changed to a good-humored -smile, and kissing her affectionately, she bounded -off to do her bidding.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While she is gone, you would like—would you not, -dear reader?—to ask a few questions about her. I -can guess what they are, and will answer them, to -the best of my knowledge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, -and a handsome house in Tremont street, Boston. -She has been a star in fashionable life, but since -the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, -she has retired from the gay world, and devoted -herself to her child—a wild, frank, happy, generous -and impetuous creature, with half a dozen glaring -faults, and one rare virtue which nobly redeemed -them all. That virtue, patient reader, you must find -out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a glimpse -of it in</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>AUNT ELOISE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harriet was busy with her composition, when her -aunt, who was on a visit to Mrs. Carlton, entered -the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak minded and weak -hearted lady of a very uncertain age—unhappily -gifted with more sensibility than sense. She really -had a deal of feeling—for herself—and an almost inexhaustible -shower of tears, varied occasionally by -hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing -exigency in the fate of her friends demanded self-possession, -energy, or immediate assistance. If, too, -there happened, as there will sometimes, in all households, -to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion -by any member of the family, such as sewing, watching -with an invalid, shopping with a country cousin, -poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most unfortunately -seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain -in the side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness, or -some trouble of the kind, which quite precluded the -propriety of asking her aid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified -the family with a wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell -had interrupted, and every evening she grew -sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight -hour awakened. It was then that innumerable -shades of former admirers arose. Some doubted if -they had ever been <span class='it'>more</span> than shades; but Aunt -Eloise certainly knew best about that, and who had a -right to deny, that Mr. Smith had knelt to her for -pity; that Colonel Green had vowed eternal adoration; -and that Lawyer Lynx had laid his heart, his -hand, and his fees, which were not quite a fortune, -at her feet?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise had been—at least she hinted so—a -beauty and a blue, in her day; and, to maintain both -characters, she rouged, wore false ringlets, and scribbled -love-verses, which she had a bad habit of leaving, -by accident, between the leaves of books in -every frequented room of the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond -of her niece, during her early childhood, and imagined -that she displayed a graceful enthusiasm in exclaiming, -every now and then, in her presence, and -in that of others, “Oh! you angel child! I do think -she is the sweetest creature! Come here and kiss -me, you beauty!” &c. &c. But no one ever saw -Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to its -little wants, or doing any thing for its benefit. The -only tangible proof of her affection for her niece, -was in the shape of bonbons and candy, which she -was in the habit of bringing home from her frequent -walks in Tremont street. Harriet regularly handed -these forbidden luxuries to her mother, and Mrs. -Carlton as regularly threw them in the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t it a pity to waste such nice things, mother? -Why not give them to some poor child in the street?” -asked the little girl one day, as she watched, with -longing eyes, a paper full of the tempting poison, -which her mother was quietly emptying into the -grate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her -child—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That would be <span class='it'>worse</span> than wasted, dear. It -would be cruel to give to another what I refuse to -you on account of its unwholesomeness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Harriet had now been for a long time out of -the spinster’s books—as the saying is—and this misfortune -occurred as follows—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning, when she was about six years old, -the child came into her mother’s room from her -aunt’s, where she had been alternately pelted, scolded, -and teased, till she was weary, and, seating herself -in a corner, remained for some time absorbed in -thought. She had been reading to her mother that -morning, and one sentence, of which she had asked -an explanation, had made a deep impression upon -her. It was this—“God sends us trials and troubles -to strengthen and purify our hearts.” She now sat -in her corner, without speaking or stirring, until her -mother’s voice startled her from her reverie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of what are you now thinking, Harriet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen -and purify my heart?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean, my child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, the book says he sends trials for that, and -she is the greatest trial <span class='it'>I</span> have, you know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The indignant maiden was just entering the room -as this dialogue began, and hearing her own name, -she had stopped, unseen, to listen. Speechless with -rage, she returned to her chamber, and was never -heard to call Harriet an angel child again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s -follies than they deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s -all-important composition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, -took it into her head sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; -and officious too, particularly where she -thought her literary talents could come into play. -She walked up to Harriet and looked over her -shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, -Harriet, I am glad to see you taking to literary pursuits. -Come, child! give me the pen and I will improve -that sentence for you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I -would like you to help me, if it were not to be -shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know, -to pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for -a prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a prize! So much the more reason that you -should be assisted. There, dear, run away to your -play and I will write it all for you. You’ll be sure -to win the prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had -grown larger and darker, and at the close, she turned -them, full of astonishment, from her aunt’s face to -her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of the -latter, she replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you -know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, -“It is a very common thing, I assure you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” -said Mrs. Carlton; “pray let Harriet have her own -way about it. It would be far better to lose the prize, -than to gain it thus dishonestly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have -<span class='it'>her</span> own way; but she said no more then, and Harriet -pursued her employment without further interruption.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>THE PRIZE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had -finished her story several days before, and read it to -her mother. It was a simple, graceful, childlike -effusion, with less of pretension and ornament, and -more of spirit and originality than the compositions -of most children of the same age contain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt -Eloise had criticised it without mercy. At the same -time she was observed to smile frequently with a -cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself—an -expression which she always wore when -she had a secret, and secrets she had, in abundance—a -new one almost every day—trivial, petty secrets, -which no one cared about but herself; but which -<span class='it'>she</span> guarded as jealously as if they had been apples -of gold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exhibition day had arrived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, -glancing for a moment into the breakfast-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful -dress, made for the occasion. She held the story in -her hand, neatly enclosed in an envelope, and her -eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of childhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be surprised, Harriet,” said her aunt, “at -any thing that may happen to-day. Only be thankful -if the prize is yours, that’s all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If Kate Sumner don’t win it, I do <span class='it'>hope</span> I shall!” -replied the eager child, and away she tripped to -school.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At twelve o’clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took -their seats among the audience, in the exhibition -room. The usual exercises were completed, and it -only remained for the compositions to be read aloud -by the teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. -Mr. Wentworth, the teacher, looked first surprised, -then amused, then vexed as he read, while a gaily -and fashionably dressed lady, who occupied a conspicuous -place in the assembly, was observed to -toss her head and fan herself with a very complacent -air, while she met, with a nod, the conscious eyes -of a fair and beautiful, but haughty looking girl of -fifteen seated among the pupils.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Angelina Burton,” said the teacher, as he -concluded, and laying it aside without further comment, -he took up the next—“Lines to a Favorite -Tree,” by Catherine Sumner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was short and simple, and ran as follows—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>Thy leaves’ lightest murmur,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! beautiful tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>Each bend of thy branches,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The stately, the free,</p> -<p class='line0'>Each wild, wavy whisper,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is music to me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I gaze thro’ thy labyrinth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Golden and green,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the light loves to linger,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In glory serene,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far up, till yon heaven-blue</p> -<p class='line0'>  Trembles between.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I shut out the city,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its sight and its sound,</p> -<p class='line0'>And away, far away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For the forest I’m bound,</p> -<p class='line0'>For the noble old forest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which ages have crowned!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I lean on its moss banks,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I stoop o’er its rills,</p> -<p class='line0'>I see, thro’ its vistas,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The vapor-wreathed hills,</p> -<p class='line0'>And my soul with a gush</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of wild happiness fills!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I pine for the freshness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The freedom, the health,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which Nature can give me—</p> -<p class='line0'>  My soul’s dearest wealth</p> -<p class='line0'>Is wasted in cities;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where only, by stealth,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The mountain-born breezes</p> -<p class='line0'>  Can fitfully play,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where we steal but a glimpse</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of this glorious day,</p> -<p class='line0'>And but by the calendar,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Learn it is May.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But away with repining,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’ll study, from thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>A lesson of patience,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! noble, old tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid dark walls imprisoned,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou droop’st not like me;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But strivest forever,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Still up, strong and brave,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Till in Heaven’s pure sunshine,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy free branches wave!</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! thus may <span class='it'>I</span> meet it,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No longer a slave!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The next was a story, and Harriet Carlton’s eyes -and cheeks changed color as she listened. It was -the same, yet not the same! The incidents were -hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a -flowery and highly wrought sentence had been -introduced, which she had never heard before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and -dismay, and though several other inferior compositions -were read, she was so absorbed in reverie, that -she heard no more until she was startled by Mr. -Wentworth’s voice calling her by name. She looked -up. In his hand was the prize—a richly chased, -golden pencil-case, suspended to a chain of the same -material. The sound, the sight recalled her bewildered -faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she -had formed a resolution, which, however, it required -all her native strength of soul to put in practice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!” and the teacher -leaned forward to throw the chain around her neck. -The child drew back—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir,” she said in a low, but firm and distinct -voice, looking up bravely in his face, “I did not -write the story you have read.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not write it!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, “Why, -then, does it bear your name? Am I to understand, -Miss Carlton, that you have asked another’s assistance -in your composition, and that you now repent -the deception?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes -first flashed, and then filled with tears; her lip trembled -with emotion, and she paused a moment, as if -disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused -her, and she answered, respectfully but firmly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. -Some one has changed it without my knowledge. -It was not so good as that you have read; so -I must not take the prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a murmur of applause through the -assembly, and the teacher bent upon the blushing -girl a look of approval, which amply repaid her for -all the embarrassment she had suffered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise took advantage of the momentary -excitement to steal unobserved from the room. Harriet -took her seat, and Miss Angelina Burton was -next called up. The portly matron leaned smilingly -forward; and the graceful, little beauty, already -affecting the airs of a fine lady, sauntered up to the -desk and languidly reached out her hand for the -prize.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot say much for your taste in selection, -Miss Burton. I do not admire your author’s sentiments. -The next time you wish to make an extract, -you must allow me to choose for you. There are -better things than this, even in the trashy magazine -from which you have copied it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with this severe, but justly merited reproof of -the imposition that had been practiced, he handed -the young lady, not the prize, which she expected, -but the MS. essay on Friendship, which she had -copied, word for word, from an old magazine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The portly lady turned very red, and the beauty, -bursting into tears of anger and mortification, -returned to her seat discomfited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Catherine Sumner,” resumed the teacher, -with a benign smile, to a plain, yet noble-looking -girl, who came forward as he spoke, “I believe -there can be no mistake about <span class='it'>your</span> little effusion. I -feel great pleasure in presenting you the reward, -due, not only to your mental cultivation, but to the -goodness of your heart. What! do <span class='it'>you</span>, too, hesitate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you be kind enough, sir,” said the generous -Kate, taking a paper from her pocket, “to read -Harriet’s story before you decide. I asked her for a -copy several days ago, and here it is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall read it to the audience yourself, my -dear; I am sure they will listen patiently to so kind -a pleader in her friend’s behalf.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The listeners looked pleased and eager to hear the -story; and Kate Sumner, with a modest self-possession, -which well became her, and with her fine eyes -lighting up as she read, did full justice to the pretty -and touching story, of which Harriet had been so -cruelly robbed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is well worth reading,” said Mr. Wentworth, -when she had finished; “your friend has won the -prize, my dear young lady; and, as she owes it to -your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of -bestowing it, yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kate’s face glowed with emotion as she hung the -chain around Harriet’s neck; and Harriet could not -restrain her tears, while she whispered,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will take it, <span class='it'>not</span> as a prize, but as a gift from -<span class='it'>you</span>, dear Kate!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now, Miss Sumner,” said Mr. Wentworth, -in conclusion, “let me beg your acceptance of these -volumes, as a token of your teacher’s respect and -esteem,” and presenting her a beautifully bound edition -of Milton’s works, he bowed his adieu to the retiring -audience.</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you lend me your prize-pencil this morning, -Harriet?” said Mrs. Carlton the next day. She was -dressed for a walk, and Harriet wondered why she -should want the pencil to take out with her; but she -immediately unclasped the chain from her neck, and -handed it to her mother without asking any questions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying -at the side of her plate, with the single word, -“Truth” engraved upon its seal.</p> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i069.jpg' alt='a young woman holds two young girls and a dog in her lap' id='iid-0002' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>E. T. Parris. Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch, & Smillie.</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>True Affection.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='aff'></a>TRUE AFFECTION.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Matron in thy golden prime,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Well the world may envy thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hast reached the happy time</p> -<p class='line0'>  When life holds her jubilee—</p> -<p class='line0'>Midway on her pilgrimage,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Looking backward and before,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where end infancy and age</p> -<p class='line0'>  On her being’s misty shore.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Turning to the past, thine eye</p> -<p class='line0'>  Dwells upon a way of flowers—</p> -<p class='line0'>Not a cloud upon the sky</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Neath which passed the happy hours.</p> -<p class='line0'>Clear the vision of the True!—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Standing on the verge of Time,</p> -<p class='line0'>See! Hope opens to your view</p> -<p class='line0'>  Glories of the better clime!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>So the past and present life—</p> -<p class='line0'>  What the tale the present tells?</p> -<p class='line0'>Childhood—maidenhood—a <span class='it'>wife</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thus the tide of being swells—</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Mother!</span> oh all else in this</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fade as stars before the sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou the highest point of bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yielded to the True hast won.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Love—communion—in these words</p> -<p class='line0'>  All the happiness we know;</p> -<p class='line0'>Without them the world affords</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nought to bind the heart below;</p> -<p class='line0'>“True Affection!” with unrest</p> -<p class='line0'>  We the boon demand of all;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly seeking, still unblest—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Strangers at life’s carnival.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Earnest, calm, unchanging love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With no doubt its light to shade—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, the happiness above</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is but this eternal made!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hast found it—in thine eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the eyes that look to thine,</p> -<p class='line0'>As the stars from summer skies</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sweetly do we see it shine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Exiles from a better sphere</p> -<p class='line0'>  Weary wanderers are we,</p> -<p class='line0'>Doomed ’mid clouds to linger here,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Source of bliss, unknowing thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>Save, when from the world apart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou upon our gloomy way</p> -<p class='line0'>Shinest from a kindred heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Turning darkness into day!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='per'></a>THE PERSECUTOR’S DAUGHTER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY CHARLES J. PETERSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The last days of November are at hand, and the -melancholy woods, shorn of their foliage, stand -skeleton-like against the cold, lowering sky; or toss -their branches to and fro, with a low moaning -sound, in the fitful tempest. Hark! how the gale -swells out with the deep voice of a cathedral organ, -or dies plaintively away like the cry of a lost child -in the forest. The sky is covered with cloud-rifts of -a deep, leaden color, only a spot of blue sky being -here and there visible; but occasionally the sun, -bursting, like a god, from the darkness that encircles -him, covers the brown hills with an effulgent -glory, while the opposite firmament is lit up with a -dull, fiery glow, that has something almost spectral -in its aspect. The streams are swollen and discolored, -and roll their turbid waters hoarsely onward. -Along the fields the brown grass whistles in -the wind, and the bare flower-stalks rattle, with a -melancholy tone, in the garden. Now and then, -drops of rain plash heavily to the ground. The -wind comes with a sudden chill to the nerves—the -bay is crisped into foam by the fitful gusts—and -along the bleak coast the now mountain waves roll -in with a hoarse, sullen roar, forewarning us of -shipwreck and death. Sad thoughts insensibly possess -the mind, and tales of sorrow, that had long -been forgot, come up to our memories. One such -is even now heavy on our heart—listen! and we -will rehearse it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was on just such a morning as this, many a long -year ago, and far away from our own happy land, -that a little congregation was gathered together in -the hills to worship God. The time was in those -sore and evil days when the decree of a tyrannical -king had gone forth, that no man should worship, -except as a corrupt hierarchy and lascivious court -might ordain—and when, all over Scotland, those -who would not give up the free birthright of their -fathers, were driven to meet in mountain glens, and -on lonely moors, whither their pastors—the holy -men who had baptized them in infancy, and united -them to the dear objects of their love—had already -been hunted. And often, in solitary places, where -hitherto only the cry of the eagle had been heard, -the Sabbath hymn rose sweetly up from tender -maidens and tearful wives, while their brothers and -husbands listened with weapons in their hands, or -watched from some neighboring eminence, lest the -fiery dragoons of Claverhouse should be in sight. -And when these God-defying troopers, with hands -red with the blood of the saints, burst into the little -flock, woful was the tale, and loud the wailing that -went through all the vales around. Every new Sabbath -brought its tale of slaughter, until the land -smoked with blood, and the incense thereof went -up from a hundred hills, crying for vengeance to the -Most High.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And such a congregation had now met in the hollow -of three hills, far away from the usual track of -the persecutors. A simple rock served the hoary -headed pastor for a pulpit; while hard by, a rivulet, -brawling over its pebbly bed, and then for a moment -expanding into a mimic lake, bottomed with silvery -sands, formed the holy font for baptism. Around -was gathered the little flock—aged sires and young -striplings, staid matrons and meek-eyed maidens, -young children and stalwart men—all gazing upward -into the pastor’s face, a sacred throng. But -there was one other there, who seemed equally with -him an object of anxious interest, and on whom -every eye was occasionally turned—a bright, beautiful -being, with far more of heaven than earth in -her deep, azure eyes. Oh! lovely was that fair-haired -girl, even as we may have dreamed a seraph -to be, all glorious with golden wings, under the -throne of God. And now there sat in those soft blue -eyes an expression of meek sorrow, tempered with -high and holy faith, for many and sore had been -the trials of Helen Græme; but grace had been -given her to endure them all, and even to rise above -them, with a courage which had made her dear unto -every heart among these wandering and persecuted -ones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The father of Helen was the last son of a family -which had been decaying for centuries, and which, -of all its once mighty possessions, retained only the -comparatively small estate of Craigburnie, in one of -the southern counties of Scotland. To rebuild the -fortunes of his house had been the darling wish of -her father. For this purpose he had entered the -army of the Covenanters, during the wars of the -great revolution, and served with some distinction, -though without permanent advantage, in consequence -of the return of the king. On the happening -of this event, Mr. Græme retired to his estate, -soured and disappointed. Here he would have been -far more discontented than he was, but for his wife, -a lady of the meekest piety, and whose single minded -charity was known throughout all her native hills, -for Mrs. Græme was the daughter of one of the -holiest ministers of the kirk, and inherited not only -his piety, but the fervent admiration with which he -was regarded by his parishioners. She early instilled -into her child the pure precepts of our holy religion, -and often might the little girl be seen seated at her -mother’s knee, lisping the word of God, which the -parent taught her thus early to peruse. And, on the -Sabbath, who listened more attentively to the venerable -pastor, or joined with sweeter voice in the -anthem of praise? Nurtured thus, what wonder -that at seventeen she seemed the counterpart of the -mother, and was regarded by the poorer folk around -the Brae—her mother’s birthplace, and where she -spent several months each year—almost with veneration, -for had not many of them, in times of sore -trial, been sustained by the bounty, and cheered by -the smiles of the heavenly girl?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But at length her mother fell sick, and for many a -weary month Helen watched by the sufferer’s bed-side, -a ministering angel. During this illness she -noticed that, at times, her father would seem lost in -thought, as if something weighed heavily on his mind; -but Helen regarded it little, attributing it to his suspense -at her mother’s danger, for he loved both her -and his child with an intensity seemingly in contradiction -to his hard, unbending character, but which, -in truth, was the result of his total seclusion from the -world; for the sympathies thus shut out from others -lavished themselves wholly on his wife and daughter. -At length, Mrs. Græme died, and for many days it -seemed as if that strong man’s heart would break, -while Helen wept in silence, though not less uncontrollably. -Her father was now sterner than ever, -though not to her. He was more alone, often indulged -in fits of musing, and was absent at Edinburgh -for some days—an unusual occurrence—and -when he came back it was as Sir Roland Græme, -a title which men said he had purchased by selling -himself to the Court. Helen heard these rumors—which, -however, came to her ears in whispers, and -which at first she could not believe—with sorrow and -despair of heart; but no word of reproof broke from -her lips. Her sufferings were endured silently; but -so deep was her grief, that she pined away, seeming -to all eyes a being lent awhile to earth, and gradually -exhaling to heaven. Her father, thinking her -sorrow sprung wholly from her mother’s death, and -wishing, perhaps, that she should be from home -when he should first act for the government, sent -her to her mother’s native vale, alleging, and doubtless -hoping, that change of air would restore her to -health. It were doing him no more than justice to -say, that his paternal love was fully aroused to -Helen’s danger, and that he took the only possible -means to keep at his side this dear bud of her who -was now in heaven. He forgot how much the little -family at the Brae leaned toward the persecuted -sect—he forgot the disaffected character of the district -into which Helen went—he forgot the danger -lest her own feelings should become enlisted in behalf -of those against whom he was so soon to draw -his sword; remembering only—for was he not a -father?—that his child’s health was in danger, and -that a residence in the mountain district where she -had been born, and where she had spent so many -happy years, was the sole chance of saving her -life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now Helen was once more amid the scenes -where her childhood had been spent, and every old -counsel and prayer of her mother, recalled to mind -by the spots where they had been first heard, rose -up before her, and softened her heart; and often, at -Sabbath eve, or in the still watches of the night, it -seemed to her as if the spirit of that sainted mother -hovered over her, whispering her heavenward, and -bidding her never to forget or forsake her God. All -the sympathies which now surrounded her, drew her -to the persecuted sect; for her cousin and aunt were -both among the non-conformists; and though the -little kirk, standing all alone in the hills, a cool well -in a parched desert, was now closed, and he who -had formerly ministered there an outcast, yet the -sight and recognition of him, at more than one stolen -meeting, recalled to Helen’s mind the time when he -blessed her, nestling bird-like to her mother’s bosom, -she looking the while half affrightedly, yet oh, how -reverentially, up into the face of the mild old man! -And was not her heart softened, even to tears, when -the patriarch, well remembering her—for none did -he ever forget—sought her among the crowd, and, -laying his hands on her head, blessed her, hoping -that God still kept her in the way her mother had -trod? From that hour Helen became a changed -being. The light heartedness of youth was gone. -She wept often, and prayed in solitary places by -herself; for lo! the struggle in her bosom, between -duty to her parent, and a higher duty to God, waxed -stronger and stronger; but daily she yearned more -and more to the oppressed remnant, until finally it -was whispered in the scattered congregation that the -persecutor’s daughter—that child of many prayers—was -to become a professed member of the flock. -And old men and nursing mothers in the church -blessed God as they heard it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On this Sabbath morning, Helen had, for the first -time, openly attended a meeting in the hills. At -first, she had come with fear and trembling, but -when she saw the looks of kindly sympathy with -which all regarded her, she became more composed, -and could enter on the holy duties of the day in a -fitting mood. And when the aged pastor gave out -the hymn, and the congregation joined in the sacred -anthem, what voice sang of redeeming love so -sweetly as that of Helen?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lo! the vision of light has passed from our souls, -and in place of that seraphic countenance, we behold -the face of a stern warrior, in every feature of -which we read of cruelty and blood. Even now he -is hot in pursuit of the suffering remnant, and with -his troop of fiery dragoons interrupts the Sabbath -quiet of the vales and glens, with the jingling of -broad swords and the ribald jests of scoffers; and -many a dark-browed peasant scowls on the persecutor -as he passes, and prays that God will yet avenge -his slaughtered saints. Nor, if the popular rumor is -to be believed, is that vengeance altogether withheld; -for men say that Sir Roland Græme, having -sold his religion for the paltry honors of earth, has -been already cursed from on high, and that, sleeping -or waking, he finds no rest from the stingings of -remorse; yet, like one who has committed the unpardonable -sin, he cannot draw back from his career -of blood, but is impelled onward, as if by some irresistible -power, to still darker crimes. Look upon -his face again, and tell us if there is not something -there which you shudder to behold—something of -untold horror in that stern, God-defying brow, as if -the arch-enemy had already been suffered to affix his -seal upon it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And whither was that man of blood going? Far, -far over hill and dale, to the slaughter of the saints. -He had heard, through some traitor, of the assemblage -to be held that morning in the hills, and with -the first dawn of day he and his troopers had been in -the saddle, thirsting to participate in the bloody sacrament. -For the last half hour he had seemed lost in -thought, and now he suddenly drew in his rein, and -turned to his lieutenant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lennox,” he said, “I believe I will not lead -these brave fellows to-day, but surrender the command -to you. I see, over yonder hill, the blue summit -that looks down on the Brae, where my daughter -is visiting. I have not seen her for months, nor is it -probable I shall be in this district for many months -more. The country here is widely disaffected, and -therefore an unbecoming residence for a child of -mine. It has just struck me that I might cross the -hills, and bring her home with me this afternoon. -And yet something whispers to me that I ought -rather to pursue these traitors and schismatics,” he -continued, as if to himself; “however, I can trust -to you, and it is imperative that my daughter leave -this district. We will meet here by four o’clock. -Your road lies down yonder glen. All I have to say -is, ‘spare none!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I understand,” said the subordinate; “neither -age nor sex.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Neither age nor sex, nor even those of rank, if -such there be,” sternly said Sir Roland; “when the -poison has sunk deep, nothing but the cautery will -cure. And hark ye! on the faithful execution of -your commands depends your hope of preferment. -I would not spare my own child, if I found her -among these spawn of Satan!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And, with these memorable words, he ordered a -detachment of his company to follow him, and rode -off, though at first reluctantly, in the direction of the -Brae.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The route was passed in silence, for Sir Roland -was buried in thought. There was indeed cause for -it. One or two things in the last letter he had received -from his daughter—and that missive had now -been written a month—made him feel uneasy, lest -she looked more favorably on the persecuted sect -than became a daughter of his; and it was this fear, -all at once recalled to mind by the business on -which he had set forth this morning, that determined -him so suddenly to leave the dispersion of the conventicle -to his lieutenant, while he should ride over -to the Brae, and bring his daughter home. Other -thoughts, too, were busy within him. The long -coveted rank had brought little alleviation to his -soured and disappointed mind, for his fortune was -now more than ever inadequate to his condition, -and all the peculiarly sensitive feelings of a proud -man were stung to the quick by the indignities to -which, in consequence, he was often exposed. -Moreover, he was aware of the light in which he -was held, since his change of politics, not only by -the common people, but by large portions of the -gentry; so that, on every hand, he was soured and -irritated, and longed to wreak on the Covenanters -the hate which he felt toward all men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And yet, as he approached the Brae, and saw at a -distance the low roof of the mansion from which he -had taken his bride, gentler feelings stole into his -bosom. He thought of her whom he had once loved -with all the fervor of a first passion—he remembered -the happy years they had spent together—and when -he recollected that she was now no more, and that -the last time he had beheld these roofs he had been in -her company, a tear almost gathered into his eye. -Then he thought of his daughter. As her image rose -up before him, his heart was fully melted. With all -the sternness of his character he loved that daughter -as few fathers loved—ay! loved her doubly since -her mother’s death, for she was now the only object -in the whole wide world on which he could bestow -aught of affection. And now, joy at the prospect of -meeting her gave to his spirits the glad exhilaration -of boyhood, and quickening his pace, he galloped -gaily across the hills, nor drew his rein until he -reached the door of the old mansion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Brae was an antique and partially dilapidated -residence, at present inhabited by the aunt of Helen, -and a daughter about the age of Miss Græme. At -all times it wore a sombre, deserted look, but on this -morning it seemed peculiarly desolate, for the whole -front of the house was closed, and all the outhouses -shut up. A strange fear came over the father, as he -beheld the absence of these signs of life, and he -hastily ordered one of the dragoons to dismount and -knock at the door. The man obeyed, but for a time -knocked in vain. The sound of the hilt of his heavy -sword, striking on the door, echoed through the long -hall of the house; but no signs of life within were -visible. The usual frown on the face of Sir Roland -grew darker, and he cried angrily—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blow off the lock with a pistol, and search the -house!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this instant, however, and just as the trooper -was proceeding to execute this order, the face of an -old woman was protruded from one of the upper -windows, while she demanded who was below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir Roland Græme,” replied the leader; “where -are the family? where is Miss Græme? Is any one -sick?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are all well, but out!” briefly said the -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out—out!” exclaimed the persecutor, “and on -Sunday, when there is no church within miles. By -G—,” he continued, striving to drown his fears in -rage, “is this a time to be out? Where have they -gone? Answer truly, on your life!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May it please your honor,” said one of the -dragoons, touching his cap, “may they not have -gone to this conventicle, and taken your daughter -with them?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quick as lightning, Sir Roland wheeled round on -the unthinking speaker, and while the indentation -on his brow became deeper than ever, and his -eye flashed with rage, he said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>My</span> daughter consorting with traitors and schismatics! -Breathe but the word again, and by the -God of heaven I will cleave you to the chine!” -and his fingers played nervously with the hilt of his -sword; but, seeing the deprecating look of the -trooper, he recovered himself, and added, “tush! -man, you are innocent, but take care how even innocently -you rouse the tiger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tiger,” shrieked the old woman, who had known -Sir Roland in former days, and who now seemed impelled -by some sudden gust of passion to speak out, -“it is well said; ay! one whose fangs have been in -the hearts of the persecuted remnant—but God will -avenge his people. Know, false persecutor, that -your daughter <span class='it'>has</span> gone forth to-day to become one -of the chosen few against whom, oh! man of sin, -you have so often ridden with steel and war horse, -holding the commission of your master, the Evil -One. Go to, Roland Græme, I mind ye when ye -were a boy, and little did I think ye would ever become -the Judas you are now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is probable that if her hearer had comprehended -the whole of this harangue, a bullet would have been -the speaker’s reward; but the first words of the old -woman, when taken in connection with the desertion -of the house, and his own misgivings from Helen’s -late letter, assured him that his daughter had indeed -attended the conventicle. The conviction fell on his -heart with agonizing force. Remembering the injunctions -of indiscriminate butchery he had laid on -his subordinate, and well knowing that the command -would be fulfilled to the very letter, he staggered -back in his saddle, with a face whiter than ashes, -and was fain to grasp the pommel for support, while -he exclaimed in tones wrung from him by the keenest -anguish—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My child!—my child!—I have murdered my -child!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is that ye say?” screamed the old hag, -leaning eagerly forward; “have ye sent out your -reiving dragoons against the Lord’s anointed? and -ye fear that they will slay your ain bairn. Oh! man -of blood, the judgment of God has come upon ye—the -judgment has come upon ye!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But to the voice of the speaker, as well as to the -astonished looks of the dragoons, the father was insensible. -He still remained clutching the saddle, -every feature of his face working with intense -agony, and his eyes glaring vacantly on the air. -Those who looked on him shrunk back aghast at -the horror of his aspect; which, fearful as it was, -only faintly shadowed forth the torture of the soul -within. The peril of his only child stupefied him for -a time. Then a succession of wild images rose up -to his mind. He saw his daughter flying before the -ruthless dragoons—he heard her cries for mercy, and -the bitter sneer of disbelief on the part of her pursuers—he -beheld her lying a corpse on the bare -heath, her bosom gashed with brutal wounds, and -her long fair hair dabbled with blood. In that moment -the memory of every one whom he had slain -came up before him—the mothers who had clung to -his knees, the babes who had looked innocently in -his face as they died, the daughters whose aged -parents he had slain before their eyes. He thought -of the silvery headed patriarch whom he had shot -for refusing the test, and the prophetic warning of -the victim that he, even he, the proud persecutor, -should curse the day he ever drew his sword against -the saints, came up to his memory. He groaned in -anguish. For a time none dared to intrude on his -misery. One of his men, a trusty body adherent, at -length ventured to speak, by asking him if they had -not better ride with all haste after Lennox, in the -hope that they might yet come up in time. Starting, -as if a shot had struck him, the father plunged his -rowels into the side of his steed, until the blood -gushed forth, and wheeling his horse sharp around, -looked back sternly on his followers, as he led the -way at a fearful pace up the hill. Well did he -know the country around, and necessary, indeed, -was that knowledge, for his frantic gallop required -the most intimate acquaintance with every turn and -inequality of the road. Over hill and dale, through -glen and moor he dashed, reckless of danger, for -how could he think of aught but his daughter? Oh! -what would he not have given to be assured that he -should once more look into her soft blue eyes, that -he should again press her to his bosom. What now -to him was rank or wealth? Perhaps he thought -that Helen would be able to reveal her name ere she -fell a victim—but no! for even if she spoke, would -his subordinate believe her story? Once, the very -suspicion that she favored the Covenanters had angered -him, but now he would forgive every thing, -only to be assured of her safety. The contending -emotions—hope and fear, love and anger, suspense -and despair—that agitated his bosom, made that -hour’s ride an hour of agony, such as he had never -before thought a human being could endure, and -live. He felt that the curse of God was on him—that -all the agonies he had inflicted on others were -now concentrated on himself—that he was bound to -the wheel of fire. His punishment had already begun. -He had rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty’s -buckler, and found, like him of old, that -man could not contend against the Most High.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We remember, when a boy, waking from a dream -of horror, to find our mother smiling over our sleep. -Oh! never shall we forget the heavenly radiance of -that loved face, for radiant with heaven it seemed to -us, after the terrors of that midnight vision. Even -so we feel when turning from contemplating the tortures -of the persecutor, to gaze on his sainted child. -The hour was now approaching noon, and Helen, in -the presence of the silent flock, had taken upon her -those vows she could never put off. Tears fell from -many an eye as the worshipers beheld her thus in -their midst; and the old pastor was so affected that -he could scarcely speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God will reward you, my daughter, and give you -strength,” he said; “I bless His holy name that thou -art delivered from the dominion of Baal. It is hard, -I know, to disobey a parent; but saith not the Scripture, -that we must leave father and mother, if required, -and take up our cross and follow Christ? -Only persevere, and God will make your way plain -to you, guiding you, even as he led the children of -Israel, with a pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by -night. Trials, and sore ones, we must all have in -this world—and I boast not, but only speak to cheer -you, when I say that mine have been many and hard, -but God has given me grace to endure all, even as -He will give it unto you. But my race is nearly run; -the golden urn will soon be broken at the fountain. -I only pray to die like the martyrs of old, with my -armor on, and my sword girt to my thigh. Come, -oh! Lord, most mighty,” he continued, raising his -hands and eyes rapturously above, “come, oh! Lord -most gracious, and come quickly!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A deep silence followed the conclusion of this -prayer, while the tears of many fell fast and thick. -Every eye was fixed on the holy man, or turned to -Helen, for the countenances of both already seemed -to glow, as those of angels. None dared to draw a -breath, lest they should dispel the hushed stillness -that so well accorded with the solemnity of the moment. -But suddenly a cry was heard, clear, loud -and startling—“The dragoons—the dragoons are -here!” and had a voice come from the dead, it -would not have produced a more sudden change in -the hearers. Every one started up, and all eyes -were turned toward the point whence the cry had -proceeded. There, on a gentle eminence, stood a -shepherd waving his plaid, and making gestures for -the congregation to fly up the glen. In an instant all -was confusion. Mothers clasped their infants to -their bosoms, and looked up tremblingly, with faces -whiter than ashes—maidens clung to their lovers, -and gazed around with dilated eyes and looks of -terror—and fathers and brothers, gathering around -these dear ones, hurried them on foot and horseback, -in the direction indicated by the sentinel. The escort -of Helen and her aunt had been several armed retainers, -and these now rallied to the side of their -mistress and the pastor, prepared to make good their -retreat, or defend themselves to the last. Hoping to -escape the notice of the pursuers, they dashed off in -a different direction from that pursued by the others -of the congregation; but just as they turned the angle -of the hill, the pennons of the troopers came into -sight, and by the immediate diversion of a party in -pursuit of them, the fugitives knew they were detected. -Pricking their horses, they now hurried -rapidly onward, and for several hundred yards lost -sight of their pursuers. At length, the little party -reached the brow of a slight acclivity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Faster—faster,” said one who had looked back, -“they gain on us—press on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every eye was turned in the direction of the pursuers, -and there, not half the distance they had been -before, were the dragoons, thundering along with -fiery haste. The sight gave new energy to the fugitives, -who urged on their steeds with redoubled vigor. -For a while now the result seemed doubtful. During -this interval of suspense the feelings of the fugitives -were of the most conflicting character—the instinctive -love of life alternating with a holy resignation -to whatever fate might be assigned them. Now, as -they gained on the troopers, the former prevailed, -and now, as they saw their pursuers drawing nigher, -the latter won the mastery. The emotions of each, -meanwhile, were different. The old pastor, with -eyes uplifted, seemed rapturously awaiting martyrdom—the -aunt and cousin of Helen were pale and red -by turns as their fear or faith rose triumphant, while -the serving men frowned darkly as they looked behind, -and appeared to wish for a chance to exchange -passes with their steel-clad oppressors. But the feelings -of Helen were most difficult to analyze, though -perhaps they had less of earth in them than those of -any except the pastor. Subdued by the day’s sacrifice -of herself, and all glowing with divine faith and -energy, what had she to fear from death? Yet, even -with this perfect resignation, she could not avoid -looking back on their pursuers, while her heart heat -quicker as the distance increased between the troopers -and themselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We gain—we gain—press on, we shall escape,” -shouted the leader of the little party, “the Lord will -yet deliver us from our enemies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, nay,” said the pastor suddenly, “the hour -has come—see ye not that we are cut off in front, lo! -the horses and the men-of-war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A cry—almost a shriek—broke from Helen’s two -female companions as they looked ahead, and saw, -emerging from a narrow ravine, another party of -dragoons, led by a tall, dark man far in advance of -the rest, and all riding with tumultuous haste. Helen -spoke not, but only raised her eyes to heaven, for -escape was now impossible. The ravine ahead was -the only feasible outlet in that direction, from the -glen up which the fugitives had fled, and to turn back -would be to fall on the swords of their pursuers. -The serving men looked aghast, and drew in their -reins, which example the rest of the party immediately -followed. For a minute there was a profound -silence. At length the leader again spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why stand we here? Escape is impossible, unless -we can cut our way through. Let us charge the -party behind, for that is the smaller. Form a circle -around the women—wheel—trot.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no time for consultation, and the proposal -seemed to point out the only feasible plan. -With the words they wheeled their horses, and dashed -to the desperate attack. The dragoons seemed -for an instant astonished by the movement, but did -not slacken their pace. Their leader waved his -sword, and turning to his men, led the onset in person, -shouting “God save the king and bishops,” -while the Covenanters, unsheathing their blades, -raised the cry of “The sword of the Lord and Gideon.” -And thus, borne in the midst of those armed -men as in the embrace of a whirlwind, Helen -was hurried toward the dragoons. And as they galloped -along, the heavenly girl, with heart uplifted, -prayed, while her countenance shone with a glory -as of the cherubim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And who was it that dashed so frantically up the -glen, as if fearful that he might not arrive to whet -his blade in the blood of the fugitives? Who, but -Sir Roland Græme, flying to save his daughter, and -even now almost maddened with the thought that he -had come too late, for the instant that he emerged -from the ravine he recognized his child, and now, -when he saw her turned back to the pursuers, and -his practiced eye told him that he could not reach her -until the two parties should be engaged in deadly -combat, the same sickening sensation of horror -which had attacked him at the Brae came over him -again. With a sharp cry of agony he ploughed his -spurs into the already bloody sides of his horse, and -sprang forward at a pace even more frantic than that -which he had before led; but swift as was his progress -it seemed to him only that of a snail. On—on—he -urged his gallant beast, and nearer and nearer -the fugitives and their first pursuers drew to each -other. What though he gained on the group!—he -saw that the hostile parties would meet while he -would yet be far away. Oh! what were his feelings as -this conviction forced itself on him. If only another -mile, in which to overtake them, had been given -him, he might perhaps have succeeded; but now -hope was in vain! Cold drops of sweat stood on his -brow, while his heart throbbed almost to bursting -against his corselet. Did none recognize him, and -could they not understand his frantic signs? He -shouted—again—again—again. The dead might as -well be expected to hear. He waved his plumed hat -on high, but, at that instant, with the shock of an -earthquake, the opponents met. A dizziness came -over his eyes, but with a mighty effort he rallied his -reeling faculties, and looked at the fight. Was his -child yet alive? He saw the gleam of the broadswords, -the blaze of firearms, and all the tumult of -the conflict, but his daughter was not visible. Suddenly -a sharp, quick, female shriek, rising shrill over -the uproar, met his ear. God of heaven, had his -Helen fallen! Another leap of his frantic steed, and -he was near enough to hear the shouts of the combatants -and distinguish particular persons. He trembled -with eagerness, but lo! his daughter was still -unharmed, girt around as with a wall of steel, by -the broadswords of her defenders. He rose in his -stirrups at the sight, and waving his hat around his -head, shouted with the voice of a Titan. Joy—joy! -they recognize him, and his child extends her arms -toward him. She is saved. But no! for at this very -instant, when at length they understood by their leader’s -gestures that they were to desist, one of the -dragoons, availing himself of the confusion of the -moment and thirsting for vengeance for a wound he -had received, aimed a pistol at the pastor’s bosom, -and though a fellow soldier struck aside his arm, it -was only to wing the deadly ball to another heart, -even that of Helen, who all along had been nestled -by the side of the holy man. She fell back into his -arms, the blood gushing from her bosom, and for an -instant they thought her gone. But when the pastor -called on her name she faintly opened her eyes, -pressed his hand, smiled sweetly, and murmuring of -heaven, sank away apparently into a slumber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One wild cry of horror had risen, at her fall, from -those immediately around her, telling the tale of her -murder; but the father needed not this confirmation -of his worst fears, for he had seen the shot and beheld -her fall. Galloping wildly forward, with a few gigantic -leaps he reached the offender, whom he smote -to the earth with a single blow of his broadsword. -The next instant he was by his daughter’s side, the -group opening awe-struck to let him pass. He spoke -not, but oh! the terrible agony of his countenance. -Putting them aside with arms extended, he approached -and gazed down into the face of his child—gazed as -Sapphira did when the apostle told her doom, and she -saw the bearers returning from her husband’s burial. -And for a minute of profound silence he continued -gazing thus, into that fair sweet face, on which, -though now stilled as in death, there yet lingered a -smile of heavenly joy. He shuddered as he looked, -and his countenance became livid as that of a corpse. -He essayed to speak, but though his lips moved, no -sound proceeded from them. At length slowly, almost -reluctantly, he stooped down and took her -hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Helen—Helen,” he said, in a choking voice, -“you are not dead. Say so—tell me I am not your -murderer. Oh! speak, and forgive me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dying girl faintly opened her eyes, and gazed -vacantly into her father’s face. Her senses were -fast deserting her. She did not recognize him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh God! my child is dying,” groaned the father. -“Helen, Helen,” he continued, raising his voice, -“do you not know me? I am your father—your -murderer. Do not look on me with such strange -eyes! Helen, Helen dear, say, if only by a smile, -that you forgive me. Oh! Lord God of heaven,” -he exclaimed, lifting his eyes agonizingly above, -“have mercy on me—suffer her to live to forgive -me—crush not the bruised reed,” and hot tears -gushed from his eyes and trickled in his daughter’s -face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who weeps?” faintly said the dying sufferer, -“weep not for me. Tell my father how I love him, -and die blessing him—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank thee, Almighty Father, I thank thee,” -gasped the penitent. “Helen, here is your father—I -am he.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the first time, now, the dying girl seemed fully -to comprehend her situation. She looked a minute -around the group, and then, with a sweet smile, her -eyes rested on her father’s face. She faintly pressed -his hand. Tears gushed from his eyes like rain, and -though he strove to speak he could not for his sobs. -She murmured of him, of her mother, of heaven, and -then they knew she was dead. The father looked on -her a moment, and with a groan—which none there -ever forgot—sunk helpless to her side. They raised -him, but he was a corpse. “Vengeance is mine,” -saith the Lord, “and I will repay.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rac'></a>A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MR. SEBA SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hardly any event creates a stronger sensation in -a thinly settled New England village, especially -among the young folks, than the arrival of a fresh -and blooming miss, who comes to make her abode -in the neighborhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, -the only lawyer in the place, and a very respectable -man of course, told Farmer Jones one afternoon -that his wife’s sister, a smart girl of eighteen, -was coming in a few days to reside in his family, -the news flew like wildfire through Pond village, and -was the principal topic of conversation for a week. -Pond village is situated upon the margin of one of -those numerous and beautiful sheets of water that -gem the whole surface of New England, like the -bright stars in an evening sky, and received its appellation -to distinguish it from two or three other -villages in the same town, which could not boast of -a similar location. When Farmer Jones came in to -his supper about sunset that afternoon, and took his -seat at the table, the eyes of the whole family were -upon him, for there was a peculiar working about -his mouth and a knowing glance of his eye, that -always told them when he had something of interest -to communicate. But Farmer Jones’ secretiveness -was large, and his temperament not the most active, -and he would probably have rolled the important -secret as a sweet morsel under his tongue for a -long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was of rather an -impatient and prying turn of mind, contrived to draw -it from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Mr. Jones,” said she, as she handed him -his cup of tea, “what is it you are going to say? Do -out with it; for you’ve been chawing something or -other over in your mind ever since you came into -the house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s my tobacher, I s’pose,” said Mr. Jones, with -another knowing glance of his eye.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, father, what is the use?” said Susan; “we -all know you’ve got something or other you want to -say, and why can’t you tell us what ’tis?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La, who cares what ’tis?” said Mrs. Jones; “if -it was any thing worth telling, we shouldn’t have to -wait for it, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hereupon Mrs. Jones assumed an air of the most -perfect indifference, as the surest way of conquering -what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones’ obstinacy, -which by the way was a very improper term to apply -in the case; for it was purely the working of -secretiveness without the least particle of obstinacy -attached to it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause for two or three minutes in the -conversation, till Mr. Jones passed his cup to be filled -a second time, when with a couple of preparatory -hems he began to let out the secret.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are to have a new neighbor here in a few -days,” said Mr. Jones, stopping short when he had -uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and filling his -mouth with food.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said -not a word, but attended to the affairs of the table, as -though she had not noticed what was said. The -farmer’s secretiveness had at last worked itself out, -and he began again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Squire Johnson’s wife’s sister is coming here in -a few days, and is going to live with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The news being thus fairly divulged, it left free -scope for conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck up -piece,” said Mrs. Jones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t think she would be,” said Susan, -“for there aint a more sociabler woman in the -neighborhood than Miss Johnson. So if she’s at all -like her sister I think we shall like her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder how old she is,” said Stephen, who was -just verging toward the close of his twenty-first year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The squire called her eighteen,” said Mr. Jones, -giving a wink to his wife, as much as to say, that’s -about the right age for Stephen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder if she is handsome,” said Susan, who -was somewhat vain of her own looks, and having -been a sort of reigning belle in Pond village for some -time, felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare be bound she’s handsome,” said Mrs. -Jones, “if she’s sister to Miss Johnson; for where’ll -you find a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, go -the town through?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson’s -store, and told the news to young Charles -Robinson and all the young fellows who were -gathered there for a game at quoits and a ring at -wrestling. And Susan went directly over to Mr. -Bean’s and told Patty, and Patty went round to the -Widow Davis’ and told Sally, and before nine o’clock -the matter was pretty well understood in about every -house in the village.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, -a chaise was seen to drive up to Squire Johnson’s -door. Of course the eyes of the whole village -were turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was -just coming in from milking, set her pail down on -the grass by the side of the road as soon as the chaise -came in sight, and watched it till it reached the -squire’s door, and the gentleman and lady had got -out and gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing -up the ironing that afternoon, and she had just taken -a hot iron from the fire as the chaise passed the door, -and she ran with it in her hand and stood on the door -steps till the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, -and entering the house, was over. Old Mrs. Bean -stood with her head out of the window, her iron-bowed -spectacles resting upon the top of her forehead, -her shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows -to defend her red eyes from the rays of the setting -sun, and her skinny chin protruding about three -inches in advance of a couple of stubs of teeth, which -her open mouth exposed fairly to view.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Seems to me they are dreadful loving,” said old -Mrs. Bean, as she saw Mrs. Johnson descend the -steps and welcome her sister with a kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La me, if there isn’t the squire kissing of her -tu,” said Patty; “well, I declare, I would a waited -till I got into the house, I’ll die if I wouldn’t. It -looks so vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out -doors tu; I should think Squire Johnson would be -ashamed of himself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I shouldn’t,” said young John Bean, who -came up at that moment, and who had passed the -chaise just as the young lady alighted from it. “I -shouldn’t be ashamed to kiss sich a pretty gal as that -any how; I’d kiss her wherever I could ketch her, -if it was in the meetin-house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, is she handsome, Jack?” said Patty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, she’s got the prettiest little puckery kind of -a mouth I’ve seen this six months. Her cheeks are -red, and her eyes shine like new buttons.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” replied Patty, “if she’ll only take the -shine off of Susan Jones when she goes to meetin, -Sunday, I sha’n’t care.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While these observations were going on at old Mr. -Bean’s, Charles Robinson and a group of young fellows -with him were standing in front of Robinson’s -store, a little farther down the road, and watching -the scene that was passing at Squire Johnson’s. -They witnessed the whole with becoming decorum, -now and then making a remark about the fine horse -and the handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire -bend his head down and give the young lady a kiss, -when they all burst out into a loud laugh. In a moment, -being conscious that their laugh must be heard -and noticed at the squire’s, they, in order to do away -the impression it must necessarily make, at once -turned their heads the other way, and Charles Robinson, -who was quick at an expedient, knocked off the -hat of the lad who was standing next to him, and -then they all laughed louder than before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here comes Jack Bean,” said Charles, “now we -shall hear something about her, for Jack was coming -by the squire’s when she got out of the chaise. How -does she look, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Handsome as a picter,” said Jack. “I haint -seen a prettier gal since last Thanksgiving Day, -when Jane Ford was here to visit Susan Jones.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Black eyes or blue?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blue,” said Jack, “but all-fired bright.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tall or short?” said Stephen Jones, who was -rather short himself, and therefore felt a particular -interest on that point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rather short,” said Jack, “but straight and round -as our young colt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know what her name is?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They called her Lucy when she got out of the -chaise,” said Jack, “and as Miss Johnson’s name -was Brown before she was married, I s’pose her -name must be Lucy Brown.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just such a name as I like,” said Charles Robinson; -“Lucy Brown sounds well. Now suppose, in -order to get acquainted with her, we all hands take a -sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, -and invite her to go with us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Agreed,” said Stephen Jones. “Agreed,” said -Jack Bean. “Agreed,” said all hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The question then arose, who should carry the invitation -to her; and the young men being rather -bashful on that score, it was finally settled that -Susan Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany -her to the boat, where they should all be in -waiting to receive her. The next day was a very -long day, at least to most of the young men of Pond -village; and promptly, an hour before sunset, most -of them were assembled, with half a score of their -sisters and female cousins, by a little stone wharf on -the margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All -the girls in the village, of a suitable age, were there, -except Patty Bean. She had undergone a good deal -of fidgeting and fussing during the day, to prepare for -the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new bonnet -was not done; and as for wearing her old flap-sided -bonnet, she declared she would not, if she -never went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy -Brown were seen coming down the road. In a moment -all were quiet, the laugh and the joke were -hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When -they arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of -introducing Miss Brown to each of the ladies and -gentlemen present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But how in the world are you going to sail?” -said Miss Brown, “for there isn’t a breath of wind; -and I don’t see any sail-boat, neither.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, the less wind we have, the better, when we -sail here,” said Charles Robinson; “and there is -our sail-boat,” pointing to a flat-bottomed scow-boat, -some twenty feet long by ten wide.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We don’t use no sails,” said Jack Bean; “sometimes, -when the wind is fair, we put up a bush to -help pull along a little, and when ’tisn’t, we row.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The party were soon embarked on board the scow, -and a couple of oars were set in motion, and they -glided slowly and pleasantly over as lovely a sheet -of water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In -one hour’s time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted -with Miss Lucy Brown. She had talked in -the most lively and fascinating manner; she had told -stories and sung songs. Among others, she had -given Moore’s boat song, with the sweetest possible -effect; and by the time they returned to the landing, -it would hardly be too much to say that half the -young men in the party were decidedly in love with -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A stern regard to truth requires a remark to be -made here, not altogether favorable to Susan Jones, -which is the more to be regretted, as she was in the -main an excellent hearted girl, and highly esteemed -by the whole village. It was observed that as the -company grew more and more pleased with Miss -Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less and less animated, -till at last she became quite reserved, and -apparently sad. She, however, on landing, treated -Miss Brown with respectful attention, accompanied -her home to Squire Johnson’s door, and cordially -bade her good night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The casual glimpses which the young men of -Pond village had of Miss Brown during the remainder -of the week, as she occasionally stood at -the door, or looked out at the window, or once or -twice when she walked out with Susan Jones, and -the fair view they all had of her at meeting on the -Sabbath, served but to increase their admiration, -and to render her more and more an object of attraction. -She was regarded by all as a prize, and several -of them were already planning what steps it was -best to take in order to win her. The two most prominent -candidates, however, for Miss Brown’s favor, -were Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. Their -position and standing among the young men of the -village seemed to put all others in the back ground. -Charles, whose father was wealthy, had every advantage -which money could procure. But Stephen, -though poor, had decidedly the advantage over -Charles in personal recommendations. He had -more talent, was more sprightly and intelligent, -and more pleasing in his address. From the evening -of the sail on the pond, they had both watched -every movement of Miss Brown with the most intense -interest; and, as nothing can deceive a lover, -each had, with an interest no less intense, watched -every movement of the other. They had ceased to -speak to each other about her, and if her name was -mentioned in their presence, both were always observed -to color.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The second week after her arrival, through the -influence of Squire Johnson, the district school was -offered to Miss Brown on the other side of the pond, -which offer was accepted, and she went immediately -to take charge of it. This announcement at first -threw something of a damper upon the spirits of the -young people of Pond village. But when it was understood -the school would continue but a few weeks, -and being but a mile and a half distant, Miss Brown -would come home every Saturday afternoon, and -spend the Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be reconciled -to the temporary arrangement. The week -wore away heavily, especially to Charles Robinson -and Stephen Jones. They counted the days impatiently -till Saturday, and on Saturday they counted -the long and lagging hours till noon. They had both -made up their minds that it would be dangerous to -wait longer, and they had both resolved not to let -another Sabbath pass without making direct proposals -to Miss Brown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles -Robinson, and, in any enterprise where both were -concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, except -where money could carry the palm, and then, of -course, it was always borne away by Charles. As -Miss Lucy had been absent most of the week, and -was to be at home that afternoon, Charles Robinson -had made an arrangement with his mother and sisters -to have a little tea party in the evening, for the purpose -of inviting Miss Brown; and then, of course, -he should walk home with her in the evening; and -then, of course, would be a good opportunity to -break the ice, and make known to her his feelings -and wishes. Stephen Jones, however, was more -prompt in his movements. He had got wind of the -proposed tea party, although himself and sister, for -obvious reasons, had not been invited, and he resolved -not to risk the arrival of Miss Brown and her -visit to Mr. Robinson’s, before he should see her. -She would dismiss her school at noon, and come the -distance of a mile and a half round the pond home. -His mind was at once made up. He would go round -and meet her at the school-house, and accompany -her on her walk. There, in that winding road -around those delightful waters, with the tall and -shady trees over head, and the wild grape-vines -twining round their trunks, and climbing to the -branches, while the wild birds were singing through -the woods, and the wild ducks playing in the coves -along the shore, surely there, if any where in the -world, could a man bring his mind up to the point -of speaking of love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Accordingly, a little before noon, Stephen washed -and brushed himself up, and put on his Sunday -clothes, and started on his expedition. In order to -avoid observation, he took a back route across the -field, intending to come into the road by the pond, a -little out of the village. As ill luck would have it, -Charles Robinson had been out in the same direction, -and was returning with an armful of green -boughs and wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for -the evening. He saw Stephen, and noticed his -dress, and the direction he was going, and he at -once smoked the whole business. His first impulse -was to rush upon him and collar him, and demand -that he should return back. But then he recollected -that in the last scratch he had with Stephen, two or -three years before, he had a little the worst of it, -and he instinctively stood still while Stephen passed -on without seeing him. It flashed upon his mind at -once that the question must now be reduced to a -game of speed. If he could by any means gain the -school-house first, and engage Miss Lucy to walk -home with him, he should consider himself safe. -But if Stephen should reach the school-house first, -he should feel a good deal of uneasiness for the consequences. -Stephen was walking very leisurely, -and unconscious that he was in any danger of a -competitor on the course, and it was important that -his suspicions should not be awakened. Charles, -therefore, remained perfectly quiet till Stephen had -got a little out of hearing, and then he threw down -his bushes and flowers, and ran to the wharf below -the store with his utmost speed. He had one advantage -over Stephen. He was ready at a moment’s -warning to start on an expedition of this kind, for -Sunday clothes were an every-day affair with him. -There was a light canoe, belonging to his father, -lying at the wharf, and a couple of stout boys were -there fishing. Charles hailed them, and told them if -they would row him across the pond as quick as -they possibly could, he would give them a quarter of -a dollar a piece. This, in their view, was a splendid -offer for their services, and they jumped on board -with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a -paddle, and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and -help propel her ahead. The distance by water was -a little less than by land, and although Stephen had -considerably the start of him, he believed he should -be able to reach the school-house first, especially if -Stephen should not see him and quicken his pace. -In one minute after he arrived at the wharf, the boat -was under full way. The boys laid down to the oars -with right good will, and Charles put out all his -strength upon the paddle. They were shooting over -the water twice as fast as a man could walk, and -Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when -they had gone about half a mile, they came in the -range of a little opening in the trees on the shore, -where the road was exposed to view, and there, at -that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy -walk. Charles’ heart was in his mouth. Still it was -possible Stephen might not see them, for he had not -yet looked round. Lest the sound of the oars might -attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming -in sight, ordered the boys to stop rowing, and he -grasped his paddle with breathless anxiety, and -waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just as -he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, -where the boat would be out of his sight, Stephen -turned his head and looked round. He stopped short, -turned square round, and stood for the space of a -minute looking steadily at the boat. Then lifting his -hand, and shaking his fist resolutely at Charles, as -much as to say I understand you, he started into a -quick run.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, boys,” said Charles, “buckle to your oars -for your lives, and if you get to the shore so I can -reach the school-house before Stephen does, I’ll give -you half a dollar a piece.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This of course added new life to the boys and increased -speed to the boat. Their little canoe flew -over the water almost like a bird, carrying a white -bone in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the -glassy wave behind her. Charles’ hands trembled, -but still he did good execution with his paddle. Although -Stephen upon the run was a very different -thing from Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had -strong hopes of winning the race and gaining his -point. He several times caught glimpses of Stephen -through the trees, and, as well as he could judge, the -boat had a little the best of it. But when they came -out into the last opening, where for a little way they -had a fair view of each other, Charles thought Stephen -ran faster than ever; and although he was now -considerably nearer the school-house than Stephen -was, he still trembled for the result. They were -now within fifty rods of the shore, and Charles appealed -again to the boys’ love of money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now,” said he, “we have not a minute to -spare. If we gain the point, I’ll give you a dollar -apiece.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boys strained every nerve, and Charles’ paddle -made the water fly like the tail of a wounded shark. -When within half a dozen rods of the shore, Charles -urged them again to spring with all their might, -and one of the boys making a desperate plunge upon -his oar, snapped it in two. The first pull of the other -oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw at once -that the delay must be fatal, if he depended on the -boat to carry him ashore. The water was but three -feet deep, and the bottom was sandy. He sprung -from the boat, and rushed toward the shore as fast -as he was able to press through the water. He flew -up the bank, and along the road, till he reached the -school-house. The door was open, but he could see -no one within. Several children were at play round -the door, who, having seen Charles approach with -such haste, stood with mouths and eyes wide open, -looking at him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where’s the schoolma’m?” said Charles, hastily, -to one of the largest boys.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?” said the boy, opening his eyes still -wider, “is any of the folks dead?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You little rascal, I say, where’s the schoolma’m?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She jest went down that road,” said the boy, -“two or three minutes ago.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was she alone?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She started alone,” said the boy, “and a man -met her out there a little ways, and turned about and -went with her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and -that he might as well give it up for a bad job, and go -home. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown walked very -leisurely home through the woods, and Charles and -the boys went very leisurely in the boat across the -pond. They even stopped by the way, and caught a -mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their lines -into the boat when they started. And when they -reached the wharf, Charles, in order to show that he -had been a fishing, took a large string of the fish in -his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss -Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, -had undoubtedly been informed of the proposed tea-party -for the evening, to which she was to be invited, -and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones -were not invited; and when Miss Lucy’s invitation -came, she sent word back, that she was <span class='it'>engaged</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='far'></a>THE FAREWELL.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Farewell, farewell—O! ne’er from me</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till now that word hath hopeless passed;</p> -<p class='line0'>But, sweet one, faltered forth to thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>  It seems this once as ’twere the last—</p> -<p class='line0'>The last that thou wilt ever hear</p> -<p class='line0'>  From him who knows thy worth too well;</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ll stifle one relenting tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That mingles in this last farewell.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='har'></a>HARRY CAVENDISH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CONCLUSION.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>I was now alone in the world; I had neither ship, -nor home; and she I had loved was wedded to -another. It is strange how misanthropical a man -becomes, after disappointment has soured his disposition, -and destroyed, one after another, the beautiful -dreams of his youth. When I sat down and thought -of the hopes of my earlier years, now gone forever; -when I speculated upon my future prospects; when I -recalled to mind how few of the friends I had begun -life with remained, an indescribable sadness came -over me, and, had it not been for my manhood, I -would have found a relief in tears. My zest for -society was gone. I cared little for the ordinary -business of life. I only longed for a fitting opportunity -to re-enter the service, and distinguish myself by -some gallant deed, which I did not care to survive, -for even fame had become hateful to me, since it -reminded me how insufficient it was to win or retain -the love of woman. In a word, I had become a misanthrope, -and was fast losing all the energy of my -character in sickly regrets over the past.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the St. Clairs I had not inquired since my return, -and their names, from motives of delicacy -perhaps, were never mentioned in my presence. -Yet they occupied a large portion of my thoughts, -and often would I start, and my heart flutter, when, -in the streets, I fancied, for a moment, that I recognized -the form of Annette. But a nearer approach -made evident my mistake, and dissipated my embarrassment. -Much, however, as I thought of her, I -had never inquired to whom she had been married; -yet my curiosity on this point continually gained -strength; and when I had been a fortnight in Newport -without hearing any allusion to her, I began to -wish that some one would break the ominous silence -which seemed to hang around her and her family. -Still I dared not trust myself to broach the subject. -I continued, therefore, ignorant of their present -situation, and of all that concerned them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is, not far from the town, and situated in -one of the most beautiful portions of the island, a -favorite resort which has long been known by the -familiar and characteristic name of “The Glen.” -The spot is one where the deity of romance might -sit enshrined. Here, on a still summer night, we -might, without much stretch of fancy, look for fairies -to come forth and gambol, or listen to the light music -of airy spirits hovering above us. The whole place -reminds you of an enchanted bower, and dull must -be his heart who does not feel the stirrings of the -divinity within him as he gazes on the lovely scenery -around. He who can listen here unmoved to the low -gurgle of the brook, or the light rustle of the leaves -in the summer wind, must be formed of the coarsest -clods of clay, nor boast one spark of our immortal -nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The glen was my favorite resort, and thither would -I go and spend whole afternoons, listening to the -laughing prattle of the little river, or striving to -catch, in pauses of the breeze, the murmur of the -neighboring sea. A rude bench had been constructed -under some trees, in a partially open glade, at the -lower extremity of the ravine, and here I usually -sat, indulging in those dreamy, half-sick reveries -which are characteristic of youth. The stream, -which brawled down the ravine, in a succession of -rapids and cascades, here glided smoothly along on -a level bottom, its banks fringed with long grass -interspersed with wild roses, and its bed strewed -with pebbles, round and silvery, that glistened in the -sunbeams, which, here and there, struggled through -the trees, and shimmered on the stream. Faint and -low came to the ear the sound of the mill, situated -at the upper end of the ravine; while occasionally a -bird whistled on the stillness, or a leaf floated lazily -down into the river, and went on its way, a tiny -bark. The seclusion of my favorite retreat was -often enlivened by the appearance of strangers, but -as they generally remained only a few minutes, I -had the spot, for most of the time, to myself. Here -I dreamed away the long summer afternoons, often -lingering until the moon had risen, to make the -scene seem even more beautiful, under her silvery -light. I had no pleasure in any other spot. Perhaps -it was because I had once been here with Annette, -when we were both younger, and I, at least, -happier; and I could remember plucking a flower -for her from a time-worn bush that still grew on the -margin of the stream. God knows how we love to -haunt the spot made dear to us by old and tender -recollections!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was sitting, one afternoon, on the rude bench I -have spoken of, listlessly casting pebbles into the -river, when I heard the sound of approaching voices, -but I was so accustomed to the visits of strangers, -that I did not pause to look up. Directly the voices -came nearer, and suddenly a word was spoken that -thrilled through every nerve of my system. It was -only a single word, but that voice!—surely it could -be none other than Annette’s. My sensations, at -that moment, I will not pretend to analyze. I longed -to look up, and yet I dared not. My heart fluttered -wildly, and I could feel the blood rushing in torrents -to my face; but, if I had been called on at that instant -to speak, I could not have complied for worlds. -Luckily the tree, under whose shadow I sat, concealed -me from the approaching visitors, and I had -thus time to rally my spirits ere the strangers came -up. As they drew near I recognized the voice of -Mr. St. Clair, and then that of Annette’s cousin Isabel, -while there were one or two other speakers -who were strangers to me. Doubtless one of them -was Annette’s husband, and, as this thought flashed -across me, I looked up, impelled by an irresistible -impulse. The party were now within almost twenty -yards, coming gaily down the glen. Foremost in -the group walked Isabel, leaning on the arm of a -tall, gentlemanly looking individual, and turning -ever and anon around to Annette, who followed immediately -behind, at the side of her father. Another -lady, attended by a gentleman, made up the rest of -the company. Where could Annette’s husband be? -was the question that occurred to me—and who was -the distinguished looking gentleman on whose arm -Isabel was so familiarly leaning? But my thoughts -were cut short by a conversation which now began, -and of which, during a minute, I was an unknown -auditor—for my position still concealed me from the -party, and my surprise at first, and afterwards delicacy, -prevented me from appearing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! Annette,” said Isabel, archly, turning around -to her cousin, “do you know this spot, but especially -that rose-bush yonder?—here, right beyond that old -tree—you seem wonderfully ignorant all at once! I -wonder where the donor of that aforesaid rose-bud is -now. I would lay a guinea that it is yet in your possession, -preserved in some favorite book, pressed out -between the leaves. Come, answer frankly, is it not -so, my sweet coz?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could hear no reply, if one was made, and immediately -another voice spoke. It was that of Isabel’s -companion, coming to the aid of Annette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are too much given to believe that Annette -follows your example, Isabel—now do you turn -penitent, and let me be father confessor—how many -rose-buds, ay! and for that matter, even leaves, have -you in your collection, presented to you by your -humble servant, before we had pity on each other, -and were married? I found a flower, last week, in -a copy of Spenser, and, if I remember aright, I was -the donor of the trifle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! you betray yourself,” gaily retorted Isabel, -“but men are foolish—and of all foolish men I ever -met with, a certain Albert Marston was, before his -marriage, the most foolish. I take credit to myself,” -she continued, in the same playful strain, “for -having worked such a reformation in him since that -event. But this is not what we were talking of—you -wish to divert me from my purpose by this light -Cossack warfare—but it won’t do,” she continued, -and I fancied she stamped her foot prettily, as she -was wont to do at Clairville Hall, when she was disposed -to have her way; “no—no—Annette must be -the one to turn penitent, and I will play father confessor. -Say, now, fair coz, was it not a certain fancy -to see this same rose-bush, that induced you to insist -on coming here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During this conversation the parties had remained -nearly stationary at some distance from me. Strange -suspicions began to flash through my mind, as soon -as Isabel commenced her banter; and these suspicions -had now been changed into a certainty. -Annette was still unmarried, and it was Isabel’s -wedding at which I had come so near being present, -at Clairville Hall. Nor was this all. I was still -loved. Oh! the wild, the rapturous feelings of that -moment. I could with difficulty restrain myself -from rising and rushing toward them; but motives -of delicacy forbade me thus to reveal that the conversation -had been overheard. And yet should I -remain in my present position, and play the listener -still further? I knew not what to do. All these -considerations flashed through my mind in the space -of less than a minute, during which the party had -been silent, apparently enjoying Annette’s confusion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, not ready to answer yet?” began Isabel; -“well, if you will not, you shan’t have the rose from -that bush, for which you’ve come. Let us go back,” -she said, playfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole party seemed to enter into the jest, and -laughingly retraced their steps. This afforded me -the opportunity for which I longed. Hastily rising -from my seat, I glided unnoticed from tree to tree, -until I reached a copse on the left of the glen, and -advancing up the ravine, under cover of this screen, -I re-entered the path at a bend some distance above -the St. Clairs. Here I listened for a moment, and -caught the sound of their approaching voices. Determining -no longer to be a listener to their conversation, -I proceeded down the glen, and, as I turned -the corner, a few paces in advance, I came full in -sight of the approaching group. In an instant the -gay laughing of the party ceased, and I saw Annette -shrink blushing behind her father. Isabel was the -first to speak. Darting forward, with that frankness -and gaiety which always characterized her, she -grasped my hand, and said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t know how happy we all are to see -you. Where could you have come from?—and how -could you have made such a mistake as to congratulate -Annette, instead of me, on being married? But -come, I must surrender you to the others—I see they -are dying to speak to you. Uncle, Annette—how -lucky it was that we came here to-day!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear boy,” said Mr. St. Clair, warmly pressing -my hand, “I cannot tell how rejoiced I am to -see you. We heard a rumor that you were lost, and -we all wept—Isabel for the first time for years. It -was but a few days since that we heard you were at -Newport, and, as we were coming hither, I hastened -my journey, determined to search you out. We are -on our way there now, and only stopped here a few -minutes to relieve ourselves after a long ride. This -day shall be marked with a white stone. But here I -have been keeping you from speaking to Annette—we -old men, you know, are apt to be garrulous.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My eyes, indeed, had been seeking Annette, who, -still covered with blushes, and unable to control her -embarrassment, sought to conceal them by keeping -in the back ground. As for me, I had become wonderfully -self-possessed. I now advanced and took -her hand. It trembled in my own, and when I -spoke, though she replied faintly, she did not dare -to look into my face, except for a moment, after -which her eyes again sought the ground in beautiful -embarrassment. My unexpected appearance, combined -with her cousin’s late raillery, covered her -face with blushes, and, for some time, she could not -rally herself sufficient to participate in the conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What more have I to tell? I was now happy, -and for my misanthropy, it died with the cause that -produced it. Mr. St. Clair said that the wedding -need not be delayed, and in less than a month I led -Annette to the altar. Years have flown since then, -but I still enjoy unalloyed felicity, and Annette seems -to my eyes more beautiful than ever. It only remains -for me to bid my readers <span style='font-size:smaller'>FAREWELL</span>!</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='hol'></a>THE HOLYNIGHTS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY MORFORD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Some say that ’gainst the time that season comes</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The bird of dawning singeth all night long,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And then they say no sprite dares stir abroad,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The nights are wholesome then, no planets strike,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>No fairy takes or witch hath power to charm,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>So hallowed and so gracious is the time.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Hamlet.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hushed be the voice of mirthfulness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And stilled be the plaintive tones of care,</p> -<p class='line0'>That from too many a heart recess</p> -<p class='line0'>  Go forth to float on the midnight air;</p> -<p class='line0'>It is no time for the wild excess,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No time for the loose unbridled reign</p> -<p class='line0'>That passion gives to her votaries</p> -<p class='line0'>  When they sever away the golden chain.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Stilled on the ears of the seraph choir</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let the lingering hymns of the season go,</p> -<p class='line0'>As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the anthem of love and peace below;</p> -<p class='line0'>And let us keep in a holy mood</p> -<p class='line0'>  The coming hours of that sacred time</p> -<p class='line0'>When the word went forth for the hush of blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the passing knell for the soul of crime!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When the hosts of the upper region stirred</p> -<p class='line0'>  That another star came forth to shine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the rush of an angel’s wing was heard</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er the moonlit plains of Palestine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a softer light o’er the earth was flung</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the pale stars waxed no longer dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>And forth on a thousand harps outrung</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rising notes of the angels’ hymn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The same bright stars that then looked down</p> -<p class='line0'>  With a guardian watch o’er hill and plain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unfading gems in the starry crown</p> -<p class='line0'>  Glittering on in the blue remain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the solemn awe that crept them round</p> -<p class='line0'>  As they watched their flocks that holy time,</p> -<p class='line0'>An echo with us to-night has found</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the new-born light of another clime.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It has been felt this many a year,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sacred spell of the season’s death,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the brighter glow of the starry sphere</p> -<p class='line0'>  As it came that time with the angels’ breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>For brighter yet the stars gleam out</p> -<p class='line0'>  As the noisome vapor shrinks away</p> -<p class='line0'>From the open glade that it hung about</p> -<p class='line0'>  Darkened and damp this many a day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>List how the spirit-breathings come</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon our ears from the voice sublime</p> -<p class='line0'>Of him who ruled in the spirits’ home,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who wrote and sang for the end of time!</p> -<p class='line0'>Hark how he tells when the time is near,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The bird of the dawn sings all night long</p> -<p class='line0'>And the fairy legions disappear</p> -<p class='line0'>  When he comes abroad with his matin song.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No spirits forth, nor the rank compound</p> -<p class='line0'>  That glows with the witches’ midnight toil,</p> -<p class='line0'>No deeps of the forest-close resound</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the wizard shriek and the caldron boil.</p> -<p class='line0'>No planets chill the warm heart’s blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the mockery of a demon fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>No vapors veil with a sickly shroud</p> -<p class='line0'>  The moss-grown top of the old church spire,—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For he who stood in that dreadful watch</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the gray rampart of Elsinore</p> -<p class='line0'>Told how they ceased from their revel catch</p> -<p class='line0'>  And their reign at the Christmas time was o’er;</p> -<p class='line0'>We feel it now, as he felt it then,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That the air is full of holiness,</p> -<p class='line0'>And we need not forms from the earth again</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the starry hosts to guard and bless.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then stilled on the ears of the seraph choir</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let the lingering hymns of the season go,</p> -<p class='line0'>As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the anthem of love and peace below;</p> -<p class='line0'>And let us keep in a holy mood</p> -<p class='line0'>  The passing hours of that sacred time</p> -<p class='line0'>When the word went forth for the hush of blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the passing knell for the soul of crime!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='lad'></a>THE LADIES’ LIBRARY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY W. A. JONES.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That admirable manual of “<span class='it'>les petites morales</span>,” -and even of higher matters occasionally, the Spectator, -contains a paper which we hesitate not to accept -as a just specimen of cotemporary satire on female -education; we refer to the catalogue of a Ladies’ -Library. This heterogeneous collection embraces -heroical romances and romancing histories, the ranting -tragedies of the day, with the libertine comedies -of the same period. In a word, it leads us to infer -pretty plainly the insignificant pretensions the gentle -women of Queen Anne’s day could lay to any thing -like refinement of education, or even a correct propriety -in dress and demeanor. Tell me your company, -and I will disclose your own character; speak -that I may know you, are trite maxims; but give me a -list of your favorite authors is by no means so common, -though at least as true, a test. The literary -and indirectly the moral depravity of taste exhibited -by the women of that age, is easily accounted for, -when we once learn the fashionable authors and the -indifferent countenance given to any authors but those -of the most frivolous description. The queen herself -was an illiterate woman, and we are told never once -had the curiosity to look into the classic productions -of Pope. King William, the preceding sovereign, -was so ignorant of books and the literary character, -as to offer Swift, with whom he had been agreeably -prepossessed, the place of captain of a regiment of -horse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Indulging ourselves in a rapid transition, we pass -from this era to the epoch of Johnson and Burke, and -Goldsmith and Sheridan, we come to the reign of -George III. Here we find the scene altered. From -the gay saloon we are dropped, as if by magic, into the -library or conversation room. We read not of balls, -but of literary dinners and æsthetic teas, and we meet -for company, not thoughtless, dressy dames of fashion -and minions of the goddess of pleasure, but grave, precise -professors in petticoats, women who had exchanged -a world of anxiety for the turn of a head-dress, -or the shape of a flounce for an equally wise -anxiety about the philosophy of education, the success -of their sonnets and tragedies, and moral tales for the -young. The pedantry of authorship and dogmatic -conversation superseded the more harmless pedantry -of dress. Then we read of the stupidest company in -the world, which arrogated to itself the claim of being -the best. A race of learned ladies arose; <span class='it'>bas bleus</span>, -the Montagues, the Mores, the Sewards, the Chapones, -patronized by such prosing old formalists as -Doctors Gregory and Aiken, and even by one man -of vigorous talent, Johnson, and one man of real -genius, Richardson. The last two endured much, -because they were flattered much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When we speak thus contemptuously of learned -ladies, we intend to express a disgust at the pretensions -of those who pass under that name. Genuine -learning can never be despised, whoever may be its -possessor; but of genuine learning it is not harsh to -suspect a considerable deficiency where there is so -much of display and anxious rivalry. Even where -the learning is exact and solid, it is to be remembered -that many departments are utterly unsuited to the -female mind; where, at best, little can be accomplished -and that of a harsh repulsive nature. We -want no Daciers, no Somervilles, no Marcets, but -give us as you will as many Inchbalds, Burneys, -Edgeworths, Misses Barrett, as can be had for love -or money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the ladies we seek literature, not learning, -in its old scholastic sense. They certainly have received -pleasure from books, and are bound to return -the gratification in a similar way by delighting us. -And this they can do in their legitimate attempts. It -shall be a prominent object of the present general -introduction to a short series of critical sketches, to -attempt a definition of the limits which should bound -those attempts, and also to endeavor at suggesting -the proper studies for ladies, and the authors that -ought to rank as favorites with the fair. In a list of -the latter, female writers should bear a considerable -proportion, and will assuredly not be forgotten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We believe the question as to the relative sexual -distinctions of intellectual character, is now generally -considered as settled. There is allowed to be a species -of genius essentially feminine. Equality is no -more arrogated than superiority of ability, and it -would be as wisely arrogated. The most limited -observation of life and the most superficial acquaintance -with books, must effectually demonstrate the -superior capacity of man for the great works of life -and speculation. It is true, great geniuses are rare -and seldom needed, and the generality of women -rank on a par with the generality of men. In many -cases, women of talent surpass men of an equal -calibre of mere talent, through other and constitutional -causes—a greater facility of receiving and transmitting -impressions, greater instinctive subtlety of apprehension, -and a livelier sympathy. We cordially -admit the female intellect, in the ordinary concerns -of life and the current passages of society, has often -the advantage of the masculine understanding. Cleverness -outshines solid ability, and a smart woman -is much more showy than a profound man. In certain -walks of authorship, too, women are pre-eminently -successful; in cases narrative of real or -fictitious events, (in the last implying a strain of -ready invention,) in lively descriptions of natural -beauty or artificial manners; in the development of -the milder sentiments, especially the sentiment of -love; in airy, comic ridicule. On the other hand, -the highest attempts of women in poetry have uniformly -failed. We have read of no female epic of -even a respectable rank: those who have written -tragedies, have written moral lectures (of an inferior -sort) like Hannah More; or anatomies of the passions, -direct and formal, like Joanna Baillie; or an historical -sketch, as Rienzi. We are apt to suspect that -the personal charms of Sappho proved too much for -the admirers of her poetic rhapsodies, otherwise -Longinus has done her foul injustice; for the fragment -he quotes is to be praised and censured solely -for its obscurity. This would have been a great -merit in Lycophron.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the volume of British Poetesses, edited by Mr. -Dyce, it is astonishing to find how little real poetry -he has been able to collect out of the writings of -near a century of authors, scattered over the surface -of five or six centuries. It must be allowed that -some of the finest shortest pieces by female writers -have appeared since the publication of that selection. -In the volume referred to, much sensible verse and -some sprightly copies of verses occur; a fair share -of pure reflective sentiment, delivered in pleasing -language rarely rising above correctness; of high -genius there is not a particle,—no pretensions to sublimity -or fervor. The best piece and the finest -poem, we think, ever composed by woman, is the -charming ballad of Auld Robin Gray. That is a -genuine bit of true poesy, and perfect in the highest -department of the female imagination in the pathos -of domestic tragedy. In the present century we -have Mrs. Howitt and Mrs. Southey, but chief of all, -Miss Barrett.<a id='r6'/><a href='#f6' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[6]</span></sup></a> The finest attempts of the most -pleasing writer of this class, do not rise so high as -the delightful ballad above named. They are sweet, -plaintive, moral strains, the melodious notes of a -lute, tuned by taper fingers in a romantic bower, not -the deep, majestic, awful tones of the great organ, -or the spirited and stirring blasts of the trumpet. -The ancient bard struck wild and mournful, or hearty -and vigorous, notes from his harp—perchance placed -“on a rock whose frowning brow,” &c. and striving -with the rough symphonies of the tempest; but the -sybil of modern days plays elegant and pretty, or soft -and tender airs upon her flageolet or accordion, in -the boudoir or saloon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A poet is, from the laws both of physiology and -philology,—masculine. His vocation is manly, or -rather divine. And we have never heard any traits -of feminine character attributed to the great poet, (in -the Greek sense,) the Creator of the universe. The -muses are represented as females, but then they are -the inspirers, never the composers, of verse. So -should be the poet’s muse, as she is often the poet’s -theme. There are higher themes, but of an abstract -nature, in general: ethical, religious, metaphysical. -Let female beauty then sit for her portrait instead of -being the painter. Let poets chant her charms, but -let her not spoil a fair ideal image by writing bad -verses. If all were rightly viewed, a happy home -would seem preferable to a seat on Parnassus, and the -Fountain of Content would furnish more palatable -draughts than the Font of Helicon. The quiet home -is not always the muses’ bower; though we trust the -muses’ bower is placed in no turbulent society.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women write for women. They may entertain, -but cannot, from the nature of the case, become instructors -to men. They know far less of life, their -circle of experience is confined. They are unfitted -for many paths of active exertion, and consequently -are rendered incapable of forming just opinions on -many matters. We do not include a natural incapacity -for many studies, and as natural a dislike for -many more. Many kinds of learning, and many actual -necessary pursuits and practices, it is deemed -improper for a refined woman to know. How, then, -<span class='it'>can</span> a female author become a teacher of men?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Literature would miss many pleasant associations -if the names of the best female writers were expunged -from a list of classic authors, and the world -would lose many delightful works—the novel of -sentiment and the novel of manners, letter writing, -moral tales for children, books of travels, gossiping -memoirs—Mrs. Inchbald, Madame D’Arblay, Miss -Edgeworth, Lady M. W. Montague, Miss Martineau, -and Miss Sedgwick, with a host besides. Women -have sprightliness, cleverness, smartness, though but -little wit. There is a body and substance in true -wit, with a reflectiveness rarely found apart from a -masculine intellect. In all English comedy, we recollect -but two female writers of sterling value, -Mrs. Conley and Mrs. Guthrie, and their plays are -formed on the Spanish model, and made up of incident -and intrigue, much more than of fine repartees or -brilliant dialogue. We know of no one writer of the -other sex, that has a high character for humor—no -Rabelais, no Sterne, no Swift, no Goldsmith, no -Dickens, no Irving. The female character does not -admit of it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women cannot write history. It requires too -great solidity, and too minute research for their -quick intellects. They write, instead, delightful -memoirs. Who, but an antiquary or historical -commentator, had not rather read Lucy Hutchinson’s -Life of her Husband, than any of the professed -histories of the Commonwealth—and exchange Lady -Fanshawe for the other royalist biographers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Neither are women to turn politicians or orators. -We hope never to hear of a female Burke; she -would be an overbearing termagant. A spice of a -talent for scolding, is the highest form of eloquence -we can conscientiously allow the ladies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Criticism is for men; when women assume it, -they write scandal. The current notion of criticism -with most, is that of libelous abuse. From all such, -Heaven defend us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women feel more than they think, and (sometimes) -say more than do. They are consequently better -adapted to describe sentiments, than to speculate on -causes and effects. They are more at home in their -letters, than in tracts of political economy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The proper faculties in women to cultivate most -assiduously are, the taste and the religious sentiment; -the first, as the leading trait of the intellectual; and -the last, as the governing power of the moral constitution. -Give a woman a pure taste and high principles, -and she is safe from the arts of the wiliest -libertine. Let her have all other gifts but these, and -she is comparatively defenceless. Taste purifies the -heart as well as the head, and religion strengthens -both. The strongest propensities to pleasure are not -so often the means of disgrace and ruin, as the carelessness -of ignorant virtue, and an unenlightened -moral sense. This makes all the difference in the -world, between the daughter of a poor countryman, -and the child of an educated gentleman. Both have -the same desires, but how differently directed and -controlled. Yet we find nineteen lapses from virtue -in the one case, where we find one in the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Believing that what does not interest, does not -benefit the mind, we would avoid all pedantic lectures -to women, on all subjects to which they discover -any aversion. Study should be made a pleasure, -and reading pure recreation. In a general -sense, we would say the best works for female -readers are those that tend to form the highest -domestic character. Works of the highest imagination, -as being above that condition, and scientific -authors, who address a different class of faculties, -are both unsuitable. An admirable wife may not -relish the sublimity of Milton or Hamlet; and a -charming companion be ignorant of the existence of -such a science as Algebra. A superficial acquaintance -with the elements of the physical sciences, is -worse than total unacquaintance with them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Religion should be taught as a sentiment, not as an -abstract principle, or in doctrinal positions, a sentiment -of love and grateful obedience; morality, impressed -as the practical exercise of self-denial and -active benevolence. In courses of reading, too much -is laid down of a dry nature. Girls are disgusted -with tedious accounts of battles and negotiations, -dates and names. The moral should be educed best -filled for the female heart, and apart from the romantic -periods, and the reigns of female sovereigns, or -epochs when the women held a very prominent -place in the state, or in public regard. We would -have women affectionate wives, obedient daughters, -agreeable companions, skilful economists, judicious -friends; but we must confess it does not fall within -our scheme to make them legislators or lawyers, -diplomatists or politicians. We therefore think -nine tenths of all history is absolutely useless for -women. Too many really good biographies of great -and good men and women can hardly be read, and -will be read to much greater advantage than histories, -as they leave a definite and individual impression. -The reading good books of travels, is, -next to going over the ground in person, the best -method of studying geography. Grammar and rhetoric,<a id='r7'/><a href='#f7' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[7]</span></sup></a> -(after a clear statement of the elements and -chief rules,) are best learnt in the perusal of classic -authors, the essayists, &c.; and, in the same way, -the theory of taste and the arts. The most important -of accomplishments is not systematically treated in -any system—conversation. But a father and mother -of education, can teach this better than any professor. -Expensive schools turn out half-trained pupils. -Eight years at home, well employed, and two at a -good but not fashionable school, are better than ten -years spent in the most popular female seminary, -conducted in the ordinary style. Such is a meagre -outline of our idea of female education, into which -we have digressed unawares.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Female authors should constitute a fair proportion -of a lady’s library—and those masculine writers who -have something of the tenderness and purity of the -feminine character in their works. The subjects -and authors we propose for occasional consideration, -will embrace specimens of each, in prose and -poetry, fiction and reality, satire and sentiment. We -think we may promise a less erudite paper for the -second number, though to some readers all that is -not very lively is proportionably dull.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_6'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f6'><a href='#r6'>[6]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This lady’s failure in an attempt to translate Æschylus, -is a fair confirmation of our opinion of the inability of the -female imagination to soar beyond a certain height.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_7'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f7'><a href='#r7'>[7]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The benefit flowing from <span class='it'>these</span> studies is chiefly of a -negative character.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i106.jpg' alt='a man on horseback stopped at a cottage doorway' id='iid-0003' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>A. L. Dick</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'><span class='it'>The Pastor’s Visit</span></span><br/> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='pas'></a>THE PASTOR’S VISIT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The noon is past—the sun declines</p> -<p class='line0'>  Below the western hills;</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the peasant’s face joy shines.</p> -<p class='line0'>  And peace his bosom fills.</p> -<p class='line0'>He stands beside the cottage door,</p> -<p class='line0'>  His wife and children round,</p> -<p class='line0'>With that content which evermore</p> -<p class='line0'>  Doth with the true abound.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The pastor, pausing on his way,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Surveys the happy scene;</p> -<p class='line0'>If all mankind were pure as they</p> -<p class='line0'>  Slights tasks for him, I ween!</p> -<p class='line0'>Not in the peasant’s cottage dwell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sin and her joyless train,</p> -<p class='line0'>He thinks of palace, dome and cell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And passes on again!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='has'></a>THE HASTY MARRIAGE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BRIDAL.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How few “look before they leap,” even in an affair -of so much moment as matrimony. We fear the -fault is in our system. We educate our daughters -superficially—for <span class='it'>display</span> rather than usefulness—to -catch the eye rather than win the heart. Our girls -are taught in early life, either directly or indirectly, -that marriage is the great object of woman’s ambition, -and in endeavoring to secure that object, and to surpass -in the race of conquest their companions and -rivals, they sometimes wed rashly and to the sacrifice -of happiness. Difficult, we are aware, is the task -of discrimination with the young and inexperienced. -Pure and artless themselves, they are apt to imagine -the possession of like virtues by all others, and to -conceive it impossible for a fine form and a handsome -face to be associated with a false heart. Alas! -how often are they disappointed! How frequently -do the sudden attachments of early life prove hollow -and unsubstantial! How often is it discovered that -the first dream of love, which has been so extravagantly -eulogized by poets and romancers, was a mere -delusion that would not bear the test of time and of -reason! With what bitterness of disappointment -have many started from this dream! Stripped of the -rainbow coloring with which the fancy is apt to paint -an object of idolatry, how prominent appear the darkness -and the deformity! How broad the contrast -between the just view of truth and the rapid and prejudiced -survey of passion! How often do we see -beings standing before the altar, pledging themselves -to each other for weal and for wo, who, comparatively -speaking, were strangers but yesterday! -Knowing little of each other’s lives and dispositions, -merits or demerits, they are willing to risk peace of -mind for long years, and to identify destinies for time, -perhaps for eternity! Can we wonder that strife -sometimes mars the domestic circle—that wives are -left lonely and deserted—that the agency of man -should so often be invoked to part beings who have -been joined together by an ordinance of God!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A happy union is indeed a scene upon which, without -irreverence, we may suppose the angels in Heaven -gaze from their bright places of abode with -delight and approval. An unnatural or a discordant -marriage, on the other hand, must form a source of -delight to the arch enemy of mankind, for in it he -can recognize the soul of evil. That the young -should seek for and cling to a kindred spirit is natural. -The undivided possession of a pure heart is perhaps -the very acme of human felicity. “One home, one -wife, and one God,” is the sentiment of one of the -wisest of his race, and it is only when man is on the -shady side of fifty that he begins to appreciate the -truth of this philosophy in all its solemnity and force. -Then his pleasures of life are derived as much from -the past as the future, and the associations of that -past, if mingled with virtue, fidelity, patriotism and -religion, are indeed blissful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We pity the lonely and the desolate—the loveless -and the unloved—the being without a wife or a friend—without -one trusting and confiding spirit, to whom -the heart may turn in its hour of sorrow and pour out -its inmost and saddest thoughts. The cold and selfish -mortal who passes year after year without experiencing -the delightful concord of sentiment to be found in -a kindred soul, is indeed the most miserable of his -species. Even his joys are robbed of half their delight, -because unshared by another, by one to whom -he is allied by love and friendship. Wretched indeed -is the isolated individual who, mingling with -the multitude, can single out no destiny identified -with his—no faithful and devoted heart, the breath of -whose existence seems bound up with his. Nature -has denied to such a being the holiest impulses -that warm and agitate the human breast. Even the -birds are mated, and without a ministering angel “a -sweet companion,” the first born was lonely and -desolate in the garden of Eden. So it must ever be -with the frail and feeble things of mortal existence. -If Paradise could not be appreciated and enjoyed -alone, how can man reconcile loneliness to his fallen -condition? The desire of the heart is for sweet companionship—the -inward craving of the spirit is for a -being to love. Can we wonder then that in this -country, where early marriage is taught to be desirable, -so many should choose rashly?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We remember <span class='sc'>Annette Delisle</span> as a being of -yesterday. She sang well—she danced well—and in -many respects she was a beauty. Not one of our -beauties at the time, for her form was too slight and -sylph-like,—her joy was too gushing—her spirits too -redundant. She dressed from early childhood with -taste and elegance, and wore her dark hair in long -ringlets over her shoulders. She had many friends, -and even at sixteen her admirers were liberal in -number and profuse in flattery. Her mother, a -weak and vain woman, was proud of her daughter—proud -of the attention that daughter received, and -eager to display her on every occasion. Thus she -not only frequently accompanied her to public balls, -which were then more fashionable and somewhat -more select than at present, but she permitted her to -accept of numerous invitations to parties, and to -mingle almost nightly during the winter season in -the gay scenes of our metropolis. The father, good-natured -man, was a manufacturer, and was so wedded -to business, that he could not spare time even -for the proper care of his favorite child. Alas! -this good nature in fathers! It sometimes degenerates -into a sad vice, and is the source of much -misery in after life. The man who lacks the energy -to control his own household,—who is either too -negligent, or too weak to point out the true path and -to direct the footsteps of his offspring therein, is -guilty of much that is unpardonable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But such a father was Mr. Delisle, while the mother, -worse if possible, gave the reins almost wholly -into the hands of her daughter, and was but too fond of -the hollow and unmeaning admiration which the practiced -in art and in compliment among the sterner sex -are so apt to bestow upon the vain and empty, whether -old or young.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The result of this course upon Annette Delisle may -well be imagined. While she sparkled in the ball -room, and glittered in the giddy throng, her heart, -her mind, and her morals were neglected. The -mazes of the world, its quicksands and its hypocrisy -were unknown to her. She flirted, laughed and -trifled with the many, caught one hour by a fine -form, another by a rich voice, and a third by a dashing -exterior. And yet, in the depths of that young -girl’s breast, were rich and true affections. Properly -trained, she would have graced any circle. Her -mind was good by nature—her spirit was benevolent -and cheerful—and many of the lights of beauty -flashed and brightened around her. Despite her -artificial manner, and her air of coquetry, her feelings -were deep and strong. Her being was one of -impulse, and her attachments, even to her school -companions, were animated by truth and fidelity. -Thus it was when Annette discovered that the society -of Howard Leroy possessed an unusual charm for -her—that she saw him approach with pleasure—that -she listened with more than her wonted attention -to his remarks—that she felt the blood mount to -her cheek at his compliments—that she found her -eyes following as he wandered through the ball -room—that she lisped his name even in her dreams.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never can I forget the dashing Leroy. He was -what is usually denominated “a handsome fellow”—one -of the butterflies of society—a ladies’ man, -in the general acceptation, and a favorite also with -his own sex. He rode well, talked well, and sang -an excellent song. This latter qualification was in -some respects a fatal gift, for it introduced him into -many a gay circle from which he otherwise would -have been excluded—made him sought for, and vain -of his voice, and thus won him away from the more -useful pursuits of life. Leroy, moreover, was fond of -poetry—was able to quote glowing passages, and had, -withal, a touch of romance in his character, which -served not a little to enhance him in the estimation -of some of his female acquaintance. He assumed a -remarkable degree of independence—was rather -bold and reckless in his manner and language, and -possessed the faculty of talking for hours in relation -to the prominent beauties of Moore, Byron and Bulwer. -These were the traits of character which won -upon the mind and heart of Annette Delisle. Her -education and mode of life had fitted her for the arts -of such a man. She fancied him something superior -to the ordinary fop—to the mere merchant or shopkeeper. -Leroy became her ardent and enthusiastic -admirer. The fact soon reached the ears of her -father. He roused himself for the moment, and proceeded -to investigate the realities of the case. Leroy -he ascertained to be an idle, dissolute pretender, and -dependent, he feared, upon the gaming-table for his -means of subsistence. He was of good family, and -had received a fair education. But he had gone -astray from the path of rectitude in early life, and -now contrived to appear on the principal promenades -as a fashionable lounger—but the world wondered -how!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The manufacturer was terrified at the prospect for -his daughter, whom he really loved, but it was too -late. Leroy saw the storm coming, and prevailed -upon Annette, by falsehood and misrepresentation, -to consent to a secret marriage. Fondly and long -she clung to the delusion that her husband had been -slandered—that one who could <span class='it'>talk</span> so well, and <span class='it'>profess</span> -so much, could not be a villain. He <span class='it'>was</span> not -one, perhaps, in the usual interpretation; but we -can conceive of no more heartless wretch than the -man who deliberately deceives and betrays a fond -and confiding woman. Leroy never loved Annette -with a true and exalted affection. He felt himself -bankrupt in fortune, and nearly so in character, and -he was base enough to become the husband of an -unsuspecting girl, in the hope of a dependency upon -the bounty of her father. Deceived in this, for the -old manufacturer would have nothing to do with -him, he soon threw off the mask. At first cold and -indifferent, he speedily grew harsh and unkind. -True, there were moments when his better nature -prevailed, and he would endeavor, by apparent contrition -and well turned promises, to atone for his conduct. -But, they were few and far between, and -diminished in number as time rolled on. Strange, -despite the giddy character of Annette—despite the -little care which had been bestowed upon her principles, -she clung to him with the true fidelity of -woman. She loved him with her whole soul, and -while the pride of her woman nature repelled the -idea of any public exposure of her situation, and -while she even concealed from her parents much of -the unworthy conduct of Leroy, she still cherished -a belief of his ultimate reform. Night after -night she sat in her quiet chamber, or gazed earnestly -from the window, in the hope that the form of -her husband might appear before the midnight -hour. Who may paint the agony of her mind at such -moments—the jealous fears that shot like daggers -through her breast, as to his haunts and his society—the -apprehension of danger and of death—the terrible -fancies which mingled him in some dreadful scene at -the gaming table—and, worse than all, the oft repelled, -but still returning conviction, that the wine -cup was too familiar with his lips!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>God, in pity look down upon and impart moral -courage to the lonely wives of the world—the dejected -ones to whom home is desolate, whose hearts -are breaking slowly, secretly, string by string—who -live only for their little ones, and because they know -it wrong to plunge unbidden into eternity! Beings -who have ventured their all of earthly happiness, -and have lost all—who have been deceived, betrayed, -and are now deserted! Pity and console -them, Great Creator, for the misery of unrequited -love, of wounded pride, of crushed affection, of -hopeless despair throughout this life, can only be -soothed and softened by a heavenly influence!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Annette! Step by step her husband plunged -on in the downward path. Ray after ray departed -from the light of her beauty. Wider and wider became -the gulf between the manufacturer and his -son-in-law. But, horror of horrors! the crisis soon -came! The resource of gambling failed at last with -Leroy, and <span class='it'>then</span>—he resorted to forgery!—ay! he -forged the name of George Delisle, the father of his -wife, and fled the country in order to escape the -penalty of his crime!</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<p class='pindent'>But a few days have gone by since we saw Annette. -Only five years have elapsed since her marriage. -What a change! The lily has supplanted -the rose—the eye has lost its fire—the step its buoyancy—the -form its grace. She is a doomed and -broken hearted woman. Disease has “marked her -for his own.” Loss of sleep—mental anxiety—the -disgrace—the shame—the ignominy of her husband’s -career, are hurrying her rapidly to a premature -grave!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mothers, be warned! Virtue, Integrity and Religion -are the only safe companions for your budding -and beautiful daughters!</p> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><h1><a id='win'></a>TO THE NIGHT-WIND IN AUTUMN.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “TECUMSEH.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Whence art thou, spirit wind?</p> -<p class='line0'>Soothing with thy low voice the ear of Night,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And breathing o’er the wakeful, pensive mind</p> -<p class='line0'>An influence of pleased yet sad delight.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Thou tell’st not of thy birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>O viewless wanderer from land to land:</p> -<p class='line0'>  But gathering all the secrets of the earth</p> -<p class='line0'>Where’er, unseen, thy airy wings expand,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  At this hushed, holy hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>When time seems part of vast eternity,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou dost reveal them with a magic power,</p> -<p class='line0'>Saddening the soul with thy weird minstrelsy.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  All nature seems to hear,</p> -<p class='line0'>The woods, the waters, and each silent star;</p> -<p class='line0'>  What, that can thus enchain their earnest ear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bring’st thou of untold tidings from afar?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Is it of new, fair lands,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of fresh-lit worlds that in the welkin burn!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Do new oäses gem Zahara’s sands,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or the lost Pleiad to the skies return?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Nay! ’tis a voice of grief,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of grief subdued, but deepened through long years,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The soul of Sorrow, seeking not relief,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still gathering bitter knowledge without tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  For thou, since earth was young</p> -<p class='line0'>And rose green Eden purpled with the morn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its solemn wastes and homes of men among,</p> -<p class='line0'>Circling all zones, thy mourning flight hast borne.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Empires have risen in might,</p> -<p class='line0'>And peopled cities through the outspread earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thou hast passed them at the hour of night</p> -<p class='line0'>Listing the sounds of revelry and mirth.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Again thou hast gone by—</p> -<p class='line0'>City and empire were alike o’erthrown,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Temple and palace, fall’n confusedly,</p> -<p class='line0'>In marble ruin on the desert strown.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  In time-long solitudes,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where dark, old mountains pierced the silent air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bright rivers roamed, and stretched untraversed woods,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou joy’dst to hope that these were changeless there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Lo! as the ages passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou found’st them struck with alteration dire,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The streams new-channeled, forests earthward cast,</p> -<p class='line0'>The crumbling mountains scathed with storm and fire.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Gone but a few short hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>Beauty and bloom beguiled thy wanderings,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thou mad’st love unto the virgin flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sighing through green trees and by mossy springs.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Now on the earth’s cold bed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fallen and faded, waste their forms away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all around the withered leaves are shed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mementos mute of Nature’s wide decay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Vain is the breath of morn;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly the night-dews on their couches weep;</p> -<p class='line0'>  In vain thou call’st them at thy soft return,</p> -<p class='line0'>No more awaking from their gloomy sleep.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        . . . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Oh hush! Oh hush! sweet wind!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou melancholy soul! be still, I pray,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor pierce this heart so long in grief resigned,</p> -<p class='line0'>With ’plainings for the loved but lifeless clay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Ah! now by thee I hear</p> -<p class='line0'>The earnest, gentle voices, as of old:</p> -<p class='line0'>  They speak—in accents tremulously clear—</p> -<p class='line0'>The young, the beautiful, the noble-souled.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  The beautiful, the young,</p> -<p class='line0'>The form of light, the wise and honored head—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou bring’st the music of a lyre unstrung!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh cease!—with tears I ask it—they are <span class='it'>dead</span>!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        . . . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  While mortal joys depart,</p> -<p class='line0'>While loved ones lie beneath the grave’s green sod,</p> -<p class='line0'>  May we not fail to hear, with trembling heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>In thy low tone the “still small voice of <span class='sc'>God</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Natural History of New York: By Authority. Albany, -Thurlow Weed, Printer to the State. New York, Wiley -& Putnam, and D. Appleton & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We are among those who believe that, as characterizing -the present age, the cultivation of purely mechanical and -natural science has been carried much too far, or rather, -has been made too exclusive and absorbing. It is not the -<span class='it'>highest</span> science—for it concerns only that which is around -us—which is altogether outward. Man is always greater -than the world of nature in which he lives, and just as -clearly must the <span class='it'>science</span> of man, the philosophy of his moral -and intellectual being, rank far above that of the soulless -creation which was made to minister to his wants. When, -therefore, this lower science so draws to itself the life of -any age, as to disparage and shut out the higher, it works a -positive injury to the well-being of that age. Still it is -only thus in comparison with a nobler and more lofty study -that we would venture to cast the faintest reproach upon -that natural science which in no slight degree absorbs the -intellectual effort of the present generation. Regarded as -related to, and a part of, a complete system of education, it -becomes most important and necessary; and its cultivation, -even to apparent excess, a cause of rejoicing and a source -of the highest hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We need scarcely say, then, that we look upon the explorations -which have been made “by authority” into the -Geology and general Natural History of several of the most -important States in the Union, as among the proudest -achievements of the present day. Most of them, it is true, -grew out of designs not the highest on the part of those by -whom they were originated. The development of resources, -the discovery of mineral wealth, or other elements -of power, formed in most cases the principal aim of those -at whose instance these surveys were undertaken. But -this is of little importance. The results are, on this account, -none the less valuable to the cause of natural science, -nor is our joy at their successful prosecution the less ardent -or sincere. In all the States in which they have been undertaken, -they have been fruitful of the best results; and -the facts thus brought together will be found of priceless -value to students and inquirers for ages to come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The State of New York has just completed her survey, -which has been conducted on a scale commensurate with -her wealth and enterprise. The different departments of -the survey were, in 1836, assigned to eight gentlemen well -qualified for the task, and from that time until their completion, -the explorations were conducted with energy and -enthusiasm. The reports are to be published in ten magnificent -quarto volumes, of which the first is now before -us. A more splendid monument of intelligent enterprise -in the cause of science, has seldom been erected by any -State. The first volume contains only a portion of the first -report on Zoology, by Mr. <span class='sc'>James E. DeKay</span>, to whom this -department was committed. Governor Seward has written -an introduction to the work, which occupies nearly two -hundred pages. It is valuable as a historical record of the -progress of the arts, the sciences, and the various branches -of enterprise and industry in the State, though as a literary -performance it can claim no especial merit. It is, indeed, -little more than a compendium of the history of the State, -and of its general statistics, of which the different portions -have been contributed by different persons. The portion of -the Zoological Report which this volume contains—relating -merely to the Mammalia of the State—is highly valuable, -and, to the naturalist, exceedingly interesting. Previous -to this survey, no complete Zoology of the State had -been attempted. In 1813, Samuel L. Mitchell commenced -an account of the fishes of New York, which was the first -work on the subject ever undertaken; and the impulse -given to the science by his labors in fact laid the foundation -for whatever has been effected in the same department -since. Several other branches of Zoology had received -some slight attention before the commencement of the State -survey. Bachman, a well known naturalist of South -Carolina, had made interesting discoveries in the families -of smaller quadrupeds, and much valuable information -concerning the ornithology of the State had been collected -by Wilson, Audubon, Cooper, Bonaparte and DeKay. -Barnes had classified the Unionidæ of the lakes and rivers, -and the Mollusca of the sea coast had been well studied by -Dr. Gay, of New York city. But the report of Mr. DeKay -in this department presents by far a more full and comprehensive -account of the Zoology of New York than had -ever before been made. The State was divided into four -Zoological districts: first, the western district, embracing -all the western portion of the State, as far east as the -sources of the Mohawk; second, the northern, comprising -all that portion of the State lying north of the Mohawk -valley; third, the valley of the Hudson, including all the -counties watered by that river and its tributaries; and -fourth, the Atlantic district, embracing Long Island. In -regard to its natural history, the northern district is by far -the most important. Strange as it may seem to those who -are accustomed to hear only of the wealth, the refinement, -and the advanced civilization of the “Empire State,” there -is embraced in this northern district a great tract of a thousand -square miles, lying in loneliness, fresh as it came from -the hand of God, untouched, and almost unvisited by man. -It is clad with forests of great and majestic beauty, echoing -only the sigh of the tempest, the screams of the untamed -dwellers in its wilds, and now and then the rifle of the -hunter, who there finds game, such as in long gone times -the red men loved to chase. It is thickly overspread with -lakes, embosomed in mountains, now lying calmly and -smilingly beneath the sun, and the next hour lashed into -frowns, when</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>“The tempest shooteth, from the steep,</p> -<p class='line0'>   The shadow of its coming.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Travelers who would wander through it, must provide -themselves with guides, and trust to hunting and chance for -food and lodging. No one <span class='it'>lives</span> there—the whole is one -vast, solitary wilderness, untouched by man—lying in its -own majesty—unconscious even that the foot of the adventurous -Genoese has been set upon the continent.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>“Still this great solitude is quick with life;</p> -<p class='line0'>Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers</p> -<p class='line0'>They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds,</p> -<p class='line0'>And birds that scarce have learned the fear of man,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>Startlingly beautiful.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>This vast wild region is inhabited by many animals that -are rarely found in any other portion of the State. The -bear, the moose, the panther, the deer, and most fur-bearing -animals, make their homes among its mountains. Arctic -birds, too, that are never known farther south, are seen in -abundance. The whole district covers an area of about six -thousand square miles. The western district is eminent for -its fertility and beauty, and has also a high degree of zoological -interest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The number of quadrupeds enumerated in the report, as -found within the State, is something more than one hundred. -Each of these is scientifically and fully described. Included -in the volume are a great number of illustrations, taken -with the greatest care from the living animals or the best -specimens that could be found. The real colors are preserved, -and in every case the relative size is indicated. -The outlines, for the purpose of accuracy, were always -taken with a camera lucida, and the illustrations, drawn by -Hill, were lithographed by Endicott.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole style of the work is eminently worthy the enterprise, -results of which it contains, and the State which -undertook its fulfilment. We look for the forthcoming -volumes with no little interest. The botanical department -has been under the charge of John Toney; the mineralogical -and chemical were assigned to Lewis C. Beck; the geological -to W. W. Mather, Ebenezer Emmons, James Hall, -and Leonard Vanuxem, and the palæontological to Timothy -A. Conrad. Beside these reports, the results of the survey -appear in eight several collections of specimens of the animals, -plants, soils, minerals, rocks and fossils, found within -the State—one of which collections constitutes a museum -of natural history at the capital of the State, and the others -are distributed among collegiate institutions. We rejoice -at the completion of this great survey, and hope soon to see -a similar exploration effected in every State of the Union. -The cause of science will receive from it an aid of which -scientific men alone can rightly estimate the value.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Holy War, made by Shaddai upon Diabolus, for the -Regaining of the Metropolis of the World. By John -Bunyan. Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The celebrated Dr. Owen was occasionally one of the -hearers of Bunyan, when he preached in London; and being -asked by Charles the Second how a learned man, like -him, could listen to the prating of an illiterate tinker, he -is said to have replied, “May it please your Majesty, could -I possess that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would gladly -relinquish all my scholarship.” His genius as an author -was even greater than he exhibited in the pulpit. Southey, -Macauley, and other eminent critics, regard him as one of -the “immortal authors of England.” The Pilgrim’s Progress -has been the most popular of his sixty or seventy -works. Probably no book by an uninspired writer has been -more universally read. The Holy War was written ten -years after the appearance of that beautiful creation, and if -not equal to it in all respects, is certainly one of the most -ingenious allegories in the language, as well as one of the -most <span class='it'>useful</span> exhibitions of practical Christianity. The edition -before us is superior to any other printed in America, -in its typography and illustrations.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Little Gift</span>; <span class='it'>Useful Stories</span>; <span class='it'>Poems for Little Folks</span>. -<span class='it'>Three small volumes.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Colman, of New York, in the autumn of every year, -publishes numerous miniature gift books for children, with -fine engravings, instructive tales and poems, etc., of which -the above are specimens.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Thulia: A Poem: By J. C. Palmer, M. D., U. S. N. Illustrated -with Twelve Original Designs, by A. Agate, -Artist of the late Exploring Expedition. One volume, -octavo. New York, Samuel Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This beautifully printed and illustrated volume resembles -very much, in its appearance, the elegant edition of Gray’s -“Elegy,” published several years since in London. We -can say no more in praise of its typography and embellishments. -The poem itself possesses considerable merit. -Doctor Palmer was attached to the Exploring Expedition -which returned to this country last summer from the southern -seas, and “Thulia” is founded on incidents which occurred -on the war-ship Peacock, and the schooner Flying -Fish, while in the Antarctic ocean. The verse is free and -melodious, and the ideas and illustrations generally appropriate -and poetical. We quote a lyric that will convey -to the reader a just idea of the poet’s style.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>  ANTARCTIC MARINER’S SONG.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sweetly, from the land of roses,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sighing comes the northern breeze;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the smile of dawn reposes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All in blushes, on the seas.</p> -<p class='line0'>Now within the sleeping sail,</p> -<p class='line0'>Murmurs soft the gentle gale.</p> -<p class='line0'>Ease the sheet, and keep away:</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory guides us South to-day!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yonder, see! the icy portal</p> -<p class='line0'>  Opens for us to the Pole;</p> -<p class='line0'>And, where never entered mortal,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thither speed we to the goal.</p> -<p class='line0'>Hopes before and doubts behind,</p> -<p class='line0'>On we fly before the wind.</p> -<p class='line0'>Steady, so—now let it blow!</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory guides, and South we go.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Vainly do these gloomy borders,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All their frightful forms oppose;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly frown these frozen warders,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snow.</p> -<p class='line0'>Though, beneath the ghastly skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Curdled all the ocean lies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lash we up its foam anew—</p> -<p class='line0'>Dash we all its terrors through!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Circled by these columns hoary,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All the field of fame is ours;</p> -<p class='line0'>Here to carve a name in story,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or a tomb beneath these towers.</p> -<p class='line0'>Southward still our way we trace,</p> -<p class='line0'>Winding through an icy maze.</p> -<p class='line0'>Luff her to—there she goes through!</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory leads, and we pursue.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The notes appended to the poem contain the most interesting -account of the expedition that has yet been given to -the public.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Scenes in the Holy Land: one volume square duodecimo. -Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work is founded on, or rather is a free translation -of, the “Scènes Evangéliques” of Napoleon Roussel, published -a year or two since in Paris. It contains an account -of the principal incidents in the lives of the Savior and of -the great apostle of the Gentiles, written with singular simplicity -and perspicuity, and illustrated with numerous etchings -by a clever French artist. It is published, we believe, -as a juvenile gift book for the holiday season.</p> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Ladies’ Annual Register for 1843. New York, S. Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ladies’ Annual Register is a neat little annuary, -edited for several years by Mrs. Gilman, of Charleston. It -embraces, beside the usual contents of the almanacs, many -useful recipes for the housewife, with anecdotes, poems, -etc.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Biblical and Prophetical Works of Rev. George Bush, D. D., -author of “The Life of Mohammed,” etc., and Professor -of Hebrew in the New York City University. New York, -Dayton & Newman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Professor Bush is one of the most profound and ingenious -scholars and critics of the present age, and we perceive -with pleasure that he is rapidly multiplying the fruits of -his industrious pen. To all the lovers of sound biblical exposition -it must be gratifying to know that the Hebrew -Scriptures are in a fair way to develop their riches to the -English reader more fully than ever before. Professor -Bush’s commentaries on the Old Testament, now extending -to six volumes, embrace all the works of the Pentateuch -but the last two, and these, we learn, he proposes shortly -to enter upon. His careful study, his scrupulous fidelity -in eliciting the exact meaning of the original, and his peculiar -tact in explaining it, have made his Notes everywhere -popular, so that before the completion of the series, the first -volume has reached a sixth edition, the second a fifth, etc. -In all of them will be found discussions on the most important -points of biblical science, extending far beyond the -ordinary dimensions of expository notes, and amounting in -fact to elaborate dissertations of great value. Among the -subjects thus extensively treated are, in Genesis, the temptation -and the fall, the dispersion from Babel, the prophecies -of Noah, the character of Melchizedec, the destruction of -Sodom and Gomorrah, the history of Joseph, and the prophetical -benedictions of Jacob; in Exodus, the hardening -of Pharaoh’s heart, the miracles of the magicians, the pillar -of cloud as the seat of the Shekinah, the decalogue, the Hebrew -theocracy, the tabernacle, the cherubim, the candle-stick, -the shew bread, the altar, &c.; in Leviticus, a clear -and minute specification of the different sacrifices, the law -of marriage, including the case of marriage with a deceased -wife’s sister, very largely considered, and a full account of -the Jewish festivals. The sixth volume, including Joshua -and Judges, contains an ample and erudite exposition of -the Song of Deborah, and an extended discussion on the -subject of Jeptha’s vow, with a view to determine whether -the Jewish warrior really sacrificed his daughter. The -Professor gives an array of very strong reasons in favor of -the negative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In his celebrated “Treatise on the Millennium,” which -merely as a literary performance has received the highest -commendations of the critics, our author has assumed -the position that the millennium, <span class='it'>strictly so called</span>, is past. -But by the millennium he does not understand the golden -age of the church, which he, in common with nearly all -good men, regards as a future era. He contends that as -the memorable period of the thousand years of the apocalypse -is distinguished mainly by the binding of the symbolical -dragon, we must first determine by the legitimate -canons of interpretation what is shadowed forth by this -mystic personage, before we can assure ourselves of the -true character of the millennial age. But the dragon, he -supposes, is the grand hieroglyphic of Paganism—the -“binding of the dragon,” but a figurative phrase for the -suppression of Paganism within the limits of the Roman -empire, a fulfilment which he contends commenced in the -reign of Constantine, and was consummated in that of -Theodosius, his successor. Professor Bush draws largely -on the pages of Gibbon in support of his theory, assuming -all along the great foundation principle that <span class='it'>the apocalypse -of John is but a series of pictured emblems, shadowing -forth the ecclesiastical and civil history of the world</span>. From -a cursory examination of his Treatise, we are inclined to -adopt the opinion of one of the first theologians of our -country, that if his premises be admitted, his conclusion is -irresistible; and that <span class='it'>he</span> did not know how to gainsay the -premises.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the Hierophant, a monthly publication of which he is -editor, he enters elaborately into the nature of the prophetic -symbols, and in the last number brings out some -grand results as to the physical destiny of the globe. He -assumes that a fair construction of the language of the prophets -is far from countenancing the idle dreams of Miller -and his school respecting the literal conflagration of the -heavens and the earth, and does not even teach that such a -catastrophe is <span class='it'>ever</span> to take place. He denies not that this -<span class='it'>may</span> possibly be the finale which awaits our planet and -the solar system, but if so, it is to be gathered rather from -astronomy than revelation—from the apocalypse of Newton, -Laplace and Herschell, than from that of John.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In general literature, in science and in art, America has -furnished some of the best names in the world of letters; -but it is in theology and religious philosophy that our countrymen -have made the greatest advances. We need but -allude to Edwards, Dwight, Emmons, Marsh, Beecher, -Alexander, Stuart, McIlvaine, and Bush in proof of this. -Perhaps we may add to the list Orestes Brownson, who, -however erratic and peculiar, is a man of singular genius -and sincerity. In our endeavors to keep the readers of this -magazine advised of the condition of our literature, we -should fail of our intent if at times we did not notice books -and authors of a grave character. The useful and the true -is in every thing the national aim. The writings of which -we have spoken particularly in this brief notice, are distinguished -for remarkable directness of language and logical -clearness, as much as for profound scholarship, and they -are among the most original works of their class brought -out in our times.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Songs, Odes, and other Poems, on National Subjects: -Compiled from Various Sources: by William McCarty. -Three volumes duodecimo. Philadelphia, W. McCarty.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. McCarty is a bookseller, of the long established house -of McCarty & Davis, in Market street. He is an antiquary -also, and has in his chambers one of the best collections of -books relating to our history and antiquities to be found in -this country. Several years ago he “formed the plan of gathering -together our national songs and ballads, deeming -the task, however humble,” he says, “one of which the -result would be acceptable to his countrymen.” He has -since gleaned from all the files of magazines, newspapers -and other periodicals, in the public libraries and in his own -possession, published since Braddock’s defeat at DuQuesne, -every scrap of verse, “good, bad, or indifferent,” relating -to men, manners and events in America, and had them -printed in three neat volumes, the first of which contains -the “patriotic,” the second the “military,” and the third -the “naval.” It is certainly a very curious collection. -Some of the pieces, indeed, were written by foreigners, and -have as little relation to any thing in America as to the -quackeries of Græfenberg; and others are not decidedly -poetical; but by far the greater number belong to one or -another of the divisions in which the compiler has placed -them, and, as he well remarks, “the present and future -generations of Americans will hardly disdain those strains, -however homely, which cheered and animated our citizen -soldiers and seamen, ‘in the times that tried men’s souls,’ -at the camp-fire or on the forecastle.” We perceive that -Mr. McCarty has copied from our Magazine for October most -of the pieces included in the article on “The Minstrelsy of -the Revolution.” We have many others not embraced in -his volumes, of which we intend to present a few additional -specimens to our readers, in connection, perhaps, with some -of the most curious verses in the books he has given us.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Wing-and-Wing, or Le Feu-Follet. By the author of “The -Red Rover,” “The Pilot,” “The Path Finder,” etc. Two -volumes, duodecimo. Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We received this novel too recently to be able to do it -justice in our present number. It is a story of the sea, and -from a cursory examination we are inclined to believe it -equal to Mr. Cooper’s most celebrated naval romances. -The scene is in the Mediterranean, in the memorable years -1798 and 1799. Le Feu-Follet is a French privateer, commanded -by Raoul Yvard, a skilful, bold and chivalrous -sailor, and the interest of the tale turns principally upon -the manœuvres by which he preserves her from capture by -the English frigate Prosperine. The character second in -importance on board the republican privateer is Ithule Bolt, -a shrewd Yankee, who, impressed into the British navy, -had shared in the dangers of Nelson’s victory, and now -added to a patriotic hatred of the English, some slight ill -will created by what he deemed unjustifiable appliances of -the lash during his service on board the Prosperine. Blended -with the main narrative is a history of the loves of the commander -of Le Feu-Follet and a beautiful Italian girl, -Ghita Giuntotardi, one of our author’s most admirably -drawn heroines. Those who would know more of the plot -we refer to the book itself, or to the Yankee lieutenant, -who in due time returned to the United Slates, married a -widow, and “settled in life” somewhere in the Granite -State. He is said at the present moment to be an active -abolitionist, a patron of the temperance cause, and a terror -to evil doers, under the appellation of Deacon Bolt. We -are pleased to learn that the publishers have fixed the price -of Wing-and-Wing at half a dollar—lower by fifty per cent. -at least than an American novel was ever sold for before. -For this reason, as well as on account of its remarkable -merit, we predict for it a sale equal to that of “The Spy,” -or “The Red Rover.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Poets and Poetry of America: with a Historical Introduction. -By Rufus W. Griswold. Third edition. With -Illustrations by the First Artists.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Messrs. Carey & Hart have just issued a new edition of -this work, with beautiful illustrations from paintings by -Leslie, Inman, Creswick, Sully, Thompson, Verbryck, -Hoyt, and Harding, engraved by Cheney, Cushman, Dodson, -and Forrest. We believe that no other book of so -expensive a character has passed to a second edition in the -United States during the year. The fact that this has -reached a <span class='it'>third</span> edition in six months seems to indicate that -our poetical literature is properly appreciated, in our own -country, at least. The price of the third edition has very -properly been reduced to two dollars and a half.</p> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Little Boys’ and Girls’ Library: Edited by Mrs. Sarah -J. Hale. Six books, small quarto. New York, Edward -Dunigan.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The stories in these little volumes are written with taste -and simplicity. Though Mrs. Hale’s incidents are generally -pleasing, we do not in all cases approve their tendency. -With deference for her better judgment, we think the boy -who, in “The Way to Save,” bought the glass box, was -much wiser than he who bought the draught board.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Youth’s Keepsake: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift -for Young People.</span> <span class='it'>The Annualette: A Christmas and -New Year’s Gift for Children. Philadelphia, Thomas, -Cowperthwaite & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Two very beautiful and interesting annuals, of the character -of which the titles are sufficiently descriptive.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Sporting Scenes and Sundry Sketches: being the Miscellaneous -Writings of J. Cypress, jr. Edited by Frank -Forester. In Two vols., 12mo. New York, Gould, Banks -& Co., 1842.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>J. Cypress</span>, jr.” was the late William P. Hawes, of the -city of New York; and “Frank Forester” is the name by -which one of the finest scholars, critics, and writers, whose -productions have ever given a charm to our periodical literature—Henry -William Herbert, the author of “Cromwell,” -and numerous tales and other compositions in this Magazine—is -known in the “sporting world.” Mr. Hawes was -educated for the bar; his writings were generally on political -or sporting topics, in the daily gazettes, or the magazines. -The admirable series of papers, entitled “Fire -Island Ana,” was written for the American Monthly, -while that work was under Mr. Herbert; and most of his -later compositions appeared in the “Turf Register.” We -have not room to do them justice. They have never been -excelled in this country, in richness of humor, freshness, -or originality. Mr. Hawes had the modesty of genius. -He lived in the quiet enjoyment of the life and the scenes -he so felicitously delineated, and was unknown as a writer -beyond the limited circle of his intimate friends until they -and the world were deprived of his presence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Task, and other Poems: By William Cowper. One -volume, duodecimo. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the poets who have written in the English language -on religious themes, Cowper unquestionably ranks -next to Milton in genius, and before him as a teacher. -The Presbyterian poet is admired for his sublime conceptions -and his unequaled mastery of language and the intricacies -of rhythm; but the bard of Olney is loved by the good -and the true as a friend. The new edition of the Task is -one of the most beautiful specimens of typography produced -in this country, and the etchings, by Cheney, which illustrate -it, are of course admirably executed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Way of Life: By Charles Hodge, Professor in the -Theological Seminary of Princeton, New Jersey. One -volume duodecimo, pp. 348. Philadelphia, American -Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the many very excellent works published by the -American Sunday School Union, we know of none written -with more ability, or calculated to do more good than this -admirable treatise. The plenary inspiration of the Scriptures, -the great practical doctrines they teach, and the influence -which these doctrines should exert upon the heart -and life, are set forth by the learned author with candor, -simplicity and eloquence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Books for Youth: Heroines of Sacred History, by Mrs. -Steele; Philip and his Garden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; -Rocky Island, by Samuel Wilberforce; Alice Benden, by -Charlotte Elizabeth; Clementine Cuvier, by John Angell -James; The Simple Flower, by Charlotte Elizabeth; The -Flower of Innocence, by Charlotte Elizabeth; and Moral -Tales, by Robert Merry. New York, John S. Taylor & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The eight volumes, of which we have given the titles -above, are bound in a uniform style, and constitute a very -neat and excellent library for juvenile readers. We know -of no books that can be more appropriately presented to the -young in the approaching holidays than those of Archdeacon -Wilberforce, John Angell James, and Charlotte -Elizabeth.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div><h1><a id='edi'></a>EDITOR’S TABLE.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Miss Barrett.</span>—In this number will be found a series of -sonnets by Miss Elizabeth B. Barrett, among the first of her -contributions to any American periodical. They were originally -intended for “Arcturus,” to which magazine they -were sent; but arriving after the discontinuance of that -periodical, its editors placed them at our disposal, “thinking -the good company into which they would be introduced in -‘Graham,’ would be every way agreeable to the fair authoress.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Barrett’s productions are unique in this age of lady -authors. They have the “touch of nature” in common -with the best; they have, too, sentiment, passion and fancy -in the highest degree, without reminding us of Mrs. Hemans, -Mrs. Norton, or L. E. L. Her excellence is her -own; her mind is colored by what it feeds on; the fine tissue -of her flowing style comes to us from the loom of Grecian -thought. She is the learned poetess of the day, familiar -with Homer and Æschylus and Sophocles, and to the musings -of Tempe she has added the inspiration of Christianity, -“above all Greek, all Roman fame.” She has translated -the Prometheus to the delight of scholars, and has lately -contributed a series of very remarkable prose papers to the -London Athenæum. Her reading Greek recalls to us -Roger Ascham’s anecdote of Lady Jane Grey; but Lady -Jane Grey has left us no such verses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A striking characteristic of Miss Barrett’s prose, is its -prevailing seriousness, approaching to solemnity—a garb -borrowed from the “sceptred pale” of her favorite Greek -drama of fate. She loses much with the general reader by -a dim mysticism; but many of her later poems are free from -any such defect. The great writers whom she loves will -teach her the plain, simple, universal language of poetry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her dreams and abstractions, though “caviare to the -generale,” have their admirers, who will ever find in pure -and elevated philosophy expressed in the words of enthusiasm -the living presence of poetry. On Parnassus there -are many groves: far from the dust of the highway, embosomed -in twilight woods that seem to symbol Reverence -and Faith trusting on the unseen, we may hear in the whispering -of the trees, the wavering breath of insect life, the -accompaniment of our poet’s strain. Despise not dreams -and reveries. With Cowley, Miss Barrett vindicates herself. -“The father of poets tells us, even dreams, too, are from -God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We cannot here do justice to Miss Barrett’s volume of the -Seraphim, or to her other poems. We cannot here illustrate -as we would the lofty tone of her conceptions, which -in grandeur and human interest belong to the highest and -most enduring of lyrical strains. She has thrown aside -sentimentality, the fluency without thought, the cheap eloquence -that marks a certain school of lady poets, for the -genuine language of emotion, the fire-new currency of -speech forged in the secret chambers of the heart. From -two volumes of her poetry before us, (unfamiliar as yet to -American readers—they cannot be so long,) we quote one -poem, perhaps not the most brilliant of all, but inferior to -none of the rest in the pathos, the tenderness, the deep -Christian sympathy with human life, which dwell in the -soul of this rare poetess.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>         THE SLEEP.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”—<span class='it'>Psalm cxxvii. 2.</span></span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Of all the thoughts of God that are</p> -<p class='line0'>Borne inward unto souls afar,</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the Psalmist’s music deep—</p> -<p class='line0'>Now tell me if that any is,</p> -<p class='line0'>For gift or grace surpassing this—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth his beloved sleep?”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What would we give to our beloved?</p> -<p class='line0'>The hero’s heart, to be unmoved—</p> -<p class='line0'>The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep—</p> -<p class='line0'>The senate’s shout to patriot vows—</p> -<p class='line0'>The monarch’s crown, to light the brows?—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth <span class='it'>His</span> beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What do we give to our beloved?</p> -<p class='line0'>A little faith, all undisproved—</p> -<p class='line0'>A little dust, to overweep—</p> -<p class='line0'>And bitter memories, to make</p> -<p class='line0'>The whole earth blasted for our sake!</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say,</p> -<p class='line0'>But have no tune to charm away</p> -<p class='line0'>Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep:</p> -<p class='line0'>But never doleful dream again</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall break the happy slumber, when</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O earth, so full of dreary noises!</p> -<p class='line0'>O men, with wailing in your voices!</p> -<p class='line0'>O delved gold, the wailers heap!</p> -<p class='line0'>O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall!</p> -<p class='line0'>God makes a silence through you all,</p> -<p class='line0'>And “giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>His dew drops mutely on the hill;</p> -<p class='line0'>His cloud above it saileth still,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though on its slope men toil and reap!</p> -<p class='line0'>More softly than the dew is shed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or cloud is floated overhead,</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ha! men may wonder while they scan</p> -<p class='line0'>A living, thinking, feeling man,</p> -<p class='line0'>In such a rest his heart to keep;</p> -<p class='line0'>But angels say—and through the word</p> -<p class='line0'>I ween their blessed smile is <span class='it'>heard</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For me my heart that erst did go,</p> -<p class='line0'>Most like a tired child at a show,</p> -<p class='line0'>That sees through tears the juggler’s leap,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Would now its wearied vision close,</p> -<p class='line0'>Would childlike on <span class='it'>His</span> love repose,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who “giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And friends!—dear friends!—when it shall be</p> -<p class='line0'>That this low breath is gone from me,</p> -<p class='line0'>And round my bier ye come to weep—</p> -<p class='line0'>Let me, most loving of you all,</p> -<p class='line0'>Say, not a tear must o’er her fall—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Stars that Have Set in MDCCCXLII.</span>—Among the -dead of the year now drawing to a close, America laments -her Marsh and Channing, and Europe, Sismondi and some -less brilliant luminaries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Rev. <span class='sc'>James Marsh</span>, D.D. was, at the time of his -death, the third day of July, Professor of Moral and Intellectual -Philosophy in the University of Vermont. He was -a calm, chaste scholar, an earnest and profound thinker, -and a powerful and eloquent advocate of the highest principles -of religion and philosophy, with the perfect simplicity -and grandeur of whose life were blended the rarest -virtues that adorn humanity. His principal published writings, -excepting a few articles in the leading reviews, and -some translations from the German, are devoted to those -high and spiritual principles of philosophy, of which Coleridge -and Kant were the most celebrated European exponents. -We are pleased to learn that Professor Torrey, one -of the dearest friends of the departed, is now superintending -the publication of a complete edition of his works.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of <span class='sc'>William Ellery Channing</span> has been long -familiar to the readers of America and Great Britain. He -was equally popular in both countries, and in both was -regarded as one of the greatest authors of the age. The -first edition of his collected writings we believe was published -some five or six years since in Glasgow, and the last, -in six octavo volumes, in Boston, in the winter of 1840. -We presume his later productions, unprinted sermons, etc.—sufficient -to fill several additional volumes—will soon -be published, with his memoirs. Doctor <span class='sc'>Channing</span> was -for a long period the leading divine of the Unitarian belief, -and though an ardent controvertist, was regarded by all -men with love and reverence. The purity of his life, his -high aims, his candor, and the dignity and beauty of his diction, -won for him a reputation that will endure when -most of the names now prominent in the world of letters -are forgotten. He died in Bennington, in Vermont, on his -return way from an excursion among the Green Mountains -in search of health, on the second day of October.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>John Charles Leonard de Sismondi</span> was one of the -most celebrated historical, political and æsthetical writers -of the time. He died near Geneva, on the twenty-fifth of -June, in his sixty-ninth year. He was the author of New -Principles of Political Economy, A History of the Italian -Republics, A History of the Literature of Southern Europe, -A History of France, Julia Severn, a romance, and several -other works, making in the aggregate about one hundred -and fifty volumes, in the French editions. As a -historian he has rarely been surpassed, and in every department -of letters he exercised a powerful influence for -nearly half a century.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>James Grahame</span>, author of the excellent History of -the United Slates which bears his name; Sir <span class='sc'>Robert Kerr -Porter</span>, the traveler; <span class='sc'>Theodore E. Hook</span>, the novelist, -biographer, and dramatic writer; and <span class='sc'>Robert Mudie</span>, -author of several works on natural history, etc. were better -known in this country than any of the other literary characters -who have died in Europe during the present year.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>New Books.</span>—We received several new works too late -to be noticed properly in our present number, of which we -have space to mention particularly only Mr. <span class='sc'>Norman’s</span> -“Rambles in Yucatan,” and Mr. <span class='sc'>Lester’s</span> observations -on “The Condition and Fate of England,” both from the -press of Messrs. Langley, of New York. The first is an -exceedingly interesting work, and the last quite as good as -the same author’s “Glory and Shame of England.” We -shall endeavor to do them full justice in our Magazine for -January.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The End of the Year.</span>—With the present number we -bring to a close another year of the publication of <span class='sc'>Graham’s -Magazine</span>. The many improvements which since our last -anniversary have been effected in the work, and the extraordinary -accessions to our subscription list—between -twenty and thirty thousand in twelve months!—impart to -us a satisfaction which we trust is shared in some degree -by our million readers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Since the commencement of the present year, <span class='sc'>Rufus W. -Griswold</span> has become associated with the proprietor in -the editorship of the Magazine; and to our corps of contributors -have been added <span class='sc'>William C. Bryant</span> and <span class='sc'>Richard -H. Dana</span>, the first American poets, and the equals of -any now living in the world; <span class='sc'>James Fenimore Cooper</span>, -the greatest of living novelists; <span class='sc'>Charles F. Hoffman</span>, one -of the most admired poets and prose writers of our country; -<span class='sc'>Elizabeth B. Barrett</span>, the truest female poet who has -written in the English language; <span class='sc'>J. H. Mancur</span>, the author -of “Henri Quatre;” <span class='sc'>George H. Colton</span>, the author of -“Tecumseh;” <span class='sc'>H. T. Tuckerman</span>, the author of “Isabelle, or -Sicily,” etc.; the author of “A New Home” and “Forest -Life,” who, under the name of “<span class='it'>Mary Clavers</span>,” has won a -reputation second to that of none of the writers of her sex in -America; Mrs. <span class='sc'>E. F. Ellet</span>, the well known author of -“The Characters of Schiller,” etc.; Mrs. <span class='sc'>Seba Smith</span>, -whose elegant and truthful compositions are as universally -admired as they are read; and several others, whom we -have not now space to mention. All these, with our favorite -old writers, Professor <span class='sc'>Longfellow</span>, <span class='sc'>George Hill</span>, -<span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>, Mrs. <span class='sc'>Embury</span>, Mrs. <span class='sc'>Stephens</span>, and others, -we shall retain for our succeeding volumes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We shall likewise receive regular contributions during -the ensuing year, from <span class='sc'>N. P. Willis</span>, whose many admirable -qualities as a writer have made his name familiar -wherever English literature is read; <span class='sc'>T. C. Grattan</span>, -the popular author of “Highways and Byways,” “The -Heiress of Bruges,” etc.; “<span class='it'>Maria del Occidente</span>,” the -author of “Zophiel,” and many others, whose names will -from month to month grace our pages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let our Past speak for our Future. The improvements -made in <span class='sc'>Graham’s Magazine</span>, in 1842, will be surpassed -by those that we shall introduce in 1843. In all the departments -of our work we shall remain in advance of every -other candidate for the public favor.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The Author of the Sketch Book.</span>—In a notice of the -Miscellanies of Sir Walter Scott, in the number of this -Magazine for September, we made allusion to reviews of -various publications of Mr. Washington Irving, which we -had good reason for believing were written by that gentleman -himself. We learn with pleasure, from one who -speaks on the subject by authority, that Mr. Irving is guiltless -of the imputed self laudation. He did indeed write the -article in the London Quarterly on his “Chronicles of -Grenada,” and received for it the sum we mentioned; but, -like so many of the modern “reviews,” it had very little -relation to the work which gave it a title, or to its author.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>H. Hastings Weld.</span>—We notice that this talented and -agreeable writer, formerly editor of the Brother Jonathan, -has taken the editorial charge of the <span class='sc'>United States Saturday -Post</span>, a family newspaper of the largest class and -circulation. We feel assured that the humor and vivacity -of Mr. Weld’s pen will tend to make the paper still more -popular, and to add greatly to the already enormous subscription -list. This paper already circulates more copies -weekly than any other family newspaper in the Union.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>In the story <span class='it'>Malina Gray</span>, this concluding installment had two parts -titled Chapter III. The second Chapter III has been corrected to <a href='#chap'>Chapter IV</a>.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. 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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. XXI, No. 6, December 1842 - -Author: Various - -Editors: George Rex Graham - Rufus W. Griswold - -Release Date: May 8, 2022 [eBook #68027] - -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. XXI, -NO. 6, DECEMBER 1842 *** - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XXI. December, 1842 No. 6. - - - Contents - - Fiction and Literature - - Richard Dale - The Widow of Newbury - Malina Gray - Truth - The Persecutor’s Daughter - A Race for a Sweetheart - Harry Cavendish - The Ladies’ Library - The Hasty Marriage - Review Of New Books - Editor’s Table - - Poetry - - The Serenade - Sonnets - Sonnet - Noon - True Affection - The Farewell - The Holynights - The Pastor’s Visit - To the Night-Wind in Autumn - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - - - -[Illustration: Painted by E. Prentice, Engraved by H.S. Sadd -_Awaiting the Husband’s Return_ -_Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine._ - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XXI. PHILADELPHIA: DECEMBER, 1842. No. 6. - - * * * * * - - - - - RICHARD DALE. - - - BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC. - - -Among the many brave men who early contributed to render the navy of the -republic popular and respectable, the gallant seaman whose name is -placed at the head of this article is entitled to a conspicuous place; -equally on account of his services, his professional skill, and his -personal merit. Although his connection with the marine, created under -the constitution of 1789, was of short continuance, it left a durable -impression on the service; and, if we look back to the dark period of -the Revolution, we find him contending in some of the fiercest combats -of the period, always with heroism, and not unfrequently with success. -Circumstances, too, have connected his renown with one of the most -remarkable naval battles on record; a distinction of itself which fully -entitles him to a high place among those who have fought and bled for -the independence of their country, in stations of subordinate authority. - -Richard Dale was born in the colony of Virginia, on the 6th November, -1756. His birthplace was in the county of Norfolk, and not distant from -the well known port of the same name. His parents were native Americans, -of respectable standing, though of rather reduced circumstances. His -father, dying early, left a widow with five children, of whom the -subject of this memoir was the eldest. Some time after the death of his -father, his mother contracted a second marriage with a gentleman of the -name of Cooper, among the issue of which were two well known -ship-masters of Philadelphia. - -Young Dale manifested an inclination for the sea at a very early period -of life. The distrust of a parental control that has no foundation in -nature, and which is apt to be regarded with jealousy, stimulated if it -did not quicken this desire, and we find him at the tender age of -twelve, or in 1768, making a voyage between Norfolk and Liverpool, in a -vessel commanded by one of his own uncles. On his return home, he -appears to have passed nearly a twelve-month on shore; but his desire to -become a sailor still continuing, in the spring of 1770 he was regularly -apprenticed to a respectable merchant and ship-owner, of the borough of -Norfolk, named Newton. From this moment his fortune in life was cast, -and he continued devotedly employed in the profession until his -enterprise, prudence and gallantry enabled him finally to retire with -credit, an unblemished name, and a competency. - -During his apprenticeship, Dale appears to have been, most of the time, -employed in the West India trade. Every sailor has his chances and -hair-breadth escapes, and our young mariner met with two, at that period -of his life, which may be thought worthy of notice. On one occasion he -fell from the spars stowed on the belfry into the vessel’s hold, hitting -the kelson, a distance of near twenty feet; escaping, however, without -material injury. A much greater risk was incurred on another. While the -vessel to which he belonged was running off the wind, with a stiff -breeze, Dale was accidentally knocked overboard by the jib sheets, and -was not picked up without great difficulty. He was an hour in the water, -sustaining himself by swimming, and he ever spoke of the incident as one -of more peril than any other in a perilous career. - -When nineteen, or in 1775, Dale had risen to the station of chief mate -on board a large brig belonging to his owner. In this situation he -appears to have remained industriously engaged during the few first -months of the struggle for independence; the active warfare not having -yet extended itself as far south as his part of the country. Early in -1776, however, the aspect of things began to change, and it is probable -that the interruption to commerce rendered him the master of his own -movements. - -Virginia, in common with most of the larger and more maritime colonies, -had a sort of marine of its own; more especially anterior to the -Declaration of Independence. It consisted principally of bay craft, and -was employed in the extensive estuaries and rivers of that commonwealth. -On board of one of these light cruisers Dale was entered as a -lieutenant, in the early part of the memorable year 1776. While in this -service, he was sent a short distance for some guns, in a river craft; -but falling in with a tender of the Liverpool frigate, which ship was -then cruising on the Cape Henry station, he was captured and carried -into Norfolk. These tenders were usually smart little cruisers, another, -belonging to the same frigate, having been taken shortly before, by the -U. S. brig Lexington, after a sharp and bloody conflict. Resistance in -the case of Dale was consequently out of the question, his capture -having been altogether a matter of course. - -On reaching Norfolk, our young officer was thrown on board a -prison-ship. Here he found himself in the midst of those whom it was the -fashion to call “loyal subjects.” Many of them were his old school-mates -and friends. Among the latter was a young man of the name of Bridges -Gutteridge, a sailor like himself, and one who possessed his entire -confidence. Mr. Gutteridge, who it is believed subsequently took part -with his countrymen himself, was then employed by the British, in the -waters of the Chesapeake, actually commanding a tender in their service. -The quarrel was still recent; and honorable, as well as honest men, -under the opinions which prevailed in that day, might well be divided as -to its merits. Mr. Gutteridge had persuaded himself he was pursuing the -proper course. Entertaining such opinions, he earnestly set about the -attempt of making a convert of his captured friend. The usual arguments, -touching the sacred rights of the king—himself merely a legalized -usurper, by the way, if any validity is to be given to the claims of -hereditary right to the crown—and the desperate nature of the “rebel -cause,” were freely and strenuously used, until Dale began to waver in -his faith. In the end, he yielded and consented to accompany his friend -in a cruise against the vessels of the state. This occurred in the month -of May, and, hostilities beginning now to be active, the tender soon -fell in with a party of Americans, in some pilot boats, that were -employed in the Rappahannock. A warm engagement ensued, in which the -tender was compelled to run, after meeting with a heavy loss. It was a -rude initiation into the mysteries of war, the fighting being of a -desperate, and almost of a personal character. This was one of those -combats that often occurred about this period, and in those waters, most -of them being close and sanguinary. - -In this affair, Dale received a severe wound, having been hit in the -head by a musket ball; with this wound he was confined several weeks at -Norfolk, during which time he had abundance of leisure to reflect on the -false step into which he had been persuaded, and to form certain -healthful resolutions for the future. To use his own words, in speaking -of this error of his early life, he determined “never again to put -himself in the way of the bullets of his own country.” This resolution, -however, it was necessary to conceal, if he would escape the horrors of -a prison-ship, and he “bided his time,” fully determined to take service -again under the American flag, at the first fitting opportunity. - -In the peculiar state of the two countries at the time, and with the -doubtful and contested morality of the misunderstanding, there was -nothing extraordinary in this incident. Similar circumstances occurred -to many men, who, with the best intentions and purest motives, saw, or -fancied they saw, reasons for changing sides in what, in their eyes, was -strictly a family quarrel. In the case of Dale, however, the feature -most worthy of comment was the singleness of mind and simple integrity -with which he used to confess his own error, together with the manner in -which he finally became a convert to the true political faith. No -narrative of the life of this respectable seaman would be complete, -without including this temporary wavering of purpose; nor would any -delineation of his character be just, that did not point out the candor -and sincerity with which he, in after life, admitted his fault. - -Dale was only in his twentieth year when he received this instructive -lesson from the “bullets of his countrymen.” From that time, he took -good care not to place himself again in their way, going, in June or -July, to Bermuda, on a more peaceable expedition, in company with -William Gutteridge, a relative of his beguiling friend. On the return -passage, the vessel was captured by the Lexington, the brig just -mentioned, then a successful cruiser, under the orders of Capt. John -Barry; an officer who subsequently died at the head of the service. This -occurred just after the Declaration of Independence, and Dale -immediately offered himself as a volunteer under the national flag. He -was received and rated as a midshipman within a few hours of his -capture. This was the commencement of Dale’s service in the regular navy -of his native country. It was also the commencement of his acquaintance -with the distinguished commander of the Lexington, whose friendship and -respect he enjoyed down to the day of the latter’s death. While the brig -was out, our midshipman had another narrow escape from death, having, -together with several others, been struck senseless by lightning during -a severe thunder storm. - -Barry made the capture just mentioned near the end of his cruise, and he -soon after went into Philadelphia, which place Dale now saw for the -first time. Here Barry left the Lexington to take command of the -Effingham 28, a ship that never got to sea, leaving our new midshipman -in the brig. Capt. Hallock was Barry’s successor, and he soon rated -Dale, by this time an active and skilful seaman, a master’s mate. Early -in the autumn, the Lexington sailed for Cape François, on special duty. -On her return, in the month of December, she fell in with the Pearl -frigate,[1] and was captured without resistance, carrying an armament of -only a few fours. - -As it was blowing very fresh at the moment this capture was made, the -Pearl took out of the prize four or five officers, threw a small crew on -board, and directed the brig to follow her. By some accounts Dale was -left in the Lexington, while by others he was not. A succinct history of -the events of his life, written by a connection under his own eye, and -which is now before us, gives the latter version of the affair, and is -probably the true one. At all events, the remaining officers and crew of -the Lexington rose upon the captors in the course of the night, retook -the brig, and carried her into Baltimore.[2] - -The English landed several of their prisoners on Cape Henlopen, in -January, 1777, under some arrangement that cannot now be explained, -though probably it was connected with an exchange for the men taken and -carried away in the prize. Among these was Dale, who made the best of -his way to Philadelphia, when he received orders to proceed to -Baltimore; which he obeyed, and rejoined his brig, the command of which -had now been transferred to Capt. Henry Johnston. - -The next service on which the Lexington was employed was in the European -seas. In March, she sailed from Baltimore for Bordeaux, with despatches. -On her arrival, this brig was attached to a small squadron under the -orders of Capt. Lambert Wickes, who was in the Reprisal 16, having under -his command also the Dolphin 10, Capt. Samuel Nicholson. This force of -little vessels accomplished a bold and destructive cruise, making the -entire circuit of Ireland, though it was eventually chased into a French -port by a line-of-battle ship. Its object was the interception of -certain linen-ships, which it missed; its success, however, in the main, -was such as to excite great alarm among the English merchants, and to -produce warm remonstrances to France, from their government. - -At this time France was not at war with England, although she secretly -favored and aided the cause of the revolted colonies. The appearance of -American cruisers in the narrow seas, however, gave rise to so many -complaints, as to induce the French government, in preference to pushing -matters to extremities, temporarily to sequester the vessels. The -Lexington was included in this measure, having been detained in port -more than two months; or, until security was given that she would quit -the European seas. This was done, and the brig got to sea again on the -18th September, 1777.[3] - -It is probable that the recent difficulties had some effect on the -amount of the military stores on board all three of the American -vessels. At all events, it is certain that the Lexington sailed with a -short supply of both powder and shot, particularly of the latter. The -very next day she made an English cutter lying-to, which was approached -with a confidence that could only have proceeded from a mistake as to -her character. This cutter proved to be a man-of-war, called the Alert, -commanded by Lieutenant, afterward Admiral Bazely, having a strong crew -on board, and an armament of ten sixes. - -In the action that ensued, and which was particularly well fought on the -part of the enemy, the Americans were, in a measure, taken by surprise. -So little were the latter prepared for the conflict, that not a match -was ready when the engagement commenced, and several broadsides were -fired by discharging muskets at the vents of the guns. The firing killed -the wind, and there being considerable sea on, the engagement became -very protracted, during which the Lexington expended most of her -ammunition. - -After a cannonading of two hours, believing his antagonist to be too -much crippled to follow, and aware of his own inability to continue the -action much longer, Capt. Johnston made sail, and left the cutter, under -favor of a breeze that just then sprung up. The Lexington left the Alert -rapidly at first, but the latter having bent new sails, and being the -faster vessel, in the course of three or four hours succeeded in getting -alongside again, and of renewing the engagement. This second struggle -lasted an hour, the fighting being principally on one side. After the -Lexington had thrown her last shot, had broken up and used all the iron -that could be made available as substitutes, and had three of her -officers and several of her men slain, besides many wounded, Capt. -Johnston struck his colors. The first lieutenant, marine officer, and -master of the Lexington were among the slain. - -By this accident Dale became a prisoner for the third time. This -occurred when he wanted just fifty days of being twenty-one years old. -On this occasion, however, he escaped unhurt, though the combat had been -both fierce and sanguinary. The prize was taken into Plymouth, and her -officers, after undergoing a severe examination, in order to ascertain -their birthplaces, were all thrown into Mill Prison, on a charge of high -treason. Here they found the common men; the whole being doomed to a -rigorous and painful confinement. - -Either from policy or cupidity, the treatment received by the Americans, -in this particular prison, was of a cruel and oppressive character. -There is no apology for excessive rigor, or, indeed, for any constraint -beyond that which is necessary to security, toward an uncondemned man. -Viewed as mere prisoners of war, the Americans might claim the usual -indulgence; viewed as subjects still to be tried, they were rightfully -included in that healthful maxim of the law, which assumes that all are -innocent until they are proved to be guilty. So severe were the -privations of the Americans on this occasion, however, that, in pure -hunger, they caught a stray dog one day, skinned, cooked and ate him, to -satisfy their cravings for food. Their situation at length attracted the -attention of the liberal; statements of their wants were laid before the -public, and an appeal was made to the humanity of the English nation. -This is always an efficient mode of obtaining assistance, and the large -sum of sixteen thousand pounds was soon raised; thereby relieving the -wants of the sufferers, and effectually effacing the stain from the -national escutcheon; by demonstrating that the sufferers found a -generous sympathy in the breasts of the public. But man requires more -than food and warmth. Although suffering no longer from actual want and -brutal maltreatment, Dale and his companions pined for liberty—to be -once more fighting the battles of their country. Seeing no hopes of an -exchange, a large party of the prisoners determined to make an attempt -at escape. A suitable place was selected, and a hole under a wall was -commenced. The work required secrecy and time. The earth was removed, -little by little, in the pockets of the captives, care being had to -conceal the place, until a hole of sufficient size was made to permit -the body of a man to pass through. It was a tedious process, for the -only opportunity which occurred to empty their pockets, was while the -Americans were exercising on the walls of their prison, for a short -period of each day. By patience and perseverance they accomplished their -purpose, however, every hour dreading exposure and defeat. - -When all was ready, Capt. Johnston, most of his officers, and several of -his crew, or, as many as were in the secret, passed through the hole, -and escaped. This was in February, 1778. The party wandered about the -country in company, and by night, for more than a week; suffering all -sorts of privations, until it was resolved to take the wiser course of -separating. Dale, accompanied by one other, found his way to London, -hotly pursued. At one time the two lay concealed under some straw in an -out-house, while the premises were searched by those who were in quest -of them. On reaching London, Dale and his companion immediately got on -board a vessel about to sail for Dunkirk. A press-gang unluckily took -this craft in its rounds, and suspecting the true objects of the -fugitives, they were arrested, and, their characters being ascertained, -they were sent back to Mill Prison in disgrace. - -This was the commencement of a captivity far more tedious than the -former. In the first place they were condemned to forty days’ -confinement in the black hole, as the punishment for the late escape; -and, released from this durance, they were deprived of many of their -former indulgences. Dale himself took his revenge in singing “rebel -songs,” and paid a second visit to the black hole, as the penalty. This -state of things, with alternations of favor and punishment, continued -quite a year, when Dale, singly, succeeded in again effecting his great -object of getting free. - -The mode in which this second escape was made is known, but the manner -by which he procured the means he refused to his dying day to disclose. -At all events, he obtained a full suit of British uniform, attired in -which, and seizing a favorable moment, he boldly walked past all the -sentinels, and got off. That some one was connected with his escape who -might suffer by his revelations is almost certain; and it is a trait in -his character worthy of notice, that he kept this secret, with -scrupulous fidelity, for forty-seven years. It is not known that he ever -divulged it even to any individual of his own family. - -Rendered wary by experience, Dale now proceeded with great address and -caution. He probably had money, as well as clothes. At all events, he -went to London, found means to procure a passport, and left the country -for France, unsuspected and undetected. On reaching a friendly soil, he -hastened to l’Orient, and joined the force then equipping under Paul -Jones, in his old rank of a master’s mate. Here he was actively employed -for some months, affording the commodore an opportunity to ascertain his -true merits, when they met with something like their just reward. As -Dale was now near twenty-three, and an accomplished seaman, Jones, after -trying several less competent persons, procured a commission for him -from the commissioners, and made him the first lieutenant of his own -ship, the justly celebrated Bon Homme Richard. - -It is not our intention, in this article, to enter any farther into the -incidents of this well known cruise, than is necessary to complete the -present subject. Dale does not appear in any prominent situation, though -always discharging the duties of his responsible station, with skill and -credit, until the squadron appeared off Leith, with the intention of -seizing that town—the port of Edinburgh—and of laying it under -contribution. On this occasion, our lieutenant was selected to command -the boats that were to land, a high compliment to so young a man, as -coming from one of the character of Paul Jones. Every thing was ready, -Dale had received his final orders, and was in the very act of -proceeding to the ship’s side to enter his boat, when a heavy squall -struck the vessels, and induced an order for the men to come on deck, -and assist in shortening sail. The vessels were compelled to bear up -before it, to save their spars; this carried them out of the firth; and, -a gale succeeding, the enterprise was necessarily abandoned. This gale -proved so heavy, that one of the prizes actually foundered. - -This attempt of Jones, while it is admitted to have greatly alarmed the -coast, has often been pronounced rash and inconsiderate. Such was not -the opinion of Dale. A man of singular moderation in his modes of -thinking, and totally without bravado, it was his conviction that the -effort would have been crowned with success. He assured the writer, -years after the occurrence, that he was about to embark in the -expedition with feelings of high confidence, and that he believed -nothing but the inopportune intervention of the squall stood between -Jones and a triumphant _coup de main_. - -A few days later, Jones made a secret proposal to his officers, which -some affirm was to burn the shipping at North Shields, but which the -commanders of two of his vessels strenuously opposed, in consequence of -which the project was abandoned. The commodore himself, in speaking of -the manner in which this and other similar propositions were received by -his subordinates, extolled the ardor invariably manifested by the young -men, among whom Dale was one of the foremost. Had it rested with them, -the attempts at least would all have been made. - -On the 19th September occurred the celebrated battle between the Serapis -and the Bon Homme Richard. As the proper place to enter fully into the -details of that murderous combat will be in the biography of Jones, we -shall confine ourselves at present to incidents with which the subject -of this memoir was more immediately connected. - -The Bon Homme Richard had finally sailed on this cruise with only two -proper sea-lieutenants on board her. There was a third officer of the -name of Lunt, who has been indifferently called a lieutenant and the -sailing-master, but who properly filled the latter station. This -gentleman had separated from the ship in a fog, on the coast of Ireland, -while in the pursuit of some deserters, and never rejoined the squadron. -Another person of the same name, and believed to be the brother of the -master, was the second lieutenant. He was sent in a pilot-boat, -accompanied by a midshipman and several men, to capture a vessel in -sight, before Jones made the Baltic fleet coming round Flamborough Head. -This party was not able to return to the Bon Homme Richard, until after -the battle had terminated. In consequence of these two circumstances, -each so novel in itself, the American frigate fought this bloody and -arduous combat with only one officer on board her, of the rank of a -sea-lieutenant, who was Dale. This is the reason why the latter is so -often mentioned as _the_ lieutenant of the Bon Homme Richard, during -that memorable fight. The fact rendered his duties more arduous and -diversified, and entitles him to the greater credit for their proper -performance. - -Dale was stationed on the gun-deck, where of course he commanded in -chief, though it appears that his proper personal division was the -forward guns. Until the ships got foul of each other, this brought him -particularly into the hottest of the work; the Serapis keeping much on -the bows, or ahead of the Bon Homme Richard. It is known that Jones was -much pleased with his deportment, which, in truth, was every way worthy -of his own. When the alarm was given that the ship was sinking, Dale -went below himself to ascertain the real state of the water, and his -confident and fearless report cheered the men to renewed exertions. -Shortly after, the supply of powder was stopped, when our lieutenant -again quitted his quarters to inquire into the cause. On reaching the -magazine passage he was told by the sentinels that they had closed the -ingress, on account of a great number of strange and foreign faces that -they saw around them. On further inquiry, Dale discovered that the -master at arms, of his own head, had let loose all the prisoners—more -than a hundred in number—under the belief that the ship was sinking. -Dale soon saw the danger which might ensue, but finding the English much -alarmed at the supposed condition of the ship, he succeeded in mustering -them, and setting them at work at the pumps, where, by their exertions, -they probably prevented the apprehended calamity. For some time, at the -close of the action, all his guns being rendered useless, Dale was -employed principally in this important service. There is no question -that without some such succor, the Richard would have gone down much -earlier than she did. It is a singular feature of this every-way -extraordinary battle, that here were Englishmen, zealously employed in -aiding the efforts of their enemies, under the cool control of a -collected and observant officer. - -At length the cheerful intelligence was received that the enemy had -struck. Dale went on deck, and immediately demanded Jones’ permission to -take possession of the prize. It was granted, and had he never -manifested any other act of personal intrepidity, his promptitude on -this occasion, and the manner in which he went to work, to attain his -purpose, would have shown him to be a man above personal considerations, -when duty or honor pointed out his course. The main-yard of the Serapis -was hanging a-cock-bill, over the side of the American ship. The brace -was shot away, and the pendant hung within reach. Seizing the latter, -Dale literally swung himself off, and alighted alone on the quarter-deck -of the Serapis. Here he found no one but the brave Pierson, who had -struck his own flag; but the men below were still ignorant of the act. -We may form an opinion of the risk that the young man ran, in thus -boarding his enemy at night, and in the confusion of such a combat, for -the English were still firing below, by the fact that Mr. Mayrant, a -young man of South Carolina, and a midshipman of the Bon Homme Richard, -who led a party after the lieutenant, was actually run through the thigh -by a boarding pike, and by the hands of a man in the waist below. - -The first act of Dale, on getting on the quarter deck of the Serapis, -was to direct her captain to go on board the American ship. While thus -employed, the English first lieutenant came up from below, and finding -that the Americans had ceased their fire, he demanded if they had -struck. “No, sir,” answered Dale, “it is this ship that has struck, and -you are my prisoner.” An appeal to Capt. Pierson confirming this, the -English lieutenant offered to go below and silence the remaining guns of -the Serapis. To this Dale objected, and had both the officers passed on -board the Bon Homme Richard. In a short time, the English below were -sent from their guns, and full possession was obtained of the prize. - -As more men were soon sent from the Bon Homme Richard, the two ships -were now separated, the Richard making sail, and Jones ordering Dale to -follow with the prize. A sense of fatigue had come over the latter, in -consequence of the reaction of so much excitement and so great -exertions, and he took a seat on the binnacle. Here he issued an order -to brace the head yards aback, and to put the helm down. Wondering that -the ship did not pay off, he directed that the wheel-ropes should be -examined. It was reported that they were not injured, and that the helm -was hard down. Astonished to find the ship immovable under such -circumstances, there being a light breeze, Dale sprang upon his feet, -and then discovered, for the first time, that he had been severely -wounded, by a splinter, in the foot and ankle. The hurt, now that he was -no longer sustained by the excitement of battle, deprived him of the use -of his leg, and he fell. Just at this moment, Mr. Lunt, the officer who -had been absent in the pilot-boat, reached the Richard, and Dale was -forced to give up to him the command of the prize. The cause of the -Serapis’ not minding her helm was the fact that Capt. Pierson had -dropped an anchor under foot when the two ships got foul; a circumstance -of which the Americans were ignorant until this moment. - -Dale was some time laid up with his wound, but he remained with Jones in -his old station of first lieutenant, accompanying that officer, in the -Alliance, from the Texel to l’Orient. In the controversy which ensued -between the commodore and Landais, our lieutenant took sides warmly with -the first, and even offered to head a party to recover the Alliance, by -force. This measure not being resorted to, he remained with Jones, and -finally sailed with him for America, as his first lieutenant, in the -Ariel 20, a ship lent to the Americans, by the King of France. - -The Ariel quitted port in October, 1780, but encountered a tremendous -gale of wind off the Penmarks. Losing her masts, she was compelled to -return to refit. On this occasion Dale, in his responsible situation of -first lieutenant, showed all the coolness of his character, and the -resources of a thorough seaman. The tempest was almost a hurricane, and -of extraordinary violence. The Ariel sailed a second time about the -commencement of the year 1781, and reached Philadelphia on the 18th -February. During the passage home, she had a short action, in the night, -with a heavy British letter-of-marque, that gave her name as the -Triumph; and which ship is said to have struck, but to have made her -escape by treachery. Jones, who was greedy of glory, even fancied that -his enemy was a vessel of war, and that he had captured a vessel of at -least equal force. This was not Dale’s impression. He spoke of the -affair to the writer of this article, as one of no great moment, even -questioning whether their antagonist struck at all; giving it as his -belief she was a quick-working and fast-sailing letter-of-marque. He -distinctly stated that she got off by out-manœuvring the Ariel, which -vessel was badly manned, and had an exceedingly mixed and disaffected -crew. It is worthy of remark that, while two articles, enumerating the -services of Dale, have been written by gentlemen connected with himself, -and possessing his confidence, neither mentions this affair; a proof, in -itself, that Dale considered it one of little moment. - -The account which Dale always gave of the meeting between the Ariel and -Triumph—admitting such to have been the name of the English ship—so -different from that which has found its way into various publications, -on the representation of other actors in that affair, is illustrative of -the character of the man. Simple of mind, totally without exaggeration, -and a lover, as well as a practicer, of severe truth, he was a man whose -representations might be fully relied on. Even in his account of the -extraordinary combat between the Richard and Serapis, he stripped the -affair of all its romance, and of every thing that was wonderful; -rendering the whole clear, simple and intelligible as his own thoughts. -The only narratives of that battle, worthy of a seaman, have been -written rigidly after his explanations, which leave it a bloody and -murderous fight, but one wholly without the marvelous. - -On his arrival at Philadelphia, after an absence of four years, more -than one of which had been spent in prison, Dale was just twenty-four -years and two months old. He was now regularly put on the list of -lieutenants, by the marine committee of Congress; his former authority -proceeding from the agents of the government in Europe. It is owing to -this circumstance that the register of government places him so low as a -lieutenant. Dale now parted from Paul Jones, with whom he had served -near two years; and that, too, in some of the most trying scenes of the -latter’s life. The commodore was anxious to take his favorite lieutenant -with him to the America 74; but the latter declined the service, under -the impression it would be a long time before the ship got to sea. He -judged right, the America being transferred to the French in the end, -and Jones himself never again sailing under the American flag. - -The name of Dale will inseparably be connected with the battle of the -Richard and Serapis. His prominent position and excellent conduct -entitle him to this mark of distinction, and it says much for the -superior, when it confers fame to have been “Paul Jones’ first -lieutenant.” We smile, however, at the legends of the day, when we -recall the account of the “Lieutenants Grubb” and other heroes of -romance, who have been made to figure in the histories of that renowned -combat, and place them in contrast with the truth-loving, sincere, moral -and respectable subject of this memoir. The sword which Louis XVI. -bestowed on Jones, for this victory, passed into the hands of Dale, and -is now the property of a gallant son, a fitting mark of the services of -the father, on the glorious occasion it commemorates.[4] - -Dale was employed on board a schooner that was manned from the Ariel, -after reaching Philadelphia, and sent down the Delaware to convoy -certain public stores. The following June, he joined the Trumbull 28, -Captain Nicholson, as her first lieutenant. The Trumbull left the capes -of the Delaware on the 8th August, 1781, being chased off the land by -three of the enemy’s cruisers. The weather was squally and night set in -dark. In endeavoring to avoid her pursuers, the Trumbull found herself -alongside of the largest, a frigate of thirty-two guns, and an action -was fought under the most unfavorable circumstances. The Trumbull’s -fore-topmast was hanging over, or rather through her forecastle, her -crew was disorganized, and the vessel herself in a state of no -preparation for a conflict with an equal force; much less with that -actually opposed to her. The officers made great exertions, and -maintained an action of more than an hour, when the colors of the -American ship were struck to the Iris 32, and Monk 18. The former of -these vessels had been the American frigate Hancock, and the latter was -subsequently captured in the Delaware, by Barney in the Hyder Ally. - -This was the fourth serious affair in which Dale had been engaged that -war, and the fourth time he had been captured. As he was hurt also in -this battle, it made the third of his wounds. His confinement, however, -was short, and the treatment not a subject of complaint. He was taken -into New York, paroled on Long Island, and exchanged in November. - -No new service offering in a marine which, by this time, had lost most -of its ships, Dale obtained a furlough, and joined a large -letter-of-marque called the Queen of France, that carried twelve guns, -as her first officer. Soon after he was appointed to the command of the -same vessel. In the spring of 1782, this ship, in company with several -other letters-of-marque, sailed for France, making many captures by the -way. The ship of Dale, however, parted from the fleet, and, falling in -with an English privateer of fourteen guns, a severe engagement -followed, in which both parties were much cut up; they parted by mutual -consent. Dale did not get back to Philadelphia until February of the -succeeding year, or until about the time that peace was made. - -In common with most of the officers of the navy, Lieutenant Dale was -disbanded, as soon as the war ceased. He was now in the twenty-seventh -year of his age, with a perfect knowledge of his profession, in which he -had passed more than half his life, a high reputation for his rank, a -courage that had often been tried, a body well scarred, a character -beyond reproach, and not altogether without “money in his purse.” Under -the circumstances, he naturally determined to follow up his fortunes in -the line in which he had commenced his career. He became part owner of a -large ship, and sailed in her for London, December, 1783, in the station -of master. After this, he embarked successfully in the East India trade, -in the same character, commanding several of the finest ships out of the -country. In this manner he accumulated a respectable fortune, and began -to take his place among the worthies of the land in a new character. - -In September, 1791, Mr. Dale was married to Dorothy Crathorne, the -daughter of another respectable ship-master of Philadelphia, and then a -ward of Barry’s. With this lady he passed the remainder of his days, she -surviving him as his widow, and dying some years later than himself. No -change in his pursuits occurred until 1794, when the new government -commenced the organization of another marine, which has resulted in that -which the country now possesses. - -Dale was one of the six captains appointed under the law of 1794, that -directed the construction of as many frigates, with a view to resist the -aggressions of Algiers. Each of the new captains was ordered to -superintend the construction of one of the frigates, and Dale, who was -fifth in rank, was directed to assume the superintendence of the one -laid down at Norfolk, virtually the place of his nativity. This ship was -intended to be a frigate of the first class, but, by some mistake in her -moulds, she proved in the end to be the smallest of the six vessels then -built. It was the unfortunate Chesapeake, a vessel that never was in a -situation to reflect much credit on the service. Her construction, -however, was deferred, in consequence of an arrangement with Algiers, -and her captain was put on furlough. - -Dale now returned to the China trade, in which he continued until the -spring of 1798. The last vessel he commanded was called the Ganges. She -was a fine, fast ship, and the state of our relations with France -requiring a hurried armament, the government bought this vessel, in -common with several others, put an armament of suitable guns in her, -with a full crew, gave her to Dale, and ordered her on the coast as a -regular cruiser. - -In consequence of this arrangement, Capt. Dale was the first officer who -ever got to sea under the pennant of the present navy. He sailed in May, -1798, and was followed by the Constellation and Delaware in a few days. -The service of Dale in his new capacity was short, however, in -consequence of some questions relating to rank. The captains appointed -in 1794 claimed their old places, and, it being uncertain what might be -the final decision of the government, as there were many aspirants, Dale -declined serving until the matter was determined. In May, 1799, he -sailed for Canton again, in command of a strong letter-of-marque, under -a furlough. On his return from this voyage he found his place on the -list settled according to his own views of justice and honor, and -reported himself for service. Nothing offered, however, until the -difficulties with France were arranged; but, in May, 1801, he was -ordered to take command of a squadron of observation about to be sent to -the Mediterranean. - -Dale now hoisted his broad pennant, for the first and only time, and -assumed the title by which he was known for the rest of his days. He was -in the prime of life, being in his forty-fifth year, of an active, manly -frame, and had every prospect before him of a long and honorable -service. The ships put under his orders were the President 44, Capt. -James Barron; Philadelphia 38, Capt. Samuel Barron; Essex 32, Capt. -William Bainbridge; and Enterprise 12, Lieut. Com. Sterrett. A better -appointed, or a better commanded force, probably never sailed from -America. But there was little to do, under the timid policy and -defective laws of the day. War was not supposed to exist, although -hostilities did; and vessels were sent into foreign seas with crews -shipped for a period that would scarcely allow of a vessel’s being got -into proper order. - -The squadron sailed June 1st, 1801, and reached Gibraltar July 1st. The -Philadelphia blockaded the Tripolitan admiral, with two cruisers, in -Gibraltar, while the other vessels went aloft. A sharp action occurred -between the Enterprise and a Tripolitan of equal force, in which the -latter was compelled to submit, but was allowed to go into her own port -again, for want of legal authority to detain her. Dale appeared off -Tripoli, endeavored to negotiate a little about an exchange of -prisoners, and did blockade the port; but his orders fettered him in a -way to prevent any serious enterprises. In a word, no circumstances -occurred to allow the commodore to show his true character, except as it -was manifested in his humanity, prudence and dignity. As a superior, he -obtained the profound respect of all under his orders, and to this day -his name is mentioned with regard by those who then served under him. It -is thought that this squadron did much toward establishing the high -discipline of the marine. In one instance only had Dale an opportunity -of manifesting his high personal and professional qualities. The -President struck a rock in quitting Port Mahon, and for some hours she -was thought to be in imminent danger of foundering. Dale assumed the -command, and one of his lieutenants, himself subsequently a flag officer -of rare seamanship and merit, has often recounted to the writer his -admiration of the commodore’s coolness, judgment, and nerve, on so -trying an occasion. The ship was carried to Toulon, blowing a gale, and, -on examination, it was found that she was only saved from destruction by -the skilful manner in which the wood ends had been secured. - -The vigilance of Dale was so great, however, and his dispositions so -skilful, that the Tripolitans made no captures while he commanded in -those seas. In March, 1802, he sailed for home, under his orders, -reaching Hampton Roads in April, after a cruise of about ten months. The -succeeding autumn, Com. Dale received an order to hold himself in -readiness to resume the command from which he had just returned. Ever -ready to serve his country, when it could be done with honor, he would -cheerfully have made his preparations accordingly, but, by the order -itself, he ascertained that he was to be sent out without a captain in -his own ship. This, agreeably to the notions he entertained, was a -descent in the scale of rank, and he declined serving on such terms. -There being no alternative between obedience and resignation, he chose -the latter, and quitted the navy. At this time, he was the third captain -on the list, and it is no more than justice to say, that he stood second -to no other in the public estimation. - -Dale never went to sea again. Possessed of an ample fortune, and -possessing the esteem of all who knew him, he commanded the respect of -those with whom he differed in opinion touching the question which drove -him from the navy. With the latter he never quarreled, for, at the -proper period, he gave to it his two elder sons. To the last he retained -his interest in its success, and his care of mariners, in general, -extended far beyond the interests of this life. - -Many years previously to his death, Com. Dale entered into full -communion with the Protestant Episcopal Church, of which he proved a -consistent and pious member. Under the newly awakened feelings which -induced this step, he was the originater of a Mariner’s Church, in -Philadelphia, attending it in person, every Sunday afternoon, for a long -succession of years. He was as free with his purse, too, as with his -time; and his charities, though properly concealed, were believed to be -large and discriminating. With some it may be deemed a matter of moment, -with all it should be a proof of the estimation in which Dale was held -by certainly a very respectable part of his fellow citizens, that he was -named to be the first president of the Washington Benevolent Society; an -association that soon degenerated to serve the ends of party politics, -whatever may have been the design that influenced the few with which it -originated. - -The evening of the life of Dale was singularly peaceful and happy. It -was as calm as its morning had been tempestuous. It is true he had to -weep for the loss of his first-born son, a noble youth, who died of -wounds received in the action between his old ship, the President, and a -British squadron; but he had given the young man to his country, and -knew how to bear up under the privation. He died, himself, in the -seventieth year of his age, in his dwelling at Philadelphia, February -26th, 1826; departing in peace with God and man, as he fondly trusted -himself, and as those who survive have every reason to hope. - -By his marriage with Miss Crathorne, Com. Dale had several children, -five of whom lived to become men and women, viz. three sons and two -daughters. Of the former, Richard, the eldest, fell, at an early age, a -midshipman on board the President. John Montgomery, the second, is now a -commander in the navy, having served with Warrington, in the last -English war. This gentleman is married to a lady of the well known -family of Willing. Edward Crathorne, the youngest son, is a merchant of -Philadelphia. He is married and has children. The eldest daughter, -Sarah, married T. M’Kean Pettit, Esq., a judge of the District Court, in -Philadelphia, and is dead, leaving issue. Elizabeth, the youngest, is -the wife of Com. George Campbell Reed, of the navy, and has no issue. - -In considering the character of Dale, we are struck with its simple -modesty and frank sincerity, quite as much as with its more brilliant -qualities. His courage and constancy were of the highest order, -rendering him always equal to the most critical duties, and never -wearying in their performance. Such a man is perfectly free from all -exaggeration. As he was not afraid to act when his cooler judgment -approved, he had no distrusts to overcome ere he could forbear, as -prudence dictated. Jones found him a man ready and willing to second all -his boldest and most hazardous attempts, so long as reason showed the -probabilities of success; but the deed done, none more thoroughly -stripped it of all false coloring, or viewed it in a truer light than he -who had risked his life in aiding to achieve it. - -The person of Dale was in harmony with his moral qualities. It was -manly, seaman-like, and of singularly respectable bearing. Simplicity, -good faith, truth and courage were imprinted on his countenance, which -all who were thrown into his company soon discovered was no more than -the mirror of his mind. The navy has had more brilliant intellects, -officers of profounder mental attainments, and of higher natural gifts, -but it has had few leaders of cooler judgment, sounder discretion, more -inflexible justice, or indomitable resolution. He was of a nature, an -experience, and a professional skill to command respect and to inspire -confidence, tributes that were cheerfully paid by all who served under -his orders. The writer of this article has had extensive opportunities -of hearing character discussed among the sea-officers of his country; -few escape criticism, of some sort or other, for their professional -acts, and fewer still, as men; yet he cannot recall a single instance in -which he has ever heard a whisper of complaint against the public or -private career of Richard Dale. This total exemption from the usual -fortunes of the race may, in part, be owing to the shortness of the -latter’s service in the present marine, and to the limited acquaintance -of his cotemporaries, but it is difficult to believe that it is not -chiefly to be ascribed to the thoroughly seaman-like character of the -officer, and to the perfect truth and sterling probity of the man. - ------ - -[1] This ship has been differently stated to have been the Liverpool and -the Pearl. We follow what we think the best authorities. - -[2] The prize-officer of the Lexington was a young American, of a highly -respectable family, then an acting lieutenant in the English navy. His -prisoners seized an occasion to rise, at a moment when he had gone below -for an instant, in consequence of which he was dismissed the service; -living the remainder of his life, and dying, in his native country. - -[3] It is a curious feature of the times, that, the French ordering the -Americans to quit their ports with their prizes, the latter were taken -out a short distance to sea and sold, Frenchmen becoming the purchasers, -and finding means to secure the property. - -[4] This sword has, quite recently, become the subject of public -discussion, and of some private feeling, under circumstances not wholly -without interest to the navy and the country. At page 63, vol. 2, of -Mackenzie’s Life of Paul Jones, is the following note, viz.: - - “This sword was sent by Jones’ heirs to his valued friend, - Robert Morris, to whose favor he had owed his opportunities of - distinguishing himself. Mr. Morris gave the sword to the navy of - the United States. It was to be retained and worn by the senior - officer, and transmitted at his death, to his successor. After - passing through the hands of Commodore Barry, _and one or two - other senior officers_, it came into possession of Commodore - Dale, and now remains in his family, through some mistake in the - nature of the bequest, which seems to require that it should - either be restored to the navy in the person of its senior - officer, or else revert to the heirs of Mr. Robert Morris, from - one of whom the writer has received this information.” - - That Captain Mackenzie has been correctly informed as to a - portion of the foregoing statement, is as probable as it is - certain he has been misled as to the remainder. It would have - been more discreet, however, in a writer to have heard both - sides, previously to laying such a statement before the world. A - very little inquiry might have satisfied him that Commodore Dale - could not have held any thing as the senior officer of the navy, - since he never occupied that station. We believe the following - will be found to be accurate. - - Of the manner in which Commodore Barry became possessed of this - sword we know nothing beyond report, and the statement of - Captain Mackenzie. We understand that a female member of the - Morris family gives a version of the affair like that published - in the note we have quoted, but the accuracy of her - recollections can hardly be put in opposition to the _acts_ of - such men as Barry and Dale. - - The sword never passed through the hands “_of one or two other - senior officers_,” as stated by Captain Mackenzie, at all. It - was bequeathed by Commodore Barry to Commodore Dale, in his - will, and in the following words, viz. - - “Item, I give and bequeath to my good friend Captain Richard - Dale, _my_ gold-hilted sword, as a token of my esteem for him.” - - We have carefully examined the will, inventory, &c. of Commodore - Barry. The first is dated February 27, 1803; the will is proved - and the inventory filed in the following September, in which - month Commodore Barry died. Now, Commodore Dale was not in the - navy at all, when this sword was bequeathed to him, nor when he - received it. Dale resigned in the autumn of 1802; and he never - rose nearer to the head of the list of captains, than to be the - third in rank; Barry, himself, and Samuel Nicholson, being his - seniors, when he resigned. - - The inventory of Commodore Barry’s personal property is very - minute, containing articles of a value as low as one dollar. It - mentions _two_ swords, both of which are specifically - bequeathed—viz. “_my_ gold-hilted” and “_my_ silver-hilted - sword.” No allusion is made in the will to any trust. Only these - two swords were found among the assets, and each was delivered - agreeably to the bequest. The gold-hilted sword was known in the - family, as the “Paul Jones sword,” and there is not the smallest - doubt Commodore Barry intended to bequeath this particular - sword, in full property, to Commodore Dale. - - Let us next look to the probabilities of the case. The heirs of - Paul Jones, who left no issue, gave the sword to Robert Morris, - says Captain Mackenzie, as a mark of gratitude. This may very - well be true. But Mr. Morris “gave the sword to the navy of the - United States,” to be retained and worn by its senior officer. - It would have been a more usual course to have lodged the sword - in the Navy Department, had such been the intention. That - Commodore Barry did not view _his_ possession of the sword in - this light, is clear enough by his will. He gave it, _without_ - restraint of any sort, to a friend who was not in the navy at - all, and who never had been its senior officer. This he did, in - full possession of his mind and powers, six months before he - died, and under circumstances to render any misconception highly - improbable. - - Can we find any motive for the bequest of Commodore Barry? It - was not personal to himself, as the sword went out of his own - family. The _other sword_ he gave to a brother-in-law. “Paul - Jones’ sword” was bequeathed to a distinguished professional - friend—to one who, of all others, next to Jones himself, had - the best professional right to wear it—to “Paul Jones’ first - lieutenant.” Commodore Dale did leave sons, and some in the - navy; and the country will believe that the one who now owns the - sword has as good a moral right to wear it, as the remote - collaterals of Jones, and a much better right than the senior - officer of the navy, on proof as vague as that offered. His - _legal_ right to the sword seems to be beyond dispute. - - In the inventory of Commodore Barry’s personals, this sword is - thus mentioned, viz.—“a very elegant gold-hilted sword—$300.” - The other sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a handsome - silver-hilted, do. $100.” - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SERENADE. - - - Beneath a bower, where poplar branches long - Embracing wove Seclusion o’er the abode - Of hermit sage, what time the full moon rode - ’Mid spectre clouds her star-paved streets along, - Rose on the listening air a plaintive song, - Sweet as the harmony of an angel’s lyre, - And soft as sweet; breathed heavenward from a quire - Of Beauty, hid the encircling shades among. - Of mysteries high, I ween, that sage had dreamed— - Who now, upstarting, clasps his hands to hear - The _mystic notes of Nature’s Anthem_ clear, - Which holiest bards have heard and heavenly deemed! - ’Tis even thus as to that sage it seemed— - ’Tis Beauty makes the dreams of Wisdom, dear! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIDOW OF NEWBURY. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE.” - - -’Twas the eve of Newbury fair, and the time near the close of the long -reign of Harry the Eighth, after monasteries were suppressed. Reform -stalked through the land—all things were turned topsy-turvy—abbots and -monks beggared, that poor lords might thrive—priests permitted -marriage, and nuns driven from their pleasant retreats, were forced to -spin for a livelihood. But amid the greater marvels, the townspeople of -Newbury had often leisure to ask why Mistress Avery remained so long a -widow. - -Sitting in her embowered porch, watching the cavalcade of merchants, -buffoons and jugglers, on their way to the encampment and site of the -morrow’s revels, she attracted many a longing eye. The merchant, whose -wandering vocation led him from ancient Byzantium to the shores of the -Thames, who came to Newbury to exchange rich silks and foreign jewelry -for broadcloth, as he rode by the capacious square tenement, with its -deep, embayed windows of dark chesnut-wood, and caught a glimpse of the -fair owner, sighed when contrasting his own desolate, wandering lot with -that of the fortunate wooer of the rich, comely widow. Mistress Avery -was relict of the richest clothier of Newbury, who, dying, left her in -sole possession of looms, lands, tenements and leases. Handsome, young, -brisk, with riches unquestionable, she attracted tender regards from all -quarters—even the proud gentry of Berkshire, with genealogical tree -rooting from Norman marauder, far back as the conquest, disdained not an -alliance garnished with broad manors, woods of a century’s growth, and -goodly array of tenements, of which our widow held fee-simple. But when -pressed successively by belted knight and worshipful esquire, she -courteously declined their offers, alleging she was bent on marrying one -of her own class in life, (if she should change condition,) one who -could take upon himself, without degradation, the task of superintending -the looms. High born swains repulsed, the field was open to gallants of -lowlier rank. But these faring no better, and incurring the ridicule of -neighbors, suitors became shy and reserved, seeking to extract token of -favor ere they avowed themselves. If the curate called, ’twas merely an -inquiry after her soul’s health—the inquiry perhaps linked to a request -that she would, from her stores of boundless wealth, add a trifle to the -contributions of the poor’s box. The lawyer had his ever ready and -undeniable excuses for visiting—leases there were to sign, indentures -to cancel. Nor was the tailor barred his plea—was there not much -broadcloth yearly fashioned into apparel for lusty serving-man, active -apprentice? - -Behind Mistress Avery, as she sat gazing at the straggling pageantry, -there loitered in hall and doorway the apprentices and domestic servants -of the household. Distinguished amongst his companions, by superior -stature, stood John Winehcomb, chief apprentice. To him the widow oft -turned with remark on passing stranger; the soft regard thrown into her -address would have excused boldness in one far less favored by nature -than the apprentice, but his answers were submissive, modest, even -bashful. An acute observer might perhaps have detected a shade of -discontent on the widow’s handsome features, perhaps, as fancifully, -attributed it to the coyness and reserve of young Winehcomb; and, -indeed, as revolving months lengthened the period of widowhood, there -had not been wanting whispers, that ’Prentice John stood a fairer chance -with his mistress than all the knights or reputable burgher citizens and -yeomen of the county. His appearance certainly did not gainsay the -rumor—he had completed his twentieth year, health flushed his cheeks, -honesty and intelligence stamped his looks—the features were bold and -decided, though of modest expression. In character, he was one of those -gifted youths, in whom strict attention and unvarying promptitude supply -the place of experience, and who acquire the management and conduct of -business, in ordinary cases, rarely entrusted to men of mature years. -The clothier, when dying, recommended his spouse to confide business -affairs to John—she had done so; in the factory and with the workmen -’Prentice John was all and everything—from his word ’twas useless to -appeal. - -But when young Winehcomb’s credit with Mistress Avery was canvassed, the -gossips were at a loss to affix on decisive marks of favor or -tenderness. ’Tis true, he accompanied her to church, but so did the -other apprentices—walked by her side, sat next his mistress during -prayers, his arm was accepted, his hand arranged the cushions—but then, -was he not chief apprentice, would it not be slighting to prefer the -services of a junior? Look narrowly at his conduct—there were none of -the characteristics of a favored swain, no semblance of behavior -indicating one presumptuous of the honor, nor could the absence of these -tokens be attributed to natural timidity in the presence of the sex, for -at country meetings and fairs, where hoydenish romping was the usual -diversion of youth, John participated in rustic gallantries. Yet, sooth -to say, though the gossips were at fault, they were not wrong in their -conjectures; the widow was deeply in love with ’Prentice John, for his -sake had dismissed high-born suitors, wealthy citizens, and, we need -hardly say, (though scrupulously regardful of reputation,) had given him -many hints, which, alas! he was slow to understand. It might be -inexperience, want of self-confidence, or innate modesty, which withheld -the youth from tracing her encouragement to its real motive; but from -whatever cause, Mistress Avery, who had a very high opinion of her own -personal attractions, knew he must be perfectly well acquainted with her -riches, was greatly perplexed with his diffidence, his want of -susceptibility, and concluded the apprentice must be in love elsewhere -to withstand such allurements. - -One while, racked with jealousy, determined in very spite and vexation -to accept the offer of the first suitor, the next hour affection gained -the ascendancy, and she resolved to declare her love. But pride took -fire and caused a tumult in the heart, of which young Winehcomb, the -unconscious origin, was little aware. How provoking the calmness of his -replies, the quiet gaze which met her impassioned glance! Oft with -difficulty she refrained from bestowing a hearty cuff on the cold youth, -object of fond desire—as often, and with greater difficulty, did she -refrain from tenderer salute. To-morrow shall put this wilful-headed boy -to the test! If his heart be engaged, it is more than likely he has made -an assignation, which I will frustrate! So thought Mistress Avery, -revolving a scheme to bring young Diffidence on his knees, or to a -direct confession that he loved another. Under pretence of making -inquiries respecting the description of merchandise then passing the -house, borne on a long train of pack-horses, under conduct of merchants -of foreign aspect, the widow beckoned the apprentice (who was standing -at respectful distance, beneath the threshold, with his fellow -apprentices) to approach her chair, placed outside the house under cover -of the overarching porch. - -“John!” said the dame, fixing her large eyes on the youth, “I warrant -there is store enough of trinkets and finery in yon bales to satisfy the -wants of every maiden in Newbury. Happy the youth whose wages are -unspent, for to-morrow, by ’r Lady! he might buy the love of the most -hard-hearted damsel. Certes, no swain need die of love, if he have money -in his purse!” - -“If the love were bought by those foreign pedlar wares, it would not be -much for a Newbury lad to boast of,” replied the young man, -blushing—for the gaze of his mistress was keen and ardent. - -“Are the lads of Newbury then so disinterested, Master John,” exclaimed -the widow. “Well! I will put one, at least, to the proof. I must walk -through the fair, if only to chat with my tenants’ wives from Spene and -Thatcham, and shall need your protection, for these strange foreigners -may be rude, and Cicely is such a coward she would run away.” - -Mrs. Avery was rather baffled by the result of her own feint; for, -contrary to expectation, she could discover neither chagrin nor -disappointment; the apprentice answered cheerfully, he should be proud -to attend on his honored mistress, and would not forget a good cudgel, -more than a match for any foreigner’s steel—nay, to ensure her from -insult, he would bring all his fellow apprentices. This was more than -the lady desired. She was again puzzled, and declined, rather pettishly, -the extra corps of gallants, volunteered by the apprentice, more -especially, as she affirmed that it was contrary to the letter and -spirit of their indentures, which guaranteed festival and fair-days to -be at their own disposal. But they would gladly abandon the privilege to -do her service, rejoined the pertinacious and simple youth, with -ill-timed assiduity. - -“Fool!” muttered the widow between her teeth, but not so indistinctly as -to pass unheard by the apprentice, who immediately drew back abashed. - -A bright morrow gladdened the hearts of the good folk of Newbury. The -morn was occupied in the sale and purchase of commodities—the staple -article of the town was readily exchanged for foreign merchandise, or -broad Spanish pieces, as suited the inclination of the parties dealing. -These were busy hours for young Winehcomb and his associates, but amply -redeemed by the gayety and attractive dissipation of the afternoon. In -walking through the fair, Mistress Avery leaned on the youth’s arm, an -honor envied the apprentice by many an anxious, would-be suitor. Ere -growing tired of the drollery of the jugglers, mountebanks and buffoons, -or the more serious spectacle of the scenic moralites, they encountered -Master Luke Milner, the attorney, who thought the opportunity should not -be thrown away of endeavoring to gain the widow’s good graces. Master -Luke believed his chance very fair—he was of good family, on the -youthful side of thirty, but exceedingly foppish, after the style of the -London gallants, but caricatured—too many ribbons on doublet, too many -jewels on beaver, shoes garnished with roses large as sunflowers. “The -worshipful attorney will never do for me,” thought Mistress Avery! She -had often thought so, and was blind to many courtesies and compliments -which the learned man ventured to throw in with his legal opinions. But -now she had a part to play, a stratagem to practice on the feelings of -young Winehcomb. Love, like hunger, will break through every restraint; -she scrupled not making the lawyer’s vanity subservient to her policy, -and, accordingly, listened to his flattery with more than ordinary -attention, keeping an eye, the while, on ’Prentice John, to observe the -effect of the legal gallant’s honeyed speeches. Alas! for poor, -love-stricken Mistress Avery—no burning jealousy flushed the cheek of -John—lightened in his eye, or trembled through his frame! Hearing the -conversation grow each moment more interesting and tender, believing -himself one too many, he politely retired to a respectful distance. Was -he so cold and insensible, the handsome blockhead? soliloquized Mistress -Avery, heedless of the lawyer’s flowing speeches—I will break the -indentures—banish him the house! The wretch! - -Not cold, not insensible, Mistress Avery, for see! Even whilst he -loiters, there approaches a party from the village of Spene, with whom -our apprentice is intimate—he laughs, chats with the young men and -maidens, and finally, as the mirth grows more uproarious, salutes a very -handsome, fresh colored, smart young damsel. The dame, who witnessed the -scene, stung with jealousy, believing her suspicions confirmed, broke -off abruptly, whilst Master Luke was at the very _acme_ of his tender -theme; leaving the astonished gallant, cap in hand, to the derision of -acquaintance, who sarcastically advised him to repair the loss by writ -of error. - - - CHAPTER II. - -Though the widow took no notice of the incident which aroused her -jealousy, John was made sensible he had incurred her displeasure. She -walked silent, moody, reserved, scarcely replied to his remarks; her -large, dark eye flashed anger, but the apprentice, though awed, was -struck with its beauty, more struck than he had ever been. It was a new -sensation he experienced. He inwardly deprecated the threatened wrath, -wondered by what sad mischance he had incurred it, was more tremblingly -alive to her resentment, than when oft-times—during the course of -apprenticeship—conscious of deserving it. A strange, uneasy feeling -began to haunt him—he was sensible of loss of favor, and though, after -taxing memory, unconscious of merited disgrace—was surprised, -inquieted, by the deep dejection of spirits under which he labored. It -seemed as though he had incurred a loss, of which he knew not the extent -till now. His arm trembled, and she snappishly rebuked his unsteadiness; -he again encountered her glance—it was wild, angry, fierce, yet he felt -he could have looked forever. - -They were opposite one of those temporary taverns, erected for the -accommodation of the higher classes frequenting the fair—tricked out -with gaudy splendor, yet affording delicious viands, choice wines to -wearied strollers. It so happened that, passing by the open doorway, -their progress was arrested by Master Nathaniel Buttress, the wealthy -tanner—mean, avaricious, advanced in years, yet ardently longing to add -the widow’s possessions to his own accumulated riches. With studied bow, -and precise flourish of beaver, he bade Mistress Avery good day, and -followed up the salute by invitation to sip a glass of sack, the -fashionable beverage of the time. At fair-season, there was not the -slightest impropriety, either in the offer, or its acceptation—it was -quite in the usual license of these festivals. But ’Prentice John was -doubly surprised; in the first place, that the miserly tanner (his -niggardliness was proverbial) should have screwed up courage to treat -any one with the high-priced nectar—and that his arm, which he -gallantly offered, should have been accepted with alacrity by the fair -dame, who, our apprentice was aware, had oft made devious circuits, on -many occasions, to elude a meeting. Young Winehcomb found himself, -lacquey-fashion, following in the rear. He was deeply mortified—such -circumstance had never happened before—yet, though vexed, the annoyance -was only secondary to extreme surprise at the character of his own -feelings. He had valued highly the good will, kind words, and occasional -gifts of the lady, as proofs of favor, founded on his honesty, diligence -and promptitude, or, at least, without deeply analizing his feelings, -believed that in such spirit he received them. But now, smarting under -disgrace, it seemed as though lost favor was dear for its own -sake—bereft of smiles to which he had been insensible till the present -hour, he was unhappy, miserable. ’Prentice John had great difficulty in -withholding his cudgel from the tanner’s back, but though he gave him -not a beating, he mentally promised one. Master Buttress, elated with -good fortune, was more vain-glorious than cautious; unlike prudent -lover, uncertain of continuance of sudden favor, dreading loss of -vantage ground, snatched by eager rivals, he escorted the dame to a -conspicuous seat, whence they could behold the fair, from whence his -favored lot was visible to all. The ready drawers, ere ardor called, -hastened to place before the guests a tray laden with costly delicacies, -crowned with silver flagon full of the favorite potation. Young -Winehcomb, who sat apart, though partaking the dainties, was maddened to -behold his mistress listen so complacently to the addresses of the -veteran suitor. Could she be serious? And if she were—what then? Was -she not absolute mistress of herself, her wealth—and was he so -specially concerned in her choice? This self-questioning elicited the -conviction, startling though true, that he was deeply, personally -concerned. He was, then, undeniably in love with his mistress! Was the -passion of sudden growth, the birth of the present hour? Alas! no—it -had been long smouldering unconsciously—nay, if he doubted, memory -flashed innumerable, though till now, unnoticed facts proving its -existence—and he had foolishly let slip the golden chance of wooing -till too late—till his advantages were the prey of a successful -rival!—his own affection only brought to light by the torch of -jealousy. Such was the cruel, torturing position of young Winehcomb. -’Twas aggravated in being obliged to listen to the tanner’s flattery, to -witness its favorable reception. Nay, worse—he became conscious that -Mistress Avery remarked his inquietude, his ill-suppressed hatred of -Master Nathaniel, as her eye was often for a moment bent on him. He was -convinced she took pleasure in his torments, for on these occasions her -manner—though strictly within the rigid limits of propriety—invariably -was more marked and tender toward the detested, fulsome niggard. He had -heard, alas! such was the custom of the sex. Often was ’Prentice John -resolved on leaving the lovers to their own conversation, but restrained -anger on reflecting it was his duty to be present with and protect -Mistress Avery, till she quitted the fair and returned home. Nor did he -relish the notion of leaving the field altogether to the -tanner—jealousy united with sense of duty in detaining the youth. - -Master Buttress was in rare good humor; he could not deem otherwise but -that he was the fortunate, chosen man, and he found leisure in the -intervals of fits of gallantry, to conjure flitting visions of broad -manor added to broad manor, tenement to tenement, and to picture the -future Master—nay, Worshipful Master Nathaniel Buttress, richest -gentleman in the county of Berkshire. The only damp on his high spirits -was the present outlay; he had been drawn into expenses far beyond usual -habits; had never been guilty of similar extravagance; the veriest -prodigal of London could not have ordered a more costly board; and that -tall, rosy-cheeked lad imbibed the precious sack with the avidity of a -sponge, and never looked a tithe the better humored, but sat grinning -menaces at him—the donor of the feast! Well! well! all should soon be -remedied, and the disagreeable, lanky apprentice turned adrift. - -“But who is that now passing the tavern; is it not Master Luke Milner, -the attorney? How enviously he looks! he has the reputation of having -pressed hard his own suit, but in vain! If I invite him, he will gladly -come—drink the widow’s health—and it will save me half the reckoning!” -So reasoned the tanner. The lawyer accepted the invitation, though a -slight shade of displeasure, he could not wholly dispel, flushed his -brow. Master Luke entered, bowing lowly to the widow. Drawing a chair, -near as good manners admitted, to the fair dame, he carefully deposited -scented gloves and jeweled beaver on adjoining bench, and, in sitting, -showed anxiety to display a trim foot, though rather overshadowed by the -large roses. The tanner soon perceived that avarice had induced a -grievous oversight, for the widow was not quite won. It was both -unaccountable and annoying—how perverse these women are! she seemed now -disposed to extend as much favor to Master Luke as she had previously -exhibited to Master Buttress. ’Prentice John was pleased and distressed -at the scene—glad of the tanner’s discomfiture, he was enraged at the -other’s success. The elder suitor had shown indifference to the presence -of the apprentice, viewed him as a necessary appendage to the widow’s -state, or, at worst, a tax on his purse to the extent of sack imbibed; -but our lawyer, nearer John’s own age, and gifted with keener eye than -his rival, liked not young Winehcomb’s vicinity, his prying, resolute -gaze. - -“Mistress Avery,” said the lawyer blandly, “our young friend appears -uneasy; nor do I wonder, for more than once, in the fair, did I hear -red, pouting lips lament the absence of Jack Winehcomb. I pray thee, -suffer the lad to stroll where he lists; Master Nathaniel and your -unworthy servant, with permission, will zealously protect the pride and -boast of Newbury.” - -If John had broken any engagement by attendance on her, replied the -dame—and a keen smile, part malicious, part searching, lit up the -widow’s features as she gazed on the disconcerted youth—let him seek -Cicely, who was not far off, to take his place, and he had full -permission to absent himself. ’Prentice John, though vexed and out of -countenance, said he had no other engagement than duty enjoined, and he -was entirely at his mistress’ command. - -“Then I must not spoil Cicely’s holiday,” remarked the widow. The -apprentice was doubtful whether she spoke in displeasure or not—the -tone of voice and expression of countenance were equivocal. A quiet -smile, which played for an instant around her mouth, when he declared he -had no engagement, presaged returning favor, but the horizon was again -clouded. Mistress Avery, turning to the gallants, said the youth should -have his own way, that for herself she never found his presence -irksome—he was so stupid, she might talk treason in his company without -danger—what she was obliged to say was generally misunderstood. Stupid! -misunderstood! Were there, in these words, more meant than met the ear? -Had he been so blind, so deaf? Meanwhile the situation of the rivals was -far from pleasant; the tanner had introduced an enemy within the -fortress, whom he could neither dislodge nor compete with; the lawyer -was angry that he had not the field to himself; whilst fair Mistress -Avery, with impartial justice, hung the scales of favor suspended. -Neither could now positively declare he was the chosen swain. Half -suppressed taunts, and sarcasm clothed in ceremonious language, -threatened more open bickering, when Master Luke, with due regard to a -lady’s feelings, besought her to pardon their absence for a few minutes, -as he suddenly recollected an affair important to the welfare of his -friend, Master Buttress. The dame was condescending, declared she had -too much regard for Master Nathaniel to deem their absence a slight, -under the circumstances; so the lawyer, affecting to produce a leathern -note-case, retired with his rival. The apprentice felt his situation -awkward, but he was presently relieved; Mistress Avery bade him follow -the gentlemen unperceived, and if they drew weapons, or otherwise -exhibited hostilities, immediately interfere to prevent mischief. -Concealed by the angle of a canvass booth, he listened, unseen, to the -wordy strife. The lawyer was cool, sarcastic, overbearing; the tanner, -fiery and threatening. Presuming on youth, good figure, and flowing -rhetoric, the former contemned the pretensions of the elder rival, whom -he affirmed had nothing to recommend him but wealth not needed; why, -therefore, pursue a rivalry, when he could not lay claim to one certain -token of affection? And the man of law began enumerating the -distinguishing marks of favor which Dame Avery, spite of prudent, -cautious, self-restraint, could not avoid exhibiting as soon as he -entered the tavern. The tanner’s replication was in the same style. If -these be marks of affection, thought the listener, what would they say -to my pretensions if I told all? And ’Prentice John, as he listened and -commented on what he heard, grew a wiser, more knowing youth. - -“If thou wert a younger man, Master Nathaniel,” said the lawyer, “there -would be no need for these mutual taunts. We have a readier mode of -settling—” - -“Curse thy youth, and thee too,” exclaimed the tanner; “’cause thou art -a vain, braggart fop, with thy galloon and thy large cabbage roses, -think’st to brave it over me?—there!—and there!” And so saying, the -valiant tanner dealt successive cuffs on Master Luke’s doublet, and -drawing weapon, awaited the attack. Their rapiers—for the tanner, -though following a handicraft, yet, as owning broad lands, deemed -himself entitled to wear a weapon and dub himself gentleman—immediately -crossed, but the alert apprentice, with stout cudgel, threw himself -between and struck down their guard. - -“Good sirs! good sirs! forbear!” cried one hastening to assist young -Winehcomb. ’Twas the curate of Spene. The belligerents immediately -sheathed their weapons, muttering future vengeance. The holy man -requested to know the cause of quarrel, and offered to act as umpire. -This, after demur and consideration, was agreed to. Hearing each in -turn, he proposed, as more becoming their respective characters than -fighting, that the case should be stated to Mistress Avery—the election -left to the fair widow. As each deemed himself the favored candidate, -and, indeed, with good cause, for our dame had been gracious to both, -the curate’s proposal was accepted, and his eloquence solicited to open -the pleadings. The party thereupon returned to the tavern, the -apprentice not the least interested actor in the drama. - -The curate of Spene, though grave and sententious, threw into his speech -an under current of humor and _bonhommie_, which touched off the -pretensions of each suitor with dramatic effect and felicity. Neither -could question his impartiality, nor had he, as he affirmed, secret -preponderance either way; both were esteemed friends, both had received -the offices of the church at his hands, both had listened to his Sabbath -exhortations. Which of the twain reigned in the lady’s heart, to him he -should offer congratulation; to the other he could fairly say, that he -merited the honor for which he had unsuccessfully striven. - -There was a pause, a deep silence. The blushing widow must now speak, -declare herself, decide her own fate, and with it the fortunes of the -suitors. How ardently did ’Prentice John long for one of the many -opportunities of pleading his passion, oft thrown in his way, so -heedlessly neglected! Would she indeed make an election? then, farewell, -Newbury! in some far distant land would he hide his disgrace, forget his -folly. - -Mistress Avery said the gentlemen had certainly given her cause long to -remember Newbury Fair; yet they could not expect her mind made up on so -momentous a question of a sudden; besides, it was now Wednesday, which -had ever been an unlucky day with the Averys, but to-morrow (Thursday) -week they should have a decisive answer—her preference made -known—provided, and it was the only stipulation besides secrecy, they -both refrained pressing their amorous suits in the interim. - -So ended the conference, and as the rivals, with the curate, gallantly -bade the lady adieu (having promised obedience in every particular) -’Prentice John, in a paroxysm of anger and remorse, made firm resolve -that he would challenge to mortal combat the favored suitor, beat him -within an inch of life if he refused to fight, upbraid the widow for -secretly fomenting a passion which she laughed at, and flee, forever, -the town of Newbury. - -“You forget, John, I shall need your arm through the press,” exclaimed -the dame reproachfully. The apprentice started; he had been leaning -against the bench, lost in bitter reverie; he saw not his mistress was -waiting. Uttering an indistinct apology, he escorted the lady from the -tavern in time to witness that the tanner had been sufficiently adroit -to palm off half the expense of the entertainment on his rival. Whether -this was omen of higher fortune, the sequel will show. - -They scarcely spoke during the remainder of the walk, nor even after -reaching home. ’Prentice John was reserved, melancholy, brooding over -bitter reflections; the dame, sly, observant, oft casting furtive -glances at young Winehcomb, seemingly, as he thought, indulging secret -pleasure on beholding his misery. On the morrow they were together in -the compting-room; it was his duty to produce entries of the bales of -cloth sold during the business-period of the Fair; to account for the -same in bullion, or according to the terms of sale. - -“These for thyself, John,” said the widow, placing a few gold pieces on -the table, whilst she proceeded to place, under triple lock, the -remainder. They remained untouched. The third lock of the huge iron -chest duly shot, the dame arose, was surprised on beholding the money -still lying unappropriated; John looking like man under sentence of -death. - -“Have I grown niggardly, Master Winehcomb?” exclaimed the widow, “speak, -if you would have more.” - -John replied by asking if she thought the ten pieces sufficient to equip -him, and pay passage to Cadiz, where he heard an expedition was fitting -out, in which many Englishmen had volunteered. Mistress Avery, with a -calmness which confirmed his despair, replied in the negative, but -demanded why he should think of starting for Cadiz, ere, indeed, his -indentures were determined. The apprentice declared wildly, if she -married either tanner or lawyer, he would depart, even with no more than -the ten pieces, and for his reasons—he was not then sufficiently master -of himself to detail them! - -“But, John,” said the widow, in a tone of expostulation, whilst a smile -lurked in the eyes and round the mouth, “what am I to do if I say No? -they press me so hard!” - -The Newbury apprentice, at his mistress’ feet, taught the answer she -should give. On the following Monday, Master John Winehcomb was united -in marriage with Mistress Avery—the wedding celebrated by the grandest -entertainment ever beheld in the county of Berkshire, the fame whereof -spread even as far as the court of bluff Harry. If lacking splendor in -any particular, the omission was owing to the short time for -preparation, as no expense was spared. The unfortunate suitors, of -course, understood the affair from common report, and thought it -unnecessary to seek their fate at the widow’s domicil, when they could -learn it from every man, woman and child in the town. They were invited -to the wedding feast, but wisely declined, as the story of their strange -wooing was already abroad. - -It was the custom, in those days, for the bridegroom to salute the bride -on the cheek, in the church, after the ceremony was performed. - -“And you are ready to swear, Master John,” whispered the dame as the -bridegroom approached, “that you never saw that damsel before Fair-day, -whom you kissed at the Fair?” - -“No—nor since!” replied he, believing it a hint for his future conduct. - -Master Winehcomb lived happily—his wealth increased so quickly, with -the increasing demand for the staple article of Newbury, that when the -Earl of Surrey marched against James the Fourth of Scotland, who was -then ravaging the borders, the rich clothier accompanied the expedition -with a retinue of one hundred servants and artisans, clothed and armed -at his own expense. The memory of John Winehcomb and his rich and -handsome spouse was long preserved in their native town. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS. - - - BY MISS ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. - - - I. - - I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; - That only men incredulous of despair, - Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air - Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access - Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness - In hearts, as countries, lieth silent, bare - Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare - Of the free chartered heavens. Be still! express - Grief for thy dead in silence like to Death! - Most like a monumental statue set - In everlasting watch and moveless wo, - Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. - Touch it, spectator! Are its eyelids wet? - If it could weep it could arise and go! - - - - - II. - - When some belovéd voice, which was to you - Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, - And silence against which you dare not cry - Aches round you with an anguish dreadly new— - What hope, what help? What music will undo - That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh, - Not reason’s labored proof, not melody - Of viols, nor the dancers footing through; - Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, - Whose hearts leap upward from the cypress trees - To Venus’ star! nor yet the spheric laws - Self-chanted—nor the angels’ sweet “all hails,” - Met in the smile of God! Nay, none of these! - Speak, Christ at His right hand, and fill this pause. - - - - - III. - - What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil! - Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines - For all the heat o’ the sun, till it declines, - And Death’s mild curfew shall from work assoil. - God did anoint thee with his odorous oil - To wrestle, not to reign—and he assigns - All thy tears over like pure crystallines - Unto thy fellows, working the same soil. - To wear for amulets. So others shall - Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, - From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, - And God’s grace fructify through thee to all! - The least flower with a brimming cup may stand - And share its dew-drop with another near. - - - - - IV. - - The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel - A pleasant song, ballad or barcarolle, - She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, - Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel - Is full, and artfully her fingers feel, - With quick adjustment, provident control, - The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, - Out to the perfect thread. I hence appeal - To the dear Christian church—that we may do - Our Father’s business in these temples mirk, - So swift and steadfast, so intent and strong— - While so, apart from toil, our souls pursue - Some high, calm, spheric tune—proving our work - The better for the sweetness of our song. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET. - - - BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. - - - I dreamed last night, that I myself did lay - Within the grave—and after stood and wept— - My spirit sorrowed where its ashes slept— - ’Twas a strange dream, and yet meseems it may - Prefigure that which is akin to truth— - How sorrow we o’er perish’d dreams of youth! - High hopes, and aspirations doom’d to be - Crush’d, and o’er-mastered by earth’s destiny! - Fame, that the spirit loathing turns to ruth— - And that deluding faith so loath to part, - That earth will shrine for us one kindred heart; - Oh, ’tis the ashes of such things, that wring - Tears from the eyes! Hopes like to these depart, - And we bow down in dread, o’er-shadowed by death’s wing. - - * * * * * - - - - - MALINA GRAY. - - - BY ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - (Concluded from page 278.) - - - CHAPTER III. - - “I sigh when all my youthful friends caress— - They laugh in health, and future evils brave; - Love has for them a gentle power to bless, - While I shall moulder in my silent grave. - God of the just, thou gavest the bitter cup, - I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.” - - -We had penetrated to the depth of the pine grove, and it was difficult -to find our way out through the tangled undergrowth and the unequal -hollows; but Malina had become thoughtful for others once more, and -though excitement no longer made her own progress easy, she guarded me -with double care; lifted me over the hollows and carried me in her arms -when the thickets were too intricate or the ground very uneven. She -kissed me as we reached a foot-path which led to our cottage, and, -pointing to the door, would have left me to go home alone; but when she -saw that I was troubled regarding my torn frock, kindness of heart -prompted her to come back. She led me to the house, explained my -misfortune, and went away. I sat down on the door-sill and watched her -till she entered the portico of her mother’s dwelling, and when they -remarked on her dejected looks, and questioned me of the cause, I -answered that Malina was tired with walking so long in the woods, for it -seemed as if the tears which I had seen her shed and the passionate -words which she had uttered were a secret which I should do wrong to -mention. - -In about an hour Phebe Gray and our young minister stopped at the -door-yard gate to inquire for Malina. I told them that she had gone -home, and when Mr. Mosier lifted me in his arms, and, looking into my -face, asked what I had been crying about, I turned my head away to evade -his kiss and besought him to set me down. The contrast between his happy -face, the deep and almost brilliant expression of joy which lighted it -up, and the sorrowful look of poor Malina forced itself even on my -childish mind. I felt that which I had no power to comprehend, and from -that time never loved our minister nor Phebe Gray as I had loved them. -They walked home very slowly, she leaning on his arm with an air of -dependence and trustfulness which was full of feeling and feminine -delicacy; he would check their progress every few moments to point out -some familiar beauty in the landscape, as if they had never looked upon -it before. They loitered by the rock spring, and along the river road, -tranquil in their happiness, till the dusk almost concealed them as they -entered Mrs. Gray’s house. - -Almost every evening, for a week, our minister and Phebe Gray took their -walk around the pine grove, and always alone. Malina was confined to the -house. She had taken cold, Mrs. Gray said, and the night air was bad for -her lungs. But often, when her sister was loitering along the river’s -bank, happy in the wealth of her newly aroused affections, Malina might -be seen at her chamber window, with her cheek languidly supported by a -hand which was becoming thinner each day, and gazing earnestly after the -two beings dearest to her on earth, but whose happiness she could not -witness without emotions that were well nigh killing her. Her mother saw -nothing of this. She only knew that Malina was quieter than usual and -not very well, that her eyes were heavy and her step languid as she -moved around the house. She did not see the heart struggling against -itself, the stern principle which grew strong in the contest. She never -dreamed of that desolate and lonely sensation which haunted her -daughter’s pillow with watchfulness, and made her waking hours a season -of trial cruel as the grave. She saw that Malina was strangely affected; -true, she smiled still, but it was meekly, sadly, and it seemed as if -the music of her laugh was exhausted forever; her eyes grew misty and -sorrowful in their expression, and tears would sometimes fill them -without apparent cause. Still it was gravely asserted that Malina had -only a slight cold, a nervous attack which would go off in a day or two! -But there was something in her illness which Phebe could not comprehend; -a wish for solitude, and a strange nervous dread of any thing like -intimate conversation with herself, which prevented an acknowledgment of -her own deep causes of happiness. Her sensitive modesty made her -desirous of some encouragement to unburden her heart of its wealth of -hope even to her sister, and when she saw that Malina shunned her, that -her eyes had a wandering and estranged look whenever they turned upon -her face, she felt checked and almost repulsed in her confidence. If any -thing could have disturbed the pure happiness which reigned in her -bosom, it would have been this extraordinary mood in one who had from -childhood shared every thought and wish almost as soon as it was formed. -It had a power to disturb, though it could not entirely destroy the -tranquillity of her mind. - -“I will talk with her about it to-night,” murmured Phebe, as she opened -her chamber door one evening, after a long conversation with Mr. Mosier -in the portico. “I wish, though, she would ask some question, or even -look curious to know what keeps us together so much; I little thought to -have kept a secret from Malina so long.” - -As these thoughts passed through her mind, Phebe Gray gathered up the -bed-drapery, and lying down by her sister, passing an arm caressingly -over her waist, laid her blushing cheek against the now pallid face -which rested on the pillow. She felt that tears were upon it, and that -the snowy linen under her head was wet as if Malina had cried herself to -sleep. - -“Malina, wake up a minute, I have something to tell you,” murmured the -young girl, in a low, half timid whisper. - -The moonbeams lay full upon the bed, and Phebe Gray was looking -earnestly in the face of the beautiful sleeper. She could see the silken -lashes quivering on her cheek, and a tremulous motion of the lips, nay, -it seemed to her as if a single tear broke through the lashes and rolled -over the pale cheek, and she was certain that something like a faint -shudder crept through the form which was half circled by her arm. But -Malina gave no answer, and the gentle questioner was too sensitive for -another effort to win attention. She quietly laid her head on the pillow -and sunk to sleep, but not to indulge in the sweet, unbroken dream of -happiness which had shed roses over her couch so many nights. There was -sadness at heart, a presentiment of coming ill, and a solicitude -regarding her sister which kept her anxious and rendered her slumber -broken and unrefreshing. About midnight, when the stillness of her -chamber rendered every sound more than usually audible, she was -disturbed by the broken and half stifled sobs which arose from her -sister’s pillow. Again she stole her arm over the weeping girl, and -questioned her regarding the source of her grief. Malina only turned her -face away, and sobbed more bitterly than before. - -“Why will you not speak to me, Malina? what has come between us of -late?—speak to me, sister—you are in sorrow, and I have—oh how -much—cause for joy! yet we have all at once learned to conceal thoughts -from one another. Tell me what troubles you—for I cannot be entirely -happy while you are ill and so sad.” - -Malina redoubled her sobs, but amid the tumult of her grief she -murmured, “Tell me all, Phebe, all you feel, all you wish; but I have no -secrets, no sorrow. There is a little pain in my side, sometimes, and -that makes me low spirited. I have always been so healthy, you know, -that a little illness frightens me. Do not mind me, but talk of -yourself. You are happy, Phebe, _very_ happy! were not those your words? -tell me all—I can be glad and rejoice in any thing that gives you -pleasure—any thing on earth—if my heart were breaking. So let us talk -it all over now, the room is so quiet and dark, and we shall neither of -us get sleepy—do you think we shall, sister?—you may, but I have -almost forgotten how to sleep,” and, as Malina ceased speaking, she -stole an arm around her sister’s neck, and, choking back her sobs, -composed herself to listen. - -Phebe rose up in the bed, gathered the drapery around them, for the -moonbeams were bright enough to reveal her blushes, and, sinking to her -pillow, again murmured the story of her love, its return, and all the -bright anticipations that made her future so beautiful. Malina nerved -herself to listen; she uttered no word of distrust, and checked all -manifestations of discontent by a strong effort of self-control, when -all was told—when she was made certain that her sister and the only -being she had ever regarded with more than a sister’s love, were to be -married—that their wedding day was fixed, and, that the mother’s -sanction had already been granted—she remained silent for a moment, and -strove to gain the mastery over her feelings. When she spoke, her frame -shook with the bitter emotions which could not be altogether subdued, -but her voice was low and very calm. Mr. Mosier was poor, and Phebe not -yet of age. If he were installed in the old meeting-house, they would be -compelled to live with Mrs. Gray till something could be saved from his -small salary to purchase a dwelling and begin housekeeping. This thought -caused some anxiety to the engaged couple. The young clergyman had -learned something of Mrs. Gray’s real character, and was reluctant to -erect his domestic altar beneath her tyrannical auspices. Phebe, too, -longed for a quiet home of her own, a happy, free home, where she might -follow her own innocent impulses, unchecked and without fear. - -“You shall have that home, my sister,” said Malina Gray, twining her -arms around her companion, and kissing her with a gush of true -affection; “there is the old parsonage house; you shall have that, and -the money which dear minister Brown left to me; all are yours and _his_. -You will be happy there—very happy. I know he loved the old place. Now, -good night, Phebe; let us go to sleep!” and with a low gasping sob, -which was not the less painful that it gave no sound, Malina turned away -her head. - -Phebe was too disinterested and high-minded herself, for a thought of -refusing Malina’s generosity. - -“We shall, indeed, be happy,” she said; “you will come and live with us, -and by the time you are married, we shall have saved enough to pay all -the money back again. You _will_ live with us?” - -Malina thought of the quiet grave-yard, which could be seen from the -parsonage window, and answered— - -“I shall want no other home.” - -Phebe talked on, more cheerfully than usual, and when her sister did not -answer, she thought her asleep; but Malina had fainted, and lay -senseless upon her pillow. - -It was soon rumored through the village that our new minister was -engaged to Phebe Gray, and every body was delighted with the match. -Phebe was just the creature for a clergyman’s wife, quiet and gentle, -with manners that gave dignity to the softness of her disposition. In -the general satisfaction which reigned in the village, Malina was quite -overlooked. Her change of appearance was imputed to sadness at parting -with her sister; and, at times, when the wedding was talked of in her -presence, the rich color which burned over her cheeks, the brilliancy of -her eyes, and the flashes of wild merriment that sprung to her lips, -deceived the unobserving into a belief of her entire happiness. She -spent much of her time at the old parsonage, superintending the -arrangements of her sister’s home with a degree of taste and energy -which surprised all who witnessed her exertions. The rooms were all -newly arranged, delicate paper was purchased at New Haven for the walls, -new stepping stones were laid at the front door, green blinds gave a -look of elegance and seclusion to the windows; the profuse rose bushes -and lilac trees were pruned, and a white picket-fence hedged in the -little wilderness of flowers which blossomed in the front yard. The -cabinet maker, on School Hill, was busy with the furniture, all of a -superior kind. The carpet-weaver had borrowed two _quill-wheels_, and -all the spools, for a mile round, in order to expedite the progress of -sixty yards of striped carpeting through his cumbrous loom. The house -and its adornments were to be comfortable and elegant beyond any thing -that had been known in our village for a long time; and all was Malina’s -work. Her untiring assiduity created the little paradise which another -was to enjoy. Her money purchased the books which filled the little -study, whose window opened upon the most verdant corner of the orchard. -Her trembling hands placed a new inlaid flute on the little table, and -drew the easy chair close by, that the bridegroom might find every thing -ready and home-like in his new dwelling. - -One afternoon Malina was left alone; the workmen had departed to their -suppers, and her task was finished for the day. She had just hung the -pet robin in his old place by the dining-room window; he seemed to -recognize the room, and flew about his cage, chirping and fluttering his -wings, as if to thank her for bringing him home once more. It was the -first hour of repose that Malina had known for many weeks, and now, that -she had nothing more to perform, painful thoughts and regrets that would -no longer be stifled, fell back upon her heart, and she was, oh, how -desolate! There, in her blooming youth, she sat hopeless and weary of -life—for what is life to a woman without affection? The heart was full -of warm and generous feelings, burthened with a wealth of tenderness, -and yet she had no future, nothing to hope for, nothing to dread; her -destiny seemed consummated there and then. Youth is in itself so -hopeful, that we can scarcely imagine a creature in the first bud of -life yearning for the grave. But Malina was very sad. She looked through -the open door into the orchard; the green old apple trees were heavy -with blossoms, and through the garniture of thrifty leaves, and the rosy -shower which blushed among them, a corner of the old meeting-house met -her gaze—a portion of the grave-yard, and a new tomb-stone, which -gleamed out from the young grass which had already started up from our -minister’s death place. How green and quiet it looked—and oh, how -earnestly Malina Gray longed to lie down in that still spot, and be at -rest. Yet Malina was young, and no human being dreamed how wretched she -was. The orchard was full of singing birds that day, and there had been -a time when the gush of sweet sounds, that rose and swelled amid the -foliage, would have made her heart leap, but now it filled her eyes with -tears. The sunshine that played and quivered among the leaves—the wind -that now and then gushed through the heavy boughs, scattering the grass -with rosy flakes, and sighing as it swept off to the open plain—all -seemed a mockery. - -She was heart sick, and yearned to die. How cruel is that power by which -a broken heart draws thoughts of sadness from the sweet and beautiful -things of nature. Malina gazed through her tears at the change her own -hands had wrought. The unseemly plantains had disappeared from the back -door-step, and around the well-curb a bed of valley-lilies were just -forming their pearly buds. - -“They will be in blossom for Phebe’s hair,” murmured the young girl, -“and for mine—for am I not to be bridemaid?” - -With a mournful smile gleaming through her tears, Malina arose, and -tying on her bonnet, left the house. She met Phebe and Mr. Mosier near -the front gate. They were sauntering toward their new dwelling, tranquil -and happy; to them, every thing whispered of joy; the fragrant orchard, -the birds caroling within its shadows, and all the beautiful landscape -were full of pleasant associations. Every hope and thought in _their_ -bosoms blossomed in unison with nature. - -How true it is that thought and feeling, like the sun, give color to -outward things. The heart creates its own sunshine, or the cloud through -which nature is revealed to it. Phebe Gray and her betrothed husband -felt nothing but the sweet and the beautiful—their hearts were brimful -of sunshine. But, alas, for Malina, she looked through the cloud. - -Malina walked on. The two contented beings by the gate were happy enough -without her. She strove to smile cheerfully as they spoke to her, and in -a tone of forced playfulness forbade them entering the house till their -wedding day. - -Malina had gathered beneath the roof of that old parsonage house many -luxuries almost unknown in the neighborhood; every thing calculated to -gratify the fine taste of the young divine, or add to the comfort of her -sister, had been unsparingly purchased, till her patrimony was almost -exhausted. While this duty lasted, and the excitement of action was upon -her, Malina sustained the burthen of her sorrows with an aching, but -firm heart. She had taken no time for thought—scarcely for tears—but -worked on, as if toiling through a feverish dream. Her cheeks were -always flushed, and sometimes the music of her laugh rang loud and -strangely through the bridal chamber which she was decorating; but the -companions who assisted her were often startled by the reckless tone of -her laugh; it was too absent and wild for happiness or merriment, -entirely deficient in that low, rich melody, which had once made her -voice so full of healthy joy. Yet all the neighbors were commenting on -her generous conduct, and the brilliancy of her spirits; and it was -often remarked that Malina Gray was never so fond of company, so -careless in her mirth, or so startling in her wit, as she had been since -the engagement of her sister, and since she had recovered from the -slight cold which confined her to the house when that engagement was -first whispered in the village. - -To a heart capable of self-sacrifice, there is no feeling so lonely as -that which follows exhausted power. No conviction, so keenly painful, as -a knowledge that a beloved being, who has cost us the hopes of a life in -resigning, can be happy without our aid—that we have nothing to render -up—no aim for exertion—nothing to do but sit down and gaze upon the -blank which existence has become. Her task was done. The excitement -over, and then came to the heart of Malina Gray the toil and pain of -concealed suffering; the aching restlessness which eats into the bud of -human life. Once more it was rumored that she was ill, and, but for -other and more absorbing subjects, Mrs. Gray might have been alarmed for -the safety of her child; but she was so intent on other things, that the -poor girl and her sufferings remained unheeded at home, save by the -gentle Phebe and her betrothed husband. - -When Mrs. Gray invited our young minister to reside at her house, it was -probably with some vague expectation of the result which followed; and -when her consent was desired to his union with Phebe, it was given -promptly, and with evident satisfaction. But the young divine, though a -meek and true Christian, had a dignity of character and opinion which -sometimes proved at variance with the exactions of an ambitious and -arbitrary matron. She had expected that he would continue to reside in -her family, after the marriage, and looked forward to an extended -dominion in her own household, and increased influence in the church, to -be secured by this arrangement. But when he persisted in establishing an -independent home, in managing his own salary, and becoming the sole -protector of his future wife, whose state of moral servitude he could -not witness without pain, Mrs. Gray’s enthusiasm in favor of the match -gradually subsided, and when Malina insisted upon surrendering her newly -acquired property to the young couple, and giving them the parsonage for -a residence, the haughty woman became stern in her opposition, and while -she took every means to render her own house an unpleasant residence for -the parties, found some excuse to delay the wedding, from week to week, -and at last refused to sanction it, till Mr. Mosier should be regularly -installed in the pulpit, which he had now filled almost a year. Still -Mrs. Gray was not a woman to talk openly of a change in her opinions. -She was too calculating and subtle for useless words. - -It had been settled in church council, that our young minister should be -installed a few weeks after the time appointed for his marriage, and the -young couple submitted to the imposed delay without a murmur. During -these intervening weeks, and while Malina was occupied in embellishing -the parsonage, Mrs. Gray was observed to be absent from home more -frequently than usual. There was scarcely an influential church member -near the old meeting-house, with whom she had not taken her knitting -work, to spend a social afternoon; and several tea-parties were given in -a quiet way at her own house, where she presided over the silver -tea-urn, and old fashioned china, with more than ordinary condescension -and dignity. But these were all impromptu meetings, and invariably took -place when Mr. Mosier and Phebe were invited elsewhere. - -The parents of our young minister were aged and very respectable -farmers, residing in the vicinity of New Haven; but they were far from -wealthy, and the farm they cultivated was not their own property. A week -before the Sabbath appointed for the installation, Mr. Mosier -accompanied his intended bride and her mother on a visit to his parents, -where the haughty matron first learned that the man whom her daughter -was about to marry had been a _charity student_. A benevolent society -had paid his tuition at Yale College, at least that portion which he had -been unable to meet by his own exertions. There had been no concealment -of this truth on his part, for he had informed Phebe of the matter, and -believed Mrs. Gray already aware of it. But Phebe, in the generous -simplicity of her heart, never conceived it possible that the manner of -his education could be deemed a cause of reproach, and it had left no -impression on her mind; to her upright understanding there was no -degradation in the thought that her lover had been a _charity student_. - -Mrs. Gray gave no demonstration of the displeasure which filled her -bosom on receiving this intelligence, but she quietly made an excuse for -returning home with her daughter the next day, and, with every -appearance of disinterested kindness, insisted that Mr. Mosier should -not interrupt his visit to accompany them. “She could easily drive -home,” she said, “the horse was gentle, and the roads perfectly good; -her son-in-law must remain with his family; it would be cruel to force -him away so abruptly.” Mrs. Gray said all this in her usual manner, -shook hands with the old people, allowed the young divine to assist her -into the chaise, and pretended to be very intently occupied in searching -for something in her traveling basket, while he placed Phebe in her -seat, and, with her slender hand clasped in his own, was whispering his -farewell. - -“Remember, and be in readiness next Sabbath,” he said, in a low voice, -“tell Malina that she must take good care of you. I shall come on -Saturday evening.” - -Phebe murmured that she would be ready; but as she returned the farewell -clasp of his hand, tears started to her eyes. She could not have told -the reason, but a strange feeling of melancholy came over her, and it -seemed as if the parting were forever. She looked back as the chaise -drove away—he was standing on the door step by his parents, and the -whole group waved their hands, smiling cheerfully, as they saw her turn -for a last glance. But still her heart was heavy. - -What passed between Mrs. Gray and her daughter during their drive home, -we have no means of recording. But as Malina sat in her chamber window, -and saw the chaise toiling up the hill that afternoon, her sister leaned -forward, and she caught a glimpse of her face. It was white as marble, -and stained with tears. Malina had been ill, but she started up, hastily -girded her white morning wrapper to her waist, and went down. Mrs. Gray -loitered to give some directions to the “hired man” about her horse, and -Phebe was descending from the chaise without assistance. The moment her -foot touched the earth, she tottered, and would have fallen but for -Malina, who sprang forward, and flinging her arms around her, inquired -eagerly and kindly what had befallen her. - -Phebe attempted to speak, but the words died on her lips, and the color -left them; she lifted her hand as if to grasp at something for support, -and fainted in her sister’s arms. - -“Mother, what is the matter?—where is Mr. Mosier?—tell me, pray tell -me, what has made poor Phebe so ill, and why is she looking so -wretched?” - -Mrs. Gray turned, and saw that her child was senseless. - -“Go and bring some water,” she said to the man, “carry that basket in -with you, and make haste. Raise her head a little, you are crushing her -bonnet,” she continued, turning to Malina; “there, take it off—she will -come to, directly.” - -As she spoke, Mrs. Gray calmly untied her daughter’s bonnet, and held it -till the man came with water, while Malina stood trembling beneath the -weight of the fainting girl, tenderly smoothing back the bright tresses -from her forehead, and wildly kissing her pale lips, amid a thousand -vague questions, which no one thought of answering. - -Mrs. Gray took a pitcher of water from the man, who came panting from -the well, and laving her hands in it, laid them on the pale face which -Malina was still covering with tears and kisses. There was a faint -struggle, a gasping sigh, and after a little Phebe began to murmur upon -her sister’s bosom, like one just awaking from a dream. She shrunk from -her mother, when that stubborn woman would have assisted her to rise, -and clinging to Malina, walked with trembling steps toward the house. - -“Oh, not there—up, to our own room, Malina,” said the poor girl, as her -sister would have led her into the parlor. She was obliged to sit down -more than once in ascending the stairs; and when at length Malina laid -her upon the bed in their own dear room, she looked sadly around, and -reaching up her arms, clasped the bending neck of her sister, and began -to weep. - -“I must never see him again—never—never,” she said, while her voice -was broken with tears; “oh, Malina, did you think any human being could -be so cruel?” - -Malina started, and for one instant a flash of pleasure broke into her -eyes. It was an unworthy feeling, and the next moment her face was -flooded with shame that she had known it; and when she sat down by her -sister, and besought her to say what had thus unnerved her, it was with -as true sympathy as ever warmed the heart of a noble and -self-sacrificing woman. - -The cause of her sorrow was soon explained. Phebe had been commanded by -her arbitrary mother to give up all thoughts of a union with Mr. Mosier. -The gentle girl, for the first time in her life, had ventured to -expostulate with her parent. The hope of her young life was at stake, -and her heart trembled at the thought of separation from the man whom -she had learned to love so devotedly. It was all in vain. Mrs. Gray was -resolved, her prejudices were aroused, and to their gratification the -happiness of her child was as dust. - -Phebe had been educated with almost holy reverence for the authority of -a parent, and though her heart broke, she dared not oppose her mother’s -command. Her spirit withered beneath it, like a flower trodden to the -earth, but she submitted. Not so Malina. Once more she ventured to -reason with and oppose her mother, but only to call down resentment on -her own head. This was no sudden resolution in Mrs. Gray; she had gone -steadily to work, and planned out her own results. She was one of those -cold pattern women who never know an impulse—whose virtues are -polished, like marble, and as cold. She had paved her way quietly and -well. The next morning, while her two children were sorrowing in their -room, she was driving from house to house, exerting her influence over -better hearts and weaker minds than her own, to the ruin of those who -had loved and trusted her. And while Phebe lay upon a sick bed, a vestry -council was called at the old meeting-house, and a decision passed by a -majority of a single man, which deprived our young minister of the -pulpit he was to have taken as his own the following Sabbath. Many good -and just men of the congregation protested against this cruel and unjust -act; but in churches, as in communities, the good and the merciful do -not always constitute a majority. - -The decision of this church meeting was forwarded to Mr. Mosier, and -with it a letter from Mrs. Gray. The next morning he rode by our cottage -on horseback, slowly, and as one in deep and morbid thought. He crossed -the old bridge, and, as he did so, looked earnestly toward Mrs. Gray’s -dwelling. He paused a moment at the end, and then rode at a brisker pace -up the hill. - -Phebe had been feverish, and very low, all that morning. Malina was -watching by her side, and as she lay with her eyes closed in an -imperfect slumber, the sound of a horse coming up the road made her -start from the pillow, and while her cheek burned with a more feverish -red, she fixed her eyes upon the open sash. - -“It is he—I know it!” she said, clasping her hand, and looking into -Malina’s face; “I will get up; mother cannot refuse to let me see him -this once;” and with a kind of feverish joy the poor girl flung aside -the bed clothes, and stepped out on the floor. With trembling and eager -hands she gathered up her beautiful tresses, and began to braid them -about her head, earnestly beseeching Malina all the time to assist her -in getting ready to go down. - -The kind hearted sister required no entreaty. She helped to array the -invalid, though her own breath came gaspingly, and her hands shook like -aspens in performing their duty. - -“There, now—there, I am ready. See, do I look very ill, Malina?” said -the excited young creature, turning to her sister; “it will make his -heart ache to see how red my cheeks are. Do you think he will detect the -fever?” and dashing some lavender over her handkerchief with an -impetuosity all unlike her usual quiet movements, the half delirious -girl took her sister’s arm, and was hurrying from the room. But the -sound of a horse, rapidly passing the house, again came to her ear, and, -with a faint exclamation, she sprung to the window just in time to catch -a glimpse of her lover as he rode by. He lifted his face to the open -sash, and she saw that it was very pale. He saw her, checked his horse -an instant, half raised his hand, and then turning away with seeming -effort, he rode slowly down the hill. - -“He is gone,” exclaimed the unhappy girl, “gone without a word, almost -without a look!” - -And with a wavering step, Phebe Gray moved toward the bed, and amid the -confusion of her feverish thoughts, she called on Malina to come and -undo the bridal wreath which was girding her forehead so painfully. - -But Malina was away. She had caught one glimpse at the pale face -uplifted to her window, and with a wild impulse to see the minister once -more, she flung a shawl over her head, and left the room. With the speed -of an antelope, she darted through the garden, and forcing a passage -through the brushwood which lined a hollow beyond, leaped down upon the -natural basin of granite, where the rock-spring poured its waves, just -as he had dismounted, and was proceeding to dip up the water in his -palm, and bathe his forehead with it. He looked care-worn and pale, and -the expression of his eyes, as he dropped the water from his hand, and -turned them suddenly on the young girl, was that of a strong heart in -ruins, and with its energies prostrated. He held forth his hand and -tried to smile, but the attempt was a painful one, and died in a faint -quiver of the lips. - -Malina did not take his hand—she had no power—but stood with her left -foot half buried in the damp moss which lined the spring, and the other -planted hard against the granite basin; her hands clasped amid the -drapery of her shawl, and her eyes lifted to his, glittering with -excitement, and yet full of tears. The breath came pantingly through her -unquiet lips, and in the struggle of her emotions, the words of greeting -which she would have uttered, were broken into sobs. - -“This is very kind of you, Miss Gray,” said the young clergyman, in a -low voice, which had something of proud constraint in its tones; “I -inquired for you at the house, but your mother informed me that you were -engaged, and that your sister did not wish to see me.” - -“Not wish to see you!” exclaimed Malina, suddenly finding voice; -“Phebe—my poor Phebe—not wish to see you! Alas, for her, she cannot -see any one; this cruel business has broken her heart. Oh, Mr. Mosier, -why is it that such wrong can be done? why submit to it? what right has -my mother thus to interfere, to the unhappiness of her child?” - -Mr. Mosier did not reply, his thoughts were far away, and, though he -gazed earnestly on the enthusiastic face lifted to his, Malina knew that -he was not thinking of her. She felt humbled, and turned away her face -as one who had been rebuked. So she stood gazing, with a look of patient -humility, on the waters sparkling in the basin at her feet, till at last -he aroused himself and spoke. But she, who felt every word he uttered as -if it were a tone of music, had no share in his speech or his thoughts. -Things all too precious for her were rendered to another, and she must -endure the pain. - -“So she was ill, and _could_ not come. Yet she knew I was there, and sat -in the room all the time. I saw her at the window, and she looked—tell -me, Malina, my sweet, kind sister,” he added, suddenly, “did she wish to -see me?—would she come for a moment here or into the garden?” - -The young man looked anxious, and his cheek flushed brilliantly as he -spoke, for the moment his well regulated mind had lost its balance, and -the passions of earth were strong within him. It was but for a moment; -before Malina had time to reply, the flush died from his face. - -“No,” he added, with a sorrowful motion of the head, “it is wrong to -ask, foolish to desire an interview—comfort her, Malina, say that which -I cannot have permission to utter in her presence; say how deeply, how -earnestly I have loved her, how weary I am of the world, how lonely my -heart is now—say to her—alas! what message have I to send—I, who can -scarcely turn my face heavenward, the clouds are so dark that lie heaped -before me!” - -These words were uttered in a tone of such despondency that Malina once -more lifted her eyes, and would have spoken words of encouragement which -she was far from feeling, for her own wretchedness seemed completed in -that of the beings she most loved; but, while her lips were parted, he -made a sudden effort at composure, and saying that all might yet be -well, in a broken and hurried voice, he drew Malina toward him and -stooped to press his lips to her forehead, without seeming conscious of -the act—but she was all too conscious, the blood rushed to her cheeks, -and she trembled in his arms like a frightened child. He saw it not, for -to his thought she was a sister only, and though his lips had pressed -her forehead for the first time, he did not think of it, but mounted his -horse and rode away before she had power to utter a word or make a -gesture to detain him. - -He was gone forever, and she was alone—alone! how often is that word -misapplied; the loving and the loved are never alone—but so it was with -Malina Gray. - - - CHAPTER IV. - - “In the cold, damp earth we laid her, - When the forest cast its leaf, - And we sighed, that one so beautiful - Should have a lot so brief.” - - -“So, Madam, you refuse—my boy is dying, and he yearns to look once more -on the poor girl who would have been his wife in a single week.” - -It was but a few days after her interview with Mr. Mosier, that Malina -heard these words issue from her mother’s parlor, as she was passing -through the hall, from the chamber where she had just left Phebe -striving to beguile her weary thoughts with a book. The door was ajar, -and there was a power in the words which made her start and listen. It -was a deep, manly voice, that of an aged person, but entreaty, -tenderness and something almost like resentment, combined to render it -startling and pathetic. Malina held her breath, and, drawing a step -nearer, looked through the door. - -An aged man was standing before her mother, he held a cane without -resting on it, and a broad brimmed hat was in his left hand; firm and -erect he stood in the quiet room, the gray hair sweeping back from his -forehead, and his plain dress giving him the look of a patriarch; his -face was agitated, but so full of benevolence that Malina loved the old -man before she guessed who he was. Violent passions could seldom have -passed over those mild features, still they were disturbed as he spoke, -and the good old man was evidently struggling with strong and bitter -emotions. There was something in the grasp of his hand on the cane, and -in his dignified bearing, which awed the sympathy it excited. - -Mrs. Gray was sitting in her easy chair, looking rather earnestly at the -old man. She had been engaged in knitting when he entered, but had laid -the work on a little round stand by her side, and seemed rather anxious -to take it up again; but she was too punctilious for that, and very -blandly requested her visitor to resume the seat from which he had -risen. “No, I have not time to sit down, every minute is worth years to -me now—my only son is dying, and I am absent from his side.” The old -man now paused, his chin began to quiver, and turning away his face, he -strove to conceal the tears that broke into his eyes from the calm and -heartless woman who sat gazing upon him. - -“Madam,” he said, but his voice was broken, and his hand shook till the -hat fell from his grasp to the floor. “Madam, I beseech you, think -better of this! My boy cannot live forty-eight hours; the doctors told -me so before I left him. But I came from his bed side, when each lost -moment was as a drop of blood wrung from my heart, thinking that you -might refuse any messenger but his father. You are a woman and should -feel for him, and here I gave up five whole hours of this precious time -that he might look on the face of that poor girl before he dies; and his -mother—you have had children sleeping against your heart, madam—do you -think his mother would not find it a comfort if the soul of her only -child could go up to heaven from her bosom where he nestled in his first -infancy? Do you think she has no woman’s yearning wish for the last -embrace, the last endearing word? She loves the boy better than her own -soul, and he is dying before her eyes—but she gave him up. When she saw -that he moaned for the presence of one who had become dearer than his -own mother, she bade me come hither and bring the girl that her first -born might die in the arms he loved best—think, woman, every moment I -spend in talking here is wrung from the death bed of a child that was -all on earth that two old people had to love and hope for. I must -depart, but let _her_ go with me.” - -The old man unconsciously clasped his hands as he spoke, and tears fell -like rain over his withered cheeks. - -Mrs. Gray glanced at him with something of wonder in her face, and -extending out her hand, took up the knitting work as if to end the -conference. - -“And can you still refuse!” exclaimed the old man. - -“It would not be proper,” replied Mrs. Gray, quietly unscrewing the top -of her silver knitting case, “besides, Phebe is not well enough to ride -so far even if she desired it, and the fever may be contagious.” - -“If I could talk with the young lady I am sure she _would_ desire it,” -said the old man, almost humbly, for his heart grew heavy at the thought -of returning to the death bed of his son with his errand unaccomplished. -“Leave it to her good feelings, madam, and if they plead against me I -will depart and trouble you no more.” - -Neither the pleading voice, nor the agony of over-wrought feelings with -which the unhappy father spoke, reached the heart of Mrs. Gray. While -the old man stood before her, trembling beneath the burden of his grief, -she placed her needle in its sheath, twisted the worsted over her -finger, and went through the intricacies of a seam stitch before even -her eyes were lifted toward him. - -“You must recollect, Mr. Mosier,” she said, “Phebe is not at present -engaged to your son, and even if she were, I do not think it would be -exactly correct for her to visit him. I am sorry for the young -gentleman, very; I will see that our new minister mentions his case in -prayer next Sabbath; we all feel for him—but he would not be advised. -Indeed—” - -Here Mrs. Gray dropped a stitch, and paused while it was looped up -again. When she raised her eyes, the face of her auditor was stern, and -as calm as her own. The tears had dropped from his cheek, his hands were -both grasping the head of his cane, and if that pharisaical woman could -have shrunk from any thing, the solemn and reproving eyes which dwelt on -her face would have kindled the most generous blood of her heart into -blushes of shame. But it is hard to wring the die of shame from a -self-righteous heart. Mrs. Gray believed herself to be acting in a most -Christian-like spirit, in still retaining the heartless civility of her -manner toward the poor old man whom her own cruelty had bereaved. Her -heart was entombed in the self-conceit of its own sanctity, like dust in -the marble of a sarcophagus. - -“Woman,” said the old man, and this time his voice was firm, and -thrillingly solemn; “you have no heart. You are a mother, and should -know how much worse than death it is to see the child whom you have -loved and cherished, and woven in your very heart-strings, perishing -before your eyes. Oh, how proud we were of that boy! how his poor mother -loved him! what a day it was when she and I walked up the broad aisle of -that old meeting-house yonder, and saw him standing in the pulpit—a -minister of the gospel. We had prayed for that sight—toiled and slaved -for it—and were so happy—so very happy. He is on his death bed now. -Woman, _you_ have sent him there—you, who were a mother, thought -nothing of smiting a sister woman through the heart—you, a professor of -religion, can do murder more subtle and cruel than that which cleaves a -man through the brain, and look calm and speak softly, nay, smilingly -refuse the last dying request of your victim. Woman, I will not curse -you—that right rests with the high God of Heaven, who looketh down upon -the murder you have done, not as man looketh, not as the law -looketh—before _him_, shall you be arraigned, and that cold heart shall -be made to shudder at the depth of its own crime—_he_ will be thine -accuser—he, thy victim, who was so gentle, so sweet tempered, that -thoughts of revenge never entered his heart. In a few short hours he -will stand in the broad light of Heaven, sent there untimely; and even -as Abel bear witness against his brother, he shall bear witness against -thee! The Almighty may not place his mark upon thy brow—the law may not -brand thee—but one who can wring the life from a human being by silent -and moral cruelty, is not less a murderer than the man who smites his -brother to the heart with a poniard!” - -Mrs. Gray was at length moved—for the solemn and stern energy of that -pale old man might have startled the dead from their graves—the -knitting dropped from her hands, her eyes darkled with terror, and her -face turned white as a corpse beneath the snowy lace and the black and -false hair that shaded it. She would have spoken, but the pallid lips -trembled without uttering a sound, while the hands which rested in her -lap began to shiver, as she strove to lift them and motion him away. - -The old man left her where she sat, and went into the hall; but his -feelings had been too cruelly outraged, and there his strength gave way; -he sunk helplessly to a settee, and covering his face with his hands, -wept like a child. - -Malina had left the hall and stood in her sister’s chamber. Phebe was -dressed and seated by the window, pondering over the pages of a book, -though she had not turned a leaf that day. She did not raise her eyes -when the door opened, but seemed unconscious of a second person. - -“Come with me,” said Malina, grasping the hand which lay in her sister’s -lap, with fingers that clung to it like ice. “Come!” - -There was something in Malina’s face that frightened her companion from -the apathy that had for days settled on her spirits. She arose, without -a word, and was led down stairs, and into the hall. It was empty. Old -Mr. Mosier had departed, and the front door was left open behind him. - -“Phebe,” said Malina Gray, in a faint whisper, “_he_ is dying, and has -sent for you—his father sat there, but a moment since. Our mother has -refused that you should see him. He is pining to die with his head -against your heart. Sister, will you go?” - -“I will plead with her—kneel to her,” said Phebe Gray, and opening the -parlor door, she entered alone. - -Malina paused an instant, and turning through a side door, passed across -a small clover lot, toward the stables. A horse stood cropping the white -blossoms in a corner of the field. She looked around for some one to -help her, but the men were all away on the upper farm—so she drew -toward the gentle animal, and beckoning with her hand, uttered a few -coaxing words, and persuaded him toward the stables. He bent his neck -while her trembling hands placed the bit in his mouth, which was yet -half full of fragrant grass, and turned his head to watch her, as she -girded the saddle to his back. When she tied him to the garden fence, -and entered the house again, he followed her with his eyes, and, with a -short neigh, fell to tearing with his mouth the honeysuckle vines that -crept along the fence. - -As Malina entered the hall she saw Phebe gliding up stairs toward their -room; she was walking feebly, and held by the bannister as she went. -When the sisters stood within the chamber together, Phebe sunk to a -chair, while Malina looked earnestly in her face, and uttered a single -sentence— - -“Will you go?” - -“She has forbidden it,” replied Phebe, faintly. - -“Will you go?” said Malina, once more. - -“I dare not disobey her!” Phebe spoke with difficulty, and clasping both -hands over her face, moaned as if in pain, for the struggle within her -heart was terrible. - -When Phebe became sufficiently composed to look up, her sister was gone. -She was glad to be alone, and creeping toward the bed, knelt down and -prayed. - -Malina had snatched a bonnet and shawl from the bed while her sister’s -face was concealed, and gliding down stairs into the open air, she -mounted the horse and rode away. - -It was sunset as the poor girl came slowly over the old bridge, and rode -by our house. I was playing in the front yard, and ran out to meet -her—but all at once she drew the bridle tight, and the spirited horse -sprung forward on the way before my childish voice could be heard. The -gloom of coming night lay heavily amid the pine boughs, as the young -girl rode under them, and when she dashed up the road, and disappeared -over Fall’s Hill, both horse and rider were for one moment displayed in -bold relief against a pile of crimson and golden clouds which lay heaped -in the horizon. When she disappeared, it seemed, to my infant fancy, as -if the gates of heaven had unfolded to receive her. - -The night came on clear, and lighted both by moon and stars, the -solitary traveler still kept the road, accompanied only by her spirited -animal, and the shadow which seemed gliding along the dewy green-sward -by her side, like a silent guardian. It was late in the evening when the -horse checked himself at the fence before a red farm-house, with a -sloping roof, and two large trees embowering it with foliage. - -It seemed like supernatural instinct in the animal, for he had only been -there once before, and Malina, in the tumult of her thoughts, scarcely -knew where she wished to stop. There was a light twinkling through the -thick leaves of a tree bough that dropped over one of the front windows, -but it was very faint, and seemed forcing itself through the folds of a -window curtain. Malina grasped the horn of her saddle, and dropping -feebly down to the green-sward, moved toward the house. There was a -foot-path which led to the front door—she followed this, and found -herself in a dark entry, with a narrow stream of light falling through -the entrance to an inner room. The sound of a faint, wandering voice, -and of smothered sobs, stole from the room. Malina breathed heavily as -she touched the door, and glided into the room. It was indeed the -chamber of death. A solitary candle burned on the table, amid glasses -and vials, sending forth just sufficient light to reveal an old -fashioned tent bed, with its white drapery sweeping to the floor, and -its heavy fringes hanging motionless, as if they had been cut from -marble. At the foot of this bed knelt an old man; his hands were clasped -beneath his face, and the long gray hair swept thickly over them, as he -prayed. A female stood between Malina and the bed; she was bending over -the pillows which were heaped high upon it, and though the poor girl -could not see her face, she _felt_ that it was _his_ mother. She moved, -and the sound of her footstep on the sanded floor made the old lady lift -her head, and Malina saw his face once more. Oh, how white and changed -it was! The damp, black hair fell heavily over his forehead, shadows lay -about the closed eyelids, and there was an expression about the mouth, -which was not a smile, and yet seemed deathly and sweet. His head was -raised high with pillows, and though he seemed to sleep, the breath came -painfully from his lips, and with a struggle that constantly disturbed -the linen which lay in waves across his breast. - -Malina stood upright in the dim light, motionless as a thing of marble, -her eyes fixed on the dying man, and unconscious, in the force of her -grief, that to all in the room, save him who saw her not, she was a -stranger, and had intruded into the sanctuary of private grief. - -It mattered not; Malina’s step had been mistaken for that of a woman -from the kitchen, and no one knew that the wretched young creature was -there. - -There was a motion of the bed clothes, a faint murmur, and the dying man -opened his eyes—those large, eloquent eyes that Malina had thought upon -so often, and so thrillingly. There was a mist upon them now, but -through it broke a soft and strange light, heavenly and beautiful. The -old lady bent her ear, and listened to the faint murmur, which seemed -dying on his lips. - -“My father—when will he come back?—it is late!” - -The sound was very faint, but the old man had heard it amid the strong -agony of his prayer. He arose, and moving round the bed, bent over his -son. A light, almost preternatural, came to the eyes of that dying man, -and with a sudden effort he found voice to speak. - -“My father,” he said, “thank God—you have returned in time. Where is -she?” - -“My son,” said the old man, in a voice which he vainly strove to render -calm, “in a little time she will meet you in heaven—but she is not -here.” - -The invalid had turned his head upon the pillow, with a look of touching -eagerness; but it fell back—his eyes closed faintly, and after gasping -once or twice, he lay motionless, save the lips, which gave forth broken -but beautiful fragments of speech, such as came uppermost in his pure, -but wandering mind, for he was delirious now. The last vibrations of his -soul were disturbed by disappointment in his sole earthly wish. In the -broken murmurs that fell from his lips, Malina heard her own name, and -it unlocked the ice which seemed closing round her heart. With a sob -that broke to her lips amid a gush of tears, she sprung toward the bed, -and falling upon her knees, clasped the pale hand which fell over the -bed, and pressed her quivering lips repeatedly upon it, while her voice -mingled with the choking grief that shook her whole frame. - -“Forgive me! oh, let me stay!” she said, lifting her face to the old -woman, but still nervously grasping the dying man’s hand; “I loved him -better than she did—better than anybody could—better than my own soul! -Let me stay, and die with him! No one asked _me_ to come, but I am here. -You will not send me away?” - -The voice of Malina Gray was soft and low, like that of her sister; and -though broken with grief, it is probable that the dying man was -bewildered by the sound. He started from the pillow—a glorious lustre -broke through the mist which whelmed his eyes, and as Malina sprang to -her feet, his face fell upon her shoulder, and his cold cheek lay -against hers. It was very strange—Malina knew that he was dying, but a -flash of wild joy thrilled through her heart, and for the first time -since she had heard of his illness, a faint color broke into the cheek -which pressed his. She laid him gently upon the pillow, and parting the -damp hair from his forehead, pressed her lips tremblingly upon it, while -her sobs filled the chamber. When the dying man felt the touch of her -quivering mouth, a smile stole over his face—again the misty eyes were -unclosed, and feebly lifting his arm, he wound it over her neck and drew -her to his bosom, while the unformed words he would have spoken were -lost amid the dying music of his soul. A moment, and his arm fell softly -from Malina’s neck. The young creature lifted her face from his bosom, -and looking at his mother, murmured— - -“He loved _her_ living—but is he not mine in death?—mine, for ever and -ever!” - -She turned to lay her face near his heart once more, but there was no -color in her lips then. She started, and, with a cold shudder, bent her -cheek slowly to his bosom—it pressed heavily, and more heavily, on the -cold clay—her limbs relaxed, and she sunk across the bed, senseless as -the beautiful corpse which cumbered it. - -The gloom of death had shadowed that farm-house two days, and now it was -desolate. The kind neighbors who had walked in and out, ministering to -grief, no longer broke the solemn hush which pervaded the dwelling. The -departed was indeed the departed—for they had borne him over his -father’s threshold, and laid him down to sleep in the dark earth. Malina -followed him to the grave. She was a stranger, but no one asked why she -stood among the mourners, and without their sable vestments. When the -aged mother bent over the coffin, and looked upon the dead, the young -girl drew to her side, and fixed her eyes upon the cold still face which -had never met her glance coldly before. The mother wept, but Malina -could not shed a tear, although the solemn and hushed grief upon her -face awed even village curiosity. - -And now they were alone—the parents, and that poor girl. She was upon -her knees—her head was bent, and its redundant hair veiled her face, -while the broken hearted young creature begged a blessing from _his -mother_ before she went away. The sorrowing woman laid her hands upon -the bright tresses which flowed over her lap for a moment, then lifting -the suppliant to her bosom, wept over her. - -Mr. Mosier, when he heard the sobs of his wife, arose, and clasping his -hands over Malina’s head, silently besought a blessing on her. She drew -back, and he saw that her face was still calm; so taking her hands in -his, he began to persuade and reason with her. She listened, and gazed -earnestly in his face as he spoke. At last, tears started to her eyes, -and when the old man saw this, big drops began to stream down his own -cheek, and the clasp of his hand grew tremulous, as he led her from the -room. - -As the old man placed Malina in her saddle, he glanced in her face, and -a misgiving came to his heart. He questioned himself if it was safe to -trust her to the road without protection; but when he proposed -accompanying her part of the way, at least, she pleaded against it with -startling eagerness, and, thinking of his afflicted wife, he allowed her -to depart. - -Malina had a secret wish at her heart, which caused it to pant for -solitude. Her road lay close by the grave-yard where our young minister -was buried, and she yearned to stand once more by his death place, and -alone. When she reached the sacred place, she looked to the right and -left, timidly, as if her errand had been a wrong one. Her nerves were -strung to their utmost tension, and she was morbidly fearful of being -seen—every thing was solitary and quiet; the long grass bending to the -breeze, as it sighed over the graves, and the soft rustling sound which -whispered amid the leaves of a clump of weeping willows, that curtained -an entire household that had gone down to sleep together, were all the -sounds that fell upon her ear. She tied the horse to the fence, and -passing forward to _his_ grave, sat upon a pile of sods that had been -left by the sexton. She neither wept nor moved—but there she remained -in the bright sunshine, gazing hour after hour on a tuft of tiny white -blossoms, which sprung up from a sod which they had placed just over his -heart. Now and then, she twined her hands together as they reposed in -her lap—and as the sunshine went suddenly away, and heavy black clouds -rolled over the sky, with the lightning playing amid their ragged folds, -she smiled, and drew closer to the grave. - -At last, a roar of thunder burst from the clouds, big drops of rain came -down upon the graves, and bent the willows more droopingly to the earth. - -Malina lifted her eyes upward with a wild and startled look, then -turning them on the willows which sheltered that single family, and on -the congregation of graves which lay around her, all covered with long -grass, she rested them on the mound at her feet, murmuring— - -“Have all a covering from the cold rain, but thee?” - -As she spoke, Malina took off her shawl, and spreading it over the newly -made grave, cast herself upon it, and for the first time since she felt -his heart stop beating beneath hers, moaned and sobbed as if her very -life were going from her. - -In a few moments the garments of our poor mourner were saturated with -rain—still she clung closer to the grave, murmuring words of wild -endearment to the unconscious inmate, and congratulating herself, with -strange earnestness, that she was still able to shield his bosom from -the storm. - -At last, the clouds rolled away, and though the sun was just going down, -his last fires kindled a rainbow amid the water drops that yet filled -the air. Malina lifted her head, and gazed upward—a smile parted her -lips when she saw the rainbow, and pressing her cheek upon the grave -again, she whispered— - -“The angels have built thee a bridge, love!” - -The sun went down, and Malina arose from the grave, shivering from head -to foot. She gazed around, and was turning her eyes with a wistful look -on her late resting place, as if she meditated casting herself down -again, when a low neigh from the horse which still remained by the -fence, aroused her, and leaving the shawl behind, she hurried toward the -patient animal, and mounting him, rode away. - -Malina must have wandered from the usual road, in the strange -abstraction of her mind, for it was midnight when she came opposite the -old meeting-house. Prompted, doubtless, by some vague fear of returning -home, or perhaps allured to pause by the open gate, the weary and half -bewildered girl turned her horse, and riding close to the front door of -the parsonage house, dismounted, and allowed him to wander amid the -flower beds and rose bushes which filled the yard. Thrusting her hand -beneath the door sill, she took out a key, and fitted it to the lock, -but with difficulty, for her hands trembled; and though hot flushes -every moment darted through her frame, she was shivering with cold. She -went up stairs, holding feebly by the balusters, and guided by the -moonlight, which fell from a window overhead, she entered a room—that -which she had decorated as the bridal chamber of her sister Phebe, and -of the departed. A clear moonlight came through the windows, and lay -like flags of silver amid the black shadows which filled the apartment. -Every thing was still and motionless; not a breath stirred the bridal -ribands with which the muslin curtains were looped back. The bed lay -with the moonlight sleeping amid its pillows, like a snow drift, when -the air is calm; and the atmosphere was impregnated by the dead flowers -which had been profusely lavished on the toilet, and now hung crisp and -withered in their vases. Malina was very ill, and a fever burned through -her veins—her limbs were almost powerless, and her forehead seemed -girdled with iron. Still was she sensible of surrounding things, and her -heart swelled with the recollections which thronged on her aching brain. -She unfastened her damp dress, and with difficulty crept into bed. - -“Poor, poor Phebe,” she murmured, gathering the white counterpane over -her shivering form, “how little she thinks I am here—how she would pity -me, so ill, and all alone. Alas, how sad a thing this trouble is—I have -not thought of Phebe these many long days—I wonder if she is ill as I -am—if her head is so hot, and her limbs chilled, till they shake so. -This is a cold bed—very, very cold—but his is colder still. Oh, my -God! _he is dead_—and I have seen his grave. I—but it was not -me—no—he loved my sister. But I had his dying kiss! It was the last -throb of his heart that beat against mine, and chilled me so. That was -it—that was it!” - -With such fragments of speech, and moans of pain, Malina verged into the -delirium of a raging fever. At times she would weep, and call for her -sister, in tones of yearning tenderness—then notes of music would break -from her lips, and ring through every corner of the solitary house, as -if a prisoned angel were pleading for release there. When the fever came -on, fierce and strong, she began to ask for water—to weep, and wring -her hands, while she entreated some visionary being to leave her in the -grave-yard where _he_ was; where showers were continually falling and -weaving rainbows around those who thirsted for rest or drink; and so her -voice of suffering rose and swelled through the lone building all night. -When the day dawned, she was still awake and delirious; tears stood on -her crimson cheeks, and entreaties for water still rose to her parched -lips. - -It came at last—she knew not how it was, but a pale, sweet face bent -over her, a soft voice was speaking comfort, and a glass of water cooler -and more refreshing than she had ever tasted before was held to her -lips. She was just conscious enough to think that it was Phebe who -ministered to her wants, or some good seraph that looked as sweetly sad -and kind. Then she sunk to sleep, and it was many weeks before she awoke -from the dream that followed. - -It was Phebe Gray who stood by the sick bed of the sufferer. A villager -had seen Mrs. Gray’s horse that morning, bridled and with his saddle on, -trampling among the flower beds and feasting upon the choice rose bushes -which grew in the parsonage yard—he went in to secure the animal and -was terrified by the voice of suffering which issued from the house. He -went up stairs, saw the delirious young creature who occupied the bridal -chamber, and hastened to inform Mrs. Gray—but Phebe had struggled with -her own sufferings and stood over Malina’s sick bed many hours before -the mother had arranged her dress and prepared herself to pass through -the village with that degree of propriety which she considered due to -her character. - -Malina lay many weeks before the fever left her; then a cough set in and -a hectic spot settled and burned into her thin cheeks. The poor girl -smiled a sad quiet smile, when she heard them say each evening, that a -little over exertion had excited her, that she had taken a slight cold -which in the turn of her disease was felt more than usual. Still the -cough deepened, the crimson spot burned on, and she knew that the life -which kindled would soon be exhausted. And so it was, that autumn when -the woods were all flushed with those dyes which an early frost brings -to the foliage, when the nuts were ripe and the brown leaves fell in -showers over the crisp moss, Malina Gray was extended beneath the snowy -drapery which her own hands had gathered above the bridal bed. White -ribands were still knotted amid the folds which seemed brooding over her -like a cloud, and a few crimson fall flowers lay scattered upon the -pillow, some of them so close to the marble cheek that a faint tinge was -coldly reflected there. For two whole nights Phebe watched the beautiful -clay reposing in the dim light upon her own bridal bed, but scarcely -more changed than her own sweet self. Malina was the happiest, her heart -had broken amid the struggle of its suffering, but that of the watcher -lay crushed and withering in her young bosom. She felt that life was yet -strong within her; but hope, love, every thing that makes life pleasant -to a woman, had departed. She was still good, still pure almost as an -angel, but the sad smile which settled on her lips never deepened to a -laugh again, and no human being ever saw a tear in her changeless and -sorrowful eyes. - -They laid Malina Gray down to sleep beside old minister Brown—in the -very spot she had yearned to repose in. A large circle of neighbors -gathered around the grave, some in tears, and all very sorrowful. Mrs. -Gray stood by the coffin; her mourning was arranged with great care, and -a veil of new crape, deeply hemmed, fell decorously over her face, and -the white handkerchief, with which she concealed those maternal tears -proper for a mother, whose duty it was to be resigned under any -dispensation. But Phebe stood silent and motionless; no handkerchief was -lifted to her eyes, and the face which gleamed beneath the crape veil, -was profoundly calm, almost as that of the corpse. - -We had a new minister, on trial, of Mrs. Gray’s choosing, who performed -the funeral service, and when all was over, returned home with the -mourners; when they knelt in the little parlor that night, he prayed -earnestly, and with genuine tears, for the bereaved mother; he besought -the Lord to visit, with consolation, one who was a mother in Israel, a -bright and shining ornament in the Christian church; a woman who had -brought up her children in the fear and admonition of the Lord; whose -path was growing brighter and brighter to the perfect day when she would -reap a rich reward in heaven. - -Amid a few natural sobs which awoke in the widow’s heart, she murmured, -“Amen,” satisfied that her life had been one of perfect rectitude, and -that in all things she had been a pattern mother, and an ornament to the -church, which ought to be her consolation under any bereavement. - -The new minister was a very conscientious man, but practical in all his -ideas; he was honest in the high opinion which he entertained of Mrs. -Gray, and not sufficiently sensitive to shrink from offering his hand to -Phebe, when that lady delicately gave him to understand that the step -would be satisfactory to herself. The old parsonage house was still -empty, and Phebe’s inheritance. He was an installed pastor, and Miss -Gray’s engagement to his predecessor never entered his mind as an -objection. - -Phebe betrayed no emotion when the proposal was made. She simply -declined it, without giving a reason; and when he married another -person, and would have rented the parsonage, she said with decision—“It -must remain as my sister left it!” - -And when Mrs. Gray would have remonstrated, she answered, still with -firmness— - -“I am of age, mother, but still will obey you in all things else. Act as -you like regarding the other property—but no stranger shall ever live -in the parsonage. Poor Malina furnished it for _him_, and for me. She -died there, and so will I!” - - * * * * * - -It may be so, for the old house is still uninhabited. Every thing -remains as Malina left it; the bridal chamber, the easy chair, and the -flute upon the table; time has made little change in those silent -apartments, for every week Phebe, who has become a calm and sorrowful -old maid, goes up to the house alone, and remains there for many hours; -sometimes seated at the study table, and gazing at a grave which may be -seen through the trees. Once, a child gathering valley lilies, beneath -the window, saw her standing at the open sash, with her sad eyes turned -toward the grave-yard. She was talking to herself—the child dropped his -flowers and listened, for there was something so mournful in her voice, -that his little heart thrilled to the sound. - -“They tell me that he wearied himself, and died of fever,” she said; -“and that thou, my sister, perished naturally, and as we all must. Alas, -if I could but think so. Why not have told me how he was beloved before -it was too late? I would have given him up—and while you were happy, -this heart had not become so palsied and feelingless. Alas, it was well -that thy heart _could_ break, my poor, poor Malina!” - - * * * * * - - - - - NOON.[5] - - - BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. - - - ’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee - And worshiped, while the husbandman withdrew - From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man - Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount, - Or rested in the shadow of the palm. - - I, too, amid the overflow of day, - Behold the power which wields and cherishes - The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock - That overlooks the Hudson’s western marge, - I gaze upon the long array of groves, - The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in - The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun; - Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays - Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst, - The swelling river into his green gulfs, - Unshadowed save by passing sails above, - Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys - The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers, - That would not open in the early light, - Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool, - That darkly quivered all the morning long - In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun, - And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again, - The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within - Run the brown water-beetles to and fro. - - A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, - Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within - His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile, - Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog - Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade. - Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws, - No more sits listening by his den, but steals - Abroad, in safety, to the clover field, - And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while - A ceaseless murmur from the populous town - Swells o’er these solitudes; a mingled sound - Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash - Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang, - And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks, - And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet, - Innumerable, hurrying to and fro. - Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings - No pause to toil and care; with early day - Began the tumult, and shall only cease - When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds - Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest. - - Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain - And luxury possess the hearts of men, - Thus is it with the noon of human life. - We in our fervid manhood, in our strength - Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care, - Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh - Our spirits with the calm and beautiful - Of God’s harmonious universe, that won - Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire - Why we are here, and what the reverence - Man owes to man, and what the mystery - That links us to the greater world, beside - Whose borders we but hover for a space. - ------ - -[5] From an unpublished Poem. - - * * * * * - - - - - TRUTH. - - - BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. - - - “This above all!—to thine own self be true! - And it must follow, as the night the day, - Thou canst not then be false to any man.” - - - - CHAPTER I. - - A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE. - -“Mother! mother!” exclaimed a sweet, eager voice, and the speaker, a -child of thirteen years, burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at -work, “don’t you think there is to be a prize given on exhibition day -for the best composition! And I mean to try for it—sha’nt I?” - -She was a little, harum-scarum looking imp! I suppose she had run all -the way home from school, for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead -of her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was streaming in such -disorder about her glowing face, that you could not tell if she were -pretty or not; but you could see a pair of brilliant, gray or blue or -black eyes—they certainly changed their color with every new emotion; -but I think they were really gray—full of laughter, and love beaming -through the truant tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh, -warm soul. This change in the child’s eyes is no freak of a foolish -fancy; for every one noticed it; and her school-crony, Kate Sumner, used -to declare, that when Harriet was angry they were black; gray when she -was thoughtful; violet when sad; and when happy and loving, they changed -to the tenderest blue. - -Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and smoothed back the -rebellious curls, at the same time exclaiming, with a long drawn sigh, -“My _dear_ Harriet! how you _do_ look!” - -“Oh, mother! it’s not the least matter how _I_ look! If I were only a -beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, I would keep my hair as smooth as—as -_any_ thing; but I wouldn’t rub my cheeks though, as she does always, -just before she goes into a room where there’s company—would _you_, -mother?” - -The mother gazed at her child’s expressive face, as she spoke, with its -irregular, yet lovely features, the strange, bright eyes, the changing -cheek, the full and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, -“Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not change your simple, -innocent, childlike unconsciousness, for all Angelina’s beauty, spoiled -as it is by vanity and affectation.” - -“But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, for I want to write -it now, this minute!” - -“Harriet,” said Mrs. Carlton quietly, “go and brush your hair, change -your shoes, and mend that rent in your dress as neatly as you can.” - -Harriet half pouted; but she met her mother’s tranquil eye; the pout -changed to a good-humored smile, and kissing her affectionately, she -bounded off to do her bidding. - -While she is gone, you would like—would you not, dear reader?—to ask a -few questions about her. I can guess what they are, and will answer -them, to the best of my knowledge. - -Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, and a handsome house -in Tremont street, Boston. She has been a star in fashionable life, but -since the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, she has retired -from the gay world, and devoted herself to her child—a wild, frank, -happy, generous and impetuous creature, with half a dozen glaring -faults, and one rare virtue which nobly redeemed them all. That virtue, -patient reader, you must find out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a -glimpse of it in - - - CHAPTER II. - - AUNT ELOISE. - -Harriet was busy with her composition, when her aunt, who was on a visit -to Mrs. Carlton, entered the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak minded and -weak hearted lady of a very uncertain age—unhappily gifted with more -sensibility than sense. She really had a deal of feeling—for -herself—and an almost inexhaustible shower of tears, varied -occasionally by hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing -exigency in the fate of her friends demanded self-possession, energy, or -immediate assistance. If, too, there happened, as there will sometimes, -in all households, to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion by any -member of the family, such as sewing, watching with an invalid, shopping -with a country cousin, poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most -unfortunately seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain in the -side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness, or some trouble of the -kind, which quite precluded the propriety of asking her aid. - -Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified the family with a -wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell had interrupted, and every -evening she grew sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight -hour awakened. It was then that innumerable shades of former admirers -arose. Some doubted if they had ever been _more_ than shades; but Aunt -Eloise certainly knew best about that, and who had a right to deny, that -Mr. Smith had knelt to her for pity; that Colonel Green had vowed -eternal adoration; and that Lawyer Lynx had laid his heart, his hand, -and his fees, which were not quite a fortune, at her feet? - -Aunt Eloise had been—at least she hinted so—a beauty and a blue, in -her day; and, to maintain both characters, she rouged, wore false -ringlets, and scribbled love-verses, which she had a bad habit of -leaving, by accident, between the leaves of books in every frequented -room of the house. - -She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond of her niece, during -her early childhood, and imagined that she displayed a graceful -enthusiasm in exclaiming, every now and then, in her presence, and in -that of others, “Oh! you angel child! I do think she is the sweetest -creature! Come here and kiss me, you beauty!” &c. &c. But no one ever -saw Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to its little wants, -or doing any thing for its benefit. The only tangible proof of her -affection for her niece, was in the shape of bonbons and candy, which -she was in the habit of bringing home from her frequent walks in Tremont -street. Harriet regularly handed these forbidden luxuries to her mother, -and Mrs. Carlton as regularly threw them in the fire. - -“Isn’t it a pity to waste such nice things, mother? Why not give them to -some poor child in the street?” asked the little girl one day, as she -watched, with longing eyes, a paper full of the tempting poison, which -her mother was quietly emptying into the grate. - -Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her child— - -“That would be _worse_ than wasted, dear. It would be cruel to give to -another what I refuse to you on account of its unwholesomeness.” - -But Harriet had now been for a long time out of the spinster’s books—as -the saying is—and this misfortune occurred as follows— - -One morning, when she was about six years old, the child came into her -mother’s room from her aunt’s, where she had been alternately pelted, -scolded, and teased, till she was weary, and, seating herself in a -corner, remained for some time absorbed in thought. She had been reading -to her mother that morning, and one sentence, of which she had asked an -explanation, had made a deep impression upon her. It was this—“God -sends us trials and troubles to strengthen and purify our hearts.” She -now sat in her corner, without speaking or stirring, until her mother’s -voice startled her from her reverie. - -“Of what are you now thinking, Harriet?” - -“Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen and purify my heart?” - -“What do you mean, my child?” - -“Why, the book says he sends trials for that, and she is the greatest -trial _I_ have, you know.” - -The indignant maiden was just entering the room as this dialogue began, -and hearing her own name, she had stopped, unseen, to listen. Speechless -with rage, she returned to her chamber, and was never heard to call -Harriet an angel child again. - -But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s follies than they -deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s all-important composition. - -The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, took it into her head -sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; and officious too, particularly -where she thought her literary talents could come into play. She walked -up to Harriet and looked over her shoulder. - -“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, Harriet, I am glad to see -you taking to literary pursuits. Come, child! give me the pen and I will -improve that sentence for you.” - -“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.” - -“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!” - -“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I would like you to help me, -if it were not to be shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know, to -pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for a prize.” - -“For a prize! So much the more reason that you should be assisted. -There, dear, run away to your play and I will write it all for you. -You’ll be sure to win the prize.” - -With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had grown larger and -darker, and at the close, she turned them, full of astonishment, from -her aunt’s face to her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of the -latter, she replied, - -“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you know.” - -“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, “It is a very common -thing, I assure you!” - -“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” said Mrs. Carlton; -“pray let Harriet have her own way about it. It would be far better to -lose the prize, than to gain it thus dishonestly.” - -Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have _her_ own way; but -she said no more then, and Harriet pursued her employment without -further interruption. - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE PRIZE. - -The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had finished her story several -days before, and read it to her mother. It was a simple, graceful, -childlike effusion, with less of pretension and ornament, and more of -spirit and originality than the compositions of most children of the -same age contain. - -Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt Eloise had criticised it -without mercy. At the same time she was observed to smile frequently -with a cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself—an -expression which she always wore when she had a secret, and secrets she -had, in abundance—a new one almost every day—trivial, petty secrets, -which no one cared about but herself; but which _she_ guarded as -jealously as if they had been apples of gold. - -The exhibition day had arrived. - -“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, glancing for a moment -into the breakfast-room. - -She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful dress, made for the -occasion. She held the story in her hand, neatly enclosed in an -envelope, and her eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of -childhood. - -“Don’t be surprised, Harriet,” said her aunt, “at any thing that may -happen to-day. Only be thankful if the prize is yours, that’s all.” - -“If Kate Sumner don’t win it, I do _hope_ I shall!” replied the eager -child, and away she tripped to school. - -At twelve o’clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took their seats among the -audience, in the exhibition room. The usual exercises were completed, -and it only remained for the compositions to be read aloud by the -teacher. - -The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. Mr. Wentworth, the -teacher, looked first surprised, then amused, then vexed as he read, -while a gaily and fashionably dressed lady, who occupied a conspicuous -place in the assembly, was observed to toss her head and fan herself -with a very complacent air, while she met, with a nod, the conscious -eyes of a fair and beautiful, but haughty looking girl of fifteen seated -among the pupils. - -“By Angelina Burton,” said the teacher, as he concluded, and laying it -aside without further comment, he took up the next—“Lines to a Favorite -Tree,” by Catherine Sumner. - -It was short and simple, and ran as follows— - - Thy leaves’ lightest murmur, - Oh! beautiful tree! - Each bend of thy branches, - The stately, the free, - Each wild, wavy whisper, - Is music to me. - - I gaze thro’ thy labyrinth, - Golden and green, - Where the light loves to linger, - In glory serene, - Far up, till yon heaven-blue - Trembles between. - - I shut out the city, - Its sight and its sound, - And away, far away, - For the forest I’m bound, - For the noble old forest, - Which ages have crowned! - - I lean on its moss banks, - I stoop o’er its rills, - I see, thro’ its vistas, - The vapor-wreathed hills, - And my soul with a gush - Of wild happiness fills! - - I pine for the freshness, - The freedom, the health, - Which Nature can give me— - My soul’s dearest wealth - Is wasted in cities; - Where only, by stealth, - - The mountain-born breezes - Can fitfully play, - Where we steal but a glimpse - Of this glorious day, - And but by the calendar, - Learn it is May. - - But away with repining, - I’ll study, from thee, - A lesson of patience, - Oh! noble, old tree! - ’Mid dark walls imprisoned, - Thou droop’st not like me; - - But strivest forever, - Still up, strong and brave, - ’Till in Heaven’s pure sunshine, - Thy free branches wave! - Oh! thus may _I_ meet it, - No longer a slave! - -The next was a story, and Harriet Carlton’s eyes and cheeks changed -color as she listened. It was the same, yet not the same! The incidents -were hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a flowery and highly -wrought sentence had been introduced, which she had never heard before. - -She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and dismay, and though -several other inferior compositions were read, she was so absorbed in -reverie, that she heard no more until she was startled by Mr. -Wentworth’s voice calling her by name. She looked up. In his hand was -the prize—a richly chased, golden pencil-case, suspended to a chain of -the same material. The sound, the sight recalled her bewildered -faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she had formed a resolution, -which, however, it required all her native strength of soul to put in -practice. - -“Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!” and the teacher leaned forward to -throw the chain around her neck. The child drew back— - -“No, sir,” she said in a low, but firm and distinct voice, looking up -bravely in his face, “I did not write the story you have read.” - -“Not write it!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, “Why, then, does it bear your -name? Am I to understand, Miss Carlton, that you have asked another’s -assistance in your composition, and that you now repent the deception?” - -Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes first flashed, and then -filled with tears; her lip trembled with emotion, and she paused a -moment, as if disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge. - -A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused her, and she -answered, respectfully but firmly, - -“The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. Some one has -changed it without my knowledge. It was not so good as that you have -read; so I must not take the prize.” - -There was a murmur of applause through the assembly, and the teacher -bent upon the blushing girl a look of approval, which amply repaid her -for all the embarrassment she had suffered. - -Aunt Eloise took advantage of the momentary excitement to steal -unobserved from the room. Harriet took her seat, and Miss Angelina -Burton was next called up. The portly matron leaned smilingly forward; -and the graceful, little beauty, already affecting the airs of a fine -lady, sauntered up to the desk and languidly reached out her hand for -the prize. - -“I cannot say much for your taste in selection, Miss Burton. I do not -admire your author’s sentiments. The next time you wish to make an -extract, you must allow me to choose for you. There are better things -than this, even in the trashy magazine from which you have copied it.” - -And with this severe, but justly merited reproof of the imposition that -had been practiced, he handed the young lady, not the prize, which she -expected, but the MS. essay on Friendship, which she had copied, word -for word, from an old magazine. - -The portly lady turned very red, and the beauty, bursting into tears of -anger and mortification, returned to her seat discomfited. - -“Miss Catherine Sumner,” resumed the teacher, with a benign smile, to a -plain, yet noble-looking girl, who came forward as he spoke, “I believe -there can be no mistake about _your_ little effusion. I feel great -pleasure in presenting you the reward, due, not only to your mental -cultivation, but to the goodness of your heart. What! do _you_, too, -hesitate?” - -“Will you be kind enough, sir,” said the generous Kate, taking a paper -from her pocket, “to read Harriet’s story before you decide. I asked her -for a copy several days ago, and here it is.” - -“You shall read it to the audience yourself, my dear; I am sure they -will listen patiently to so kind a pleader in her friend’s behalf.” - -The listeners looked pleased and eager to hear the story; and Kate -Sumner, with a modest self-possession, which well became her, and with -her fine eyes lighting up as she read, did full justice to the pretty -and touching story, of which Harriet had been so cruelly robbed. - -“It is well worth reading,” said Mr. Wentworth, when she had finished; -“your friend has won the prize, my dear young lady; and, as she owes it -to your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of bestowing it, -yourself.” - -Kate’s face glowed with emotion as she hung the chain around Harriet’s -neck; and Harriet could not restrain her tears, while she whispered, - -“I will take it, _not_ as a prize, but as a gift from _you_, dear Kate!” - -“And now, Miss Sumner,” said Mr. Wentworth, in conclusion, “let me beg -your acceptance of these volumes, as a token of your teacher’s respect -and esteem,” and presenting her a beautifully bound edition of Milton’s -works, he bowed his adieu to the retiring audience. - - * * * * * - -“Will you lend me your prize-pencil this morning, Harriet?” said Mrs. -Carlton the next day. She was dressed for a walk, and Harriet wondered -why she should want the pencil to take out with her; but she immediately -unclasped the chain from her neck, and handed it to her mother without -asking any questions. - -She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying at the side of her plate, -with the single word, “Truth” engraved upon its seal. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: E. T. Parris., Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch, & - Smillie. -_True Affection._ -_Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine._] - - * * * * * - - - - - TRUE AFFECTION. - - - ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. - - - Matron in thy golden prime, - Well the world may envy thee; - Thou hast reached the happy time - When life holds her jubilee— - Midway on her pilgrimage, - Looking backward and before, - Where end infancy and age - On her being’s misty shore. - - Turning to the past, thine eye - Dwells upon a way of flowers— - Not a cloud upon the sky - ’Neath which passed the happy hours. - Clear the vision of the True!— - Standing on the verge of Time, - See! Hope opens to your view - Glories of the better clime! - - So the past and present life— - What the tale the present tells? - Childhood—maidenhood—a _wife_— - Thus the tide of being swells— - Mother! oh all else in this - Fade as stars before the sun, - Thou the highest point of bliss - Yielded to the True hast won. - - Love—communion—in these words - All the happiness we know; - Without them the world affords - Nought to bind the heart below; - “True Affection!” with unrest - We the boon demand of all; - Vainly seeking, still unblest— - Strangers at life’s carnival. - - Earnest, calm, unchanging love, - With no doubt its light to shade— - Oh, the happiness above - Is but this eternal made! - Thou hast found it—in thine eyes, - In the eyes that look to thine, - As the stars from summer skies - Sweetly do we see it shine. - - Exiles from a better sphere - Weary wanderers are we, - Doomed ’mid clouds to linger here, - Source of bliss, unknowing thee! - Save, when from the world apart - Thou upon our gloomy way - Shinest from a kindred heart, - Turning darkness into day! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PERSECUTOR’S DAUGHTER. - - - BY CHARLES J. PETERSON. - - -The last days of November are at hand, and the melancholy woods, shorn -of their foliage, stand skeleton-like against the cold, lowering sky; or -toss their branches to and fro, with a low moaning sound, in the fitful -tempest. Hark! how the gale swells out with the deep voice of a -cathedral organ, or dies plaintively away like the cry of a lost child -in the forest. The sky is covered with cloud-rifts of a deep, leaden -color, only a spot of blue sky being here and there visible; but -occasionally the sun, bursting, like a god, from the darkness that -encircles him, covers the brown hills with an effulgent glory, while the -opposite firmament is lit up with a dull, fiery glow, that has something -almost spectral in its aspect. The streams are swollen and discolored, -and roll their turbid waters hoarsely onward. Along the fields the brown -grass whistles in the wind, and the bare flower-stalks rattle, with a -melancholy tone, in the garden. Now and then, drops of rain plash -heavily to the ground. The wind comes with a sudden chill to the -nerves—the bay is crisped into foam by the fitful gusts—and along the -bleak coast the now mountain waves roll in with a hoarse, sullen roar, -forewarning us of shipwreck and death. Sad thoughts insensibly possess -the mind, and tales of sorrow, that had long been forgot, come up to our -memories. One such is even now heavy on our heart—listen! and we will -rehearse it. - -It was on just such a morning as this, many a long year ago, and far -away from our own happy land, that a little congregation was gathered -together in the hills to worship God. The time was in those sore and -evil days when the decree of a tyrannical king had gone forth, that no -man should worship, except as a corrupt hierarchy and lascivious court -might ordain—and when, all over Scotland, those who would not give up -the free birthright of their fathers, were driven to meet in mountain -glens, and on lonely moors, whither their pastors—the holy men who had -baptized them in infancy, and united them to the dear objects of their -love—had already been hunted. And often, in solitary places, where -hitherto only the cry of the eagle had been heard, the Sabbath hymn rose -sweetly up from tender maidens and tearful wives, while their brothers -and husbands listened with weapons in their hands, or watched from some -neighboring eminence, lest the fiery dragoons of Claverhouse should be -in sight. And when these God-defying troopers, with hands red with the -blood of the saints, burst into the little flock, woful was the tale, -and loud the wailing that went through all the vales around. Every new -Sabbath brought its tale of slaughter, until the land smoked with blood, -and the incense thereof went up from a hundred hills, crying for -vengeance to the Most High. - -And such a congregation had now met in the hollow of three hills, far -away from the usual track of the persecutors. A simple rock served the -hoary headed pastor for a pulpit; while hard by, a rivulet, brawling -over its pebbly bed, and then for a moment expanding into a mimic lake, -bottomed with silvery sands, formed the holy font for baptism. Around -was gathered the little flock—aged sires and young striplings, staid -matrons and meek-eyed maidens, young children and stalwart men—all -gazing upward into the pastor’s face, a sacred throng. But there was one -other there, who seemed equally with him an object of anxious interest, -and on whom every eye was occasionally turned—a bright, beautiful -being, with far more of heaven than earth in her deep, azure eyes. Oh! -lovely was that fair-haired girl, even as we may have dreamed a seraph -to be, all glorious with golden wings, under the throne of God. And now -there sat in those soft blue eyes an expression of meek sorrow, tempered -with high and holy faith, for many and sore had been the trials of Helen -Græme; but grace had been given her to endure them all, and even to rise -above them, with a courage which had made her dear unto every heart -among these wandering and persecuted ones. - -The father of Helen was the last son of a family which had been decaying -for centuries, and which, of all its once mighty possessions, retained -only the comparatively small estate of Craigburnie, in one of the -southern counties of Scotland. To rebuild the fortunes of his house had -been the darling wish of her father. For this purpose he had entered the -army of the Covenanters, during the wars of the great revolution, and -served with some distinction, though without permanent advantage, in -consequence of the return of the king. On the happening of this event, -Mr. Græme retired to his estate, soured and disappointed. Here he would -have been far more discontented than he was, but for his wife, a lady of -the meekest piety, and whose single minded charity was known throughout -all her native hills, for Mrs. Græme was the daughter of one of the -holiest ministers of the kirk, and inherited not only his piety, but the -fervent admiration with which he was regarded by his parishioners. She -early instilled into her child the pure precepts of our holy religion, -and often might the little girl be seen seated at her mother’s knee, -lisping the word of God, which the parent taught her thus early to -peruse. And, on the Sabbath, who listened more attentively to the -venerable pastor, or joined with sweeter voice in the anthem of praise? -Nurtured thus, what wonder that at seventeen she seemed the counterpart -of the mother, and was regarded by the poorer folk around the Brae—her -mother’s birthplace, and where she spent several months each -year—almost with veneration, for had not many of them, in times of sore -trial, been sustained by the bounty, and cheered by the smiles of the -heavenly girl? - -But at length her mother fell sick, and for many a weary month Helen -watched by the sufferer’s bed-side, a ministering angel. During this -illness she noticed that, at times, her father would seem lost in -thought, as if something weighed heavily on his mind; but Helen regarded -it little, attributing it to his suspense at her mother’s danger, for he -loved both her and his child with an intensity seemingly in -contradiction to his hard, unbending character, but which, in truth, was -the result of his total seclusion from the world; for the sympathies -thus shut out from others lavished themselves wholly on his wife and -daughter. At length, Mrs. Græme died, and for many days it seemed as if -that strong man’s heart would break, while Helen wept in silence, though -not less uncontrollably. Her father was now sterner than ever, though -not to her. He was more alone, often indulged in fits of musing, and was -absent at Edinburgh for some days—an unusual occurrence—and when he -came back it was as Sir Roland Græme, a title which men said he had -purchased by selling himself to the Court. Helen heard these -rumors—which, however, came to her ears in whispers, and which at first -she could not believe—with sorrow and despair of heart; but no word of -reproof broke from her lips. Her sufferings were endured silently; but -so deep was her grief, that she pined away, seeming to all eyes a being -lent awhile to earth, and gradually exhaling to heaven. Her father, -thinking her sorrow sprung wholly from her mother’s death, and wishing, -perhaps, that she should be from home when he should first act for the -government, sent her to her mother’s native vale, alleging, and -doubtless hoping, that change of air would restore her to health. It -were doing him no more than justice to say, that his paternal love was -fully aroused to Helen’s danger, and that he took the only possible -means to keep at his side this dear bud of her who was now in heaven. He -forgot how much the little family at the Brae leaned toward the -persecuted sect—he forgot the disaffected character of the district -into which Helen went—he forgot the danger lest her own feelings should -become enlisted in behalf of those against whom he was so soon to draw -his sword; remembering only—for was he not a father?—that his child’s -health was in danger, and that a residence in the mountain district -where she had been born, and where she had spent so many happy years, -was the sole chance of saving her life. - -And now Helen was once more amid the scenes where her childhood had been -spent, and every old counsel and prayer of her mother, recalled to mind -by the spots where they had been first heard, rose up before her, and -softened her heart; and often, at Sabbath eve, or in the still watches -of the night, it seemed to her as if the spirit of that sainted mother -hovered over her, whispering her heavenward, and bidding her never to -forget or forsake her God. All the sympathies which now surrounded her, -drew her to the persecuted sect; for her cousin and aunt were both among -the non-conformists; and though the little kirk, standing all alone in -the hills, a cool well in a parched desert, was now closed, and he who -had formerly ministered there an outcast, yet the sight and recognition -of him, at more than one stolen meeting, recalled to Helen’s mind the -time when he blessed her, nestling bird-like to her mother’s bosom, she -looking the while half affrightedly, yet oh, how reverentially, up into -the face of the mild old man! And was not her heart softened, even to -tears, when the patriarch, well remembering her—for none did he ever -forget—sought her among the crowd, and, laying his hands on her head, -blessed her, hoping that God still kept her in the way her mother had -trod? From that hour Helen became a changed being. The light heartedness -of youth was gone. She wept often, and prayed in solitary places by -herself; for lo! the struggle in her bosom, between duty to her parent, -and a higher duty to God, waxed stronger and stronger; but daily she -yearned more and more to the oppressed remnant, until finally it was -whispered in the scattered congregation that the persecutor’s -daughter—that child of many prayers—was to become a professed member -of the flock. And old men and nursing mothers in the church blessed God -as they heard it. - -On this Sabbath morning, Helen had, for the first time, openly attended -a meeting in the hills. At first, she had come with fear and trembling, -but when she saw the looks of kindly sympathy with which all regarded -her, she became more composed, and could enter on the holy duties of the -day in a fitting mood. And when the aged pastor gave out the hymn, and -the congregation joined in the sacred anthem, what voice sang of -redeeming love so sweetly as that of Helen? - -Lo! the vision of light has passed from our souls, and in place of that -seraphic countenance, we behold the face of a stern warrior, in every -feature of which we read of cruelty and blood. Even now he is hot in -pursuit of the suffering remnant, and with his troop of fiery dragoons -interrupts the Sabbath quiet of the vales and glens, with the jingling -of broad swords and the ribald jests of scoffers; and many a dark-browed -peasant scowls on the persecutor as he passes, and prays that God will -yet avenge his slaughtered saints. Nor, if the popular rumor is to be -believed, is that vengeance altogether withheld; for men say that Sir -Roland Græme, having sold his religion for the paltry honors of earth, -has been already cursed from on high, and that, sleeping or waking, he -finds no rest from the stingings of remorse; yet, like one who has -committed the unpardonable sin, he cannot draw back from his career of -blood, but is impelled onward, as if by some irresistible power, to -still darker crimes. Look upon his face again, and tell us if there is -not something there which you shudder to behold—something of untold -horror in that stern, God-defying brow, as if the arch-enemy had already -been suffered to affix his seal upon it. - -And whither was that man of blood going? Far, far over hill and dale, to -the slaughter of the saints. He had heard, through some traitor, of the -assemblage to be held that morning in the hills, and with the first dawn -of day he and his troopers had been in the saddle, thirsting to -participate in the bloody sacrament. For the last half hour he had -seemed lost in thought, and now he suddenly drew in his rein, and turned -to his lieutenant. - -“Lennox,” he said, “I believe I will not lead these brave fellows -to-day, but surrender the command to you. I see, over yonder hill, the -blue summit that looks down on the Brae, where my daughter is visiting. -I have not seen her for months, nor is it probable I shall be in this -district for many months more. The country here is widely disaffected, -and therefore an unbecoming residence for a child of mine. It has just -struck me that I might cross the hills, and bring her home with me this -afternoon. And yet something whispers to me that I ought rather to -pursue these traitors and schismatics,” he continued, as if to himself; -“however, I can trust to you, and it is imperative that my daughter -leave this district. We will meet here by four o’clock. Your road lies -down yonder glen. All I have to say is, ‘spare none!’” - -“I understand,” said the subordinate; “neither age nor sex.” - -“Neither age nor sex, nor even those of rank, if such there be,” sternly -said Sir Roland; “when the poison has sunk deep, nothing but the cautery -will cure. And hark ye! on the faithful execution of your commands -depends your hope of preferment. I would not spare my own child, if I -found her among these spawn of Satan!” - -And, with these memorable words, he ordered a detachment of his company -to follow him, and rode off, though at first reluctantly, in the -direction of the Brae. - -The route was passed in silence, for Sir Roland was buried in thought. -There was indeed cause for it. One or two things in the last letter he -had received from his daughter—and that missive had now been written a -month—made him feel uneasy, lest she looked more favorably on the -persecuted sect than became a daughter of his; and it was this fear, all -at once recalled to mind by the business on which he had set forth this -morning, that determined him so suddenly to leave the dispersion of the -conventicle to his lieutenant, while he should ride over to the Brae, -and bring his daughter home. Other thoughts, too, were busy within him. -The long coveted rank had brought little alleviation to his soured and -disappointed mind, for his fortune was now more than ever inadequate to -his condition, and all the peculiarly sensitive feelings of a proud man -were stung to the quick by the indignities to which, in consequence, he -was often exposed. Moreover, he was aware of the light in which he was -held, since his change of politics, not only by the common people, but -by large portions of the gentry; so that, on every hand, he was soured -and irritated, and longed to wreak on the Covenanters the hate which he -felt toward all men. - -And yet, as he approached the Brae, and saw at a distance the low roof -of the mansion from which he had taken his bride, gentler feelings stole -into his bosom. He thought of her whom he had once loved with all the -fervor of a first passion—he remembered the happy years they had spent -together—and when he recollected that she was now no more, and that the -last time he had beheld these roofs he had been in her company, a tear -almost gathered into his eye. Then he thought of his daughter. As her -image rose up before him, his heart was fully melted. With all the -sternness of his character he loved that daughter as few fathers -loved—ay! loved her doubly since her mother’s death, for she was now -the only object in the whole wide world on which he could bestow aught -of affection. And now, joy at the prospect of meeting her gave to his -spirits the glad exhilaration of boyhood, and quickening his pace, he -galloped gaily across the hills, nor drew his rein until he reached the -door of the old mansion. - -The Brae was an antique and partially dilapidated residence, at present -inhabited by the aunt of Helen, and a daughter about the age of Miss -Græme. At all times it wore a sombre, deserted look, but on this morning -it seemed peculiarly desolate, for the whole front of the house was -closed, and all the outhouses shut up. A strange fear came over the -father, as he beheld the absence of these signs of life, and he hastily -ordered one of the dragoons to dismount and knock at the door. The man -obeyed, but for a time knocked in vain. The sound of the hilt of his -heavy sword, striking on the door, echoed through the long hall of the -house; but no signs of life within were visible. The usual frown on the -face of Sir Roland grew darker, and he cried angrily— - -“Blow off the lock with a pistol, and search the house!” - -At this instant, however, and just as the trooper was proceeding to -execute this order, the face of an old woman was protruded from one of -the upper windows, while she demanded who was below. - -“Sir Roland Græme,” replied the leader; “where are the family? where is -Miss Græme? Is any one sick?” - -“They are all well, but out!” briefly said the woman. - -“Out—out!” exclaimed the persecutor, “and on Sunday, when there is no -church within miles. By G—,” he continued, striving to drown his fears -in rage, “is this a time to be out? Where have they gone? Answer truly, -on your life!” - -“May it please your honor,” said one of the dragoons, touching his cap, -“may they not have gone to this conventicle, and taken your daughter -with them?” - -Quick as lightning, Sir Roland wheeled round on the unthinking speaker, -and while the indentation on his brow became deeper than ever, and his -eye flashed with rage, he said— - -“_My_ daughter consorting with traitors and schismatics! Breathe but the -word again, and by the God of heaven I will cleave you to the chine!” -and his fingers played nervously with the hilt of his sword; but, seeing -the deprecating look of the trooper, he recovered himself, and added, -“tush! man, you are innocent, but take care how even innocently you -rouse the tiger.” - -“Tiger,” shrieked the old woman, who had known Sir Roland in former -days, and who now seemed impelled by some sudden gust of passion to -speak out, “it is well said; ay! one whose fangs have been in the hearts -of the persecuted remnant—but God will avenge his people. Know, false -persecutor, that your daughter _has_ gone forth to-day to become one of -the chosen few against whom, oh! man of sin, you have so often ridden -with steel and war horse, holding the commission of your master, the -Evil One. Go to, Roland Græme, I mind ye when ye were a boy, and little -did I think ye would ever become the Judas you are now.” - -It is probable that if her hearer had comprehended the whole of this -harangue, a bullet would have been the speaker’s reward; but the first -words of the old woman, when taken in connection with the desertion of -the house, and his own misgivings from Helen’s late letter, assured him -that his daughter had indeed attended the conventicle. The conviction -fell on his heart with agonizing force. Remembering the injunctions of -indiscriminate butchery he had laid on his subordinate, and well knowing -that the command would be fulfilled to the very letter, he staggered -back in his saddle, with a face whiter than ashes, and was fain to grasp -the pommel for support, while he exclaimed in tones wrung from him by -the keenest anguish— - -“My child!—my child!—I have murdered my child!” - -“What is that ye say?” screamed the old hag, leaning eagerly forward; -“have ye sent out your reiving dragoons against the Lord’s anointed? and -ye fear that they will slay your ain bairn. Oh! man of blood, the -judgment of God has come upon ye—the judgment has come upon ye!” - -But to the voice of the speaker, as well as to the astonished looks of -the dragoons, the father was insensible. He still remained clutching the -saddle, every feature of his face working with intense agony, and his -eyes glaring vacantly on the air. Those who looked on him shrunk back -aghast at the horror of his aspect; which, fearful as it was, only -faintly shadowed forth the torture of the soul within. The peril of his -only child stupefied him for a time. Then a succession of wild images -rose up to his mind. He saw his daughter flying before the ruthless -dragoons—he heard her cries for mercy, and the bitter sneer of -disbelief on the part of her pursuers—he beheld her lying a corpse on -the bare heath, her bosom gashed with brutal wounds, and her long fair -hair dabbled with blood. In that moment the memory of every one whom he -had slain came up before him—the mothers who had clung to his knees, -the babes who had looked innocently in his face as they died, the -daughters whose aged parents he had slain before their eyes. He thought -of the silvery headed patriarch whom he had shot for refusing the test, -and the prophetic warning of the victim that he, even he, the proud -persecutor, should curse the day he ever drew his sword against the -saints, came up to his memory. He groaned in anguish. For a time none -dared to intrude on his misery. One of his men, a trusty body adherent, -at length ventured to speak, by asking him if they had not better ride -with all haste after Lennox, in the hope that they might yet come up in -time. Starting, as if a shot had struck him, the father plunged his -rowels into the side of his steed, until the blood gushed forth, and -wheeling his horse sharp around, looked back sternly on his followers, -as he led the way at a fearful pace up the hill. Well did he know the -country around, and necessary, indeed, was that knowledge, for his -frantic gallop required the most intimate acquaintance with every turn -and inequality of the road. Over hill and dale, through glen and moor he -dashed, reckless of danger, for how could he think of aught but his -daughter? Oh! what would he not have given to be assured that he should -once more look into her soft blue eyes, that he should again press her -to his bosom. What now to him was rank or wealth? Perhaps he thought -that Helen would be able to reveal her name ere she fell a victim—but -no! for even if she spoke, would his subordinate believe her story? -Once, the very suspicion that she favored the Covenanters had angered -him, but now he would forgive every thing, only to be assured of her -safety. The contending emotions—hope and fear, love and anger, suspense -and despair—that agitated his bosom, made that hour’s ride an hour of -agony, such as he had never before thought a human being could endure, -and live. He felt that the curse of God was on him—that all the agonies -he had inflicted on others were now concentrated on himself—that he was -bound to the wheel of fire. His punishment had already begun. He had -rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty’s buckler, and found, -like him of old, that man could not contend against the Most High. - -We remember, when a boy, waking from a dream of horror, to find our -mother smiling over our sleep. Oh! never shall we forget the heavenly -radiance of that loved face, for radiant with heaven it seemed to us, -after the terrors of that midnight vision. Even so we feel when turning -from contemplating the tortures of the persecutor, to gaze on his -sainted child. The hour was now approaching noon, and Helen, in the -presence of the silent flock, had taken upon her those vows she could -never put off. Tears fell from many an eye as the worshipers beheld her -thus in their midst; and the old pastor was so affected that he could -scarcely speak. - -“God will reward you, my daughter, and give you strength,” he said; “I -bless His holy name that thou art delivered from the dominion of Baal. -It is hard, I know, to disobey a parent; but saith not the Scripture, -that we must leave father and mother, if required, and take up our cross -and follow Christ? Only persevere, and God will make your way plain to -you, guiding you, even as he led the children of Israel, with a pillar -of cloud by day, and of fire by night. Trials, and sore ones, we must -all have in this world—and I boast not, but only speak to cheer you, -when I say that mine have been many and hard, but God has given me grace -to endure all, even as He will give it unto you. But my race is nearly -run; the golden urn will soon be broken at the fountain. I only pray to -die like the martyrs of old, with my armor on, and my sword girt to my -thigh. Come, oh! Lord, most mighty,” he continued, raising his hands and -eyes rapturously above, “come, oh! Lord most gracious, and come -quickly!” - -A deep silence followed the conclusion of this prayer, while the tears -of many fell fast and thick. Every eye was fixed on the holy man, or -turned to Helen, for the countenances of both already seemed to glow, as -those of angels. None dared to draw a breath, lest they should dispel -the hushed stillness that so well accorded with the solemnity of the -moment. But suddenly a cry was heard, clear, loud and startling—“The -dragoons—the dragoons are here!” and had a voice come from the dead, it -would not have produced a more sudden change in the hearers. Every one -started up, and all eyes were turned toward the point whence the cry had -proceeded. There, on a gentle eminence, stood a shepherd waving his -plaid, and making gestures for the congregation to fly up the glen. In -an instant all was confusion. Mothers clasped their infants to their -bosoms, and looked up tremblingly, with faces whiter than ashes—maidens -clung to their lovers, and gazed around with dilated eyes and looks of -terror—and fathers and brothers, gathering around these dear ones, -hurried them on foot and horseback, in the direction indicated by the -sentinel. The escort of Helen and her aunt had been several armed -retainers, and these now rallied to the side of their mistress and the -pastor, prepared to make good their retreat, or defend themselves to the -last. Hoping to escape the notice of the pursuers, they dashed off in a -different direction from that pursued by the others of the congregation; -but just as they turned the angle of the hill, the pennons of the -troopers came into sight, and by the immediate diversion of a party in -pursuit of them, the fugitives knew they were detected. Pricking their -horses, they now hurried rapidly onward, and for several hundred yards -lost sight of their pursuers. At length, the little party reached the -brow of a slight acclivity. - -“Faster—faster,” said one who had looked back, “they gain on us—press -on.” - -Every eye was turned in the direction of the pursuers, and there, not -half the distance they had been before, were the dragoons, thundering -along with fiery haste. The sight gave new energy to the fugitives, who -urged on their steeds with redoubled vigor. For a while now the result -seemed doubtful. During this interval of suspense the feelings of the -fugitives were of the most conflicting character—the instinctive love -of life alternating with a holy resignation to whatever fate might be -assigned them. Now, as they gained on the troopers, the former -prevailed, and now, as they saw their pursuers drawing nigher, the -latter won the mastery. The emotions of each, meanwhile, were different. -The old pastor, with eyes uplifted, seemed rapturously awaiting -martyrdom—the aunt and cousin of Helen were pale and red by turns as -their fear or faith rose triumphant, while the serving men frowned -darkly as they looked behind, and appeared to wish for a chance to -exchange passes with their steel-clad oppressors. But the feelings of -Helen were most difficult to analyze, though perhaps they had less of -earth in them than those of any except the pastor. Subdued by the day’s -sacrifice of herself, and all glowing with divine faith and energy, what -had she to fear from death? Yet, even with this perfect resignation, she -could not avoid looking back on their pursuers, while her heart heat -quicker as the distance increased between the troopers and themselves. - -“We gain—we gain—press on, we shall escape,” shouted the leader of the -little party, “the Lord will yet deliver us from our enemies.” - -“Nay, nay,” said the pastor suddenly, “the hour has come—see ye not -that we are cut off in front, lo! the horses and the men-of-war.” - -A cry—almost a shriek—broke from Helen’s two female companions as they -looked ahead, and saw, emerging from a narrow ravine, another party of -dragoons, led by a tall, dark man far in advance of the rest, and all -riding with tumultuous haste. Helen spoke not, but only raised her eyes -to heaven, for escape was now impossible. The ravine ahead was the only -feasible outlet in that direction, from the glen up which the fugitives -had fled, and to turn back would be to fall on the swords of their -pursuers. The serving men looked aghast, and drew in their reins, which -example the rest of the party immediately followed. For a minute there -was a profound silence. At length the leader again spoke. - -“Why stand we here? Escape is impossible, unless we can cut our way -through. Let us charge the party behind, for that is the smaller. Form a -circle around the women—wheel—trot.” - -There was no time for consultation, and the proposal seemed to point out -the only feasible plan. With the words they wheeled their horses, and -dashed to the desperate attack. The dragoons seemed for an instant -astonished by the movement, but did not slacken their pace. Their leader -waved his sword, and turning to his men, led the onset in person, -shouting “God save the king and bishops,” while the Covenanters, -unsheathing their blades, raised the cry of “The sword of the Lord and -Gideon.” And thus, borne in the midst of those armed men as in the -embrace of a whirlwind, Helen was hurried toward the dragoons. And as -they galloped along, the heavenly girl, with heart uplifted, prayed, -while her countenance shone with a glory as of the cherubim. - -And who was it that dashed so frantically up the glen, as if fearful -that he might not arrive to whet his blade in the blood of the -fugitives? Who, but Sir Roland Græme, flying to save his daughter, and -even now almost maddened with the thought that he had come too late, for -the instant that he emerged from the ravine he recognized his child, and -now, when he saw her turned back to the pursuers, and his practiced eye -told him that he could not reach her until the two parties should be -engaged in deadly combat, the same sickening sensation of horror which -had attacked him at the Brae came over him again. With a sharp cry of -agony he ploughed his spurs into the already bloody sides of his horse, -and sprang forward at a pace even more frantic than that which he had -before led; but swift as was his progress it seemed to him only that of -a snail. On—on—he urged his gallant beast, and nearer and nearer the -fugitives and their first pursuers drew to each other. What though he -gained on the group!—he saw that the hostile parties would meet while -he would yet be far away. Oh! what were his feelings as this conviction -forced itself on him. If only another mile, in which to overtake them, -had been given him, he might perhaps have succeeded; but now hope was in -vain! Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow, while his heart throbbed -almost to bursting against his corselet. Did none recognize him, and -could they not understand his frantic signs? He -shouted—again—again—again. The dead might as well be expected to -hear. He waved his plumed hat on high, but, at that instant, with the -shock of an earthquake, the opponents met. A dizziness came over his -eyes, but with a mighty effort he rallied his reeling faculties, and -looked at the fight. Was his child yet alive? He saw the gleam of the -broadswords, the blaze of firearms, and all the tumult of the conflict, -but his daughter was not visible. Suddenly a sharp, quick, female -shriek, rising shrill over the uproar, met his ear. God of heaven, had -his Helen fallen! Another leap of his frantic steed, and he was near -enough to hear the shouts of the combatants and distinguish particular -persons. He trembled with eagerness, but lo! his daughter was still -unharmed, girt around as with a wall of steel, by the broadswords of her -defenders. He rose in his stirrups at the sight, and waving his hat -around his head, shouted with the voice of a Titan. Joy—joy! they -recognize him, and his child extends her arms toward him. She is saved. -But no! for at this very instant, when at length they understood by -their leader’s gestures that they were to desist, one of the dragoons, -availing himself of the confusion of the moment and thirsting for -vengeance for a wound he had received, aimed a pistol at the pastor’s -bosom, and though a fellow soldier struck aside his arm, it was only to -wing the deadly ball to another heart, even that of Helen, who all along -had been nestled by the side of the holy man. She fell back into his -arms, the blood gushing from her bosom, and for an instant they thought -her gone. But when the pastor called on her name she faintly opened her -eyes, pressed his hand, smiled sweetly, and murmuring of heaven, sank -away apparently into a slumber. - -One wild cry of horror had risen, at her fall, from those immediately -around her, telling the tale of her murder; but the father needed not -this confirmation of his worst fears, for he had seen the shot and -beheld her fall. Galloping wildly forward, with a few gigantic leaps he -reached the offender, whom he smote to the earth with a single blow of -his broadsword. The next instant he was by his daughter’s side, the -group opening awe-struck to let him pass. He spoke not, but oh! the -terrible agony of his countenance. Putting them aside with arms -extended, he approached and gazed down into the face of his child—gazed -as Sapphira did when the apostle told her doom, and she saw the bearers -returning from her husband’s burial. And for a minute of profound -silence he continued gazing thus, into that fair sweet face, on which, -though now stilled as in death, there yet lingered a smile of heavenly -joy. He shuddered as he looked, and his countenance became livid as that -of a corpse. He essayed to speak, but though his lips moved, no sound -proceeded from them. At length slowly, almost reluctantly, he stooped -down and took her hand. - -“Helen—Helen,” he said, in a choking voice, “you are not dead. Say -so—tell me I am not your murderer. Oh! speak, and forgive me.” - -The dying girl faintly opened her eyes, and gazed vacantly into her -father’s face. Her senses were fast deserting her. She did not recognize -him. - -“Oh God! my child is dying,” groaned the father. “Helen, Helen,” he -continued, raising his voice, “do you not know me? I am your -father—your murderer. Do not look on me with such strange eyes! Helen, -Helen dear, say, if only by a smile, that you forgive me. Oh! Lord God -of heaven,” he exclaimed, lifting his eyes agonizingly above, “have -mercy on me—suffer her to live to forgive me—crush not the bruised -reed,” and hot tears gushed from his eyes and trickled in his daughter’s -face. - -“Who weeps?” faintly said the dying sufferer, “weep not for me. Tell my -father how I love him, and die blessing him—” - -“Thank thee, Almighty Father, I thank thee,” gasped the penitent. -“Helen, here is your father—I am he.” - -For the first time, now, the dying girl seemed fully to comprehend her -situation. She looked a minute around the group, and then, with a sweet -smile, her eyes rested on her father’s face. She faintly pressed his -hand. Tears gushed from his eyes like rain, and though he strove to -speak he could not for his sobs. She murmured of him, of her mother, of -heaven, and then they knew she was dead. The father looked on her a -moment, and with a groan—which none there ever forgot—sunk helpless to -her side. They raised him, but he was a corpse. “Vengeance is mine,” -saith the Lord, “and I will repay.” - - * * * * * - - - - - A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. - - - BY MR. SEBA SMITH. - - -Hardly any event creates a stronger sensation in a thinly settled New -England village, especially among the young folks, than the arrival of a -fresh and blooming miss, who comes to make her abode in the -neighborhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, the only lawyer in the -place, and a very respectable man of course, told Farmer Jones one -afternoon that his wife’s sister, a smart girl of eighteen, was coming -in a few days to reside in his family, the news flew like wildfire -through Pond village, and was the principal topic of conversation for a -week. Pond village is situated upon the margin of one of those numerous -and beautiful sheets of water that gem the whole surface of New England, -like the bright stars in an evening sky, and received its appellation to -distinguish it from two or three other villages in the same town, which -could not boast of a similar location. When Farmer Jones came in to his -supper about sunset that afternoon, and took his seat at the table, the -eyes of the whole family were upon him, for there was a peculiar working -about his mouth and a knowing glance of his eye, that always told them -when he had something of interest to communicate. But Farmer Jones’ -secretiveness was large, and his temperament not the most active, and he -would probably have rolled the important secret as a sweet morsel under -his tongue for a long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was of rather an -impatient and prying turn of mind, contrived to draw it from him. - -“Now, Mr. Jones,” said she, as she handed him his cup of tea, “what is -it you are going to say? Do out with it; for you’ve been chawing -something or other over in your mind ever since you came into the -house.” - -“It’s my tobacher, I s’pose,” said Mr. Jones, with another knowing -glance of his eye. - -“Now, father, what is the use?” said Susan; “we all know you’ve got -something or other you want to say, and why can’t you tell us what -’tis?” - -“La, who cares what ’tis?” said Mrs. Jones; “if it was any thing worth -telling, we shouldn’t have to wait for it, I dare say.” - -Hereupon Mrs. Jones assumed an air of the most perfect indifference, as -the surest way of conquering what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones’ -obstinacy, which by the way was a very improper term to apply in the -case; for it was purely the working of secretiveness without the least -particle of obstinacy attached to it. - -There was a pause for two or three minutes in the conversation, till Mr. -Jones passed his cup to be filled a second time, when with a couple of -preparatory hems he began to let out the secret. - -“We are to have a new neighbor here in a few days,” said Mr. Jones, -stopping short when he had uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and -filling his mouth with food. - -Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said not a word, but -attended to the affairs of the table, as though she had not noticed what -was said. The farmer’s secretiveness had at last worked itself out, and -he began again. - -“Squire Johnson’s wife’s sister is coming here in a few days, and is -going to live with ’em.” - -The news being thus fairly divulged, it left free scope for -conversation. - -“Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck up piece,” said Mrs. Jones. - -“I shouldn’t think she would be,” said Susan, “for there aint a more -sociabler woman in the neighborhood than Miss Johnson. So if she’s at -all like her sister I think we shall like her.” - -“I wonder how old she is,” said Stephen, who was just verging toward the -close of his twenty-first year. - -“The squire called her eighteen,” said Mr. Jones, giving a wink to his -wife, as much as to say, that’s about the right age for Stephen. - -“I wonder if she is handsome,” said Susan, who was somewhat vain of her -own looks, and having been a sort of reigning belle in Pond village for -some time, felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival. - -“I dare be bound she’s handsome,” said Mrs. Jones, “if she’s sister to -Miss Johnson; for where’ll you find a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, -go the town through?” - -After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson’s store, and told the -news to young Charles Robinson and all the young fellows who were -gathered there for a game at quoits and a ring at wrestling. And Susan -went directly over to Mr. Bean’s and told Patty, and Patty went round to -the Widow Davis’ and told Sally, and before nine o’clock the matter was -pretty well understood in about every house in the village. - -At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, a chaise was -seen to drive up to Squire Johnson’s door. Of course the eyes of the -whole village were turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was just -coming in from milking, set her pail down on the grass by the side of -the road as soon as the chaise came in sight, and watched it till it -reached the squire’s door, and the gentleman and lady had got out and -gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing up the ironing that afternoon, -and she had just taken a hot iron from the fire as the chaise passed the -door, and she ran with it in her hand and stood on the door steps till -the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, and entering the house, was -over. Old Mrs. Bean stood with her head out of the window, her -iron-bowed spectacles resting upon the top of her forehead, her -shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows to defend her red eyes from -the rays of the setting sun, and her skinny chin protruding about three -inches in advance of a couple of stubs of teeth, which her open mouth -exposed fairly to view. - -“Seems to me they are dreadful loving,” said old Mrs. Bean, as she saw -Mrs. Johnson descend the steps and welcome her sister with a kiss. - -“La me, if there isn’t the squire kissing of her tu,” said Patty; “well, -I declare, I would a waited till I got into the house, I’ll die if I -wouldn’t. It looks so vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out doors -tu; I should think Squire Johnson would be ashamed of himself.” - -“Well, I shouldn’t,” said young John Bean, who came up at that moment, -and who had passed the chaise just as the young lady alighted from it. -“I shouldn’t be ashamed to kiss sich a pretty gal as that any how; I’d -kiss her wherever I could ketch her, if it was in the meetin-house.” - -“Why, is she handsome, Jack?” said Patty. - -“Yes, she’s got the prettiest little puckery kind of a mouth I’ve seen -this six months. Her cheeks are red, and her eyes shine like new -buttons.” - -“Well,” replied Patty, “if she’ll only take the shine off of Susan Jones -when she goes to meetin, Sunday, I sha’n’t care.” - -While these observations were going on at old Mr. Bean’s, Charles -Robinson and a group of young fellows with him were standing in front of -Robinson’s store, a little farther down the road, and watching the scene -that was passing at Squire Johnson’s. They witnessed the whole with -becoming decorum, now and then making a remark about the fine horse and -the handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire bend his head down -and give the young lady a kiss, when they all burst out into a loud -laugh. In a moment, being conscious that their laugh must be heard and -noticed at the squire’s, they, in order to do away the impression it -must necessarily make, at once turned their heads the other way, and -Charles Robinson, who was quick at an expedient, knocked off the hat of -the lad who was standing next to him, and then they all laughed louder -than before. - -“Here comes Jack Bean,” said Charles, “now we shall hear something about -her, for Jack was coming by the squire’s when she got out of the chaise. -How does she look, Jack?” - -“Handsome as a picter,” said Jack. “I haint seen a prettier gal since -last Thanksgiving Day, when Jane Ford was here to visit Susan Jones.” - -“Black eyes or blue?” said Charles. - -“Blue,” said Jack, “but all-fired bright.” - -“Tall or short?” said Stephen Jones, who was rather short himself, and -therefore felt a particular interest on that point. - -“Rather short,” said Jack, “but straight and round as our young colt.” - -“Do you know what her name is?” said Charles. - -“They called her Lucy when she got out of the chaise,” said Jack, “and -as Miss Johnson’s name was Brown before she was married, I s’pose her -name must be Lucy Brown.” - -“Just such a name as I like,” said Charles Robinson; “Lucy Brown sounds -well. Now suppose, in order to get acquainted with her, we all hands -take a sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, and invite -her to go with us.” - -“Agreed,” said Stephen Jones. “Agreed,” said Jack Bean. “Agreed,” said -all hands. - -The question then arose, who should carry the invitation to her; and the -young men being rather bashful on that score, it was finally settled -that Susan Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany her to the -boat, where they should all be in waiting to receive her. The next day -was a very long day, at least to most of the young men of Pond village; -and promptly, an hour before sunset, most of them were assembled, with -half a score of their sisters and female cousins, by a little stone -wharf on the margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All the girls in -the village, of a suitable age, were there, except Patty Bean. She had -undergone a good deal of fidgeting and fussing during the day, to -prepare for the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new bonnet was not -done; and as for wearing her old flap-sided bonnet, she declared she -would not, if she never went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy Brown -were seen coming down the road. In a moment all were quiet, the laugh -and the joke were hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When they -arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of introducing Miss Brown to -each of the ladies and gentlemen present. - -“But how in the world are you going to sail?” said Miss Brown, “for -there isn’t a breath of wind; and I don’t see any sail-boat, neither.” - -“Oh, the less wind we have, the better, when we sail here,” said Charles -Robinson; “and there is our sail-boat,” pointing to a flat-bottomed -scow-boat, some twenty feet long by ten wide. - -“We don’t use no sails,” said Jack Bean; “sometimes, when the wind is -fair, we put up a bush to help pull along a little, and when ’tisn’t, we -row.” - -The party were soon embarked on board the scow, and a couple of oars -were set in motion, and they glided slowly and pleasantly over as lovely -a sheet of water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In one hour’s -time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted with Miss Lucy Brown. -She had talked in the most lively and fascinating manner; she had told -stories and sung songs. Among others, she had given Moore’s boat song, -with the sweetest possible effect; and by the time they returned to the -landing, it would hardly be too much to say that half the young men in -the party were decidedly in love with her. - -A stern regard to truth requires a remark to be made here, not -altogether favorable to Susan Jones, which is the more to be regretted, -as she was in the main an excellent hearted girl, and highly esteemed by -the whole village. It was observed that as the company grew more and -more pleased with Miss Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less and less -animated, till at last she became quite reserved, and apparently sad. -She, however, on landing, treated Miss Brown with respectful attention, -accompanied her home to Squire Johnson’s door, and cordially bade her -good night. - -The casual glimpses which the young men of Pond village had of Miss -Brown during the remainder of the week, as she occasionally stood at the -door, or looked out at the window, or once or twice when she walked out -with Susan Jones, and the fair view they all had of her at meeting on -the Sabbath, served but to increase their admiration, and to render her -more and more an object of attraction. She was regarded by all as a -prize, and several of them were already planning what steps it was best -to take in order to win her. The two most prominent candidates, however, -for Miss Brown’s favor, were Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. Their -position and standing among the young men of the village seemed to put -all others in the back ground. Charles, whose father was wealthy, had -every advantage which money could procure. But Stephen, though poor, had -decidedly the advantage over Charles in personal recommendations. He had -more talent, was more sprightly and intelligent, and more pleasing in -his address. From the evening of the sail on the pond, they had both -watched every movement of Miss Brown with the most intense interest; -and, as nothing can deceive a lover, each had, with an interest no less -intense, watched every movement of the other. They had ceased to speak -to each other about her, and if her name was mentioned in their -presence, both were always observed to color. - -The second week after her arrival, through the influence of Squire -Johnson, the district school was offered to Miss Brown on the other side -of the pond, which offer was accepted, and she went immediately to take -charge of it. This announcement at first threw something of a damper -upon the spirits of the young people of Pond village. But when it was -understood the school would continue but a few weeks, and being but a -mile and a half distant, Miss Brown would come home every Saturday -afternoon, and spend the Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be -reconciled to the temporary arrangement. The week wore away heavily, -especially to Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. They counted the days -impatiently till Saturday, and on Saturday they counted the long and -lagging hours till noon. They had both made up their minds that it would -be dangerous to wait longer, and they had both resolved not to let -another Sabbath pass without making direct proposals to Miss Brown. - -Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles Robinson, and, in any -enterprise where both were concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, -except where money could carry the palm, and then, of course, it was -always borne away by Charles. As Miss Lucy had been absent most of the -week, and was to be at home that afternoon, Charles Robinson had made an -arrangement with his mother and sisters to have a little tea party in -the evening, for the purpose of inviting Miss Brown; and then, of -course, he should walk home with her in the evening; and then, of -course, would be a good opportunity to break the ice, and make known to -her his feelings and wishes. Stephen Jones, however, was more prompt in -his movements. He had got wind of the proposed tea party, although -himself and sister, for obvious reasons, had not been invited, and he -resolved not to risk the arrival of Miss Brown and her visit to Mr. -Robinson’s, before he should see her. She would dismiss her school at -noon, and come the distance of a mile and a half round the pond home. -His mind was at once made up. He would go round and meet her at the -school-house, and accompany her on her walk. There, in that winding road -around those delightful waters, with the tall and shady trees over head, -and the wild grape-vines twining round their trunks, and climbing to the -branches, while the wild birds were singing through the woods, and the -wild ducks playing in the coves along the shore, surely there, if any -where in the world, could a man bring his mind up to the point of -speaking of love. - -Accordingly, a little before noon, Stephen washed and brushed himself -up, and put on his Sunday clothes, and started on his expedition. In -order to avoid observation, he took a back route across the field, -intending to come into the road by the pond, a little out of the -village. As ill luck would have it, Charles Robinson had been out in the -same direction, and was returning with an armful of green boughs and -wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for the evening. He saw Stephen, -and noticed his dress, and the direction he was going, and he at once -smoked the whole business. His first impulse was to rush upon him and -collar him, and demand that he should return back. But then he -recollected that in the last scratch he had with Stephen, two or three -years before, he had a little the worst of it, and he instinctively -stood still while Stephen passed on without seeing him. It flashed upon -his mind at once that the question must now be reduced to a game of -speed. If he could by any means gain the school-house first, and engage -Miss Lucy to walk home with him, he should consider himself safe. But if -Stephen should reach the school-house first, he should feel a good deal -of uneasiness for the consequences. Stephen was walking very leisurely, -and unconscious that he was in any danger of a competitor on the course, -and it was important that his suspicions should not be awakened. -Charles, therefore, remained perfectly quiet till Stephen had got a -little out of hearing, and then he threw down his bushes and flowers, -and ran to the wharf below the store with his utmost speed. He had one -advantage over Stephen. He was ready at a moment’s warning to start on -an expedition of this kind, for Sunday clothes were an every-day affair -with him. There was a light canoe, belonging to his father, lying at the -wharf, and a couple of stout boys were there fishing. Charles hailed -them, and told them if they would row him across the pond as quick as -they possibly could, he would give them a quarter of a dollar a piece. -This, in their view, was a splendid offer for their services, and they -jumped on board with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a -paddle, and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and help propel her -ahead. The distance by water was a little less than by land, and -although Stephen had considerably the start of him, he believed he -should be able to reach the school-house first, especially if Stephen -should not see him and quicken his pace. In one minute after he arrived -at the wharf, the boat was under full way. The boys laid down to the -oars with right good will, and Charles put out all his strength upon the -paddle. They were shooting over the water twice as fast as a man could -walk, and Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when they had -gone about half a mile, they came in the range of a little opening in -the trees on the shore, where the road was exposed to view, and there, -at that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy walk. Charles’ -heart was in his mouth. Still it was possible Stephen might not see -them, for he had not yet looked round. Lest the sound of the oars might -attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming in sight, -ordered the boys to stop rowing, and he grasped his paddle with -breathless anxiety, and waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just -as he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, where the boat -would be out of his sight, Stephen turned his head and looked round. He -stopped short, turned square round, and stood for the space of a minute -looking steadily at the boat. Then lifting his hand, and shaking his -fist resolutely at Charles, as much as to say I understand you, he -started into a quick run. - -“Now, boys,” said Charles, “buckle to your oars for your lives, and if -you get to the shore so I can reach the school-house before Stephen -does, I’ll give you half a dollar a piece.” - -This of course added new life to the boys and increased speed to the -boat. Their little canoe flew over the water almost like a bird, -carrying a white bone in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the -glassy wave behind her. Charles’ hands trembled, but still he did good -execution with his paddle. Although Stephen upon the run was a very -different thing from Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had strong -hopes of winning the race and gaining his point. He several times caught -glimpses of Stephen through the trees, and, as well as he could judge, -the boat had a little the best of it. But when they came out into the -last opening, where for a little way they had a fair view of each other, -Charles thought Stephen ran faster than ever; and although he was now -considerably nearer the school-house than Stephen was, he still trembled -for the result. They were now within fifty rods of the shore, and -Charles appealed again to the boys’ love of money. - -“Now,” said he, “we have not a minute to spare. If we gain the point, -I’ll give you a dollar apiece.” - -The boys strained every nerve, and Charles’ paddle made the water fly -like the tail of a wounded shark. When within half a dozen rods of the -shore, Charles urged them again to spring with all their might, and one -of the boys making a desperate plunge upon his oar, snapped it in two. -The first pull of the other oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw -at once that the delay must be fatal, if he depended on the boat to -carry him ashore. The water was but three feet deep, and the bottom was -sandy. He sprung from the boat, and rushed toward the shore as fast as -he was able to press through the water. He flew up the bank, and along -the road, till he reached the school-house. The door was open, but he -could see no one within. Several children were at play round the door, -who, having seen Charles approach with such haste, stood with mouths and -eyes wide open, looking at him. - -“Where’s the schoolma’m?” said Charles, hastily, to one of the largest -boys. - -“Why?” said the boy, opening his eyes still wider, “is any of the folks -dead?” - -“You little rascal, I say, where’s the schoolma’m?” - -“She jest went down that road,” said the boy, “two or three minutes -ago.” - -“Was she alone?” said Charles. - -“She started alone,” said the boy, “and a man met her out there a little -ways, and turned about and went with her.” - -Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and that he might as -well give it up for a bad job, and go home. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown -walked very leisurely home through the woods, and Charles and the boys -went very leisurely in the boat across the pond. They even stopped by -the way, and caught a mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their -lines into the boat when they started. And when they reached the wharf, -Charles, in order to show that he had been a fishing, took a large -string of the fish in his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss -Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, had undoubtedly been -informed of the proposed tea-party for the evening, to which she was to -be invited, and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones were not invited; -and when Miss Lucy’s invitation came, she sent word back, that she was -_engaged_. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FAREWELL. - - - Farewell, farewell—O! ne’er from me - Till now that word hath hopeless passed; - But, sweet one, faltered forth to thee, - It seems this once as ’twere the last— - The last that thou wilt ever hear - From him who knows thy worth too well; - I’ll stifle one relenting tear, - That mingles in this last farewell. - - * * * * * - - - - - HARRY CAVENDISH. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC. - - - CONCLUSION. - -I was now alone in the world; I had neither ship, nor home; and she I -had loved was wedded to another. It is strange how misanthropical a man -becomes, after disappointment has soured his disposition, and destroyed, -one after another, the beautiful dreams of his youth. When I sat down -and thought of the hopes of my earlier years, now gone forever; when I -speculated upon my future prospects; when I recalled to mind how few of -the friends I had begun life with remained, an indescribable sadness -came over me, and, had it not been for my manhood, I would have found a -relief in tears. My zest for society was gone. I cared little for the -ordinary business of life. I only longed for a fitting opportunity to -re-enter the service, and distinguish myself by some gallant deed, which -I did not care to survive, for even fame had become hateful to me, since -it reminded me how insufficient it was to win or retain the love of -woman. In a word, I had become a misanthrope, and was fast losing all -the energy of my character in sickly regrets over the past. - -Of the St. Clairs I had not inquired since my return, and their names, -from motives of delicacy perhaps, were never mentioned in my presence. -Yet they occupied a large portion of my thoughts, and often would I -start, and my heart flutter, when, in the streets, I fancied, for a -moment, that I recognized the form of Annette. But a nearer approach -made evident my mistake, and dissipated my embarrassment. Much, however, -as I thought of her, I had never inquired to whom she had been married; -yet my curiosity on this point continually gained strength; and when I -had been a fortnight in Newport without hearing any allusion to her, I -began to wish that some one would break the ominous silence which seemed -to hang around her and her family. Still I dared not trust myself to -broach the subject. I continued, therefore, ignorant of their present -situation, and of all that concerned them. - -There is, not far from the town, and situated in one of the most -beautiful portions of the island, a favorite resort which has long been -known by the familiar and characteristic name of “The Glen.” The spot is -one where the deity of romance might sit enshrined. Here, on a still -summer night, we might, without much stretch of fancy, look for fairies -to come forth and gambol, or listen to the light music of airy spirits -hovering above us. The whole place reminds you of an enchanted bower, -and dull must be his heart who does not feel the stirrings of the -divinity within him as he gazes on the lovely scenery around. He who can -listen here unmoved to the low gurgle of the brook, or the light rustle -of the leaves in the summer wind, must be formed of the coarsest clods -of clay, nor boast one spark of our immortal nature. - -The glen was my favorite resort, and thither would I go and spend whole -afternoons, listening to the laughing prattle of the little river, or -striving to catch, in pauses of the breeze, the murmur of the -neighboring sea. A rude bench had been constructed under some trees, in -a partially open glade, at the lower extremity of the ravine, and here I -usually sat, indulging in those dreamy, half-sick reveries which are -characteristic of youth. The stream, which brawled down the ravine, in a -succession of rapids and cascades, here glided smoothly along on a level -bottom, its banks fringed with long grass interspersed with wild roses, -and its bed strewed with pebbles, round and silvery, that glistened in -the sunbeams, which, here and there, struggled through the trees, and -shimmered on the stream. Faint and low came to the ear the sound of the -mill, situated at the upper end of the ravine; while occasionally a bird -whistled on the stillness, or a leaf floated lazily down into the river, -and went on its way, a tiny bark. The seclusion of my favorite retreat -was often enlivened by the appearance of strangers, but as they -generally remained only a few minutes, I had the spot, for most of the -time, to myself. Here I dreamed away the long summer afternoons, often -lingering until the moon had risen, to make the scene seem even more -beautiful, under her silvery light. I had no pleasure in any other spot. -Perhaps it was because I had once been here with Annette, when we were -both younger, and I, at least, happier; and I could remember plucking a -flower for her from a time-worn bush that still grew on the margin of -the stream. God knows how we love to haunt the spot made dear to us by -old and tender recollections! - -I was sitting, one afternoon, on the rude bench I have spoken of, -listlessly casting pebbles into the river, when I heard the sound of -approaching voices, but I was so accustomed to the visits of strangers, -that I did not pause to look up. Directly the voices came nearer, and -suddenly a word was spoken that thrilled through every nerve of my -system. It was only a single word, but that voice!—surely it could be -none other than Annette’s. My sensations, at that moment, I will not -pretend to analyze. I longed to look up, and yet I dared not. My heart -fluttered wildly, and I could feel the blood rushing in torrents to my -face; but, if I had been called on at that instant to speak, I could not -have complied for worlds. Luckily the tree, under whose shadow I sat, -concealed me from the approaching visitors, and I had thus time to rally -my spirits ere the strangers came up. As they drew near I recognized the -voice of Mr. St. Clair, and then that of Annette’s cousin Isabel, while -there were one or two other speakers who were strangers to me. Doubtless -one of them was Annette’s husband, and, as this thought flashed across -me, I looked up, impelled by an irresistible impulse. The party were now -within almost twenty yards, coming gaily down the glen. Foremost in the -group walked Isabel, leaning on the arm of a tall, gentlemanly looking -individual, and turning ever and anon around to Annette, who followed -immediately behind, at the side of her father. Another lady, attended by -a gentleman, made up the rest of the company. Where could Annette’s -husband be? was the question that occurred to me—and who was the -distinguished looking gentleman on whose arm Isabel was so familiarly -leaning? But my thoughts were cut short by a conversation which now -began, and of which, during a minute, I was an unknown auditor—for my -position still concealed me from the party, and my surprise at first, -and afterwards delicacy, prevented me from appearing. - -“Ah! Annette,” said Isabel, archly, turning around to her cousin, “do -you know this spot, but especially that rose-bush yonder?—here, right -beyond that old tree—you seem wonderfully ignorant all at once! I -wonder where the donor of that aforesaid rose-bud is now. I would lay a -guinea that it is yet in your possession, preserved in some favorite -book, pressed out between the leaves. Come, answer frankly, is it not -so, my sweet coz?” - -I could hear no reply, if one was made, and immediately another voice -spoke. It was that of Isabel’s companion, coming to the aid of Annette. - -“You are too much given to believe that Annette follows your example, -Isabel—now do you turn penitent, and let me be father confessor—how -many rose-buds, ay! and for that matter, even leaves, have you in your -collection, presented to you by your humble servant, before we had pity -on each other, and were married? I found a flower, last week, in a copy -of Spenser, and, if I remember aright, I was the donor of the trifle.” - -“Oh! you betray yourself,” gaily retorted Isabel, “but men are -foolish—and of all foolish men I ever met with, a certain Albert -Marston was, before his marriage, the most foolish. I take credit to -myself,” she continued, in the same playful strain, “for having worked -such a reformation in him since that event. But this is not what we were -talking of—you wish to divert me from my purpose by this light Cossack -warfare—but it won’t do,” she continued, and I fancied she stamped her -foot prettily, as she was wont to do at Clairville Hall, when she was -disposed to have her way; “no—no—Annette must be the one to turn -penitent, and I will play father confessor. Say, now, fair coz, was it -not a certain fancy to see this same rose-bush, that induced you to -insist on coming here?” - -During this conversation the parties had remained nearly stationary at -some distance from me. Strange suspicions began to flash through my -mind, as soon as Isabel commenced her banter; and these suspicions had -now been changed into a certainty. Annette was still unmarried, and it -was Isabel’s wedding at which I had come so near being present, at -Clairville Hall. Nor was this all. I was still loved. Oh! the wild, the -rapturous feelings of that moment. I could with difficulty restrain -myself from rising and rushing toward them; but motives of delicacy -forbade me thus to reveal that the conversation had been overheard. And -yet should I remain in my present position, and play the listener still -further? I knew not what to do. All these considerations flashed through -my mind in the space of less than a minute, during which the party had -been silent, apparently enjoying Annette’s confusion. - -“Come, not ready to answer yet?” began Isabel; “well, if you will not, -you shan’t have the rose from that bush, for which you’ve come. Let us -go back,” she said, playfully. - -The whole party seemed to enter into the jest, and laughingly retraced -their steps. This afforded me the opportunity for which I longed. -Hastily rising from my seat, I glided unnoticed from tree to tree, until -I reached a copse on the left of the glen, and advancing up the ravine, -under cover of this screen, I re-entered the path at a bend some -distance above the St. Clairs. Here I listened for a moment, and caught -the sound of their approaching voices. Determining no longer to be a -listener to their conversation, I proceeded down the glen, and, as I -turned the corner, a few paces in advance, I came full in sight of the -approaching group. In an instant the gay laughing of the party ceased, -and I saw Annette shrink blushing behind her father. Isabel was the -first to speak. Darting forward, with that frankness and gaiety which -always characterized her, she grasped my hand, and said— - -“You don’t know how happy we all are to see you. Where could you have -come from?—and how could you have made such a mistake as to -congratulate Annette, instead of me, on being married? But come, I must -surrender you to the others—I see they are dying to speak to you. -Uncle, Annette—how lucky it was that we came here to-day!” - -“My dear boy,” said Mr. St. Clair, warmly pressing my hand, “I cannot -tell how rejoiced I am to see you. We heard a rumor that you were lost, -and we all wept—Isabel for the first time for years. It was but a few -days since that we heard you were at Newport, and, as we were coming -hither, I hastened my journey, determined to search you out. We are on -our way there now, and only stopped here a few minutes to relieve -ourselves after a long ride. This day shall be marked with a white -stone. But here I have been keeping you from speaking to Annette—we old -men, you know, are apt to be garrulous.” - -My eyes, indeed, had been seeking Annette, who, still covered with -blushes, and unable to control her embarrassment, sought to conceal them -by keeping in the back ground. As for me, I had become wonderfully -self-possessed. I now advanced and took her hand. It trembled in my own, -and when I spoke, though she replied faintly, she did not dare to look -into my face, except for a moment, after which her eyes again sought the -ground in beautiful embarrassment. My unexpected appearance, combined -with her cousin’s late raillery, covered her face with blushes, and, for -some time, she could not rally herself sufficient to participate in the -conversation. - -What more have I to tell? I was now happy, and for my misanthropy, it -died with the cause that produced it. Mr. St. Clair said that the -wedding need not be delayed, and in less than a month I led Annette to -the altar. Years have flown since then, but I still enjoy unalloyed -felicity, and Annette seems to my eyes more beautiful than ever. It only -remains for me to bid my readers FAREWELL! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HOLYNIGHTS. - - - BY HENRY MORFORD. - - - Some say that ’gainst the time that season comes - Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated - The bird of dawning singeth all night long, - And then they say no sprite dares stir abroad, - The nights are wholesome then, no planets strike, - No fairy takes or witch hath power to charm, - So hallowed and so gracious is the time. - Hamlet. - - Hushed be the voice of mirthfulness, - And stilled be the plaintive tones of care, - That from too many a heart recess - Go forth to float on the midnight air; - It is no time for the wild excess, - No time for the loose unbridled reign - That passion gives to her votaries - When they sever away the golden chain. - - Stilled on the ears of the seraph choir - Let the lingering hymns of the season go, - As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire - To the anthem of love and peace below; - And let us keep in a holy mood - The coming hours of that sacred time - When the word went forth for the hush of blood - And the passing knell for the soul of crime! - - When the hosts of the upper region stirred - That another star came forth to shine, - And the rush of an angel’s wing was heard - O’er the moonlit plains of Palestine, - And a softer light o’er the earth was flung - And the pale stars waxed no longer dim, - And forth on a thousand harps outrung - The rising notes of the angels’ hymn. - - The same bright stars that then looked down - With a guardian watch o’er hill and plain, - Unfading gems in the starry crown - Glittering on in the blue remain, - And the solemn awe that crept them round - As they watched their flocks that holy time, - An echo with us to-night has found - In the new-born light of another clime. - - It has been felt this many a year, - The sacred spell of the season’s death, - And the brighter glow of the starry sphere - As it came that time with the angels’ breath, - For brighter yet the stars gleam out - As the noisome vapor shrinks away - From the open glade that it hung about - Darkened and damp this many a day. - - List how the spirit-breathings come - Upon our ears from the voice sublime - Of him who ruled in the spirits’ home, - Who wrote and sang for the end of time! - Hark how he tells when the time is near, - The bird of the dawn sings all night long - And the fairy legions disappear - When he comes abroad with his matin song. - - No spirits forth, nor the rank compound - That glows with the witches’ midnight toil, - No deeps of the forest-close resound - With the wizard shriek and the caldron boil. - No planets chill the warm heart’s blood - With the mockery of a demon fire, - No vapors veil with a sickly shroud - The moss-grown top of the old church spire,— - - For he who stood in that dreadful watch - On the gray rampart of Elsinore - Told how they ceased from their revel catch - And their reign at the Christmas time was o’er; - We feel it now, as he felt it then, - That the air is full of holiness, - And we need not forms from the earth again - Of the starry hosts to guard and bless. - - Then stilled on the ears of the seraph choir - Let the lingering hymns of the season go, - As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire - To the anthem of love and peace below; - And let us keep in a holy mood - The passing hours of that sacred time - When the word went forth for the hush of blood - And the passing knell for the soul of crime! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE LADIES’ LIBRARY. - - - BY W. A. JONES. - - -That admirable manual of “_les petites morales_,” and even of higher -matters occasionally, the Spectator, contains a paper which we hesitate -not to accept as a just specimen of cotemporary satire on female -education; we refer to the catalogue of a Ladies’ Library. This -heterogeneous collection embraces heroical romances and romancing -histories, the ranting tragedies of the day, with the libertine comedies -of the same period. In a word, it leads us to infer pretty plainly the -insignificant pretensions the gentle women of Queen Anne’s day could lay -to any thing like refinement of education, or even a correct propriety -in dress and demeanor. Tell me your company, and I will disclose your -own character; speak that I may know you, are trite maxims; but give me -a list of your favorite authors is by no means so common, though at -least as true, a test. The literary and indirectly the moral depravity -of taste exhibited by the women of that age, is easily accounted for, -when we once learn the fashionable authors and the indifferent -countenance given to any authors but those of the most frivolous -description. The queen herself was an illiterate woman, and we are told -never once had the curiosity to look into the classic productions of -Pope. King William, the preceding sovereign, was so ignorant of books -and the literary character, as to offer Swift, with whom he had been -agreeably prepossessed, the place of captain of a regiment of horse. - -Indulging ourselves in a rapid transition, we pass from this era to the -epoch of Johnson and Burke, and Goldsmith and Sheridan, we come to the -reign of George III. Here we find the scene altered. From the gay saloon -we are dropped, as if by magic, into the library or conversation room. -We read not of balls, but of literary dinners and æsthetic teas, and we -meet for company, not thoughtless, dressy dames of fashion and minions -of the goddess of pleasure, but grave, precise professors in petticoats, -women who had exchanged a world of anxiety for the turn of a head-dress, -or the shape of a flounce for an equally wise anxiety about the -philosophy of education, the success of their sonnets and tragedies, and -moral tales for the young. The pedantry of authorship and dogmatic -conversation superseded the more harmless pedantry of dress. Then we -read of the stupidest company in the world, which arrogated to itself -the claim of being the best. A race of learned ladies arose; _bas -bleus_, the Montagues, the Mores, the Sewards, the Chapones, patronized -by such prosing old formalists as Doctors Gregory and Aiken, and even by -one man of vigorous talent, Johnson, and one man of real genius, -Richardson. The last two endured much, because they were flattered much. - -When we speak thus contemptuously of learned ladies, we intend to -express a disgust at the pretensions of those who pass under that name. -Genuine learning can never be despised, whoever may be its possessor; -but of genuine learning it is not harsh to suspect a considerable -deficiency where there is so much of display and anxious rivalry. Even -where the learning is exact and solid, it is to be remembered that many -departments are utterly unsuited to the female mind; where, at best, -little can be accomplished and that of a harsh repulsive nature. We want -no Daciers, no Somervilles, no Marcets, but give us as you will as many -Inchbalds, Burneys, Edgeworths, Misses Barrett, as can be had for love -or money. - -From the ladies we seek literature, not learning, in its old scholastic -sense. They certainly have received pleasure from books, and are bound -to return the gratification in a similar way by delighting us. And this -they can do in their legitimate attempts. It shall be a prominent object -of the present general introduction to a short series of critical -sketches, to attempt a definition of the limits which should bound those -attempts, and also to endeavor at suggesting the proper studies for -ladies, and the authors that ought to rank as favorites with the fair. -In a list of the latter, female writers should bear a considerable -proportion, and will assuredly not be forgotten. - -We believe the question as to the relative sexual distinctions of -intellectual character, is now generally considered as settled. There is -allowed to be a species of genius essentially feminine. Equality is no -more arrogated than superiority of ability, and it would be as wisely -arrogated. The most limited observation of life and the most superficial -acquaintance with books, must effectually demonstrate the superior -capacity of man for the great works of life and speculation. It is true, -great geniuses are rare and seldom needed, and the generality of women -rank on a par with the generality of men. In many cases, women of talent -surpass men of an equal calibre of mere talent, through other and -constitutional causes—a greater facility of receiving and transmitting -impressions, greater instinctive subtlety of apprehension, and a -livelier sympathy. We cordially admit the female intellect, in the -ordinary concerns of life and the current passages of society, has often -the advantage of the masculine understanding. Cleverness outshines solid -ability, and a smart woman is much more showy than a profound man. In -certain walks of authorship, too, women are pre-eminently successful; in -cases narrative of real or fictitious events, (in the last implying a -strain of ready invention,) in lively descriptions of natural beauty or -artificial manners; in the development of the milder sentiments, -especially the sentiment of love; in airy, comic ridicule. On the other -hand, the highest attempts of women in poetry have uniformly failed. We -have read of no female epic of even a respectable rank: those who have -written tragedies, have written moral lectures (of an inferior sort) -like Hannah More; or anatomies of the passions, direct and formal, like -Joanna Baillie; or an historical sketch, as Rienzi. We are apt to -suspect that the personal charms of Sappho proved too much for the -admirers of her poetic rhapsodies, otherwise Longinus has done her foul -injustice; for the fragment he quotes is to be praised and censured -solely for its obscurity. This would have been a great merit in -Lycophron. - -In the volume of British Poetesses, edited by Mr. Dyce, it is -astonishing to find how little real poetry he has been able to collect -out of the writings of near a century of authors, scattered over the -surface of five or six centuries. It must be allowed that some of the -finest shortest pieces by female writers have appeared since the -publication of that selection. In the volume referred to, much sensible -verse and some sprightly copies of verses occur; a fair share of pure -reflective sentiment, delivered in pleasing language rarely rising above -correctness; of high genius there is not a particle,—no pretensions to -sublimity or fervor. The best piece and the finest poem, we think, ever -composed by woman, is the charming ballad of Auld Robin Gray. That is a -genuine bit of true poesy, and perfect in the highest department of the -female imagination in the pathos of domestic tragedy. In the present -century we have Mrs. Howitt and Mrs. Southey, but chief of all, Miss -Barrett.[6] The finest attempts of the most pleasing writer of this -class, do not rise so high as the delightful ballad above named. They -are sweet, plaintive, moral strains, the melodious notes of a lute, -tuned by taper fingers in a romantic bower, not the deep, majestic, -awful tones of the great organ, or the spirited and stirring blasts of -the trumpet. The ancient bard struck wild and mournful, or hearty and -vigorous, notes from his harp—perchance placed “on a rock whose -frowning brow,” &c. and striving with the rough symphonies of the -tempest; but the sybil of modern days plays elegant and pretty, or soft -and tender airs upon her flageolet or accordion, in the boudoir or -saloon. - -A poet is, from the laws both of physiology and philology,—masculine. -His vocation is manly, or rather divine. And we have never heard any -traits of feminine character attributed to the great poet, (in the Greek -sense,) the Creator of the universe. The muses are represented as -females, but then they are the inspirers, never the composers, of verse. -So should be the poet’s muse, as she is often the poet’s theme. There -are higher themes, but of an abstract nature, in general: ethical, -religious, metaphysical. Let female beauty then sit for her portrait -instead of being the painter. Let poets chant her charms, but let her -not spoil a fair ideal image by writing bad verses. If all were rightly -viewed, a happy home would seem preferable to a seat on Parnassus, and -the Fountain of Content would furnish more palatable draughts than the -Font of Helicon. The quiet home is not always the muses’ bower; though -we trust the muses’ bower is placed in no turbulent society. - -Women write for women. They may entertain, but cannot, from the nature -of the case, become instructors to men. They know far less of life, -their circle of experience is confined. They are unfitted for many paths -of active exertion, and consequently are rendered incapable of forming -just opinions on many matters. We do not include a natural incapacity -for many studies, and as natural a dislike for many more. Many kinds of -learning, and many actual necessary pursuits and practices, it is deemed -improper for a refined woman to know. How, then, _can_ a female author -become a teacher of men? - -Literature would miss many pleasant associations if the names of the -best female writers were expunged from a list of classic authors, and -the world would lose many delightful works—the novel of sentiment and -the novel of manners, letter writing, moral tales for children, books of -travels, gossiping memoirs—Mrs. Inchbald, Madame D’Arblay, Miss -Edgeworth, Lady M. W. Montague, Miss Martineau, and Miss Sedgwick, with -a host besides. Women have sprightliness, cleverness, smartness, though -but little wit. There is a body and substance in true wit, with a -reflectiveness rarely found apart from a masculine intellect. In all -English comedy, we recollect but two female writers of sterling value, -Mrs. Conley and Mrs. Guthrie, and their plays are formed on the Spanish -model, and made up of incident and intrigue, much more than of fine -repartees or brilliant dialogue. We know of no one writer of the other -sex, that has a high character for humor—no Rabelais, no Sterne, no -Swift, no Goldsmith, no Dickens, no Irving. The female character does -not admit of it. - -Women cannot write history. It requires too great solidity, and too -minute research for their quick intellects. They write, instead, -delightful memoirs. Who, but an antiquary or historical commentator, had -not rather read Lucy Hutchinson’s Life of her Husband, than any of the -professed histories of the Commonwealth—and exchange Lady Fanshawe for -the other royalist biographers. - -Neither are women to turn politicians or orators. We hope never to hear -of a female Burke; she would be an overbearing termagant. A spice of a -talent for scolding, is the highest form of eloquence we can -conscientiously allow the ladies. - -Criticism is for men; when women assume it, they write scandal. The -current notion of criticism with most, is that of libelous abuse. From -all such, Heaven defend us. - -Women feel more than they think, and (sometimes) say more than do. They -are consequently better adapted to describe sentiments, than to -speculate on causes and effects. They are more at home in their letters, -than in tracts of political economy. - -The proper faculties in women to cultivate most assiduously are, the -taste and the religious sentiment; the first, as the leading trait of -the intellectual; and the last, as the governing power of the moral -constitution. Give a woman a pure taste and high principles, and she is -safe from the arts of the wiliest libertine. Let her have all other -gifts but these, and she is comparatively defenceless. Taste purifies -the heart as well as the head, and religion strengthens both. The -strongest propensities to pleasure are not so often the means of -disgrace and ruin, as the carelessness of ignorant virtue, and an -unenlightened moral sense. This makes all the difference in the world, -between the daughter of a poor countryman, and the child of an educated -gentleman. Both have the same desires, but how differently directed and -controlled. Yet we find nineteen lapses from virtue in the one case, -where we find one in the other. - -Believing that what does not interest, does not benefit the mind, we -would avoid all pedantic lectures to women, on all subjects to which -they discover any aversion. Study should be made a pleasure, and reading -pure recreation. In a general sense, we would say the best works for -female readers are those that tend to form the highest domestic -character. Works of the highest imagination, as being above that -condition, and scientific authors, who address a different class of -faculties, are both unsuitable. An admirable wife may not relish the -sublimity of Milton or Hamlet; and a charming companion be ignorant of -the existence of such a science as Algebra. A superficial acquaintance -with the elements of the physical sciences, is worse than total -unacquaintance with them. - -Religion should be taught as a sentiment, not as an abstract principle, -or in doctrinal positions, a sentiment of love and grateful obedience; -morality, impressed as the practical exercise of self-denial and active -benevolence. In courses of reading, too much is laid down of a dry -nature. Girls are disgusted with tedious accounts of battles and -negotiations, dates and names. The moral should be educed best filled -for the female heart, and apart from the romantic periods, and the -reigns of female sovereigns, or epochs when the women held a very -prominent place in the state, or in public regard. We would have women -affectionate wives, obedient daughters, agreeable companions, skilful -economists, judicious friends; but we must confess it does not fall -within our scheme to make them legislators or lawyers, diplomatists or -politicians. We therefore think nine tenths of all history is absolutely -useless for women. Too many really good biographies of great and good -men and women can hardly be read, and will be read to much greater -advantage than histories, as they leave a definite and individual -impression. The reading good books of travels, is, next to going over -the ground in person, the best method of studying geography. Grammar and -rhetoric,[7] (after a clear statement of the elements and chief rules,) -are best learnt in the perusal of classic authors, the essayists, &c.; -and, in the same way, the theory of taste and the arts. The most -important of accomplishments is not systematically treated in any -system—conversation. But a father and mother of education, can teach -this better than any professor. Expensive schools turn out half-trained -pupils. Eight years at home, well employed, and two at a good but not -fashionable school, are better than ten years spent in the most popular -female seminary, conducted in the ordinary style. Such is a meagre -outline of our idea of female education, into which we have digressed -unawares. - -Female authors should constitute a fair proportion of a lady’s -library—and those masculine writers who have something of the -tenderness and purity of the feminine character in their works. The -subjects and authors we propose for occasional consideration, will -embrace specimens of each, in prose and poetry, fiction and reality, -satire and sentiment. We think we may promise a less erudite paper for -the second number, though to some readers all that is not very lively is -proportionably dull. - ------ - -[6] This lady’s failure in an attempt to translate Æschylus, is a fair -confirmation of our opinion of the inability of the female imagination -to soar beyond a certain height. - -[7] The benefit flowing from _these_ studies is chiefly of a negative -character. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: A. L. Dick. -__The Pastor’s Visit__ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PASTOR’S VISIT. - - - ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. - - - The noon is past—the sun declines - Below the western hills; - Upon the peasant’s face joy shines. - And peace his bosom fills. - He stands beside the cottage door, - His wife and children round, - With that content which evermore - Doth with the true abound. - - The pastor, pausing on his way, - Surveys the happy scene; - If all mankind were pure as they - Slights tasks for him, I ween! - Not in the peasant’s cottage dwell - Sin and her joyless train, - He thinks of palace, dome and cell, - And passes on again! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HASTY MARRIAGE. - - - A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BRIDAL.” - - -How few “look before they leap,” even in an affair of so much moment as -matrimony. We fear the fault is in our system. We educate our daughters -superficially—for _display_ rather than usefulness—to catch the eye -rather than win the heart. Our girls are taught in early life, either -directly or indirectly, that marriage is the great object of woman’s -ambition, and in endeavoring to secure that object, and to surpass in -the race of conquest their companions and rivals, they sometimes wed -rashly and to the sacrifice of happiness. Difficult, we are aware, is -the task of discrimination with the young and inexperienced. Pure and -artless themselves, they are apt to imagine the possession of like -virtues by all others, and to conceive it impossible for a fine form and -a handsome face to be associated with a false heart. Alas! how often are -they disappointed! How frequently do the sudden attachments of early -life prove hollow and unsubstantial! How often is it discovered that the -first dream of love, which has been so extravagantly eulogized by poets -and romancers, was a mere delusion that would not bear the test of time -and of reason! With what bitterness of disappointment have many started -from this dream! Stripped of the rainbow coloring with which the fancy -is apt to paint an object of idolatry, how prominent appear the darkness -and the deformity! How broad the contrast between the just view of truth -and the rapid and prejudiced survey of passion! How often do we see -beings standing before the altar, pledging themselves to each other for -weal and for wo, who, comparatively speaking, were strangers but -yesterday! Knowing little of each other’s lives and dispositions, merits -or demerits, they are willing to risk peace of mind for long years, and -to identify destinies for time, perhaps for eternity! Can we wonder that -strife sometimes mars the domestic circle—that wives are left lonely -and deserted—that the agency of man should so often be invoked to part -beings who have been joined together by an ordinance of God! - -A happy union is indeed a scene upon which, without irreverence, we may -suppose the angels in Heaven gaze from their bright places of abode with -delight and approval. An unnatural or a discordant marriage, on the -other hand, must form a source of delight to the arch enemy of mankind, -for in it he can recognize the soul of evil. That the young should seek -for and cling to a kindred spirit is natural. The undivided possession -of a pure heart is perhaps the very acme of human felicity. “One home, -one wife, and one God,” is the sentiment of one of the wisest of his -race, and it is only when man is on the shady side of fifty that he -begins to appreciate the truth of this philosophy in all its solemnity -and force. Then his pleasures of life are derived as much from the past -as the future, and the associations of that past, if mingled with -virtue, fidelity, patriotism and religion, are indeed blissful. - -We pity the lonely and the desolate—the loveless and the unloved—the -being without a wife or a friend—without one trusting and confiding -spirit, to whom the heart may turn in its hour of sorrow and pour out -its inmost and saddest thoughts. The cold and selfish mortal who passes -year after year without experiencing the delightful concord of sentiment -to be found in a kindred soul, is indeed the most miserable of his -species. Even his joys are robbed of half their delight, because -unshared by another, by one to whom he is allied by love and friendship. -Wretched indeed is the isolated individual who, mingling with the -multitude, can single out no destiny identified with his—no faithful -and devoted heart, the breath of whose existence seems bound up with -his. Nature has denied to such a being the holiest impulses that warm -and agitate the human breast. Even the birds are mated, and without a -ministering angel “a sweet companion,” the first born was lonely and -desolate in the garden of Eden. So it must ever be with the frail and -feeble things of mortal existence. If Paradise could not be appreciated -and enjoyed alone, how can man reconcile loneliness to his fallen -condition? The desire of the heart is for sweet companionship—the -inward craving of the spirit is for a being to love. Can we wonder then -that in this country, where early marriage is taught to be desirable, so -many should choose rashly? - -We remember Annette Delisle as a being of yesterday. She sang well—she -danced well—and in many respects she was a beauty. Not one of our -beauties at the time, for her form was too slight and sylph-like,—her -joy was too gushing—her spirits too redundant. She dressed from early -childhood with taste and elegance, and wore her dark hair in long -ringlets over her shoulders. She had many friends, and even at sixteen -her admirers were liberal in number and profuse in flattery. Her mother, -a weak and vain woman, was proud of her daughter—proud of the attention -that daughter received, and eager to display her on every occasion. Thus -she not only frequently accompanied her to public balls, which were then -more fashionable and somewhat more select than at present, but she -permitted her to accept of numerous invitations to parties, and to -mingle almost nightly during the winter season in the gay scenes of our -metropolis. The father, good-natured man, was a manufacturer, and was so -wedded to business, that he could not spare time even for the proper -care of his favorite child. Alas! this good nature in fathers! It -sometimes degenerates into a sad vice, and is the source of much misery -in after life. The man who lacks the energy to control his own -household,—who is either too negligent, or too weak to point out the -true path and to direct the footsteps of his offspring therein, is -guilty of much that is unpardonable. - -But such a father was Mr. Delisle, while the mother, worse if possible, -gave the reins almost wholly into the hands of her daughter, and was but -too fond of the hollow and unmeaning admiration which the practiced in -art and in compliment among the sterner sex are so apt to bestow upon -the vain and empty, whether old or young. - -The result of this course upon Annette Delisle may well be imagined. -While she sparkled in the ball room, and glittered in the giddy throng, -her heart, her mind, and her morals were neglected. The mazes of the -world, its quicksands and its hypocrisy were unknown to her. She -flirted, laughed and trifled with the many, caught one hour by a fine -form, another by a rich voice, and a third by a dashing exterior. And -yet, in the depths of that young girl’s breast, were rich and true -affections. Properly trained, she would have graced any circle. Her mind -was good by nature—her spirit was benevolent and cheerful—and many of -the lights of beauty flashed and brightened around her. Despite her -artificial manner, and her air of coquetry, her feelings were deep and -strong. Her being was one of impulse, and her attachments, even to her -school companions, were animated by truth and fidelity. Thus it was when -Annette discovered that the society of Howard Leroy possessed an unusual -charm for her—that she saw him approach with pleasure—that she -listened with more than her wonted attention to his remarks—that she -felt the blood mount to her cheek at his compliments—that she found her -eyes following as he wandered through the ball room—that she lisped his -name even in her dreams. - -Never can I forget the dashing Leroy. He was what is usually denominated -“a handsome fellow”—one of the butterflies of society—a ladies’ man, -in the general acceptation, and a favorite also with his own sex. He -rode well, talked well, and sang an excellent song. This latter -qualification was in some respects a fatal gift, for it introduced him -into many a gay circle from which he otherwise would have been -excluded—made him sought for, and vain of his voice, and thus won him -away from the more useful pursuits of life. Leroy, moreover, was fond of -poetry—was able to quote glowing passages, and had, withal, a touch of -romance in his character, which served not a little to enhance him in -the estimation of some of his female acquaintance. He assumed a -remarkable degree of independence—was rather bold and reckless in his -manner and language, and possessed the faculty of talking for hours in -relation to the prominent beauties of Moore, Byron and Bulwer. These -were the traits of character which won upon the mind and heart of -Annette Delisle. Her education and mode of life had fitted her for the -arts of such a man. She fancied him something superior to the ordinary -fop—to the mere merchant or shopkeeper. Leroy became her ardent and -enthusiastic admirer. The fact soon reached the ears of her father. He -roused himself for the moment, and proceeded to investigate the -realities of the case. Leroy he ascertained to be an idle, dissolute -pretender, and dependent, he feared, upon the gaming-table for his means -of subsistence. He was of good family, and had received a fair -education. But he had gone astray from the path of rectitude in early -life, and now contrived to appear on the principal promenades as a -fashionable lounger—but the world wondered how! - -The manufacturer was terrified at the prospect for his daughter, whom he -really loved, but it was too late. Leroy saw the storm coming, and -prevailed upon Annette, by falsehood and misrepresentation, to consent -to a secret marriage. Fondly and long she clung to the delusion that her -husband had been slandered—that one who could _talk_ so well, and -_profess_ so much, could not be a villain. He _was_ not one, perhaps, in -the usual interpretation; but we can conceive of no more heartless -wretch than the man who deliberately deceives and betrays a fond and -confiding woman. Leroy never loved Annette with a true and exalted -affection. He felt himself bankrupt in fortune, and nearly so in -character, and he was base enough to become the husband of an -unsuspecting girl, in the hope of a dependency upon the bounty of her -father. Deceived in this, for the old manufacturer would have nothing to -do with him, he soon threw off the mask. At first cold and indifferent, -he speedily grew harsh and unkind. True, there were moments when his -better nature prevailed, and he would endeavor, by apparent contrition -and well turned promises, to atone for his conduct. But, they were few -and far between, and diminished in number as time rolled on. Strange, -despite the giddy character of Annette—despite the little care which -had been bestowed upon her principles, she clung to him with the true -fidelity of woman. She loved him with her whole soul, and while the -pride of her woman nature repelled the idea of any public exposure of -her situation, and while she even concealed from her parents much of the -unworthy conduct of Leroy, she still cherished a belief of his ultimate -reform. Night after night she sat in her quiet chamber, or gazed -earnestly from the window, in the hope that the form of her husband -might appear before the midnight hour. Who may paint the agony of her -mind at such moments—the jealous fears that shot like daggers through -her breast, as to his haunts and his society—the apprehension of danger -and of death—the terrible fancies which mingled him in some dreadful -scene at the gaming table—and, worse than all, the oft repelled, but -still returning conviction, that the wine cup was too familiar with his -lips! - -God, in pity look down upon and impart moral courage to the lonely wives -of the world—the dejected ones to whom home is desolate, whose hearts -are breaking slowly, secretly, string by string—who live only for their -little ones, and because they know it wrong to plunge unbidden into -eternity! Beings who have ventured their all of earthly happiness, and -have lost all—who have been deceived, betrayed, and are now deserted! -Pity and console them, Great Creator, for the misery of unrequited love, -of wounded pride, of crushed affection, of hopeless despair throughout -this life, can only be soothed and softened by a heavenly influence! - -Poor Annette! Step by step her husband plunged on in the downward path. -Ray after ray departed from the light of her beauty. Wider and wider -became the gulf between the manufacturer and his son-in-law. But, horror -of horrors! the crisis soon came! The resource of gambling failed at -last with Leroy, and _then_—he resorted to forgery!—ay! he forged the -name of George Delisle, the father of his wife, and fled the country in -order to escape the penalty of his crime! - - * * * * * - -But a few days have gone by since we saw Annette. Only five years have -elapsed since her marriage. What a change! The lily has supplanted the -rose—the eye has lost its fire—the step its buoyancy—the form its -grace. She is a doomed and broken hearted woman. Disease has “marked her -for his own.” Loss of sleep—mental anxiety—the disgrace—the -shame—the ignominy of her husband’s career, are hurrying her rapidly to -a premature grave! - -Mothers, be warned! Virtue, Integrity and Religion are the only safe -companions for your budding and beautiful daughters! - - * * * * * - - - - - TO THE NIGHT-WIND IN AUTUMN. - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “TECUMSEH.” - - - Whence art thou, spirit wind? - Soothing with thy low voice the ear of Night, - And breathing o’er the wakeful, pensive mind - An influence of pleased yet sad delight. - - Thou tell’st not of thy birth, - O viewless wanderer from land to land: - But gathering all the secrets of the earth - Where’er, unseen, thy airy wings expand, - - At this hushed, holy hour, - When time seems part of vast eternity, - Thou dost reveal them with a magic power, - Saddening the soul with thy weird minstrelsy. - - All nature seems to hear, - The woods, the waters, and each silent star; - What, that can thus enchain their earnest ear, - Bring’st thou of untold tidings from afar? - - Is it of new, fair lands, - Of fresh-lit worlds that in the welkin burn! - Do new oäses gem Zahara’s sands, - Or the lost Pleiad to the skies return? - - Nay! ’tis a voice of grief, - Of grief subdued, but deepened through long years, - The soul of Sorrow, seeking not relief, - Still gathering bitter knowledge without tears. - - For thou, since earth was young - And rose green Eden purpled with the morn, - Its solemn wastes and homes of men among, - Circling all zones, thy mourning flight hast borne. - - Empires have risen in might, - And peopled cities through the outspread earth, - And thou hast passed them at the hour of night - Listing the sounds of revelry and mirth. - - Again thou hast gone by— - City and empire were alike o’erthrown, - Temple and palace, fall’n confusedly, - In marble ruin on the desert strown. - - In time-long solitudes, - Where dark, old mountains pierced the silent air, - Bright rivers roamed, and stretched untraversed woods, - Thou joy’dst to hope that these were changeless there. - - Lo! as the ages passed, - Thou found’st them struck with alteration dire, - The streams new-channeled, forests earthward cast, - The crumbling mountains scathed with storm and fire. - - Gone but a few short hours, - Beauty and bloom beguiled thy wanderings, - And thou mad’st love unto the virgin flowers, - Sighing through green trees and by mossy springs. - - Now on the earth’s cold bed, - Fallen and faded, waste their forms away, - And all around the withered leaves are shed, - Mementos mute of Nature’s wide decay. - - Vain is the breath of morn; - Vainly the night-dews on their couches weep; - In vain thou call’st them at thy soft return, - No more awaking from their gloomy sleep. - - . . . . . . . . - - Oh hush! Oh hush! sweet wind! - Thou melancholy soul! be still, I pray, - Nor pierce this heart so long in grief resigned, - With ’plainings for the loved but lifeless clay. - - Ah! now by thee I hear - The earnest, gentle voices, as of old: - They speak—in accents tremulously clear— - The young, the beautiful, the noble-souled. - - The beautiful, the young, - The form of light, the wise and honored head— - Thou bring’st the music of a lyre unstrung!— - Oh cease!—with tears I ask it—they are _dead_! - - . . . . . . . . - - While mortal joys depart, - While loved ones lie beneath the grave’s green sod, - May we not fail to hear, with trembling heart, - In thy low tone the “still small voice of God.” - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Natural History of New York: By Authority. Albany, Thurlow - Weed, Printer to the State. New York, Wiley & Putnam, and D. - Appleton & Co._ - -We are among those who believe that, as characterizing the present age, -the cultivation of purely mechanical and natural science has been -carried much too far, or rather, has been made too exclusive and -absorbing. It is not the _highest_ science—for it concerns only that -which is around us—which is altogether outward. Man is always greater -than the world of nature in which he lives, and just as clearly must the -_science_ of man, the philosophy of his moral and intellectual being, -rank far above that of the soulless creation which was made to minister -to his wants. When, therefore, this lower science so draws to itself the -life of any age, as to disparage and shut out the higher, it works a -positive injury to the well-being of that age. Still it is only thus in -comparison with a nobler and more lofty study that we would venture to -cast the faintest reproach upon that natural science which in no slight -degree absorbs the intellectual effort of the present generation. -Regarded as related to, and a part of, a complete system of education, -it becomes most important and necessary; and its cultivation, even to -apparent excess, a cause of rejoicing and a source of the highest hope. - -We need scarcely say, then, that we look upon the explorations which -have been made “by authority” into the Geology and general Natural -History of several of the most important States in the Union, as among -the proudest achievements of the present day. Most of them, it is true, -grew out of designs not the highest on the part of those by whom they -were originated. The development of resources, the discovery of mineral -wealth, or other elements of power, formed in most cases the principal -aim of those at whose instance these surveys were undertaken. But this -is of little importance. The results are, on this account, none the less -valuable to the cause of natural science, nor is our joy at their -successful prosecution the less ardent or sincere. In all the States in -which they have been undertaken, they have been fruitful of the best -results; and the facts thus brought together will be found of priceless -value to students and inquirers for ages to come. - -The State of New York has just completed her survey, which has been -conducted on a scale commensurate with her wealth and enterprise. The -different departments of the survey were, in 1836, assigned to eight -gentlemen well qualified for the task, and from that time until their -completion, the explorations were conducted with energy and enthusiasm. -The reports are to be published in ten magnificent quarto volumes, of -which the first is now before us. A more splendid monument of -intelligent enterprise in the cause of science, has seldom been erected -by any State. The first volume contains only a portion of the first -report on Zoology, by Mr. James E. DeKay, to whom this department was -committed. Governor Seward has written an introduction to the work, -which occupies nearly two hundred pages. It is valuable as a historical -record of the progress of the arts, the sciences, and the various -branches of enterprise and industry in the State, though as a literary -performance it can claim no especial merit. It is, indeed, little more -than a compendium of the history of the State, and of its general -statistics, of which the different portions have been contributed by -different persons. The portion of the Zoological Report which this -volume contains—relating merely to the Mammalia of the State—is highly -valuable, and, to the naturalist, exceedingly interesting. Previous to -this survey, no complete Zoology of the State had been attempted. In -1813, Samuel L. Mitchell commenced an account of the fishes of New York, -which was the first work on the subject ever undertaken; and the impulse -given to the science by his labors in fact laid the foundation for -whatever has been effected in the same department since. Several other -branches of Zoology had received some slight attention before the -commencement of the State survey. Bachman, a well known naturalist of -South Carolina, had made interesting discoveries in the families of -smaller quadrupeds, and much valuable information concerning the -ornithology of the State had been collected by Wilson, Audubon, Cooper, -Bonaparte and DeKay. Barnes had classified the Unionidæ of the lakes and -rivers, and the Mollusca of the sea coast had been well studied by Dr. -Gay, of New York city. But the report of Mr. DeKay in this department -presents by far a more full and comprehensive account of the Zoology of -New York than had ever before been made. The State was divided into four -Zoological districts: first, the western district, embracing all the -western portion of the State, as far east as the sources of the Mohawk; -second, the northern, comprising all that portion of the State lying -north of the Mohawk valley; third, the valley of the Hudson, including -all the counties watered by that river and its tributaries; and fourth, -the Atlantic district, embracing Long Island. In regard to its natural -history, the northern district is by far the most important. Strange as -it may seem to those who are accustomed to hear only of the wealth, the -refinement, and the advanced civilization of the “Empire State,” there -is embraced in this northern district a great tract of a thousand square -miles, lying in loneliness, fresh as it came from the hand of God, -untouched, and almost unvisited by man. It is clad with forests of great -and majestic beauty, echoing only the sigh of the tempest, the screams -of the untamed dwellers in its wilds, and now and then the rifle of the -hunter, who there finds game, such as in long gone times the red men -loved to chase. It is thickly overspread with lakes, embosomed in -mountains, now lying calmly and smilingly beneath the sun, and the next -hour lashed into frowns, when - - “The tempest shooteth, from the steep, - The shadow of its coming.” - -Travelers who would wander through it, must provide themselves with -guides, and trust to hunting and chance for food and lodging. No one -_lives_ there—the whole is one vast, solitary wilderness, untouched by -man—lying in its own majesty—unconscious even that the foot of the -adventurous Genoese has been set upon the continent. - - “Still this great solitude is quick with life; - Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers - They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, - And birds that scarce have learned the fear of man, - Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, - Startlingly beautiful.” - -This vast wild region is inhabited by many animals that are rarely found -in any other portion of the State. The bear, the moose, the panther, the -deer, and most fur-bearing animals, make their homes among its -mountains. Arctic birds, too, that are never known farther south, are -seen in abundance. The whole district covers an area of about six -thousand square miles. The western district is eminent for its fertility -and beauty, and has also a high degree of zoological interest. - -The number of quadrupeds enumerated in the report, as found within the -State, is something more than one hundred. Each of these is -scientifically and fully described. Included in the volume are a great -number of illustrations, taken with the greatest care from the living -animals or the best specimens that could be found. The real colors are -preserved, and in every case the relative size is indicated. The -outlines, for the purpose of accuracy, were always taken with a camera -lucida, and the illustrations, drawn by Hill, were lithographed by -Endicott. - -The whole style of the work is eminently worthy the enterprise, results -of which it contains, and the State which undertook its fulfilment. We -look for the forthcoming volumes with no little interest. The botanical -department has been under the charge of John Toney; the mineralogical -and chemical were assigned to Lewis C. Beck; the geological to W. W. -Mather, Ebenezer Emmons, James Hall, and Leonard Vanuxem, and the -palæontological to Timothy A. Conrad. Beside these reports, the results -of the survey appear in eight several collections of specimens of the -animals, plants, soils, minerals, rocks and fossils, found within the -State—one of which collections constitutes a museum of natural history -at the capital of the State, and the others are distributed among -collegiate institutions. We rejoice at the completion of this great -survey, and hope soon to see a similar exploration effected in every -State of the Union. The cause of science will receive from it an aid of -which scientific men alone can rightly estimate the value. - - * * * * * - - _The Holy War, made by Shaddai upon Diabolus, for the Regaining - of the Metropolis of the World. By John Bunyan. Philadelphia, - American Sunday School Union._ - -The celebrated Dr. Owen was occasionally one of the hearers of Bunyan, -when he preached in London; and being asked by Charles the Second how a -learned man, like him, could listen to the prating of an illiterate -tinker, he is said to have replied, “May it please your Majesty, could I -possess that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would gladly relinquish -all my scholarship.” His genius as an author was even greater than he -exhibited in the pulpit. Southey, Macauley, and other eminent critics, -regard him as one of the “immortal authors of England.” The Pilgrim’s -Progress has been the most popular of his sixty or seventy works. -Probably no book by an uninspired writer has been more universally read. -The Holy War was written ten years after the appearance of that -beautiful creation, and if not equal to it in all respects, is certainly -one of the most ingenious allegories in the language, as well as one of -the most _useful_ exhibitions of practical Christianity. The edition -before us is superior to any other printed in America, in its typography -and illustrations. - - * * * * * - - _The Little Gift_; _Useful Stories_; _Poems for Little Folks_. - _Three small volumes._ - -Mr. Colman, of New York, in the autumn of every year, publishes numerous -miniature gift books for children, with fine engravings, instructive -tales and poems, etc., of which the above are specimens. - - * * * * * - - _Thulia: A Poem: By J. C. Palmer, M. D., U. S. N. Illustrated - with Twelve Original Designs, by A. Agate, Artist of the late - Exploring Expedition. One volume, octavo. New York, Samuel - Colman._ - -This beautifully printed and illustrated volume resembles very much, in -its appearance, the elegant edition of Gray’s “Elegy,” published several -years since in London. We can say no more in praise of its typography -and embellishments. The poem itself possesses considerable merit. Doctor -Palmer was attached to the Exploring Expedition which returned to this -country last summer from the southern seas, and “Thulia” is founded on -incidents which occurred on the war-ship Peacock, and the schooner -Flying Fish, while in the Antarctic ocean. The verse is free and -melodious, and the ideas and illustrations generally appropriate and -poetical. We quote a lyric that will convey to the reader a just idea of -the poet’s style. - - ANTARCTIC MARINER’S SONG. - - Sweetly, from the land of roses, - Sighing comes the northern breeze; - And the smile of dawn reposes, - All in blushes, on the seas. - Now within the sleeping sail, - Murmurs soft the gentle gale. - Ease the sheet, and keep away: - Glory guides us South to-day! - - Yonder, see! the icy portal - Opens for us to the Pole; - And, where never entered mortal, - Thither speed we to the goal. - Hopes before and doubts behind, - On we fly before the wind. - Steady, so—now let it blow! - Glory guides, and South we go. - - Vainly do these gloomy borders, - All their frightful forms oppose; - Vainly frown these frozen warders, - Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snow. - Though, beneath the ghastly skies, - Curdled all the ocean lies, - Lash we up its foam anew— - Dash we all its terrors through! - - Circled by these columns hoary, - All the field of fame is ours; - Here to carve a name in story, - Or a tomb beneath these towers. - Southward still our way we trace, - Winding through an icy maze. - Luff her to—there she goes through! - Glory leads, and we pursue. - -The notes appended to the poem contain the most interesting account of -the expedition that has yet been given to the public. - - * * * * * - - _Scenes in the Holy Land: one volume square duodecimo. - Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union._ - -This work is founded on, or rather is a free translation of, the “Scènes -Evangéliques” of Napoleon Roussel, published a year or two since in -Paris. It contains an account of the principal incidents in the lives of -the Savior and of the great apostle of the Gentiles, written with -singular simplicity and perspicuity, and illustrated with numerous -etchings by a clever French artist. It is published, we believe, as a -juvenile gift book for the holiday season. - - * * * * * - - _Ladies’ Annual Register for 1843. New York, S. Colman._ - -The Ladies’ Annual Register is a neat little annuary, edited for several -years by Mrs. Gilman, of Charleston. It embraces, beside the usual -contents of the almanacs, many useful recipes for the housewife, with -anecdotes, poems, etc. - - * * * * * - - _Biblical and Prophetical Works of Rev. George Bush, D. D., - author of “The Life of Mohammed,” etc., and Professor of Hebrew - in the New York City University. New York, Dayton & Newman._ - -Professor Bush is one of the most profound and ingenious scholars and -critics of the present age, and we perceive with pleasure that he is -rapidly multiplying the fruits of his industrious pen. To all the lovers -of sound biblical exposition it must be gratifying to know that the -Hebrew Scriptures are in a fair way to develop their riches to the -English reader more fully than ever before. Professor Bush’s -commentaries on the Old Testament, now extending to six volumes, embrace -all the works of the Pentateuch but the last two, and these, we learn, -he proposes shortly to enter upon. His careful study, his scrupulous -fidelity in eliciting the exact meaning of the original, and his -peculiar tact in explaining it, have made his Notes everywhere popular, -so that before the completion of the series, the first volume has -reached a sixth edition, the second a fifth, etc. In all of them will be -found discussions on the most important points of biblical science, -extending far beyond the ordinary dimensions of expository notes, and -amounting in fact to elaborate dissertations of great value. Among the -subjects thus extensively treated are, in Genesis, the temptation and -the fall, the dispersion from Babel, the prophecies of Noah, the -character of Melchizedec, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the -history of Joseph, and the prophetical benedictions of Jacob; in Exodus, -the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, the miracles of the magicians, the -pillar of cloud as the seat of the Shekinah, the decalogue, the Hebrew -theocracy, the tabernacle, the cherubim, the candle-stick, the shew -bread, the altar, &c.; in Leviticus, a clear and minute specification of -the different sacrifices, the law of marriage, including the case of -marriage with a deceased wife’s sister, very largely considered, and a -full account of the Jewish festivals. The sixth volume, including Joshua -and Judges, contains an ample and erudite exposition of the Song of -Deborah, and an extended discussion on the subject of Jeptha’s vow, with -a view to determine whether the Jewish warrior really sacrificed his -daughter. The Professor gives an array of very strong reasons in favor -of the negative. - -In his celebrated “Treatise on the Millennium,” which merely as a -literary performance has received the highest commendations of the -critics, our author has assumed the position that the millennium, -_strictly so called_, is past. But by the millennium he does not -understand the golden age of the church, which he, in common with nearly -all good men, regards as a future era. He contends that as the memorable -period of the thousand years of the apocalypse is distinguished mainly -by the binding of the symbolical dragon, we must first determine by the -legitimate canons of interpretation what is shadowed forth by this -mystic personage, before we can assure ourselves of the true character -of the millennial age. But the dragon, he supposes, is the grand -hieroglyphic of Paganism—the “binding of the dragon,” but a figurative -phrase for the suppression of Paganism within the limits of the Roman -empire, a fulfilment which he contends commenced in the reign of -Constantine, and was consummated in that of Theodosius, his successor. -Professor Bush draws largely on the pages of Gibbon in support of his -theory, assuming all along the great foundation principle that _the -apocalypse of John is but a series of pictured emblems, shadowing forth -the ecclesiastical and civil history of the world_. From a cursory -examination of his Treatise, we are inclined to adopt the opinion of one -of the first theologians of our country, that if his premises be -admitted, his conclusion is irresistible; and that _he_ did not know how -to gainsay the premises. - -In the Hierophant, a monthly publication of which he is editor, he -enters elaborately into the nature of the prophetic symbols, and in the -last number brings out some grand results as to the physical destiny of -the globe. He assumes that a fair construction of the language of the -prophets is far from countenancing the idle dreams of Miller and his -school respecting the literal conflagration of the heavens and the -earth, and does not even teach that such a catastrophe is _ever_ to take -place. He denies not that this _may_ possibly be the finale which awaits -our planet and the solar system, but if so, it is to be gathered rather -from astronomy than revelation—from the apocalypse of Newton, Laplace -and Herschell, than from that of John. - -In general literature, in science and in art, America has furnished some -of the best names in the world of letters; but it is in theology and -religious philosophy that our countrymen have made the greatest -advances. We need but allude to Edwards, Dwight, Emmons, Marsh, Beecher, -Alexander, Stuart, McIlvaine, and Bush in proof of this. Perhaps we may -add to the list Orestes Brownson, who, however erratic and peculiar, is -a man of singular genius and sincerity. In our endeavors to keep the -readers of this magazine advised of the condition of our literature, we -should fail of our intent if at times we did not notice books and -authors of a grave character. The useful and the true is in every thing -the national aim. The writings of which we have spoken particularly in -this brief notice, are distinguished for remarkable directness of -language and logical clearness, as much as for profound scholarship, and -they are among the most original works of their class brought out in our -times. - - * * * * * - - _Songs, Odes, and other Poems, on National Subjects: Compiled - from Various Sources: by William McCarty. Three volumes - duodecimo. Philadelphia, W. McCarty._ - -Mr. McCarty is a bookseller, of the long established house of McCarty & -Davis, in Market street. He is an antiquary also, and has in his -chambers one of the best collections of books relating to our history -and antiquities to be found in this country. Several years ago he -“formed the plan of gathering together our national songs and ballads, -deeming the task, however humble,” he says, “one of which the result -would be acceptable to his countrymen.” He has since gleaned from all -the files of magazines, newspapers and other periodicals, in the public -libraries and in his own possession, published since Braddock’s defeat -at DuQuesne, every scrap of verse, “good, bad, or indifferent,” relating -to men, manners and events in America, and had them printed in three -neat volumes, the first of which contains the “patriotic,” the second -the “military,” and the third the “naval.” It is certainly a very -curious collection. Some of the pieces, indeed, were written by -foreigners, and have as little relation to any thing in America as to -the quackeries of Græfenberg; and others are not decidedly poetical; but -by far the greater number belong to one or another of the divisions in -which the compiler has placed them, and, as he well remarks, “the -present and future generations of Americans will hardly disdain those -strains, however homely, which cheered and animated our citizen soldiers -and seamen, ‘in the times that tried men’s souls,’ at the camp-fire or -on the forecastle.” We perceive that Mr. McCarty has copied from our -Magazine for October most of the pieces included in the article on “The -Minstrelsy of the Revolution.” We have many others not embraced in his -volumes, of which we intend to present a few additional specimens to our -readers, in connection, perhaps, with some of the most curious verses in -the books he has given us. - - * * * * * - - _Wing-and-Wing, or Le Feu-Follet. By the author of “The Red - Rover,” “The Pilot,” “The Path Finder,” etc. Two volumes, - duodecimo. Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard._ - -We received this novel too recently to be able to do it justice in our -present number. It is a story of the sea, and from a cursory examination -we are inclined to believe it equal to Mr. Cooper’s most celebrated -naval romances. The scene is in the Mediterranean, in the memorable -years 1798 and 1799. Le Feu-Follet is a French privateer, commanded by -Raoul Yvard, a skilful, bold and chivalrous sailor, and the interest of -the tale turns principally upon the manœuvres by which he preserves her -from capture by the English frigate Prosperine. The character second in -importance on board the republican privateer is Ithule Bolt, a shrewd -Yankee, who, impressed into the British navy, had shared in the dangers -of Nelson’s victory, and now added to a patriotic hatred of the English, -some slight ill will created by what he deemed unjustifiable appliances -of the lash during his service on board the Prosperine. Blended with the -main narrative is a history of the loves of the commander of Le -Feu-Follet and a beautiful Italian girl, Ghita Giuntotardi, one of our -author’s most admirably drawn heroines. Those who would know more of the -plot we refer to the book itself, or to the Yankee lieutenant, who in -due time returned to the United Slates, married a widow, and “settled in -life” somewhere in the Granite State. He is said at the present moment -to be an active abolitionist, a patron of the temperance cause, and a -terror to evil doers, under the appellation of Deacon Bolt. We are -pleased to learn that the publishers have fixed the price of -Wing-and-Wing at half a dollar—lower by fifty per cent. at least than -an American novel was ever sold for before. For this reason, as well as -on account of its remarkable merit, we predict for it a sale equal to -that of “The Spy,” or “The Red Rover.” - - * * * * * - - _The Poets and Poetry of America: with a Historical - Introduction. By Rufus W. Griswold. Third edition. With - Illustrations by the First Artists._ - -Messrs. Carey & Hart have just issued a new edition of this work, with -beautiful illustrations from paintings by Leslie, Inman, Creswick, -Sully, Thompson, Verbryck, Hoyt, and Harding, engraved by Cheney, -Cushman, Dodson, and Forrest. We believe that no other book of so -expensive a character has passed to a second edition in the United -States during the year. The fact that this has reached a _third_ edition -in six months seems to indicate that our poetical literature is properly -appreciated, in our own country, at least. The price of the third -edition has very properly been reduced to two dollars and a half. - - * * * * * - - _The Little Boys’ and Girls’ Library: Edited by Mrs. Sarah J. - Hale. Six books, small quarto. New York, Edward Dunigan._ - -The stories in these little volumes are written with taste and -simplicity. Though Mrs. Hale’s incidents are generally pleasing, we do -not in all cases approve their tendency. With deference for her better -judgment, we think the boy who, in “The Way to Save,” bought the glass -box, was much wiser than he who bought the draught board. - - * * * * * - - _The Youth’s Keepsake: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift for Young - People._ _The Annualette: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift for - Children. Philadelphia, Thomas, Cowperthwaite & Co._ - -Two very beautiful and interesting annuals, of the character of which -the titles are sufficiently descriptive. - - * * * * * - - _Sporting Scenes and Sundry Sketches: being the Miscellaneous - Writings of J. Cypress, jr. Edited by Frank Forester. In Two - vols., 12mo. New York, Gould, Banks & Co., 1842._ - -“J. Cypress, jr.” was the late William P. Hawes, of the city of New -York; and “Frank Forester” is the name by which one of the finest -scholars, critics, and writers, whose productions have ever given a -charm to our periodical literature—Henry William Herbert, the author of -“Cromwell,” and numerous tales and other compositions in this -Magazine—is known in the “sporting world.” Mr. Hawes was educated for -the bar; his writings were generally on political or sporting topics, in -the daily gazettes, or the magazines. The admirable series of papers, -entitled “Fire Island Ana,” was written for the American Monthly, while -that work was under Mr. Herbert; and most of his later compositions -appeared in the “Turf Register.” We have not room to do them justice. -They have never been excelled in this country, in richness of humor, -freshness, or originality. Mr. Hawes had the modesty of genius. He lived -in the quiet enjoyment of the life and the scenes he so felicitously -delineated, and was unknown as a writer beyond the limited circle of his -intimate friends until they and the world were deprived of his presence. - - * * * * * - - _The Task, and other Poems: By William Cowper. One volume, - duodecimo. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart._ - -Among the poets who have written in the English language on religious -themes, Cowper unquestionably ranks next to Milton in genius, and before -him as a teacher. The Presbyterian poet is admired for his sublime -conceptions and his unequaled mastery of language and the intricacies of -rhythm; but the bard of Olney is loved by the good and the true as a -friend. The new edition of the Task is one of the most beautiful -specimens of typography produced in this country, and the etchings, by -Cheney, which illustrate it, are of course admirably executed. - - * * * * * - - _The Way of Life: By Charles Hodge, Professor in the Theological - Seminary of Princeton, New Jersey. One volume duodecimo, pp. - 348. Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union._ - -Among the many very excellent works published by the American Sunday -School Union, we know of none written with more ability, or calculated -to do more good than this admirable treatise. The plenary inspiration of -the Scriptures, the great practical doctrines they teach, and the -influence which these doctrines should exert upon the heart and life, -are set forth by the learned author with candor, simplicity and -eloquence. - - * * * * * - - _Books for Youth: Heroines of Sacred History, by Mrs. Steele; - Philip and his Garden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; Rocky Island, by - Samuel Wilberforce; Alice Benden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; - Clementine Cuvier, by John Angell James; The Simple Flower, by - Charlotte Elizabeth; The Flower of Innocence, by Charlotte - Elizabeth; and Moral Tales, by Robert Merry. New York, John S. - Taylor & Co._ - -The eight volumes, of which we have given the titles above, are bound in -a uniform style, and constitute a very neat and excellent library for -juvenile readers. We know of no books that can be more appropriately -presented to the young in the approaching holidays than those of -Archdeacon Wilberforce, John Angell James, and Charlotte Elizabeth. - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITOR’S TABLE. - - -Miss Barrett.—In this number will be found a series of sonnets by Miss -Elizabeth B. Barrett, among the first of her contributions to any -American periodical. They were originally intended for “Arcturus,” to -which magazine they were sent; but arriving after the discontinuance of -that periodical, its editors placed them at our disposal, “thinking the -good company into which they would be introduced in ‘Graham,’ would be -every way agreeable to the fair authoress.” - -Miss Barrett’s productions are unique in this age of lady authors. They -have the “touch of nature” in common with the best; they have, too, -sentiment, passion and fancy in the highest degree, without reminding us -of Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Norton, or L. E. L. Her excellence is her own; her -mind is colored by what it feeds on; the fine tissue of her flowing -style comes to us from the loom of Grecian thought. She is the learned -poetess of the day, familiar with Homer and Æschylus and Sophocles, and -to the musings of Tempe she has added the inspiration of Christianity, -“above all Greek, all Roman fame.” She has translated the Prometheus to -the delight of scholars, and has lately contributed a series of very -remarkable prose papers to the London Athenæum. Her reading Greek -recalls to us Roger Ascham’s anecdote of Lady Jane Grey; but Lady Jane -Grey has left us no such verses. - -A striking characteristic of Miss Barrett’s prose, is its prevailing -seriousness, approaching to solemnity—a garb borrowed from the -“sceptred pale” of her favorite Greek drama of fate. She loses much with -the general reader by a dim mysticism; but many of her later poems are -free from any such defect. The great writers whom she loves will teach -her the plain, simple, universal language of poetry. - -Her dreams and abstractions, though “caviare to the generale,” have -their admirers, who will ever find in pure and elevated philosophy -expressed in the words of enthusiasm the living presence of poetry. On -Parnassus there are many groves: far from the dust of the highway, -embosomed in twilight woods that seem to symbol Reverence and Faith -trusting on the unseen, we may hear in the whispering of the trees, the -wavering breath of insect life, the accompaniment of our poet’s strain. -Despise not dreams and reveries. With Cowley, Miss Barrett vindicates -herself. “The father of poets tells us, even dreams, too, are from God.” - -We cannot here do justice to Miss Barrett’s volume of the Seraphim, or -to her other poems. We cannot here illustrate as we would the lofty tone -of her conceptions, which in grandeur and human interest belong to the -highest and most enduring of lyrical strains. She has thrown aside -sentimentality, the fluency without thought, the cheap eloquence that -marks a certain school of lady poets, for the genuine language of -emotion, the fire-new currency of speech forged in the secret chambers -of the heart. From two volumes of her poetry before us, (unfamiliar as -yet to American readers—they cannot be so long,) we quote one poem, -perhaps not the most brilliant of all, but inferior to none of the rest -in the pathos, the tenderness, the deep Christian sympathy with human -life, which dwell in the soul of this rare poetess. - - THE SLEEP. - - “He giveth His beloved sleep.”—_Psalm cxxvii. 2._ - - Of all the thoughts of God that are - Borne inward unto souls afar, - Along the Psalmist’s music deep— - Now tell me if that any is, - For gift or grace surpassing this— - “He giveth his beloved sleep?” - - What would we give to our beloved? - The hero’s heart, to be unmoved— - The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep— - The senate’s shout to patriot vows— - The monarch’s crown, to light the brows?— - “He giveth _His_ beloved sleep.” - - What do we give to our beloved? - A little faith, all undisproved— - A little dust, to overweep— - And bitter memories, to make - The whole earth blasted for our sake! - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, - But have no tune to charm away - Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep: - But never doleful dream again - Shall break the happy slumber, when - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - O earth, so full of dreary noises! - O men, with wailing in your voices! - O delved gold, the wailers heap! - O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall! - God makes a silence through you all, - And “giveth His beloved sleep!” - - His dew drops mutely on the hill; - His cloud above it saileth still, - Though on its slope men toil and reap! - More softly than the dew is shed, - Or cloud is floated overhead, - “He giveth His beloved sleep.” - - Ha! men may wonder while they scan - A living, thinking, feeling man, - In such a rest his heart to keep; - But angels say—and through the word - I ween their blessed smile is _heard_— - “He giveth His beloved sleep!” - - For me my heart that erst did go, - Most like a tired child at a show, - That sees through tears the juggler’s leap,— - Would now its wearied vision close, - Would childlike on _His_ love repose, - Who “giveth His beloved sleep!” - - And friends!—dear friends!—when it shall be - That this low breath is gone from me, - And round my bier ye come to weep— - Let me, most loving of you all, - Say, not a tear must o’er her fall— - “He giveth His beloved sleep!” - -Stars that Have Set in MDCCCXLII.—Among the dead of the year now -drawing to a close, America laments her Marsh and Channing, and Europe, -Sismondi and some less brilliant luminaries. - -The Rev. James Marsh, D.D. was, at the time of his death, the third day -of July, Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in the -University of Vermont. He was a calm, chaste scholar, an earnest and -profound thinker, and a powerful and eloquent advocate of the highest -principles of religion and philosophy, with the perfect simplicity and -grandeur of whose life were blended the rarest virtues that adorn -humanity. His principal published writings, excepting a few articles in -the leading reviews, and some translations from the German, are devoted -to those high and spiritual principles of philosophy, of which Coleridge -and Kant were the most celebrated European exponents. We are pleased to -learn that Professor Torrey, one of the dearest friends of the departed, -is now superintending the publication of a complete edition of his -works. - -The name of William Ellery Channing has been long familiar to the -readers of America and Great Britain. He was equally popular in both -countries, and in both was regarded as one of the greatest authors of -the age. The first edition of his collected writings we believe was -published some five or six years since in Glasgow, and the last, in six -octavo volumes, in Boston, in the winter of 1840. We presume his later -productions, unprinted sermons, etc.—sufficient to fill several -additional volumes—will soon be published, with his memoirs. Doctor -Channing was for a long period the leading divine of the Unitarian -belief, and though an ardent controvertist, was regarded by all men with -love and reverence. The purity of his life, his high aims, his candor, -and the dignity and beauty of his diction, won for him a reputation that -will endure when most of the names now prominent in the world of letters -are forgotten. He died in Bennington, in Vermont, on his return way from -an excursion among the Green Mountains in search of health, on the -second day of October. - -John Charles Leonard de Sismondi was one of the most celebrated -historical, political and æsthetical writers of the time. He died near -Geneva, on the twenty-fifth of June, in his sixty-ninth year. He was the -author of New Principles of Political Economy, A History of the Italian -Republics, A History of the Literature of Southern Europe, A History of -France, Julia Severn, a romance, and several other works, making in the -aggregate about one hundred and fifty volumes, in the French editions. -As a historian he has rarely been surpassed, and in every department of -letters he exercised a powerful influence for nearly half a century. - -Mr. James Grahame, author of the excellent History of the United Slates -which bears his name; Sir Robert Kerr Porter, the traveler; Theodore E. -Hook, the novelist, biographer, and dramatic writer; and Robert Mudie, -author of several works on natural history, etc. were better known in -this country than any of the other literary characters who have died in -Europe during the present year. - - * * * * * - -New Books.—We received several new works too late to be noticed -properly in our present number, of which we have space to mention -particularly only Mr. Norman’s “Rambles in Yucatan,” and Mr. Lester’s -observations on “The Condition and Fate of England,” both from the press -of Messrs. Langley, of New York. The first is an exceedingly interesting -work, and the last quite as good as the same author’s “Glory and Shame -of England.” We shall endeavor to do them full justice in our Magazine -for January. - -The End of the Year.—With the present number we bring to a close -another year of the publication of Graham’s Magazine. The many -improvements which since our last anniversary have been effected in the -work, and the extraordinary accessions to our subscription list—between -twenty and thirty thousand in twelve months!—impart to us a -satisfaction which we trust is shared in some degree by our million -readers. - -Since the commencement of the present year, Rufus W. Griswold has become -associated with the proprietor in the editorship of the Magazine; and to -our corps of contributors have been added William C. Bryant and Richard -H. Dana, the first American poets, and the equals of any now living in -the world; James Fenimore Cooper, the greatest of living novelists; -Charles F. Hoffman, one of the most admired poets and prose writers of -our country; Elizabeth B. Barrett, the truest female poet who has -written in the English language; J. H. Mancur, the author of “Henri -Quatre;” George H. Colton, the author of “Tecumseh;” H. T. Tuckerman, -the author of “Isabelle, or Sicily,” etc.; the author of “A New Home” -and “Forest Life,” who, under the name of “_Mary Clavers_,” has won a -reputation second to that of none of the writers of her sex in America; -Mrs. E. F. Ellet, the well known author of “The Characters of Schiller,” -etc.; Mrs. Seba Smith, whose elegant and truthful compositions are as -universally admired as they are read; and several others, whom we have -not now space to mention. All these, with our favorite old writers, -Professor Longfellow, George Hill, Edgar A. Poe, Mrs. Embury, Mrs. -Stephens, and others, we shall retain for our succeeding volumes. - -We shall likewise receive regular contributions during the ensuing year, -from N. P. Willis, whose many admirable qualities as a writer have made -his name familiar wherever English literature is read; T. C. Grattan, -the popular author of “Highways and Byways,” “The Heiress of Bruges,” -etc.; “_Maria del Occidente_,” the author of “Zophiel,” and many others, -whose names will from month to month grace our pages. - -Let our Past speak for our Future. The improvements made in Graham’s -Magazine, in 1842, will be surpassed by those that we shall introduce in -1843. In all the departments of our work we shall remain in advance of -every other candidate for the public favor. - - * * * * * - -The Author of the Sketch Book.—In a notice of the Miscellanies of Sir -Walter Scott, in the number of this Magazine for September, we made -allusion to reviews of various publications of Mr. Washington Irving, -which we had good reason for believing were written by that gentleman -himself. We learn with pleasure, from one who speaks on the subject by -authority, that Mr. Irving is guiltless of the imputed self laudation. -He did indeed write the article in the London Quarterly on his -“Chronicles of Grenada,” and received for it the sum we mentioned; but, -like so many of the modern “reviews,” it had very little relation to the -work which gave it a title, or to its author. - - * * * * * - -H. Hastings Weld.—We notice that this talented and agreeable writer, -formerly editor of the Brother Jonathan, has taken the editorial charge -of the United States Saturday Post, a family newspaper of the largest -class and circulation. We feel assured that the humor and vivacity of -Mr. Weld’s pen will tend to make the paper still more popular, and to -add greatly to the already enormous subscription list. This paper -already circulates more copies weekly than any other family newspaper in -the Union. - - * * * * * - -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. - -In the story _Malina Gray_, this concluding installment had two parts -titled Chapter III. The second Chapter III has been corrected to Chapter -IV. - -[End of _Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842_, George R. -Graham, Editor] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XXI, -NO. 6, DECEMBER 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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} - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } -@font-face { - font-family: 'Fancy'; - font-style: normal; - src: url('images/font-UnifrakturCook-bold.ttf'); -} - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} - .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%; max-width:40em;} - </style> - </head> - <body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842, by Various</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editors: George Rex Graham</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em;'>Rufus W. Griswold</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 8, 2022 [eBook #68027]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images generously made available by the Internet Archive</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. XXI, NO. 6, DECEMBER 1842 ***</div> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXI.</span> December, 1842 No. 6.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>Contents</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Fiction and Literature</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#ric'>Richard Dale</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#wid'>The Widow of Newbury</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#mal'>Malina Gray</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#tru'>Truth</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#per'>The Persecutor’s Daughter</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rac'>A Race for a Sweetheart</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#har'>Harry Cavendish</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#lad'>The Ladies’ Library</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#has'>The Hasty Marriage</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#rev'>Review Of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#edi'>Editor’s Table</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -</table> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span class='bold'><span style='font-size:larger'>Poetry</span></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#the'>The Serenade</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#son'>Sonnets</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#sonn'>Sonnet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#noo'>Noon</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#aff'>True Affection</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#far'>The Farewell</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#hol'>The Holynights</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#pas'>The Pastor’s Visit</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'><a href='#win'>To the Night-Wind in Autumn</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle2'> </td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i001.jpg' alt='a young woman standing by a window' id='iid-0001' style='width:85%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Painted by E. Prentice Engraved by H.S. Sadd</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>Awaiting the Husband’s Return</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXI.</span> PHILADELPHIA: DECEMBER, 1842. <span class='sc'>No. 6.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='ric'></a>RICHARD DALE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, AUTHOR OF “THE SPY,” “THE PIONEERS,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the many brave men who early contributed -to render the navy of the republic popular and respectable, -the gallant seaman whose name is placed -at the head of this article is entitled to a conspicuous -place; equally on account of his services, his professional -skill, and his personal merit. Although his -connection with the marine, created under the constitution -of 1789, was of short continuance, it left a -durable impression on the service; and, if we look -back to the dark period of the Revolution, we find -him contending in some of the fiercest combats of the -period, always with heroism, and not unfrequently -with success. Circumstances, too, have connected -his renown with one of the most remarkable naval -battles on record; a distinction of itself which fully -entitles him to a high place among those who have -fought and bled for the independence of their country, -in stations of subordinate authority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Richard Dale was born in the colony of Virginia, -on the 6th November, 1756. His birthplace was in -the county of Norfolk, and not distant from the well -known port of the same name. His parents were -native Americans, of respectable standing, though -of rather reduced circumstances. His father, dying -early, left a widow with five children, of whom the -subject of this memoir was the eldest. Some time -after the death of his father, his mother contracted a -second marriage with a gentleman of the name of -Cooper, among the issue of which were two well -known ship-masters of Philadelphia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Young Dale manifested an inclination for the sea -at a very early period of life. The distrust of a -parental control that has no foundation in nature, and -which is apt to be regarded with jealousy, stimulated -if it did not quicken this desire, and we find him at -the tender age of twelve, or in 1768, making a voyage -between Norfolk and Liverpool, in a vessel commanded -by one of his own uncles. On his return -home, he appears to have passed nearly a twelve-month -on shore; but his desire to become a sailor -still continuing, in the spring of 1770 he was regularly -apprenticed to a respectable merchant and -ship-owner, of the borough of Norfolk, named Newton. -From this moment his fortune in life was cast, -and he continued devotedly employed in the profession -until his enterprise, prudence and gallantry enabled -him finally to retire with credit, an unblemished -name, and a competency.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During his apprenticeship, Dale appears to have -been, most of the time, employed in the West India -trade. Every sailor has his chances and hair-breadth -escapes, and our young mariner met with two, at -that period of his life, which may be thought worthy -of notice. On one occasion he fell from the spars -stowed on the belfry into the vessel’s hold, hitting the -kelson, a distance of near twenty feet; escaping, however, -without material injury. A much greater risk -was incurred on another. While the vessel to which -he belonged was running off the wind, with a stiff -breeze, Dale was accidentally knocked overboard -by the jib sheets, and was not picked up without -great difficulty. He was an hour in the water, sustaining -himself by swimming, and he ever spoke of -the incident as one of more peril than any other in a -perilous career.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When nineteen, or in 1775, Dale had risen to the -station of chief mate on board a large brig belonging -to his owner. In this situation he appears to have -remained industriously engaged during the few first -months of the struggle for independence; the active -warfare not having yet extended itself as far south as -his part of the country. Early in 1776, however, the -aspect of things began to change, and it is probable -that the interruption to commerce rendered him the -master of his own movements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Virginia, in common with most of the larger and -more maritime colonies, had a sort of marine of its -own; more especially anterior to the Declaration of -Independence. It consisted principally of bay craft, -and was employed in the extensive estuaries and -rivers of that commonwealth. On board of one of -these light cruisers Dale was entered as a lieutenant, -in the early part of the memorable year 1776. While -in this service, he was sent a short distance for some -guns, in a river craft; but falling in with a tender of -the Liverpool frigate, which ship was then cruising -on the Cape Henry station, he was captured and carried -into Norfolk. These tenders were usually smart -little cruisers, another, belonging to the same frigate, -having been taken shortly before, by the U. S. brig -Lexington, after a sharp and bloody conflict. Resistance -in the case of Dale was consequently out of the -question, his capture having been altogether a matter -of course.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On reaching Norfolk, our young officer was thrown -on board a prison-ship. Here he found himself in -the midst of those whom it was the fashion to call -“loyal subjects.” Many of them were his old school-mates -and friends. Among the latter was a young -man of the name of Bridges Gutteridge, a sailor like -himself, and one who possessed his entire confidence. -Mr. Gutteridge, who it is believed subsequently took -part with his countrymen himself, was then employed -by the British, in the waters of the Chesapeake, actually -commanding a tender in their service. The -quarrel was still recent; and honorable, as well as -honest men, under the opinions which prevailed in -that day, might well be divided as to its merits. Mr. -Gutteridge had persuaded himself he was pursuing -the proper course. Entertaining such opinions, he -earnestly set about the attempt of making a convert -of his captured friend. The usual arguments, touching -the sacred rights of the king—himself merely a -legalized usurper, by the way, if any validity is to -be given to the claims of hereditary right to the -crown—and the desperate nature of the “rebel -cause,” were freely and strenuously used, until Dale -began to waver in his faith. In the end, he yielded -and consented to accompany his friend in a cruise -against the vessels of the state. This occurred in -the month of May, and, hostilities beginning now to -be active, the tender soon fell in with a party of -Americans, in some pilot boats, that were employed -in the Rappahannock. A warm engagement ensued, -in which the tender was compelled to run, after -meeting with a heavy loss. It was a rude initiation -into the mysteries of war, the fighting being of a -desperate, and almost of a personal character. This -was one of those combats that often occurred about -this period, and in those waters, most of them being -close and sanguinary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In this affair, Dale received a severe wound, having -been hit in the head by a musket ball; with this -wound he was confined several weeks at Norfolk, -during which time he had abundance of leisure to -reflect on the false step into which he had been persuaded, -and to form certain healthful resolutions for -the future. To use his own words, in speaking of -this error of his early life, he determined “never -again to put himself in the way of the bullets of his -own country.” This resolution, however, it was necessary -to conceal, if he would escape the horrors -of a prison-ship, and he “bided his time,” fully determined -to take service again under the American -flag, at the first fitting opportunity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the peculiar state of the two countries at the -time, and with the doubtful and contested morality of -the misunderstanding, there was nothing extraordinary -in this incident. Similar circumstances occurred -to many men, who, with the best intentions and -purest motives, saw, or fancied they saw, reasons -for changing sides in what, in their eyes, was strictly -a family quarrel. In the case of Dale, however, the -feature most worthy of comment was the singleness -of mind and simple integrity with which he used to -confess his own error, together with the manner in -which he finally became a convert to the true political -faith. No narrative of the life of this respectable -seaman would be complete, without including -this temporary wavering of purpose; nor would any -delineation of his character be just, that did not point -out the candor and sincerity with which he, in after -life, admitted his fault.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was only in his twentieth year when he received -this instructive lesson from the “bullets of his -countrymen.” From that time, he took good care -not to place himself again in their way, going, in -June or July, to Bermuda, on a more peaceable expedition, -in company with William Gutteridge, a -relative of his beguiling friend. On the return passage, -the vessel was captured by the Lexington, the -brig just mentioned, then a successful cruiser, under -the orders of Capt. John Barry; an officer who subsequently -died at the head of the service. This occurred -just after the Declaration of Independence, -and Dale immediately offered himself as a volunteer -under the national flag. He was received and rated -as a midshipman within a few hours of his capture. -This was the commencement of Dale’s service in -the regular navy of his native country. It was also -the commencement of his acquaintance with the distinguished -commander of the Lexington, whose -friendship and respect he enjoyed down to the day of -the latter’s death. While the brig was out, our midshipman -had another narrow escape from death, -having, together with several others, been struck -senseless by lightning during a severe thunder storm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Barry made the capture just mentioned near the -end of his cruise, and he soon after went into Philadelphia, -which place Dale now saw for the first time. -Here Barry left the Lexington to take command of -the Effingham 28, a ship that never got to sea, leaving -our new midshipman in the brig. Capt. Hallock -was Barry’s successor, and he soon rated Dale, by -this time an active and skilful seaman, a master’s -mate. Early in the autumn, the Lexington sailed for -Cape François, on special duty. On her return, in -the month of December, she fell in with the Pearl -frigate,<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> and was captured without resistance, carrying -an armament of only a few fours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As it was blowing very fresh at the moment this -capture was made, the Pearl took out of the prize -four or five officers, threw a small crew on board, -and directed the brig to follow her. By some accounts -Dale was left in the Lexington, while by -others he was not. A succinct history of the events -of his life, written by a connection under his own -eye, and which is now before us, gives the latter -version of the affair, and is probably the true one. -At all events, the remaining officers and crew of -the Lexington rose upon the captors in the course of -the night, retook the brig, and carried her into Baltimore.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>The English landed several of their prisoners on -Cape Henlopen, in January, 1777, under some arrangement -that cannot now be explained, though -probably it was connected with an exchange for the -men taken and carried away in the prize. Among -these was Dale, who made the best of his way to -Philadelphia, when he received orders to proceed to -Baltimore; which he obeyed, and rejoined his brig, -the command of which had now been transferred to -Capt. Henry Johnston.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next service on which the Lexington was employed -was in the European seas. In March, she -sailed from Baltimore for Bordeaux, with despatches. -On her arrival, this brig was attached to a small -squadron under the orders of Capt. Lambert Wickes, -who was in the Reprisal 16, having under his command -also the Dolphin 10, Capt. Samuel Nicholson. -This force of little vessels accomplished a bold and -destructive cruise, making the entire circuit of Ireland, -though it was eventually chased into a French -port by a line-of-battle ship. Its object was the interception -of certain linen-ships, which it missed; -its success, however, in the main, was such as to -excite great alarm among the English merchants, -and to produce warm remonstrances to France, from -their government.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this time France was not at war with England, -although she secretly favored and aided the cause of -the revolted colonies. The appearance of American -cruisers in the narrow seas, however, gave rise to -so many complaints, as to induce the French government, -in preference to pushing matters to extremities, -temporarily to sequester the vessels. The Lexington -was included in this measure, having been detained -in port more than two months; or, until security was -given that she would quit the European seas. This -was done, and the brig got to sea again on the 18th -September, 1777.<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is probable that the recent difficulties had some -effect on the amount of the military stores on board -all three of the American vessels. At all events, it -is certain that the Lexington sailed with a short supply -of both powder and shot, particularly of the latter. -The very next day she made an English cutter lying-to, -which was approached with a confidence that -could only have proceeded from a mistake as to her -character. This cutter proved to be a man-of-war, -called the Alert, commanded by Lieutenant, afterward -Admiral Bazely, having a strong crew on -board, and an armament of ten sixes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the action that ensued, and which was particularly -well fought on the part of the enemy, the Americans -were, in a measure, taken by surprise. So -little were the latter prepared for the conflict, that -not a match was ready when the engagement commenced, -and several broadsides were fired by discharging -muskets at the vents of the guns. The firing -killed the wind, and there being considerable sea on, -the engagement became very protracted, during -which the Lexington expended most of her ammunition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a cannonading of two hours, believing his -antagonist to be too much crippled to follow, and -aware of his own inability to continue the action -much longer, Capt. Johnston made sail, and left the -cutter, under favor of a breeze that just then sprung -up. The Lexington left the Alert rapidly at first, but -the latter having bent new sails, and being the faster -vessel, in the course of three or four hours succeeded -in getting alongside again, and of renewing the engagement. -This second struggle lasted an hour, the -fighting being principally on one side. After the -Lexington had thrown her last shot, had broken up -and used all the iron that could be made available as -substitutes, and had three of her officers and several -of her men slain, besides many wounded, Capt. -Johnston struck his colors. The first lieutenant, -marine officer, and master of the Lexington were -among the slain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this accident Dale became a prisoner for the -third time. This occurred when he wanted just fifty -days of being twenty-one years old. On this occasion, -however, he escaped unhurt, though the combat -had been both fierce and sanguinary. The prize -was taken into Plymouth, and her officers, after undergoing -a severe examination, in order to ascertain -their birthplaces, were all thrown into Mill Prison, -on a charge of high treason. Here they found the -common men; the whole being doomed to a rigorous -and painful confinement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Either from policy or cupidity, the treatment received -by the Americans, in this particular prison, -was of a cruel and oppressive character. There is -no apology for excessive rigor, or, indeed, for any -constraint beyond that which is necessary to security, -toward an uncondemned man. Viewed as mere -prisoners of war, the Americans might claim the -usual indulgence; viewed as subjects still to be tried, -they were rightfully included in that healthful maxim -of the law, which assumes that all are innocent until -they are proved to be guilty. So severe were the -privations of the Americans on this occasion, however, -that, in pure hunger, they caught a stray dog -one day, skinned, cooked and ate him, to satisfy their -cravings for food. Their situation at length attracted -the attention of the liberal; statements of their wants -were laid before the public, and an appeal was made -to the humanity of the English nation. This is always -an efficient mode of obtaining assistance, and the -large sum of sixteen thousand pounds was soon -raised; thereby relieving the wants of the sufferers, -and effectually effacing the stain from the national -escutcheon; by demonstrating that the sufferers -found a generous sympathy in the breasts of the -public. But man requires more than food and -warmth. Although suffering no longer from actual -want and brutal maltreatment, Dale and his companions -pined for liberty—to be once more fighting the -battles of their country. Seeing no hopes of an exchange, -a large party of the prisoners determined to -make an attempt at escape. A suitable place was -selected, and a hole under a wall was commenced. -The work required secrecy and time. The earth -was removed, little by little, in the pockets of the -captives, care being had to conceal the place, until a -hole of sufficient size was made to permit the body -of a man to pass through. It was a tedious process, -for the only opportunity which occurred to empty -their pockets, was while the Americans were exercising -on the walls of their prison, for a short period -of each day. By patience and perseverance they -accomplished their purpose, however, every hour -dreading exposure and defeat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When all was ready, Capt. Johnston, most of his -officers, and several of his crew, or, as many as -were in the secret, passed through the hole, and -escaped. This was in February, 1778. The party -wandered about the country in company, and by -night, for more than a week; suffering all sorts of -privations, until it was resolved to take the wiser -course of separating. Dale, accompanied by one -other, found his way to London, hotly pursued. At -one time the two lay concealed under some straw in -an out-house, while the premises were searched by -those who were in quest of them. On reaching London, -Dale and his companion immediately got on -board a vessel about to sail for Dunkirk. A press-gang -unluckily took this craft in its rounds, and suspecting -the true objects of the fugitives, they were -arrested, and, their characters being ascertained, -they were sent back to Mill Prison in disgrace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was the commencement of a captivity far -more tedious than the former. In the first place they -were condemned to forty days’ confinement in the -black hole, as the punishment for the late escape; -and, released from this durance, they were deprived -of many of their former indulgences. Dale himself -took his revenge in singing “rebel songs,” and paid -a second visit to the black hole, as the penalty. This -state of things, with alternations of favor and punishment, -continued quite a year, when Dale, singly, -succeeded in again effecting his great object of getting -free.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mode in which this second escape was made -is known, but the manner by which he procured the -means he refused to his dying day to disclose. At -all events, he obtained a full suit of British uniform, -attired in which, and seizing a favorable moment, he -boldly walked past all the sentinels, and got off. -That some one was connected with his escape who -might suffer by his revelations is almost certain; and -it is a trait in his character worthy of notice, that he -kept this secret, with scrupulous fidelity, for forty-seven -years. It is not known that he ever divulged -it even to any individual of his own family.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rendered wary by experience, Dale now proceeded -with great address and caution. He probably -had money, as well as clothes. At all events, he -went to London, found means to procure a passport, -and left the country for France, unsuspected and undetected. -On reaching a friendly soil, he hastened -to l’Orient, and joined the force then equipping under -Paul Jones, in his old rank of a master’s mate. -Here he was actively employed for some months, -affording the commodore an opportunity to ascertain -his true merits, when they met with something like -their just reward. As Dale was now near twenty-three, -and an accomplished seaman, Jones, after -trying several less competent persons, procured a -commission for him from the commissioners, and -made him the first lieutenant of his own ship, the -justly celebrated Bon Homme Richard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is not our intention, in this article, to enter any -farther into the incidents of this well known cruise, -than is necessary to complete the present subject. -Dale does not appear in any prominent situation, -though always discharging the duties of his responsible -station, with skill and credit, until the squadron -appeared off Leith, with the intention of seizing that -town—the port of Edinburgh—and of laying it under -contribution. On this occasion, our lieutenant was -selected to command the boats that were to land, -a high compliment to so young a man, as coming -from one of the character of Paul Jones. Every -thing was ready, Dale had received his final orders, -and was in the very act of proceeding to the ship’s -side to enter his boat, when a heavy squall struck the -vessels, and induced an order for the men to come -on deck, and assist in shortening sail. The vessels -were compelled to bear up before it, to save their -spars; this carried them out of the firth; and, a gale -succeeding, the enterprise was necessarily abandoned. -This gale proved so heavy, that one of the -prizes actually foundered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This attempt of Jones, while it is admitted to have -greatly alarmed the coast, has often been pronounced -rash and inconsiderate. Such was not the opinion -of Dale. A man of singular moderation in his modes -of thinking, and totally without bravado, it was his -conviction that the effort would have been crowned -with success. He assured the writer, years after the -occurrence, that he was about to embark in the expedition -with feelings of high confidence, and that he -believed nothing but the inopportune intervention of -the squall stood between Jones and a triumphant -<span class='it'>coup de main</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few days later, Jones made a secret proposal to -his officers, which some affirm was to burn the shipping -at North Shields, but which the commanders of -two of his vessels strenuously opposed, in consequence -of which the project was abandoned. The -commodore himself, in speaking of the manner in -which this and other similar propositions were received -by his subordinates, extolled the ardor invariably -manifested by the young men, among whom -Dale was one of the foremost. Had it rested with -them, the attempts at least would all have been made.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the 19th September occurred the celebrated -battle between the Serapis and the Bon Homme -Richard. As the proper place to enter fully into the -details of that murderous combat will be in the biography -of Jones, we shall confine ourselves at present -to incidents with which the subject of this -memoir was more immediately connected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Bon Homme Richard had finally sailed on -this cruise with only two proper sea-lieutenants on -board her. There was a third officer of the name of -Lunt, who has been indifferently called a lieutenant -and the sailing-master, but who properly filled the -latter station. This gentleman had separated from -the ship in a fog, on the coast of Ireland, while in -the pursuit of some deserters, and never rejoined -the squadron. Another person of the same name, -and believed to be the brother of the master, was the -second lieutenant. He was sent in a pilot-boat, accompanied -by a midshipman and several men, to -capture a vessel in sight, before Jones made the Baltic -fleet coming round Flamborough Head. This -party was not able to return to the Bon Homme -Richard, until after the battle had terminated. In -consequence of these two circumstances, each so -novel in itself, the American frigate fought this -bloody and arduous combat with only one officer on -board her, of the rank of a sea-lieutenant, who -was Dale. This is the reason why the latter is so -often mentioned as <span class='it'>the</span> lieutenant of the Bon Homme -Richard, during that memorable fight. The fact rendered -his duties more arduous and diversified, and -entitles him to the greater credit for their proper -performance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was stationed on the gun-deck, where of -course he commanded in chief, though it appears -that his proper personal division was the forward -guns. Until the ships got foul of each other, this -brought him particularly into the hottest of the work; -the Serapis keeping much on the bows, or ahead of -the Bon Homme Richard. It is known that Jones was -much pleased with his deportment, which, in truth, -was every way worthy of his own. When the alarm -was given that the ship was sinking, Dale went below -himself to ascertain the real state of the water, and -his confident and fearless report cheered the men to -renewed exertions. Shortly after, the supply of powder -was stopped, when our lieutenant again quitted -his quarters to inquire into the cause. On reaching -the magazine passage he was told by the sentinels -that they had closed the ingress, on account of a -great number of strange and foreign faces that they -saw around them. On further inquiry, Dale discovered -that the master at arms, of his own head, had -let loose all the prisoners—more than a hundred in -number—under the belief that the ship was sinking. -Dale soon saw the danger which might ensue, but -finding the English much alarmed at the supposed -condition of the ship, he succeeded in mustering -them, and setting them at work at the pumps, where, -by their exertions, they probably prevented the apprehended -calamity. For some time, at the close of -the action, all his guns being rendered useless, Dale -was employed principally in this important service. -There is no question that without some such succor, -the Richard would have gone down much earlier -than she did. It is a singular feature of this every-way -extraordinary battle, that here were Englishmen, -zealously employed in aiding the efforts of their -enemies, under the cool control of a collected and -observant officer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length the cheerful intelligence was received -that the enemy had struck. Dale went on deck, and -immediately demanded Jones’ permission to take -possession of the prize. It was granted, and had he -never manifested any other act of personal intrepidity, -his promptitude on this occasion, and the -manner in which he went to work, to attain his purpose, -would have shown him to be a man above personal -considerations, when duty or honor pointed out -his course. The main-yard of the Serapis was hanging -a-cock-bill, over the side of the American ship. -The brace was shot away, and the pendant hung -within reach. Seizing the latter, Dale literally swung -himself off, and alighted alone on the quarter-deck of -the Serapis. Here he found no one but the brave -Pierson, who had struck his own flag; but the men -below were still ignorant of the act. We may form -an opinion of the risk that the young man ran, in -thus boarding his enemy at night, and in the confusion -of such a combat, for the English were still -firing below, by the fact that Mr. Mayrant, a young -man of South Carolina, and a midshipman of the -Bon Homme Richard, who led a party after the -lieutenant, was actually run through the thigh by a -boarding pike, and by the hands of a man in the -waist below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first act of Dale, on getting on the quarter -deck of the Serapis, was to direct her captain to go -on board the American ship. While thus employed, -the English first lieutenant came up from below, and -finding that the Americans had ceased their fire, he -demanded if they had struck. “No, sir,” answered -Dale, “it is this ship that has struck, and you are my -prisoner.” An appeal to Capt. Pierson confirming -this, the English lieutenant offered to go below and -silence the remaining guns of the Serapis. To this -Dale objected, and had both the officers passed on -board the Bon Homme Richard. In a short time, -the English below were sent from their guns, and -full possession was obtained of the prize.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As more men were soon sent from the Bon Homme -Richard, the two ships were now separated, the -Richard making sail, and Jones ordering Dale to follow -with the prize. A sense of fatigue had come -over the latter, in consequence of the reaction of so -much excitement and so great exertions, and he took -a seat on the binnacle. Here he issued an order to -brace the head yards aback, and to put the helm -down. Wondering that the ship did not pay off, he -directed that the wheel-ropes should be examined. It -was reported that they were not injured, and that the -helm was hard down. Astonished to find the ship -immovable under such circumstances, there being -a light breeze, Dale sprang upon his feet, and then -discovered, for the first time, that he had been severely -wounded, by a splinter, in the foot and ankle. -The hurt, now that he was no longer sustained by the -excitement of battle, deprived him of the use of his -leg, and he fell. Just at this moment, Mr. Lunt, the -officer who had been absent in the pilot-boat, reached -the Richard, and Dale was forced to give up to him -the command of the prize. The cause of the Serapis’ -not minding her helm was the fact that Capt. -Pierson had dropped an anchor under foot when the -two ships got foul; a circumstance of which the -Americans were ignorant until this moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was some time laid up with his wound, but -he remained with Jones in his old station of first -lieutenant, accompanying that officer, in the Alliance, -from the Texel to l’Orient. In the controversy which -ensued between the commodore and Landais, our -lieutenant took sides warmly with the first, and even -offered to head a party to recover the Alliance, by -force. This measure not being resorted to, he remained -with Jones, and finally sailed with him for -America, as his first lieutenant, in the Ariel 20, a -ship lent to the Americans, by the King of France.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ariel quitted port in October, 1780, but encountered -a tremendous gale of wind off the Penmarks. -Losing her masts, she was compelled to -return to refit. On this occasion Dale, in his responsible -situation of first lieutenant, showed all the -coolness of his character, and the resources of a -thorough seaman. The tempest was almost a hurricane, -and of extraordinary violence. The Ariel -sailed a second time about the commencement of the -year 1781, and reached Philadelphia on the 18th -February. During the passage home, she had a -short action, in the night, with a heavy British letter-of-marque, -that gave her name as the Triumph; and -which ship is said to have struck, but to have made -her escape by treachery. Jones, who was greedy of -glory, even fancied that his enemy was a vessel of -war, and that he had captured a vessel of at least -equal force. This was not Dale’s impression. He -spoke of the affair to the writer of this article, as one -of no great moment, even questioning whether their -antagonist struck at all; giving it as his belief -she was a quick-working and fast-sailing letter-of-marque. -He distinctly stated that she got off by out-manœuvring -the Ariel, which vessel was badly manned, -and had an exceedingly mixed and disaffected -crew. It is worthy of remark that, while two articles, -enumerating the services of Dale, have been -written by gentlemen connected with himself, and -possessing his confidence, neither mentions this affair; -a proof, in itself, that Dale considered it one of little -moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The account which Dale always gave of the meeting -between the Ariel and Triumph—admitting such -to have been the name of the English ship—so different -from that which has found its way into various -publications, on the representation of other actors in -that affair, is illustrative of the character of the man. -Simple of mind, totally without exaggeration, and a -lover, as well as a practicer, of severe truth, he was -a man whose representations might be fully relied -on. Even in his account of the extraordinary combat -between the Richard and Serapis, he stripped the -affair of all its romance, and of every thing that was -wonderful; rendering the whole clear, simple and -intelligible as his own thoughts. The only narratives -of that battle, worthy of a seaman, have been written -rigidly after his explanations, which leave it a bloody -and murderous fight, but one wholly without the -marvelous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On his arrival at Philadelphia, after an absence of -four years, more than one of which had been spent -in prison, Dale was just twenty-four years and two -months old. He was now regularly put on the list -of lieutenants, by the marine committee of Congress; -his former authority proceeding from the agents of -the government in Europe. It is owing to this circumstance -that the register of government places -him so low as a lieutenant. Dale now parted from -Paul Jones, with whom he had served near two -years; and that, too, in some of the most trying -scenes of the latter’s life. The commodore was -anxious to take his favorite lieutenant with him to -the America 74; but the latter declined the service, -under the impression it would be a long time before -the ship got to sea. He judged right, the America -being transferred to the French in the end, and Jones -himself never again sailing under the American flag.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of Dale will inseparably be connected -with the battle of the Richard and Serapis. His -prominent position and excellent conduct entitle him -to this mark of distinction, and it says much for the -superior, when it confers fame to have been “Paul -Jones’ first lieutenant.” We smile, however, at the -legends of the day, when we recall the account of -the “Lieutenants Grubb” and other heroes of romance, -who have been made to figure in the histories -of that renowned combat, and place them in contrast -with the truth-loving, sincere, moral and respectable -subject of this memoir. The sword which Louis -XVI. bestowed on Jones, for this victory, passed into -the hands of Dale, and is now the property of a gallant -son, a fitting mark of the services of the father, -on the glorious occasion it commemorates.<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a></p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was employed on board a schooner that was -manned from the Ariel, after reaching Philadelphia, -and sent down the Delaware to convoy certain public -stores. The following June, he joined the Trumbull -28, Captain Nicholson, as her first lieutenant. The -Trumbull left the capes of the Delaware on the 8th -August, 1781, being chased off the land by three of -the enemy’s cruisers. The weather was squally and -night set in dark. In endeavoring to avoid her pursuers, -the Trumbull found herself alongside of the -largest, a frigate of thirty-two guns, and an action -was fought under the most unfavorable circumstances. -The Trumbull’s fore-topmast was hanging over, or -rather through her forecastle, her crew was disorganized, -and the vessel herself in a state of no preparation -for a conflict with an equal force; much -less with that actually opposed to her. The officers -made great exertions, and maintained an action of -more than an hour, when the colors of the American -ship were struck to the Iris 32, and Monk 18. The -former of these vessels had been the American frigate -Hancock, and the latter was subsequently captured -in the Delaware, by Barney in the Hyder Ally.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was the fourth serious affair in which Dale -had been engaged that war, and the fourth time he -had been captured. As he was hurt also in this -battle, it made the third of his wounds. His confinement, -however, was short, and the treatment not a -subject of complaint. He was taken into New York, -paroled on Long Island, and exchanged in November.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No new service offering in a marine which, by -this time, had lost most of its ships, Dale obtained a -furlough, and joined a large letter-of-marque called -the Queen of France, that carried twelve guns, as -her first officer. Soon after he was appointed to the -command of the same vessel. In the spring of 1782, -this ship, in company with several other letters-of-marque, -sailed for France, making many captures -by the way. The ship of Dale, however, parted -from the fleet, and, falling in with an English privateer -of fourteen guns, a severe engagement followed, -in which both parties were much cut up; they parted -by mutual consent. Dale did not get back to Philadelphia -until February of the succeeding year, or -until about the time that peace was made.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In common with most of the officers of the navy, -Lieutenant Dale was disbanded, as soon as the war -ceased. He was now in the twenty-seventh year of -his age, with a perfect knowledge of his profession, -in which he had passed more than half his life, a -high reputation for his rank, a courage that had often -been tried, a body well scarred, a character beyond -reproach, and not altogether without “money in his -purse.” Under the circumstances, he naturally determined -to follow up his fortunes in the line in -which he had commenced his career. He became -part owner of a large ship, and sailed in her for -London, December, 1783, in the station of master. -After this, he embarked successfully in the East -India trade, in the same character, commanding -several of the finest ships out of the country. In this -manner he accumulated a respectable fortune, and -began to take his place among the worthies of the -land in a new character.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In September, 1791, Mr. Dale was married to -Dorothy Crathorne, the daughter of another respectable -ship-master of Philadelphia, and then a ward -of Barry’s. With this lady he passed the remainder -of his days, she surviving him as his widow, and dying -some years later than himself. No change in his pursuits -occurred until 1794, when the new government -commenced the organization of another marine, which -has resulted in that which the country now possesses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale was one of the six captains appointed under -the law of 1794, that directed the construction of as -many frigates, with a view to resist the aggressions -of Algiers. Each of the new captains was ordered -to superintend the construction of one of the frigates, -and Dale, who was fifth in rank, was directed to -assume the superintendence of the one laid down at -Norfolk, virtually the place of his nativity. This -ship was intended to be a frigate of the first class, -but, by some mistake in her moulds, she proved in -the end to be the smallest of the six vessels then -built. It was the unfortunate Chesapeake, a vessel -that never was in a situation to reflect much credit -on the service. Her construction, however, was -deferred, in consequence of an arrangement with -Algiers, and her captain was put on furlough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale now returned to the China trade, in which he -continued until the spring of 1798. The last vessel -he commanded was called the Ganges. She was a -fine, fast ship, and the state of our relations with -France requiring a hurried armament, the government -bought this vessel, in common with several -others, put an armament of suitable guns in her, with -a full crew, gave her to Dale, and ordered her on the -coast as a regular cruiser.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In consequence of this arrangement, Capt. Dale -was the first officer who ever got to sea under the -pennant of the present navy. He sailed in May, -1798, and was followed by the Constellation and -Delaware in a few days. The service of Dale in -his new capacity was short, however, in consequence -of some questions relating to rank. The -captains appointed in 1794 claimed their old places, -and, it being uncertain what might be the final decision -of the government, as there were many aspirants, -Dale declined serving until the matter was -determined. In May, 1799, he sailed for Canton -again, in command of a strong letter-of-marque, under -a furlough. On his return from this voyage he -found his place on the list settled according to his -own views of justice and honor, and reported himself -for service. Nothing offered, however, until the -difficulties with France were arranged; but, in -May, 1801, he was ordered to take command of a -squadron of observation about to be sent to the -Mediterranean.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale now hoisted his broad pennant, for the first -and only time, and assumed the title by which he was -known for the rest of his days. He was in the prime -of life, being in his forty-fifth year, of an active, -manly frame, and had every prospect before him of -a long and honorable service. The ships put under -his orders were the President 44, Capt. James Barron; -Philadelphia 38, Capt. Samuel Barron; Essex -32, Capt. William Bainbridge; and Enterprise 12, -Lieut. Com. Sterrett. A better appointed, or a better -commanded force, probably never sailed from America. -But there was little to do, under the timid -policy and defective laws of the day. War was not -supposed to exist, although hostilities did; and vessels -were sent into foreign seas with crews shipped for a -period that would scarcely allow of a vessel’s being -got into proper order.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The squadron sailed June 1st, 1801, and reached -Gibraltar July 1st. The Philadelphia blockaded the -Tripolitan admiral, with two cruisers, in Gibraltar, -while the other vessels went aloft. A sharp action -occurred between the Enterprise and a Tripolitan of -equal force, in which the latter was compelled to -submit, but was allowed to go into her own port -again, for want of legal authority to detain her. Dale -appeared off Tripoli, endeavored to negotiate a little -about an exchange of prisoners, and did blockade -the port; but his orders fettered him in a way to -prevent any serious enterprises. In a word, no circumstances -occurred to allow the commodore to -show his true character, except as it was manifested -in his humanity, prudence and dignity. As a superior, -he obtained the profound respect of all under his -orders, and to this day his name is mentioned with -regard by those who then served under him. It is -thought that this squadron did much toward establishing -the high discipline of the marine. In one instance -only had Dale an opportunity of manifesting his high -personal and professional qualities. The President -struck a rock in quitting Port Mahon, and for some -hours she was thought to be in imminent danger of -foundering. Dale assumed the command, and one of -his lieutenants, himself subsequently a flag officer of -rare seamanship and merit, has often recounted to -the writer his admiration of the commodore’s coolness, -judgment, and nerve, on so trying an occasion. -The ship was carried to Toulon, blowing a gale, -and, on examination, it was found that she was only -saved from destruction by the skilful manner in which -the wood ends had been secured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The vigilance of Dale was so great, however, and -his dispositions so skilful, that the Tripolitans made -no captures while he commanded in those seas. In -March, 1802, he sailed for home, under his orders, -reaching Hampton Roads in April, after a cruise of -about ten months. The succeeding autumn, Com. -Dale received an order to hold himself in readiness -to resume the command from which he had just returned. -Ever ready to serve his country, when it -could be done with honor, he would cheerfully have -made his preparations accordingly, but, by the order -itself, he ascertained that he was to be sent out without -a captain in his own ship. This, agreeably to -the notions he entertained, was a descent in the scale -of rank, and he declined serving on such terms. -There being no alternative between obedience and -resignation, he chose the latter, and quitted the navy. -At this time, he was the third captain on the list, and -it is no more than justice to say, that he stood second -to no other in the public estimation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dale never went to sea again. Possessed of an -ample fortune, and possessing the esteem of all who -knew him, he commanded the respect of those with -whom he differed in opinion touching the question -which drove him from the navy. With the latter he -never quarreled, for, at the proper period, he gave -to it his two elder sons. To the last he retained his -interest in its success, and his care of mariners, in -general, extended far beyond the interests of this life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many years previously to his death, Com. Dale -entered into full communion with the Protestant -Episcopal Church, of which he proved a consistent -and pious member. Under the newly awakened -feelings which induced this step, he was the originater -of a Mariner’s Church, in Philadelphia, attending -it in person, every Sunday afternoon, for a long -succession of years. He was as free with his purse, -too, as with his time; and his charities, though properly -concealed, were believed to be large and discriminating. -With some it may be deemed a matter -of moment, with all it should be a proof of the estimation -in which Dale was held by certainly a very -respectable part of his fellow citizens, that he was -named to be the first president of the Washington -Benevolent Society; an association that soon degenerated -to serve the ends of party politics, whatever -may have been the design that influenced the few -with which it originated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening of the life of Dale was singularly -peaceful and happy. It was as calm as its morning -had been tempestuous. It is true he had to weep -for the loss of his first-born son, a noble youth, who -died of wounds received in the action between his -old ship, the President, and a British squadron; but -he had given the young man to his country, and knew -how to bear up under the privation. He died, himself, -in the seventieth year of his age, in his dwelling at -Philadelphia, February 26th, 1826; departing in peace -with God and man, as he fondly trusted himself, and -as those who survive have every reason to hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By his marriage with Miss Crathorne, Com. Dale -had several children, five of whom lived to become -men and women, viz. three sons and two daughters. -Of the former, Richard, the eldest, fell, at an early -age, a midshipman on board the President. John -Montgomery, the second, is now a commander in the -navy, having served with Warrington, in the last -English war. This gentleman is married to a lady -of the well known family of Willing. Edward Crathorne, -the youngest son, is a merchant of Philadelphia. -He is married and has children. The eldest -daughter, Sarah, married T. M’Kean Pettit, Esq., a -judge of the District Court, in Philadelphia, and is -dead, leaving issue. Elizabeth, the youngest, is the -wife of Com. George Campbell Reed, of the navy, -and has no issue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In considering the character of Dale, we are -struck with its simple modesty and frank sincerity, -quite as much as with its more brilliant qualities. -His courage and constancy were of the highest order, -rendering him always equal to the most critical duties, -and never wearying in their performance. Such -a man is perfectly free from all exaggeration. As he -was not afraid to act when his cooler judgment approved, -he had no distrusts to overcome ere he could -forbear, as prudence dictated. Jones found him a -man ready and willing to second all his boldest and -most hazardous attempts, so long as reason showed -the probabilities of success; but the deed done, none -more thoroughly stripped it of all false coloring, or -viewed it in a truer light than he who had risked his -life in aiding to achieve it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The person of Dale was in harmony with his moral -qualities. It was manly, seaman-like, and of singularly -respectable bearing. Simplicity, good faith, -truth and courage were imprinted on his countenance, -which all who were thrown into his company -soon discovered was no more than the mirror of his -mind. The navy has had more brilliant intellects, -officers of profounder mental attainments, and of -higher natural gifts, but it has had few leaders of -cooler judgment, sounder discretion, more inflexible -justice, or indomitable resolution. He was of a nature, -an experience, and a professional skill to command -respect and to inspire confidence, tributes that -were cheerfully paid by all who served under his -orders. The writer of this article has had extensive -opportunities of hearing character discussed among -the sea-officers of his country; few escape criticism, -of some sort or other, for their professional acts, and -fewer still, as men; yet he cannot recall a single instance -in which he has ever heard a whisper of complaint -against the public or private career of Richard -Dale. This total exemption from the usual fortunes -of the race may, in part, be owing to the shortness -of the latter’s service in the present marine, and to -the limited acquaintance of his cotemporaries, but -it is difficult to believe that it is not chiefly to -be ascribed to the thoroughly seaman-like character -of the officer, and to the perfect truth and sterling -probity of the man.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This ship has been differently stated to have been the -Liverpool and the Pearl. We follow what we think the -best authorities.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The prize-officer of the Lexington was a young American, -of a highly respectable family, then an acting lieutenant -in the English navy. His prisoners seized an occasion -to rise, at a moment when he had gone below for an -instant, in consequence of which he was dismissed the service; -living the remainder of his life, and dying, in his -native country.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_3'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a curious feature of the times, that, the French -ordering the Americans to quit their ports with their prizes, -the latter were taken out a short distance to sea and sold, -Frenchmen becoming the purchasers, and finding means to -secure the property.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_4'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This sword has, quite recently, become the subject of -public discussion, and of some private feeling, under circumstances -not wholly without interest to the navy and -the country. At page 63, vol. 2, of Mackenzie’s Life of Paul -Jones, is the following note, viz.:</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r8'> - -<p class='pindent'>“This sword was sent by Jones’ heirs to his valued -friend, Robert Morris, to whose favor he had owed his -opportunities of distinguishing himself. Mr. Morris gave -the sword to the navy of the United States. It was to be -retained and worn by the senior officer, and transmitted -at his death, to his successor. After passing through the -hands of Commodore Barry, <span class='it'>and one or two other senior -officers</span>, it came into possession of Commodore Dale, and -now remains in his family, through some mistake in the -nature of the bequest, which seems to require that it should -either be restored to the navy in the person of its senior -officer, or else revert to the heirs of Mr. Robert Morris, -from one of whom the writer has received this information.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That Captain Mackenzie has been correctly informed as to -a portion of the foregoing statement, is as probable as it is -certain he has been misled as to the remainder. It would -have been more discreet, however, in a writer to have heard -both sides, previously to laying such a statement before the -world. A very little inquiry might have satisfied him that -Commodore Dale could not have held any thing as the -senior officer of the navy, since he never occupied that -station. We believe the following will be found to be -accurate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the manner in which Commodore Barry became possessed -of this sword we know nothing beyond report, and -the statement of Captain Mackenzie. We understand that -a female member of the Morris family gives a version of -the affair like that published in the note we have quoted, -but the accuracy of her recollections can hardly be put in -opposition to the <span class='it'>acts</span> of such men as Barry and Dale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sword never passed through the hands “<span class='it'>of one or two -other senior officers</span>,” as stated by Captain Mackenzie, at all. -It was bequeathed by Commodore Barry to Commodore -Dale, in his will, and in the following words, viz.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Item, I give and bequeath to my good friend Captain -Richard Dale, <span class='it'>my</span> gold-hilted sword, as a token of my -esteem for him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We have carefully examined the will, inventory, &c. of -Commodore Barry. The first is dated February 27, 1803; -the will is proved and the inventory filed in the following -September, in which month Commodore Barry died. Now, -Commodore Dale was not in the navy at all, when this -sword was bequeathed to him, nor when he received it. -Dale resigned in the autumn of 1802; and he never rose -nearer to the head of the list of captains, than to be the -third in rank; Barry, himself, and Samuel Nicholson, being -his seniors, when he resigned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The inventory of Commodore Barry’s personal property -is very minute, containing articles of a value as low as one -dollar. It mentions <span class='it'>two</span> swords, both of which are specifically -bequeathed—viz. “<span class='it'>my</span> gold-hilted” and “<span class='it'>my</span> silver-hilted -sword.” No allusion is made in the will to any -trust. Only these two swords were found among the assets, -and each was delivered agreeably to the bequest. -The gold-hilted sword was known in the family, as the -“Paul Jones sword,” and there is not the smallest doubt -Commodore Barry intended to bequeath this particular -sword, in full property, to Commodore Dale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us next look to the probabilities of the case. The heirs -of Paul Jones, who left no issue, gave the sword to Robert -Morris, says Captain Mackenzie, as a mark of gratitude. -This may very well be true. But Mr. Morris “gave the -sword to the navy of the United States,” to be retained and -worn by its senior officer. It would have been a more -usual course to have lodged the sword in the Navy Department, -had such been the intention. That Commodore Barry -did not view <span class='it'>his</span> possession of the sword in this light, is -clear enough by his will. He gave it, <span class='it'>without</span> restraint of -any sort, to a friend who was not in the navy at all, and -who never had been its senior officer. This he did, in full -possession of his mind and powers, six months before he -died, and under circumstances to render any misconception -highly improbable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Can we find any motive for the bequest of Commodore -Barry? It was not personal to himself, as the sword went -out of his own family. The <span class='it'>other sword</span> he gave to a brother-in-law. -“Paul Jones’ sword” was bequeathed to a distinguished -professional friend—to one who, of all others, next -to Jones himself, had the best professional right to wear it—to -“Paul Jones’ first lieutenant.” Commodore Dale did -leave sons, and some in the navy; and the country will believe -that the one who now owns the sword has as good a -moral right to wear it, as the remote collaterals of Jones, and -a much better right than the senior officer of the navy, on -proof as vague as that offered. His <span class='it'>legal</span> right to the sword -seems to be beyond dispute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the inventory of Commodore Barry’s personals, this -sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a very elegant gold-hilted -sword—$300.” The other sword is thus mentioned, viz.—“a -handsome silver-hilted, do. $100.”</p> - -</div> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div><h1><a id='the'></a>THE SERENADE.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Beneath a bower, where poplar branches long</p> -<p class='line0'>Embracing wove Seclusion o’er the abode</p> -<p class='line0'>Of hermit sage, what time the full moon rode</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid spectre clouds her star-paved streets along,</p> -<p class='line0'>Rose on the listening air a plaintive song,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sweet as the harmony of an angel’s lyre,</p> -<p class='line0'>And soft as sweet; breathed heavenward from a quire</p> -<p class='line0'>Of Beauty, hid the encircling shades among.</p> -<p class='line0'>Of mysteries high, I ween, that sage had dreamed—</p> -<p class='line0'>Who now, upstarting, clasps his hands to hear</p> -<p class='line0'>The <span class='it'>mystic notes of Nature’s Anthem</span> clear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which holiest bards have heard and heavenly deemed!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis even thus as to that sage it seemed—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Tis Beauty makes the dreams of Wisdom, dear!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><h1><a id='wid'></a>THE WIDOW OF NEWBURY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>’Twas the eve of Newbury fair, and the time -near the close of the long reign of Harry the Eighth, -after monasteries were suppressed. Reform stalked -through the land—all things were turned topsy-turvy—abbots -and monks beggared, that poor lords might -thrive—priests permitted marriage, and nuns driven -from their pleasant retreats, were forced to spin for -a livelihood. But amid the greater marvels, the -townspeople of Newbury had often leisure to ask -why Mistress Avery remained so long a widow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sitting in her embowered porch, watching the -cavalcade of merchants, buffoons and jugglers, on -their way to the encampment and site of the morrow’s -revels, she attracted many a longing eye. The -merchant, whose wandering vocation led him from -ancient Byzantium to the shores of the Thames, who -came to Newbury to exchange rich silks and foreign -jewelry for broadcloth, as he rode by the capacious -square tenement, with its deep, embayed windows -of dark chesnut-wood, and caught a glimpse of the -fair owner, sighed when contrasting his own desolate, -wandering lot with that of the fortunate wooer of the -rich, comely widow. Mistress Avery was relict of -the richest clothier of Newbury, who, dying, left her -in sole possession of looms, lands, tenements and -leases. Handsome, young, brisk, with riches unquestionable, -she attracted tender regards from all -quarters—even the proud gentry of Berkshire, with -genealogical tree rooting from Norman marauder, -far back as the conquest, disdained not an alliance -garnished with broad manors, woods of a century’s -growth, and goodly array of tenements, of which -our widow held fee-simple. But when pressed successively -by belted knight and worshipful esquire, -she courteously declined their offers, alleging she -was bent on marrying one of her own class in life, -(if she should change condition,) one who could take -upon himself, without degradation, the task of superintending -the looms. High born swains repulsed, the -field was open to gallants of lowlier rank. But these -faring no better, and incurring the ridicule of neighbors, -suitors became shy and reserved, seeking to -extract token of favor ere they avowed themselves. -If the curate called, ’twas merely an inquiry after -her soul’s health—the inquiry perhaps linked to a request -that she would, from her stores of boundless -wealth, add a trifle to the contributions of the poor’s -box. The lawyer had his ever ready and undeniable -excuses for visiting—leases there were to sign, indentures -to cancel. Nor was the tailor barred his -plea—was there not much broadcloth yearly fashioned -into apparel for lusty serving-man, active apprentice?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Behind Mistress Avery, as she sat gazing at the -straggling pageantry, there loitered in hall and doorway -the apprentices and domestic servants of the -household. Distinguished amongst his companions, -by superior stature, stood John Winehcomb, chief -apprentice. To him the widow oft turned with remark -on passing stranger; the soft regard thrown -into her address would have excused boldness in -one far less favored by nature than the apprentice, -but his answers were submissive, modest, even bashful. -An acute observer might perhaps have detected -a shade of discontent on the widow’s handsome features, -perhaps, as fancifully, attributed it to the coyness -and reserve of young Winehcomb; and, indeed, -as revolving months lengthened the period of widowhood, -there had not been wanting whispers, that -’Prentice John stood a fairer chance with his mistress -than all the knights or reputable burgher citizens -and yeomen of the county. His appearance certainly -did not gainsay the rumor—he had completed his -twentieth year, health flushed his cheeks, honesty -and intelligence stamped his looks—the features -were bold and decided, though of modest expression. -In character, he was one of those gifted youths, in -whom strict attention and unvarying promptitude -supply the place of experience, and who acquire the -management and conduct of business, in ordinary -cases, rarely entrusted to men of mature years. The -clothier, when dying, recommended his spouse to -confide business affairs to John—she had done so; in -the factory and with the workmen ’Prentice John -was all and everything—from his word ’twas useless -to appeal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But when young Winehcomb’s credit with Mistress -Avery was canvassed, the gossips were at a loss to -affix on decisive marks of favor or tenderness. ’Tis -true, he accompanied her to church, but so did the -other apprentices—walked by her side, sat next his -mistress during prayers, his arm was accepted, his -hand arranged the cushions—but then, was he not -chief apprentice, would it not be slighting to prefer -the services of a junior? Look narrowly at his -conduct—there were none of the characteristics of a -favored swain, no semblance of behavior indicating -one presumptuous of the honor, nor could the absence -of these tokens be attributed to natural timidity in -the presence of the sex, for at country meetings and -fairs, where hoydenish romping was the usual diversion -of youth, John participated in rustic gallantries. -Yet, sooth to say, though the gossips were at fault, -they were not wrong in their conjectures; the widow -was deeply in love with ’Prentice John, for his sake -had dismissed high-born suitors, wealthy citizens, -and, we need hardly say, (though scrupulously regardful -of reputation,) had given him many hints, -which, alas! he was slow to understand. It might -be inexperience, want of self-confidence, or innate -modesty, which withheld the youth from tracing her -encouragement to its real motive; but from whatever -cause, Mistress Avery, who had a very high opinion -of her own personal attractions, knew he must be -perfectly well acquainted with her riches, was greatly -perplexed with his diffidence, his want of susceptibility, -and concluded the apprentice must be in love -elsewhere to withstand such allurements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One while, racked with jealousy, determined in -very spite and vexation to accept the offer of the first -suitor, the next hour affection gained the ascendancy, -and she resolved to declare her love. But pride took -fire and caused a tumult in the heart, of which young -Winehcomb, the unconscious origin, was little aware. -How provoking the calmness of his replies, the quiet -gaze which met her impassioned glance! Oft with -difficulty she refrained from bestowing a hearty cuff -on the cold youth, object of fond desire—as often, -and with greater difficulty, did she refrain from tenderer -salute. To-morrow shall put this wilful-headed -boy to the test! If his heart be engaged, it -is more than likely he has made an assignation, -which I will frustrate! So thought Mistress Avery, -revolving a scheme to bring young Diffidence on his -knees, or to a direct confession that he loved another. -Under pretence of making inquiries respecting the -description of merchandise then passing the house, -borne on a long train of pack-horses, under conduct -of merchants of foreign aspect, the widow beckoned -the apprentice (who was standing at respectful distance, -beneath the threshold, with his fellow apprentices) -to approach her chair, placed outside the house -under cover of the overarching porch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“John!” said the dame, fixing her large eyes on -the youth, “I warrant there is store enough of trinkets -and finery in yon bales to satisfy the wants of -every maiden in Newbury. Happy the youth whose -wages are unspent, for to-morrow, by ’r Lady! he -might buy the love of the most hard-hearted damsel. -Certes, no swain need die of love, if he have money -in his purse!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If the love were bought by those foreign pedlar -wares, it would not be much for a Newbury lad to -boast of,” replied the young man, blushing—for the -gaze of his mistress was keen and ardent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are the lads of Newbury then so disinterested, -Master John,” exclaimed the widow. “Well! I -will put one, at least, to the proof. I must walk -through the fair, if only to chat with my tenants’ -wives from Spene and Thatcham, and shall need -your protection, for these strange foreigners may be -rude, and Cicely is such a coward she would run -away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Avery was rather baffled by the result of her -own feint; for, contrary to expectation, she could -discover neither chagrin nor disappointment; the -apprentice answered cheerfully, he should be proud -to attend on his honored mistress, and would not forget -a good cudgel, more than a match for any -foreigner’s steel—nay, to ensure her from insult, he -would bring all his fellow apprentices. This was -more than the lady desired. She was again puzzled, -and declined, rather pettishly, the extra corps of -gallants, volunteered by the apprentice, more especially, -as she affirmed that it was contrary to the letter -and spirit of their indentures, which guaranteed -festival and fair-days to be at their own disposal. -But they would gladly abandon the privilege to do -her service, rejoined the pertinacious and simple -youth, with ill-timed assiduity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fool!” muttered the widow between her teeth, -but not so indistinctly as to pass unheard by the -apprentice, who immediately drew back abashed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A bright morrow gladdened the hearts of the good -folk of Newbury. The morn was occupied in the -sale and purchase of commodities—the staple article -of the town was readily exchanged for foreign merchandise, -or broad Spanish pieces, as suited the inclination -of the parties dealing. These were busy -hours for young Winehcomb and his associates, but -amply redeemed by the gayety and attractive dissipation -of the afternoon. In walking through the fair, -Mistress Avery leaned on the youth’s arm, an honor -envied the apprentice by many an anxious, would-be -suitor. Ere growing tired of the drollery of the jugglers, -mountebanks and buffoons, or the more serious -spectacle of the scenic moralites, they encountered -Master Luke Milner, the attorney, who thought the -opportunity should not be thrown away of endeavoring -to gain the widow’s good graces. Master Luke -believed his chance very fair—he was of good family, -on the youthful side of thirty, but exceedingly foppish, -after the style of the London gallants, but caricatured—too -many ribbons on doublet, too many -jewels on beaver, shoes garnished with roses large -as sunflowers. “The worshipful attorney will never -do for me,” thought Mistress Avery! She had often -thought so, and was blind to many courtesies and -compliments which the learned man ventured to -throw in with his legal opinions. But now she had -a part to play, a stratagem to practice on the feelings -of young Winehcomb. Love, like hunger, will -break through every restraint; she scrupled not -making the lawyer’s vanity subservient to her policy, -and, accordingly, listened to his flattery with more -than ordinary attention, keeping an eye, the while, -on ’Prentice John, to observe the effect of the -legal gallant’s honeyed speeches. Alas! for poor, -love-stricken Mistress Avery—no burning jealousy -flushed the cheek of John—lightened in his eye, or -trembled through his frame! Hearing the conversation -grow each moment more interesting and tender, -believing himself one too many, he politely retired to -a respectful distance. Was he so cold and insensible, -the handsome blockhead? soliloquized Mistress -Avery, heedless of the lawyer’s flowing speeches—I -will break the indentures—banish him the house! -The wretch!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not cold, not insensible, Mistress Avery, for see! -Even whilst he loiters, there approaches a party from -the village of Spene, with whom our apprentice is -intimate—he laughs, chats with the young men and -maidens, and finally, as the mirth grows more uproarious, -salutes a very handsome, fresh colored, -smart young damsel. The dame, who witnessed the -scene, stung with jealousy, believing her suspicions -confirmed, broke off abruptly, whilst Master Luke -was at the very <span class='it'>acme</span> of his tender theme; leaving -the astonished gallant, cap in hand, to the derision of -acquaintance, who sarcastically advised him to repair -the loss by writ of error.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Though the widow took no notice of the incident -which aroused her jealousy, John was made sensible -he had incurred her displeasure. She walked silent, -moody, reserved, scarcely replied to his remarks; -her large, dark eye flashed anger, but the apprentice, -though awed, was struck with its beauty, more struck -than he had ever been. It was a new sensation he -experienced. He inwardly deprecated the threatened -wrath, wondered by what sad mischance he had incurred -it, was more tremblingly alive to her resentment, -than when oft-times—during the course of apprenticeship—conscious -of deserving it. A strange, -uneasy feeling began to haunt him—he was sensible -of loss of favor, and though, after taxing memory, -unconscious of merited disgrace—was surprised, inquieted, -by the deep dejection of spirits under which -he labored. It seemed as though he had incurred a -loss, of which he knew not the extent till now. His -arm trembled, and she snappishly rebuked his unsteadiness; -he again encountered her glance—it was -wild, angry, fierce, yet he felt he could have looked -forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were opposite one of those temporary taverns, -erected for the accommodation of the higher classes -frequenting the fair—tricked out with gaudy splendor, -yet affording delicious viands, choice wines to wearied -strollers. It so happened that, passing by the -open doorway, their progress was arrested by Master -Nathaniel Buttress, the wealthy tanner—mean, -avaricious, advanced in years, yet ardently longing -to add the widow’s possessions to his own accumulated -riches. With studied bow, and precise flourish -of beaver, he bade Mistress Avery good day, and followed -up the salute by invitation to sip a glass of -sack, the fashionable beverage of the time. At fair-season, -there was not the slightest impropriety, either -in the offer, or its acceptation—it was quite in the -usual license of these festivals. But ’Prentice John -was doubly surprised; in the first place, that the -miserly tanner (his niggardliness was proverbial) -should have screwed up courage to treat any one with -the high-priced nectar—and that his arm, which he -gallantly offered, should have been accepted with -alacrity by the fair dame, who, our apprentice was -aware, had oft made devious circuits, on many -occasions, to elude a meeting. Young Winehcomb -found himself, lacquey-fashion, following in the rear. -He was deeply mortified—such circumstance had -never happened before—yet, though vexed, the annoyance -was only secondary to extreme surprise at -the character of his own feelings. He had valued -highly the good will, kind words, and occasional -gifts of the lady, as proofs of favor, founded on his -honesty, diligence and promptitude, or, at least, without -deeply analizing his feelings, believed that in -such spirit he received them. But now, smarting -under disgrace, it seemed as though lost favor was -dear for its own sake—bereft of smiles to which he -had been insensible till the present hour, he was unhappy, -miserable. ’Prentice John had great difficulty -in withholding his cudgel from the tanner’s back, but -though he gave him not a beating, he mentally promised -one. Master Buttress, elated with good fortune, -was more vain-glorious than cautious; unlike -prudent lover, uncertain of continuance of sudden -favor, dreading loss of vantage ground, snatched by -eager rivals, he escorted the dame to a conspicuous -seat, whence they could behold the fair, from whence -his favored lot was visible to all. The ready drawers, -ere ardor called, hastened to place before the guests -a tray laden with costly delicacies, crowned with -silver flagon full of the favorite potation. Young -Winehcomb, who sat apart, though partaking the -dainties, was maddened to behold his mistress listen -so complacently to the addresses of the veteran -suitor. Could she be serious? And if she were—what -then? Was she not absolute mistress of herself, -her wealth—and was he so specially concerned -in her choice? This self-questioning elicited the -conviction, startling though true, that he was deeply, -personally concerned. He was, then, undeniably in -love with his mistress! Was the passion of sudden -growth, the birth of the present hour? Alas! no—it -had been long smouldering unconsciously—nay, if -he doubted, memory flashed innumerable, though till -now, unnoticed facts proving its existence—and he -had foolishly let slip the golden chance of wooing -till too late—till his advantages were the prey of a -successful rival!—his own affection only brought to -light by the torch of jealousy. Such was the cruel, -torturing position of young Winehcomb. ’Twas -aggravated in being obliged to listen to the tanner’s -flattery, to witness its favorable reception. Nay, -worse—he became conscious that Mistress Avery -remarked his inquietude, his ill-suppressed hatred of -Master Nathaniel, as her eye was often for a moment -bent on him. He was convinced she took pleasure -in his torments, for on these occasions her manner—though -strictly within the rigid limits of propriety—invariably -was more marked and tender toward -the detested, fulsome niggard. He had heard, alas! -such was the custom of the sex. Often was ’Prentice -John resolved on leaving the lovers to their own -conversation, but restrained anger on reflecting it -was his duty to be present with and protect Mistress -Avery, till she quitted the fair and returned home. -Nor did he relish the notion of leaving the field altogether -to the tanner—jealousy united with sense of -duty in detaining the youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Master Buttress was in rare good humor; he could -not deem otherwise but that he was the fortunate, -chosen man, and he found leisure in the intervals of fits -of gallantry, to conjure flitting visions of broad manor -added to broad manor, tenement to tenement, and to -picture the future Master—nay, Worshipful Master -Nathaniel Buttress, richest gentleman in the county -of Berkshire. The only damp on his high spirits was -the present outlay; he had been drawn into expenses -far beyond usual habits; had never been guilty of -similar extravagance; the veriest prodigal of London -could not have ordered a more costly board; and -that tall, rosy-cheeked lad imbibed the precious sack -with the avidity of a sponge, and never looked a -tithe the better humored, but sat grinning menaces at -him—the donor of the feast! Well! well! all should -soon be remedied, and the disagreeable, lanky apprentice -turned adrift.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But who is that now passing the tavern; is it not -Master Luke Milner, the attorney? How enviously -he looks! he has the reputation of having pressed -hard his own suit, but in vain! If I invite him, he -will gladly come—drink the widow’s health—and it -will save me half the reckoning!” So reasoned the -tanner. The lawyer accepted the invitation, though -a slight shade of displeasure, he could not wholly -dispel, flushed his brow. Master Luke entered, -bowing lowly to the widow. Drawing a chair, near -as good manners admitted, to the fair dame, he carefully -deposited scented gloves and jeweled beaver -on adjoining bench, and, in sitting, showed anxiety -to display a trim foot, though rather overshadowed -by the large roses. The tanner soon perceived that -avarice had induced a grievous oversight, for the -widow was not quite won. It was both unaccountable -and annoying—how perverse these women are! -she seemed now disposed to extend as much favor to -Master Luke as she had previously exhibited to Master -Buttress. ’Prentice John was pleased and distressed -at the scene—glad of the tanner’s discomfiture, -he was enraged at the other’s success. The -elder suitor had shown indifference to the presence -of the apprentice, viewed him as a necessary appendage -to the widow’s state, or, at worst, a tax on his -purse to the extent of sack imbibed; but our lawyer, -nearer John’s own age, and gifted with keener eye -than his rival, liked not young Winehcomb’s vicinity, -his prying, resolute gaze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mistress Avery,” said the lawyer blandly, “our -young friend appears uneasy; nor do I wonder, for -more than once, in the fair, did I hear red, pouting -lips lament the absence of Jack Winehcomb. I pray -thee, suffer the lad to stroll where he lists; Master -Nathaniel and your unworthy servant, with permission, -will zealously protect the pride and boast of -Newbury.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If John had broken any engagement by attendance -on her, replied the dame—and a keen smile, part -malicious, part searching, lit up the widow’s features -as she gazed on the disconcerted youth—let him seek -Cicely, who was not far off, to take his place, and he -had full permission to absent himself. ’Prentice -John, though vexed and out of countenance, said he -had no other engagement than duty enjoined, and he -was entirely at his mistress’ command.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I must not spoil Cicely’s holiday,” remarked -the widow. The apprentice was doubtful -whether she spoke in displeasure or not—the tone of -voice and expression of countenance were equivocal. -A quiet smile, which played for an instant around -her mouth, when he declared he had no engagement, -presaged returning favor, but the horizon was again -clouded. Mistress Avery, turning to the gallants, -said the youth should have his own way, that for herself -she never found his presence irksome—he was -so stupid, she might talk treason in his company -without danger—what she was obliged to say was -generally misunderstood. Stupid! misunderstood! -Were there, in these words, more meant than met the -ear? Had he been so blind, so deaf? Meanwhile -the situation of the rivals was far from pleasant; the -tanner had introduced an enemy within the fortress, -whom he could neither dislodge nor compete with; -the lawyer was angry that he had not the field to -himself; whilst fair Mistress Avery, with impartial -justice, hung the scales of favor suspended. Neither -could now positively declare he was the chosen -swain. Half suppressed taunts, and sarcasm clothed -in ceremonious language, threatened more open -bickering, when Master Luke, with due regard to a -lady’s feelings, besought her to pardon their absence -for a few minutes, as he suddenly recollected an affair -important to the welfare of his friend, Master Buttress. -The dame was condescending, declared she -had too much regard for Master Nathaniel to deem -their absence a slight, under the circumstances; so -the lawyer, affecting to produce a leathern note-case, -retired with his rival. The apprentice felt his situation -awkward, but he was presently relieved; Mistress -Avery bade him follow the gentlemen unperceived, -and if they drew weapons, or otherwise exhibited -hostilities, immediately interfere to prevent -mischief. Concealed by the angle of a canvass booth, -he listened, unseen, to the wordy strife. The lawyer -was cool, sarcastic, overbearing; the tanner, fiery -and threatening. Presuming on youth, good figure, -and flowing rhetoric, the former contemned the pretensions -of the elder rival, whom he affirmed had -nothing to recommend him but wealth not needed; -why, therefore, pursue a rivalry, when he could not -lay claim to one certain token of affection? And the -man of law began enumerating the distinguishing -marks of favor which Dame Avery, spite of prudent, -cautious, self-restraint, could not avoid exhibiting as -soon as he entered the tavern. The tanner’s replication -was in the same style. If these be marks of -affection, thought the listener, what would they say -to my pretensions if I told all? And ’Prentice John, -as he listened and commented on what he heard, -grew a wiser, more knowing youth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If thou wert a younger man, Master Nathaniel,” -said the lawyer, “there would be no need for these -mutual taunts. We have a readier mode of settling—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curse thy youth, and thee too,” exclaimed the -tanner; “ ’cause thou art a vain, braggart fop, with -thy galloon and thy large cabbage roses, think’st -to brave it over me?—there!—and there!” And so -saying, the valiant tanner dealt successive cuffs on -Master Luke’s doublet, and drawing weapon, awaited -the attack. Their rapiers—for the tanner, though -following a handicraft, yet, as owning broad lands, -deemed himself entitled to wear a weapon and -dub himself gentleman—immediately crossed, but -the alert apprentice, with stout cudgel, threw himself -between and struck down their guard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good sirs! good sirs! forbear!” cried one hastening -to assist young Winehcomb. ’Twas the curate -of Spene. The belligerents immediately sheathed -their weapons, muttering future vengeance. The -holy man requested to know the cause of quarrel, -and offered to act as umpire. This, after demur and -consideration, was agreed to. Hearing each in turn, -he proposed, as more becoming their respective -characters than fighting, that the case should be stated -to Mistress Avery—the election left to the fair widow. -As each deemed himself the favored candidate, and, -indeed, with good cause, for our dame had been -gracious to both, the curate’s proposal was accepted, -and his eloquence solicited to open the pleadings. -The party thereupon returned to the tavern, the apprentice -not the least interested actor in the drama.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The curate of Spene, though grave and sententious, -threw into his speech an under current of humor and -<span class='it'>bonhommie</span>, which touched off the pretensions of each -suitor with dramatic effect and felicity. Neither -could question his impartiality, nor had he, as he -affirmed, secret preponderance either way; both -were esteemed friends, both had received the offices -of the church at his hands, both had listened to his -Sabbath exhortations. Which of the twain reigned -in the lady’s heart, to him he should offer congratulation; -to the other he could fairly say, that he merited -the honor for which he had unsuccessfully striven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause, a deep silence. The blushing -widow must now speak, declare herself, decide her -own fate, and with it the fortunes of the suitors. How -ardently did ’Prentice John long for one of the many -opportunities of pleading his passion, oft thrown in -his way, so heedlessly neglected! Would she indeed -make an election? then, farewell, Newbury! in some -far distant land would he hide his disgrace, forget -his folly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mistress Avery said the gentlemen had certainly -given her cause long to remember Newbury Fair; -yet they could not expect her mind made up on so -momentous a question of a sudden; besides, it was -now Wednesday, which had ever been an unlucky -day with the Averys, but to-morrow (Thursday) week -they should have a decisive answer—her preference -made known—provided, and it was the only stipulation -besides secrecy, they both refrained pressing -their amorous suits in the interim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So ended the conference, and as the rivals, with -the curate, gallantly bade the lady adieu (having promised -obedience in every particular) ’Prentice John, -in a paroxysm of anger and remorse, made firm resolve -that he would challenge to mortal combat the -favored suitor, beat him within an inch of life if he -refused to fight, upbraid the widow for secretly fomenting -a passion which she laughed at, and flee, -forever, the town of Newbury.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You forget, John, I shall need your arm through -the press,” exclaimed the dame reproachfully. The -apprentice started; he had been leaning against the -bench, lost in bitter reverie; he saw not his mistress -was waiting. Uttering an indistinct apology, he escorted -the lady from the tavern in time to witness that -the tanner had been sufficiently adroit to palm off -half the expense of the entertainment on his rival. -Whether this was omen of higher fortune, the sequel -will show.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They scarcely spoke during the remainder of the -walk, nor even after reaching home. ’Prentice John -was reserved, melancholy, brooding over bitter reflections; -the dame, sly, observant, oft casting furtive -glances at young Winehcomb, seemingly, as he -thought, indulging secret pleasure on beholding his -misery. On the morrow they were together in the -compting-room; it was his duty to produce entries -of the bales of cloth sold during the business-period -of the Fair; to account for the same in bullion, or -according to the terms of sale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These for thyself, John,” said the widow, placing -a few gold pieces on the table, whilst she proceeded -to place, under triple lock, the remainder. They remained -untouched. The third lock of the huge iron -chest duly shot, the dame arose, was surprised on -beholding the money still lying unappropriated; John -looking like man under sentence of death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have I grown niggardly, Master Winehcomb?” -exclaimed the widow, “speak, if you would have -more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John replied by asking if she thought the ten pieces -sufficient to equip him, and pay passage to Cadiz, -where he heard an expedition was fitting out, in which -many Englishmen had volunteered. Mistress Avery, -with a calmness which confirmed his despair, replied -in the negative, but demanded why he should think -of starting for Cadiz, ere, indeed, his indentures were -determined. The apprentice declared wildly, if she -married either tanner or lawyer, he would depart, -even with no more than the ten pieces, and for his -reasons—he was not then sufficiently master of himself -to detail them!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, John,” said the widow, in a tone of expostulation, -whilst a smile lurked in the eyes and round -the mouth, “what am I to do if I say No? they press -me so hard!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Newbury apprentice, at his mistress’ feet, -taught the answer she should give. On the following -Monday, Master John Winehcomb was united in -marriage with Mistress Avery—the wedding celebrated -by the grandest entertainment ever beheld in -the county of Berkshire, the fame whereof spread -even as far as the court of bluff Harry. If lacking -splendor in any particular, the omission was owing -to the short time for preparation, as no expense was -spared. The unfortunate suitors, of course, understood -the affair from common report, and thought it -unnecessary to seek their fate at the widow’s domicil, -when they could learn it from every man, -woman and child in the town. They were invited -to the wedding feast, but wisely declined, as the story -of their strange wooing was already abroad.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the custom, in those days, for the bridegroom -to salute the bride on the cheek, in the church, -after the ceremony was performed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you are ready to swear, Master John,” -whispered the dame as the bridegroom approached, -“that you never saw that damsel before Fair-day, -whom you kissed at the Fair?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—nor since!” replied he, believing it a hint -for his future conduct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Master Winehcomb lived happily—his wealth increased -so quickly, with the increasing demand for -the staple article of Newbury, that when the Earl of -Surrey marched against James the Fourth of Scotland, -who was then ravaging the borders, the rich -clothier accompanied the expedition with a retinue -of one hundred servants and artisans, clothed and -armed at his own expense. The memory of John -Winehcomb and his rich and handsome spouse was -long preserved in their native town.</p> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><h1><a id='son'></a>SONNETS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MISS ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                I.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;</p> -<p class='line0'>That only men incredulous of despair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air</p> -<p class='line0'>Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access</p> -<p class='line0'>Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness</p> -<p class='line0'>In hearts, as countries, lieth silent, bare</p> -<p class='line0'>Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare</p> -<p class='line0'>Of the free chartered heavens. Be still! express</p> -<p class='line0'>Grief for thy dead in silence like to Death!</p> -<p class='line0'>Most like a monumental statue set</p> -<p class='line0'>In everlasting watch and moveless wo,</p> -<p class='line0'>Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.</p> -<p class='line0'>Touch it, spectator! Are its eyelids wet?</p> -<p class='line0'>If it could weep it could arise and go!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                II.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When some belovéd voice, which was to you</p> -<p class='line0'>Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,</p> -<p class='line0'>And silence against which you dare not cry</p> -<p class='line0'>Aches round you with an anguish dreadly new—</p> -<p class='line0'>What hope, what help? What music will undo</p> -<p class='line0'>That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh,</p> -<p class='line0'>Not reason’s labored proof, not melody</p> -<p class='line0'>Of viols, nor the dancers footing through;</p> -<p class='line0'>Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose hearts leap upward from the cypress trees</p> -<p class='line0'>To Venus’ star! nor yet the spheric laws</p> -<p class='line0'>Self-chanted—nor the angels’ sweet “all hails,”</p> -<p class='line0'>Met in the smile of God! Nay, none of these!</p> -<p class='line0'>Speak, Christ at His right hand, and fill this pause.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                III.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil!</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines</p> -<p class='line0'>For all the heat o’ the sun, till it declines,</p> -<p class='line0'>And Death’s mild curfew shall from work assoil.</p> -<p class='line0'>God did anoint thee with his odorous oil</p> -<p class='line0'>To wrestle, not to reign—and he assigns</p> -<p class='line0'>All thy tears over like pure crystallines</p> -<p class='line0'>Unto thy fellows, working the same soil.</p> -<p class='line0'>To wear for amulets. So others shall</p> -<p class='line0'>Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand,</p> -<p class='line0'>From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,</p> -<p class='line0'>And God’s grace fructify through thee to all!</p> -<p class='line0'>The least flower with a brimming cup may stand</p> -<p class='line0'>And share its dew-drop with another near.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>                IV.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel</p> -<p class='line0'>A pleasant song, ballad or barcarolle,</p> -<p class='line0'>She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel</p> -<p class='line0'>Is full, and artfully her fingers feel,</p> -<p class='line0'>With quick adjustment, provident control,</p> -<p class='line0'>The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll,</p> -<p class='line0'>Out to the perfect thread. I hence appeal</p> -<p class='line0'>To the dear Christian church—that we may do</p> -<p class='line0'>Our Father’s business in these temples mirk,</p> -<p class='line0'>So swift and steadfast, so intent and strong—</p> -<p class='line0'>While so, apart from toil, our souls pursue</p> -<p class='line0'>Some high, calm, spheric tune—proving our work</p> -<p class='line0'>The better for the sweetness of our song.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonn'></a>SONNET.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I dreamed last night, that I myself did lay</p> -<p class='line0'>Within the grave—and after stood and wept—</p> -<p class='line0'>My spirit sorrowed where its ashes slept—</p> -<p class='line0'>’Twas a strange dream, and yet meseems it may</p> -<p class='line0'>Prefigure that which is akin to truth—</p> -<p class='line0'>How sorrow we o’er perish’d dreams of youth!</p> -<p class='line0'>High hopes, and aspirations doom’d to be</p> -<p class='line0'>Crush’d, and o’er-mastered by earth’s destiny!</p> -<p class='line0'>Fame, that the spirit loathing turns to ruth—</p> -<p class='line0'>And that deluding faith so loath to part,</p> -<p class='line0'>That earth will shrine for us one kindred heart;</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, ’tis the ashes of such things, that wring</p> -<p class='line0'>Tears from the eyes! Hopes like to these depart,</p> -<p class='line0'>And we bow down in dread, o’er-shadowed by death’s wing.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><h1><a id='mal'></a>MALINA GRAY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ANN S. STEPHENS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'>(Concluded from page 278.)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“I sigh when all my youthful friends caress—</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  They laugh in health, and future evils brave;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Love has for them a gentle power to bless,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  While I shall moulder in my silent grave.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>God of the just, thou gavest the bitter cup,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>We had penetrated to the depth of the pine grove, -and it was difficult to find our way out through the -tangled undergrowth and the unequal hollows; but -Malina had become thoughtful for others once more, -and though excitement no longer made her own progress -easy, she guarded me with double care; lifted -me over the hollows and carried me in her arms -when the thickets were too intricate or the ground -very uneven. She kissed me as we reached a foot-path -which led to our cottage, and, pointing to the -door, would have left me to go home alone; but when -she saw that I was troubled regarding my torn frock, -kindness of heart prompted her to come back. She -led me to the house, explained my misfortune, and -went away. I sat down on the door-sill and watched -her till she entered the portico of her mother’s dwelling, -and when they remarked on her dejected looks, -and questioned me of the cause, I answered that Malina -was tired with walking so long in the woods, -for it seemed as if the tears which I had seen her -shed and the passionate words which she had uttered -were a secret which I should do wrong to mention.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In about an hour Phebe Gray and our young minister -stopped at the door-yard gate to inquire for Malina. -I told them that she had gone home, and when -Mr. Mosier lifted me in his arms, and, looking into -my face, asked what I had been crying about, I -turned my head away to evade his kiss and besought -him to set me down. The contrast between his -happy face, the deep and almost brilliant expression -of joy which lighted it up, and the sorrowful look of -poor Malina forced itself even on my childish mind. -I felt that which I had no power to comprehend, and -from that time never loved our minister nor Phebe -Gray as I had loved them. They walked home very -slowly, she leaning on his arm with an air of dependence -and trustfulness which was full of feeling -and feminine delicacy; he would check their progress -every few moments to point out some familiar -beauty in the landscape, as if they had never looked -upon it before. They loitered by the rock spring, -and along the river road, tranquil in their happiness, -till the dusk almost concealed them as they entered -Mrs. Gray’s house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Almost every evening, for a week, our minister -and Phebe Gray took their walk around the pine -grove, and always alone. Malina was confined to -the house. She had taken cold, Mrs. Gray said, and -the night air was bad for her lungs. But often, when -her sister was loitering along the river’s bank, happy -in the wealth of her newly aroused affections, Malina -might be seen at her chamber window, with her -cheek languidly supported by a hand which was becoming -thinner each day, and gazing earnestly after -the two beings dearest to her on earth, but whose -happiness she could not witness without emotions -that were well nigh killing her. Her mother saw -nothing of this. She only knew that Malina was -quieter than usual and not very well, that her eyes -were heavy and her step languid as she moved around -the house. She did not see the heart struggling -against itself, the stern principle which grew strong -in the contest. She never dreamed of that desolate -and lonely sensation which haunted her daughter’s -pillow with watchfulness, and made her waking -hours a season of trial cruel as the grave. She saw -that Malina was strangely affected; true, she smiled -still, but it was meekly, sadly, and it seemed as if -the music of her laugh was exhausted forever; her -eyes grew misty and sorrowful in their expression, -and tears would sometimes fill them without apparent -cause. Still it was gravely asserted that Malina -had only a slight cold, a nervous attack which would -go off in a day or two! But there was something in -her illness which Phebe could not comprehend; a -wish for solitude, and a strange nervous dread of -any thing like intimate conversation with herself, -which prevented an acknowledgment of her own -deep causes of happiness. Her sensitive modesty -made her desirous of some encouragement to unburden -her heart of its wealth of hope even to her -sister, and when she saw that Malina shunned her, -that her eyes had a wandering and estranged look -whenever they turned upon her face, she felt checked -and almost repulsed in her confidence. If any thing -could have disturbed the pure happiness which -reigned in her bosom, it would have been this extraordinary -mood in one who had from childhood shared -every thought and wish almost as soon as it was -formed. It had a power to disturb, though it could -not entirely destroy the tranquillity of her mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will talk with her about it to-night,” murmured -Phebe, as she opened her chamber door one evening, -after a long conversation with Mr. Mosier in the -portico. “I wish, though, she would ask some question, -or even look curious to know what keeps us -together so much; I little thought to have kept a -secret from Malina so long.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As these thoughts passed through her mind, Phebe -Gray gathered up the bed-drapery, and lying down -by her sister, passing an arm caressingly over her -waist, laid her blushing cheek against the now pallid -face which rested on the pillow. She felt that tears -were upon it, and that the snowy linen under her -head was wet as if Malina had cried herself to sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Malina, wake up a minute, I have something to -tell you,” murmured the young girl, in a low, half -timid whisper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moonbeams lay full upon the bed, and Phebe -Gray was looking earnestly in the face of the beautiful -sleeper. She could see the silken lashes quivering -on her cheek, and a tremulous motion of the lips, -nay, it seemed to her as if a single tear broke through -the lashes and rolled over the pale cheek, and she -was certain that something like a faint shudder crept -through the form which was half circled by her arm. -But Malina gave no answer, and the gentle questioner -was too sensitive for another effort to win attention. -She quietly laid her head on the pillow and sunk to -sleep, but not to indulge in the sweet, unbroken dream -of happiness which had shed roses over her couch so -many nights. There was sadness at heart, a presentiment -of coming ill, and a solicitude regarding -her sister which kept her anxious and rendered her -slumber broken and unrefreshing. About midnight, -when the stillness of her chamber rendered every -sound more than usually audible, she was disturbed -by the broken and half stifled sobs which arose from -her sister’s pillow. Again she stole her arm over -the weeping girl, and questioned her regarding the -source of her grief. Malina only turned her face -away, and sobbed more bitterly than before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why will you not speak to me, Malina? what -has come between us of late?—speak to me, sister—you -are in sorrow, and I have—oh how much—cause -for joy! yet we have all at once learned to conceal -thoughts from one another. Tell me what troubles -you—for I cannot be entirely happy while you are ill -and so sad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina redoubled her sobs, but amid the tumult of -her grief she murmured, “Tell me all, Phebe, all you -feel, all you wish; but I have no secrets, no sorrow. -There is a little pain in my side, sometimes, and that -makes me low spirited. I have always been so -healthy, you know, that a little illness frightens me. -Do not mind me, but talk of yourself. You are happy, -Phebe, <span class='it'>very</span> happy! were not those your words? -tell me all—I can be glad and rejoice in any thing -that gives you pleasure—any thing on earth—if my -heart were breaking. So let us talk it all over now, -the room is so quiet and dark, and we shall neither -of us get sleepy—do you think we shall, sister?—you -may, but I have almost forgotten how to sleep,” and, -as Malina ceased speaking, she stole an arm around -her sister’s neck, and, choking back her sobs, composed -herself to listen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe rose up in the bed, gathered the drapery -around them, for the moonbeams were bright enough -to reveal her blushes, and, sinking to her pillow, -again murmured the story of her love, its return, and -all the bright anticipations that made her future so -beautiful. Malina nerved herself to listen; she uttered -no word of distrust, and checked all manifestations -of discontent by a strong effort of self-control, -when all was told—when she was made certain that -her sister and the only being she had ever regarded -with more than a sister’s love, were to be married—that -their wedding day was fixed, and, that the mother’s -sanction had already been granted—she remained -silent for a moment, and strove to gain the -mastery over her feelings. When she spoke, her -frame shook with the bitter emotions which could -not be altogether subdued, but her voice was low -and very calm. Mr. Mosier was poor, and Phebe -not yet of age. If he were installed in the old meeting-house, -they would be compelled to live with Mrs. -Gray till something could be saved from his small -salary to purchase a dwelling and begin housekeeping. -This thought caused some anxiety to the engaged -couple. The young clergyman had learned something -of Mrs. Gray’s real character, and was reluctant -to erect his domestic altar beneath her tyrannical -auspices. Phebe, too, longed for a quiet home -of her own, a happy, free home, where she might -follow her own innocent impulses, unchecked and -without fear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall have that home, my sister,” said Malina -Gray, twining her arms around her companion, -and kissing her with a gush of true affection; “there -is the old parsonage house; you shall have that, and -the money which dear minister Brown left to me; -all are yours and <span class='it'>his</span>. You will be happy there—very -happy. I know he loved the old place. Now, -good night, Phebe; let us go to sleep!” and with a -low gasping sob, which was not the less painful that -it gave no sound, Malina turned away her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe was too disinterested and high-minded herself, -for a thought of refusing Malina’s generosity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shall, indeed, be happy,” she said; “you -will come and live with us, and by the time you are -married, we shall have saved enough to pay all the -money back again. You <span class='it'>will</span> live with us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina thought of the quiet grave-yard, which -could be seen from the parsonage window, and answered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall want no other home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe talked on, more cheerfully than usual, and -when her sister did not answer, she thought her -asleep; but Malina had fainted, and lay senseless -upon her pillow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was soon rumored through the village that our -new minister was engaged to Phebe Gray, and every -body was delighted with the match. Phebe was just -the creature for a clergyman’s wife, quiet and gentle, -with manners that gave dignity to the softness of her -disposition. In the general satisfaction which reigned -in the village, Malina was quite overlooked. Her -change of appearance was imputed to sadness at -parting with her sister; and, at times, when the wedding -was talked of in her presence, the rich color -which burned over her cheeks, the brilliancy of her -eyes, and the flashes of wild merriment that sprung -to her lips, deceived the unobserving into a belief of -her entire happiness. She spent much of her time at -the old parsonage, superintending the arrangements -of her sister’s home with a degree of taste and energy -which surprised all who witnessed her exertions. -The rooms were all newly arranged, delicate paper -was purchased at New Haven for the walls, new -stepping stones were laid at the front door, green -blinds gave a look of elegance and seclusion to the -windows; the profuse rose bushes and lilac trees -were pruned, and a white picket-fence hedged in -the little wilderness of flowers which blossomed in -the front yard. The cabinet maker, on School -Hill, was busy with the furniture, all of a superior -kind. The carpet-weaver had borrowed two <span class='it'>quill-wheels</span>, -and all the spools, for a mile round, in order -to expedite the progress of sixty yards of striped carpeting -through his cumbrous loom. The house and -its adornments were to be comfortable and elegant -beyond any thing that had been known in our village -for a long time; and all was Malina’s work. Her -untiring assiduity created the little paradise which -another was to enjoy. Her money purchased the -books which filled the little study, whose window -opened upon the most verdant corner of the orchard. -Her trembling hands placed a new inlaid flute on the -little table, and drew the easy chair close by, that the -bridegroom might find every thing ready and home-like -in his new dwelling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One afternoon Malina was left alone; the workmen -had departed to their suppers, and her task was -finished for the day. She had just hung the pet robin -in his old place by the dining-room window; he -seemed to recognize the room, and flew about his -cage, chirping and fluttering his wings, as if to thank -her for bringing him home once more. It was the -first hour of repose that Malina had known for many -weeks, and now, that she had nothing more to perform, -painful thoughts and regrets that would no -longer be stifled, fell back upon her heart, and she -was, oh, how desolate! There, in her blooming -youth, she sat hopeless and weary of life—for what -is life to a woman without affection? The heart -was full of warm and generous feelings, burthened -with a wealth of tenderness, and yet she had no -future, nothing to hope for, nothing to dread; her -destiny seemed consummated there and then. Youth -is in itself so hopeful, that we can scarcely imagine -a creature in the first bud of life yearning for the -grave. But Malina was very sad. She looked through -the open door into the orchard; the green old apple -trees were heavy with blossoms, and through the -garniture of thrifty leaves, and the rosy shower which -blushed among them, a corner of the old meeting-house -met her gaze—a portion of the grave-yard, and -a new tomb-stone, which gleamed out from the young -grass which had already started up from our minister’s -death place. How green and quiet it looked—and -oh, how earnestly Malina Gray longed to lie -down in that still spot, and be at rest. Yet Malina -was young, and no human being dreamed how -wretched she was. The orchard was full of singing -birds that day, and there had been a time when the -gush of sweet sounds, that rose and swelled amid the -foliage, would have made her heart leap, but now it -filled her eyes with tears. The sunshine that played -and quivered among the leaves—the wind that now -and then gushed through the heavy boughs, scattering -the grass with rosy flakes, and sighing as it swept -off to the open plain—all seemed a mockery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was heart sick, and yearned to die. How -cruel is that power by which a broken heart draws -thoughts of sadness from the sweet and beautiful -things of nature. Malina gazed through her tears at -the change her own hands had wrought. The unseemly -plantains had disappeared from the back -door-step, and around the well-curb a bed of valley-lilies -were just forming their pearly buds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They will be in blossom for Phebe’s hair,” murmured -the young girl, “and for mine—for am I not to -be bridemaid?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a mournful smile gleaming through her tears, -Malina arose, and tying on her bonnet, left the house. -She met Phebe and Mr. Mosier near the front gate. -They were sauntering toward their new dwelling, -tranquil and happy; to them, every thing whispered -of joy; the fragrant orchard, the birds caroling within -its shadows, and all the beautiful landscape were full -of pleasant associations. Every hope and thought in -<span class='it'>their</span> bosoms blossomed in unison with nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How true it is that thought and feeling, like the -sun, give color to outward things. The heart creates -its own sunshine, or the cloud through which nature -is revealed to it. Phebe Gray and her betrothed -husband felt nothing but the sweet and the beautiful—their -hearts were brimful of sunshine. But, alas, -for Malina, she looked through the cloud.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina walked on. The two contented beings by -the gate were happy enough without her. She strove -to smile cheerfully as they spoke to her, and in a tone -of forced playfulness forbade them entering the house -till their wedding day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had gathered beneath the roof of that old -parsonage house many luxuries almost unknown in -the neighborhood; every thing calculated to gratify -the fine taste of the young divine, or add to the comfort -of her sister, had been unsparingly purchased, -till her patrimony was almost exhausted. While -this duty lasted, and the excitement of action was -upon her, Malina sustained the burthen of her sorrows -with an aching, but firm heart. She had taken -no time for thought—scarcely for tears—but worked -on, as if toiling through a feverish dream. Her -cheeks were always flushed, and sometimes the -music of her laugh rang loud and strangely through -the bridal chamber which she was decorating; but -the companions who assisted her were often startled -by the reckless tone of her laugh; it was too absent -and wild for happiness or merriment, entirely deficient -in that low, rich melody, which had once -made her voice so full of healthy joy. Yet all the -neighbors were commenting on her generous conduct, -and the brilliancy of her spirits; and it was -often remarked that Malina Gray was never so fond -of company, so careless in her mirth, or so startling -in her wit, as she had been since the engagement of -her sister, and since she had recovered from the -slight cold which confined her to the house when -that engagement was first whispered in the village.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To a heart capable of self-sacrifice, there is no -feeling so lonely as that which follows exhausted -power. No conviction, so keenly painful, as a -knowledge that a beloved being, who has cost us -the hopes of a life in resigning, can be happy without -our aid—that we have nothing to render up—no -aim for exertion—nothing to do but sit down and -gaze upon the blank which existence has become. -Her task was done. The excitement over, and then -came to the heart of Malina Gray the toil and pain -of concealed suffering; the aching restlessness which -eats into the bud of human life. Once more it was -rumored that she was ill, and, but for other and more -absorbing subjects, Mrs. Gray might have been -alarmed for the safety of her child; but she was so -intent on other things, that the poor girl and her sufferings -remained unheeded at home, save by the -gentle Phebe and her betrothed husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Mrs. Gray invited our young minister to reside -at her house, it was probably with some vague -expectation of the result which followed; and when -her consent was desired to his union with Phebe, it -was given promptly, and with evident satisfaction. -But the young divine, though a meek and true Christian, -had a dignity of character and opinion which -sometimes proved at variance with the exactions of -an ambitious and arbitrary matron. She had expected -that he would continue to reside in her -family, after the marriage, and looked forward to -an extended dominion in her own household, and -increased influence in the church, to be secured by -this arrangement. But when he persisted in establishing -an independent home, in managing his own -salary, and becoming the sole protector of his future -wife, whose state of moral servitude he could not -witness without pain, Mrs. Gray’s enthusiasm in -favor of the match gradually subsided, and when -Malina insisted upon surrendering her newly acquired -property to the young couple, and giving -them the parsonage for a residence, the haughty -woman became stern in her opposition, and while -she took every means to render her own house an -unpleasant residence for the parties, found some excuse -to delay the wedding, from week to week, and -at last refused to sanction it, till Mr. Mosier should -be regularly installed in the pulpit, which he had -now filled almost a year. Still Mrs. Gray was not -a woman to talk openly of a change in her opinions. -She was too calculating and subtle for useless words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It had been settled in church council, that our -young minister should be installed a few weeks after -the time appointed for his marriage, and the young -couple submitted to the imposed delay without a -murmur. During these intervening weeks, and -while Malina was occupied in embellishing the parsonage, -Mrs. Gray was observed to be absent from -home more frequently than usual. There was -scarcely an influential church member near the old -meeting-house, with whom she had not taken her -knitting work, to spend a social afternoon; and -several tea-parties were given in a quiet way at her -own house, where she presided over the silver tea-urn, -and old fashioned china, with more than ordinary -condescension and dignity. But these were all -impromptu meetings, and invariably took place -when Mr. Mosier and Phebe were invited elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The parents of our young minister were aged and -very respectable farmers, residing in the vicinity of -New Haven; but they were far from wealthy, and -the farm they cultivated was not their own property. -A week before the Sabbath appointed for the installation, -Mr. Mosier accompanied his intended bride -and her mother on a visit to his parents, where the -haughty matron first learned that the man whom her -daughter was about to marry had been a <span class='it'>charity -student</span>. A benevolent society had paid his tuition -at Yale College, at least that portion which he had -been unable to meet by his own exertions. There -had been no concealment of this truth on his part, for -he had informed Phebe of the matter, and believed -Mrs. Gray already aware of it. But Phebe, in the -generous simplicity of her heart, never conceived it -possible that the manner of his education could be -deemed a cause of reproach, and it had left no impression -on her mind; to her upright understanding -there was no degradation in the thought that her -lover had been a <span class='it'>charity student</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray gave no demonstration of the displeasure -which filled her bosom on receiving this intelligence, -but she quietly made an excuse for returning -home with her daughter the next day, and, with every -appearance of disinterested kindness, insisted that -Mr. Mosier should not interrupt his visit to accompany -them. “She could easily drive home,” she -said, “the horse was gentle, and the roads perfectly -good; her son-in-law must remain with his family; -it would be cruel to force him away so abruptly.” -Mrs. Gray said all this in her usual manner, shook -hands with the old people, allowed the young divine -to assist her into the chaise, and pretended to be -very intently occupied in searching for something in -her traveling basket, while he placed Phebe in her -seat, and, with her slender hand clasped in his own, -was whispering his farewell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Remember, and be in readiness next Sabbath,” -he said, in a low voice, “tell Malina that she must -take good care of you. I shall come on Saturday -evening.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe murmured that she would be ready; but as -she returned the farewell clasp of his hand, tears -started to her eyes. She could not have told the -reason, but a strange feeling of melancholy came -over her, and it seemed as if the parting were forever. -She looked back as the chaise drove away—he -was standing on the door step by his parents, and -the whole group waved their hands, smiling cheerfully, -as they saw her turn for a last glance. But -still her heart was heavy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What passed between Mrs. Gray and her daughter -during their drive home, we have no means of -recording. But as Malina sat in her chamber window, -and saw the chaise toiling up the hill that afternoon, -her sister leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse -of her face. It was white as marble, and stained -with tears. Malina had been ill, but she started up, -hastily girded her white morning wrapper to her -waist, and went down. Mrs. Gray loitered to give -some directions to the “hired man” about her horse, -and Phebe was descending from the chaise without -assistance. The moment her foot touched the earth, -she tottered, and would have fallen but for Malina, -who sprang forward, and flinging her arms around -her, inquired eagerly and kindly what had befallen -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe attempted to speak, but the words died on -her lips, and the color left them; she lifted her hand -as if to grasp at something for support, and fainted in -her sister’s arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother, what is the matter?—where is Mr. -Mosier?—tell me, pray tell me, what has made poor -Phebe so ill, and why is she looking so wretched?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray turned, and saw that her child was -senseless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go and bring some water,” she said to the man, -“carry that basket in with you, and make haste. -Raise her head a little, you are crushing her bonnet,” -she continued, turning to Malina; “there, -take it off—she will come to, directly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she spoke, Mrs. Gray calmly untied her daughter’s -bonnet, and held it till the man came with water, -while Malina stood trembling beneath the weight of -the fainting girl, tenderly smoothing back the bright -tresses from her forehead, and wildly kissing her -pale lips, amid a thousand vague questions, which -no one thought of answering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray took a pitcher of water from the man, -who came panting from the well, and laving her -hands in it, laid them on the pale face which Malina -was still covering with tears and kisses. There was -a faint struggle, a gasping sigh, and after a little -Phebe began to murmur upon her sister’s bosom, -like one just awaking from a dream. She shrunk -from her mother, when that stubborn woman would -have assisted her to rise, and clinging to Malina, -walked with trembling steps toward the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, not there—up, to our own room, Malina,” -said the poor girl, as her sister would have led her -into the parlor. She was obliged to sit down more -than once in ascending the stairs; and when at -length Malina laid her upon the bed in their own -dear room, she looked sadly around, and reaching -up her arms, clasped the bending neck of her sister, -and began to weep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must never see him again—never—never,” she -said, while her voice was broken with tears; “oh, -Malina, did you think any human being could be so -cruel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina started, and for one instant a flash of pleasure -broke into her eyes. It was an unworthy feeling, -and the next moment her face was flooded with -shame that she had known it; and when she sat -down by her sister, and besought her to say what -had thus unnerved her, it was with as true sympathy -as ever warmed the heart of a noble and self-sacrificing -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cause of her sorrow was soon explained. -Phebe had been commanded by her arbitrary mother -to give up all thoughts of a union with Mr. Mosier. -The gentle girl, for the first time in her life, had -ventured to expostulate with her parent. The hope -of her young life was at stake, and her heart trembled -at the thought of separation from the man whom -she had learned to love so devotedly. It was all in -vain. Mrs. Gray was resolved, her prejudices were -aroused, and to their gratification the happiness of -her child was as dust.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe had been educated with almost holy reverence -for the authority of a parent, and though her -heart broke, she dared not oppose her mother’s command. -Her spirit withered beneath it, like a flower -trodden to the earth, but she submitted. Not so Malina. -Once more she ventured to reason with and -oppose her mother, but only to call down resentment -on her own head. This was no sudden resolution in -Mrs. Gray; she had gone steadily to work, and -planned out her own results. She was one of those -cold pattern women who never know an impulse—whose -virtues are polished, like marble, and as cold. -She had paved her way quietly and well. The next -morning, while her two children were sorrowing in -their room, she was driving from house to house, -exerting her influence over better hearts and weaker -minds than her own, to the ruin of those who had -loved and trusted her. And while Phebe lay upon a -sick bed, a vestry council was called at the old -meeting-house, and a decision passed by a majority -of a single man, which deprived our young minister -of the pulpit he was to have taken as his own the -following Sabbath. Many good and just men of the -congregation protested against this cruel and unjust -act; but in churches, as in communities, the good -and the merciful do not always constitute a majority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The decision of this church meeting was forwarded -to Mr. Mosier, and with it a letter from Mrs. Gray. -The next morning he rode by our cottage on horseback, -slowly, and as one in deep and morbid thought. -He crossed the old bridge, and, as he did so, looked -earnestly toward Mrs. Gray’s dwelling. He paused -a moment at the end, and then rode at a brisker pace -up the hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe had been feverish, and very low, all that -morning. Malina was watching by her side, and as -she lay with her eyes closed in an imperfect slumber, -the sound of a horse coming up the road made -her start from the pillow, and while her cheek burned -with a more feverish red, she fixed her eyes upon -the open sash.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is he—I know it!” she said, clasping her hand, -and looking into Malina’s face; “I will get up; -mother cannot refuse to let me see him this once;” -and with a kind of feverish joy the poor girl flung -aside the bed clothes, and stepped out on the floor. -With trembling and eager hands she gathered up her -beautiful tresses, and began to braid them about her -head, earnestly beseeching Malina all the time to assist -her in getting ready to go down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The kind hearted sister required no entreaty. She -helped to array the invalid, though her own breath -came gaspingly, and her hands shook like aspens in -performing their duty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, now—there, I am ready. See, do I look -very ill, Malina?” said the excited young creature, -turning to her sister; “it will make his heart ache -to see how red my cheeks are. Do you think he -will detect the fever?” and dashing some lavender -over her handkerchief with an impetuosity all unlike -her usual quiet movements, the half delirious girl -took her sister’s arm, and was hurrying from the -room. But the sound of a horse, rapidly passing the -house, again came to her ear, and, with a faint exclamation, -she sprung to the window just in time to -catch a glimpse of her lover as he rode by. He -lifted his face to the open sash, and she saw that it -was very pale. He saw her, checked his horse -an instant, half raised his hand, and then turning -away with seeming effort, he rode slowly down the -hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is gone,” exclaimed the unhappy girl, “gone -without a word, almost without a look!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with a wavering step, Phebe Gray moved toward -the bed, and amid the confusion of her feverish -thoughts, she called on Malina to come and undo the -bridal wreath which was girding her forehead so -painfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Malina was away. She had caught one -glimpse at the pale face uplifted to her window, -and with a wild impulse to see the minister once -more, she flung a shawl over her head, and left the -room. With the speed of an antelope, she darted -through the garden, and forcing a passage through -the brushwood which lined a hollow beyond, leaped -down upon the natural basin of granite, where the -rock-spring poured its waves, just as he had dismounted, -and was proceeding to dip up the water in -his palm, and bathe his forehead with it. He looked -care-worn and pale, and the expression of his eyes, -as he dropped the water from his hand, and turned -them suddenly on the young girl, was that of a strong -heart in ruins, and with its energies prostrated. He -held forth his hand and tried to smile, but the attempt -was a painful one, and died in a faint quiver of the -lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina did not take his hand—she had no power—but -stood with her left foot half buried in the damp -moss which lined the spring, and the other planted -hard against the granite basin; her hands clasped -amid the drapery of her shawl, and her eyes lifted to -his, glittering with excitement, and yet full of tears. -The breath came pantingly through her unquiet lips, -and in the struggle of her emotions, the words of -greeting which she would have uttered, were broken -into sobs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is very kind of you, Miss Gray,” said the -young clergyman, in a low voice, which had something -of proud constraint in its tones; “I inquired -for you at the house, but your mother informed me -that you were engaged, and that your sister did not -wish to see me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not wish to see you!” exclaimed Malina, suddenly -finding voice; “Phebe—my poor Phebe—not -wish to see you! Alas, for her, she cannot see any -one; this cruel business has broken her heart. Oh, -Mr. Mosier, why is it that such wrong can be done? -why submit to it? what right has my mother thus to -interfere, to the unhappiness of her child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Mosier did not reply, his thoughts were far -away, and, though he gazed earnestly on the enthusiastic -face lifted to his, Malina knew that he was -not thinking of her. She felt humbled, and turned -away her face as one who had been rebuked. So -she stood gazing, with a look of patient humility, on -the waters sparkling in the basin at her feet, till at -last he aroused himself and spoke. But she, who -felt every word he uttered as if it were a tone of music, -had no share in his speech or his thoughts. -Things all too precious for her were rendered to -another, and she must endure the pain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So she was ill, and <span class='it'>could</span> not come. Yet she -knew I was there, and sat in the room all the time. -I saw her at the window, and she looked—tell me, -Malina, my sweet, kind sister,” he added, suddenly, -“did she wish to see me?—would she come for a -moment here or into the garden?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man looked anxious, and his cheek -flushed brilliantly as he spoke, for the moment his -well regulated mind had lost its balance, and the -passions of earth were strong within him. It was -but for a moment; before Malina had time to reply, -the flush died from his face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” he added, with a sorrowful motion of the -head, “it is wrong to ask, foolish to desire an interview—comfort -her, Malina, say that which I cannot -have permission to utter in her presence; say how -deeply, how earnestly I have loved her, how weary -I am of the world, how lonely my heart is now—say -to her—alas! what message have I to send—I, who -can scarcely turn my face heavenward, the clouds -are so dark that lie heaped before me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These words were uttered in a tone of such despondency -that Malina once more lifted her eyes, -and would have spoken words of encouragement -which she was far from feeling, for her own wretchedness -seemed completed in that of the beings she -most loved; but, while her lips were parted, he made -a sudden effort at composure, and saying that all -might yet be well, in a broken and hurried voice, he -drew Malina toward him and stooped to press his -lips to her forehead, without seeming conscious of -the act—but she was all too conscious, the blood -rushed to her cheeks, and she trembled in his arms -like a frightened child. He saw it not, for to his -thought she was a sister only, and though his lips -had pressed her forehead for the first time, he did not -think of it, but mounted his horse and rode away before -she had power to utter a word or make a gesture -to detain him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was gone forever, and she was alone—alone! -how often is that word misapplied; the loving and -the loved are never alone—but so it was with Malina -Gray.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'><a id='chap'></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“In the cold, damp earth we laid her,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  When the forest cast its leaf,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And we sighed, that one so beautiful</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>  Should have a lot so brief.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, Madam, you refuse—my boy is dying, and -he yearns to look once more on the poor girl who -would have been his wife in a single week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was but a few days after her interview with Mr. -Mosier, that Malina heard these words issue from -her mother’s parlor, as she was passing through the -hall, from the chamber where she had just left Phebe -striving to beguile her weary thoughts with a book. -The door was ajar, and there was a power in the -words which made her start and listen. It was a -deep, manly voice, that of an aged person, but entreaty, -tenderness and something almost like resentment, -combined to render it startling and pathetic. -Malina held her breath, and, drawing a step nearer, -looked through the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An aged man was standing before her mother, he -held a cane without resting on it, and a broad brimmed -hat was in his left hand; firm and erect he stood -in the quiet room, the gray hair sweeping back from -his forehead, and his plain dress giving him the look -of a patriarch; his face was agitated, but so full of -benevolence that Malina loved the old man before -she guessed who he was. Violent passions could -seldom have passed over those mild features, still -they were disturbed as he spoke, and the good old -man was evidently struggling with strong and bitter -emotions. There was something in the grasp of his -hand on the cane, and in his dignified bearing, which -awed the sympathy it excited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray was sitting in her easy chair, looking -rather earnestly at the old man. She had been engaged -in knitting when he entered, but had laid the -work on a little round stand by her side, and seemed -rather anxious to take it up again; but she was too -punctilious for that, and very blandly requested her -visitor to resume the seat from which he had risen. -“No, I have not time to sit down, every minute is -worth years to me now—my only son is dying, and I -am absent from his side.” The old man now paused, -his chin began to quiver, and turning away his face, -he strove to conceal the tears that broke into his eyes -from the calm and heartless woman who sat gazing -upon him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Madam,” he said, but his voice was broken, and -his hand shook till the hat fell from his grasp to the -floor. “Madam, I beseech you, think better of this! -My boy cannot live forty-eight hours; the doctors -told me so before I left him. But I came from his -bed side, when each lost moment was as a drop of -blood wrung from my heart, thinking that you might -refuse any messenger but his father. You are a woman -and should feel for him, and here I gave up five -whole hours of this precious time that he might look -on the face of that poor girl before he dies; and his -mother—you have had children sleeping against -your heart, madam—do you think his mother would -not find it a comfort if the soul of her only child -could go up to heaven from her bosom where he -nestled in his first infancy? Do you think she has no -woman’s yearning wish for the last embrace, the last -endearing word? She loves the boy better than her -own soul, and he is dying before her eyes—but she -gave him up. When she saw that he moaned for -the presence of one who had become dearer than his -own mother, she bade me come hither and bring the -girl that her first born might die in the arms he loved -best—think, woman, every moment I spend in talking -here is wrung from the death bed of a child that -was all on earth that two old people had to love and -hope for. I must depart, but let <span class='it'>her</span> go with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man unconsciously clasped his hands as -he spoke, and tears fell like rain over his withered -cheeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray glanced at him with something of wonder -in her face, and extending out her hand, took up -the knitting work as if to end the conference.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And can you still refuse!” exclaimed the old man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would not be proper,” replied Mrs. Gray, -quietly unscrewing the top of her silver knitting -case, “besides, Phebe is not well enough to ride so -far even if she desired it, and the fever may be contagious.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I could talk with the young lady I am sure she -<span class='it'>would</span> desire it,” said the old man, almost humbly, -for his heart grew heavy at the thought of returning -to the death bed of his son with his errand unaccomplished. -“Leave it to her good feelings, madam, and -if they plead against me I will depart and trouble -you no more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Neither the pleading voice, nor the agony of over-wrought -feelings with which the unhappy father -spoke, reached the heart of Mrs. Gray. While the -old man stood before her, trembling beneath the burden -of his grief, she placed her needle in its sheath, -twisted the worsted over her finger, and went through -the intricacies of a seam stitch before even her eyes -were lifted toward him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must recollect, Mr. Mosier,” she said, -“Phebe is not at present engaged to your son, and -even if she were, I do not think it would be exactly -correct for her to visit him. I am sorry for the -young gentleman, very; I will see that our new minister -mentions his case in prayer next Sabbath; we all -feel for him—but he would not be advised. Indeed—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here Mrs. Gray dropped a stitch, and paused while -it was looped up again. When she raised her eyes, -the face of her auditor was stern, and as calm as her -own. The tears had dropped from his cheek, his -hands were both grasping the head of his cane, and -if that pharisaical woman could have shrunk from -any thing, the solemn and reproving eyes which -dwelt on her face would have kindled the most -generous blood of her heart into blushes of shame. -But it is hard to wring the die of shame from a self-righteous -heart. Mrs. Gray believed herself to be -acting in a most Christian-like spirit, in still retaining -the heartless civility of her manner toward the -poor old man whom her own cruelty had bereaved. -Her heart was entombed in the self-conceit of its -own sanctity, like dust in the marble of a sarcophagus.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Woman,” said the old man, and this time his -voice was firm, and thrillingly solemn; “you have -no heart. You are a mother, and should know how -much worse than death it is to see the child whom -you have loved and cherished, and woven in your -very heart-strings, perishing before your eyes. Oh, -how proud we were of that boy! how his poor mother -loved him! what a day it was when she and I -walked up the broad aisle of that old meeting-house -yonder, and saw him standing in the pulpit—a minister -of the gospel. We had prayed for that sight—toiled -and slaved for it—and were so happy—so very -happy. He is on his death bed now. Woman, <span class='it'>you</span> -have sent him there—you, who were a mother, -thought nothing of smiting a sister woman through -the heart—you, a professor of religion, can do murder -more subtle and cruel than that which cleaves -a man through the brain, and look calm and speak -softly, nay, smilingly refuse the last dying request of -your victim. Woman, I will not curse you—that -right rests with the high God of Heaven, who looketh -down upon the murder you have done, not as -man looketh, not as the law looketh—before <span class='it'>him</span>, -shall you be arraigned, and that cold heart shall be -made to shudder at the depth of its own crime—<span class='it'>he</span> -will be thine accuser—he, thy victim, who was so -gentle, so sweet tempered, that thoughts of revenge -never entered his heart. In a few short hours he -will stand in the broad light of Heaven, sent there -untimely; and even as Abel bear witness against his -brother, he shall bear witness against thee! The -Almighty may not place his mark upon thy brow—the -law may not brand thee—but one who can wring -the life from a human being by silent and moral -cruelty, is not less a murderer than the man who -smites his brother to the heart with a poniard!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Gray was at length moved—for the solemn -and stern energy of that pale old man might have -startled the dead from their graves—the knitting -dropped from her hands, her eyes darkled with terror, -and her face turned white as a corpse beneath -the snowy lace and the black and false hair that -shaded it. She would have spoken, but the pallid -lips trembled without uttering a sound, while the -hands which rested in her lap began to shiver, as she -strove to lift them and motion him away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old man left her where she sat, and went into -the hall; but his feelings had been too cruelly outraged, -and there his strength gave way; he sunk -helplessly to a settee, and covering his face with his -hands, wept like a child.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had left the hall and stood in her sister’s -chamber. Phebe was dressed and seated by the -window, pondering over the pages of a book, though -she had not turned a leaf that day. She did not raise -her eyes when the door opened, but seemed unconscious -of a second person.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come with me,” said Malina, grasping the hand -which lay in her sister’s lap, with fingers that clung -to it like ice. “Come!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something in Malina’s face that frightened -her companion from the apathy that had for -days settled on her spirits. She arose, without a -word, and was led down stairs, and into the hall. -It was empty. Old Mr. Mosier had departed, and -the front door was left open behind him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Phebe,” said Malina Gray, in a faint whisper, -“<span class='it'>he</span> is dying, and has sent for you—his father sat -there, but a moment since. Our mother has refused -that you should see him. He is pining to die with -his head against your heart. Sister, will you go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will plead with her—kneel to her,” said Phebe -Gray, and opening the parlor door, she entered -alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina paused an instant, and turning through a -side door, passed across a small clover lot, toward -the stables. A horse stood cropping the white blossoms -in a corner of the field. She looked around for -some one to help her, but the men were all away on -the upper farm—so she drew toward the gentle animal, -and beckoning with her hand, uttered a few -coaxing words, and persuaded him toward the -stables. He bent his neck while her trembling -hands placed the bit in his mouth, which was yet -half full of fragrant grass, and turned his head to -watch her, as she girded the saddle to his back. -When she tied him to the garden fence, and entered -the house again, he followed her with his eyes, and, -with a short neigh, fell to tearing with his mouth the -honeysuckle vines that crept along the fence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As Malina entered the hall she saw Phebe gliding -up stairs toward their room; she was walking feebly, -and held by the bannister as she went. When the -sisters stood within the chamber together, Phebe -sunk to a chair, while Malina looked earnestly in -her face, and uttered a single sentence—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has forbidden it,” replied Phebe, faintly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you go?” said Malina, once more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare not disobey her!” Phebe spoke with difficulty, -and clasping both hands over her face, moaned -as if in pain, for the struggle within her heart was -terrible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Phebe became sufficiently composed to look -up, her sister was gone. She was glad to be alone, -and creeping toward the bed, knelt down and prayed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had snatched a bonnet and shawl from the -bed while her sister’s face was concealed, and gliding -down stairs into the open air, she mounted the -horse and rode away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was sunset as the poor girl came slowly over the -old bridge, and rode by our house. I was playing in -the front yard, and ran out to meet her—but all at -once she drew the bridle tight, and the spirited horse -sprung forward on the way before my childish voice -could be heard. The gloom of coming night lay -heavily amid the pine boughs, as the young girl rode -under them, and when she dashed up the road, and -disappeared over Fall’s Hill, both horse and rider -were for one moment displayed in bold relief against -a pile of crimson and golden clouds which lay heaped -in the horizon. When she disappeared, it seemed, -to my infant fancy, as if the gates of heaven had unfolded -to receive her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The night came on clear, and lighted both by moon -and stars, the solitary traveler still kept the road, -accompanied only by her spirited animal, and the -shadow which seemed gliding along the dewy green-sward -by her side, like a silent guardian. It was -late in the evening when the horse checked himself -at the fence before a red farm-house, with a sloping -roof, and two large trees embowering it with foliage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It seemed like supernatural instinct in the animal, -for he had only been there once before, and Malina, -in the tumult of her thoughts, scarcely knew where -she wished to stop. There was a light twinkling -through the thick leaves of a tree bough that dropped -over one of the front windows, but it was very faint, -and seemed forcing itself through the folds of a window -curtain. Malina grasped the horn of her saddle, -and dropping feebly down to the green-sward, moved -toward the house. There was a foot-path which led -to the front door—she followed this, and found herself -in a dark entry, with a narrow stream of light -falling through the entrance to an inner room. The -sound of a faint, wandering voice, and of smothered -sobs, stole from the room. Malina breathed heavily -as she touched the door, and glided into the room. -It was indeed the chamber of death. A solitary -candle burned on the table, amid glasses and vials, -sending forth just sufficient light to reveal an old -fashioned tent bed, with its white drapery sweeping -to the floor, and its heavy fringes hanging motionless, -as if they had been cut from marble. At the -foot of this bed knelt an old man; his hands were -clasped beneath his face, and the long gray hair -swept thickly over them, as he prayed. A female -stood between Malina and the bed; she was bending -over the pillows which were heaped high upon -it, and though the poor girl could not see her face, -she <span class='it'>felt</span> that it was <span class='it'>his</span> mother. She moved, and the -sound of her footstep on the sanded floor made the -old lady lift her head, and Malina saw his face once -more. Oh, how white and changed it was! The -damp, black hair fell heavily over his forehead, -shadows lay about the closed eyelids, and there was -an expression about the mouth, which was not a -smile, and yet seemed deathly and sweet. His head -was raised high with pillows, and though he seemed -to sleep, the breath came painfully from his lips, and -with a struggle that constantly disturbed the linen -which lay in waves across his breast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina stood upright in the dim light, motionless -as a thing of marble, her eyes fixed on the dying -man, and unconscious, in the force of her grief, that -to all in the room, save him who saw her not, she -was a stranger, and had intruded into the sanctuary -of private grief.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It mattered not; Malina’s step had been mistaken -for that of a woman from the kitchen, and no one -knew that the wretched young creature was there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a motion of the bed clothes, a faint -murmur, and the dying man opened his eyes—those -large, eloquent eyes that Malina had thought upon -so often, and so thrillingly. There was a mist upon -them now, but through it broke a soft and strange -light, heavenly and beautiful. The old lady bent her -ear, and listened to the faint murmur, which seemed -dying on his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father—when will he come back?—it is -late!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sound was very faint, but the old man had -heard it amid the strong agony of his prayer. He -arose, and moving round the bed, bent over his son. -A light, almost preternatural, came to the eyes of -that dying man, and with a sudden effort he found -voice to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My father,” he said, “thank God—you have returned -in time. Where is she?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My son,” said the old man, in a voice which he -vainly strove to render calm, “in a little time she -will meet you in heaven—but she is not here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The invalid had turned his head upon the pillow, -with a look of touching eagerness; but it fell back—his -eyes closed faintly, and after gasping once or -twice, he lay motionless, save the lips, which gave -forth broken but beautiful fragments of speech, such -as came uppermost in his pure, but wandering mind, -for he was delirious now. The last vibrations of his -soul were disturbed by disappointment in his sole -earthly wish. In the broken murmurs that fell from -his lips, Malina heard her own name, and it unlocked -the ice which seemed closing round her -heart. With a sob that broke to her lips amid a -gush of tears, she sprung toward the bed, and falling -upon her knees, clasped the pale hand which fell -over the bed, and pressed her quivering lips repeatedly -upon it, while her voice mingled with the choking -grief that shook her whole frame.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgive me! oh, let me stay!” she said, lifting -her face to the old woman, but still nervously grasping -the dying man’s hand; “I loved him better than -she did—better than anybody could—better than my -own soul! Let me stay, and die with him! No one -asked <span class='it'>me</span> to come, but I am here. You will not send -me away?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The voice of Malina Gray was soft and low, like -that of her sister; and though broken with grief, it -is probable that the dying man was bewildered by -the sound. He started from the pillow—a glorious -lustre broke through the mist which whelmed his -eyes, and as Malina sprang to her feet, his face fell -upon her shoulder, and his cold cheek lay against -hers. It was very strange—Malina knew that he -was dying, but a flash of wild joy thrilled through -her heart, and for the first time since she had heard -of his illness, a faint color broke into the cheek -which pressed his. She laid him gently upon the -pillow, and parting the damp hair from his forehead, -pressed her lips tremblingly upon it, while her sobs -filled the chamber. When the dying man felt the -touch of her quivering mouth, a smile stole over his -face—again the misty eyes were unclosed, and feebly -lifting his arm, he wound it over her neck and drew -her to his bosom, while the unformed words he would -have spoken were lost amid the dying music of his -soul. A moment, and his arm fell softly from Malina’s -neck. The young creature lifted her face -from his bosom, and looking at his mother, murmured—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He loved <span class='it'>her</span> living—but is he not mine in death?—mine, -for ever and ever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She turned to lay her face near his heart once -more, but there was no color in her lips then. She -started, and, with a cold shudder, bent her cheek -slowly to his bosom—it pressed heavily, and more -heavily, on the cold clay—her limbs relaxed, and -she sunk across the bed, senseless as the beautiful -corpse which cumbered it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gloom of death had shadowed that farm-house -two days, and now it was desolate. The kind neighbors -who had walked in and out, ministering to grief, -no longer broke the solemn hush which pervaded the -dwelling. The departed was indeed the departed—for -they had borne him over his father’s threshold, -and laid him down to sleep in the dark earth. Malina -followed him to the grave. She was a stranger, -but no one asked why she stood among the mourners, -and without their sable vestments. When the aged -mother bent over the coffin, and looked upon the -dead, the young girl drew to her side, and fixed her -eyes upon the cold still face which had never met her -glance coldly before. The mother wept, but Malina -could not shed a tear, although the solemn and hushed -grief upon her face awed even village curiosity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now they were alone—the parents, and that -poor girl. She was upon her knees—her head was -bent, and its redundant hair veiled her face, while -the broken hearted young creature begged a blessing -from <span class='it'>his mother</span> before she went away. The sorrowing -woman laid her hands upon the bright tresses -which flowed over her lap for a moment, then lifting -the suppliant to her bosom, wept over her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Mosier, when he heard the sobs of his wife, -arose, and clasping his hands over Malina’s head, -silently besought a blessing on her. She drew back, -and he saw that her face was still calm; so taking -her hands in his, he began to persuade and reason -with her. She listened, and gazed earnestly in his -face as he spoke. At last, tears started to her eyes, -and when the old man saw this, big drops began to -stream down his own cheek, and the clasp of his -hand grew tremulous, as he led her from the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the old man placed Malina in her saddle, he -glanced in her face, and a misgiving came to his -heart. He questioned himself if it was safe to trust -her to the road without protection; but when he proposed -accompanying her part of the way, at least, -she pleaded against it with startling eagerness, and, -thinking of his afflicted wife, he allowed her to depart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina had a secret wish at her heart, which -caused it to pant for solitude. Her road lay close by -the grave-yard where our young minister was buried, -and she yearned to stand once more by his death -place, and alone. When she reached the sacred -place, she looked to the right and left, timidly, as if -her errand had been a wrong one. Her nerves were -strung to their utmost tension, and she was morbidly -fearful of being seen—every thing was solitary and -quiet; the long grass bending to the breeze, as it -sighed over the graves, and the soft rustling sound -which whispered amid the leaves of a clump of -weeping willows, that curtained an entire household -that had gone down to sleep together, were all the -sounds that fell upon her ear. She tied the horse to -the fence, and passing forward to <span class='it'>his</span> grave, sat upon -a pile of sods that had been left by the sexton. She -neither wept nor moved—but there she remained in -the bright sunshine, gazing hour after hour on a tuft -of tiny white blossoms, which sprung up from a sod -which they had placed just over his heart. Now -and then, she twined her hands together as they reposed -in her lap—and as the sunshine went suddenly -away, and heavy black clouds rolled over the sky, -with the lightning playing amid their ragged folds, -she smiled, and drew closer to the grave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last, a roar of thunder burst from the clouds, -big drops of rain came down upon the graves, and -bent the willows more droopingly to the earth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina lifted her eyes upward with a wild and -startled look, then turning them on the willows -which sheltered that single family, and on the congregation -of graves which lay around her, all covered -with long grass, she rested them on the mound at -her feet, murmuring—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have all a covering from the cold rain, but thee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she spoke, Malina took off her shawl, and -spreading it over the newly made grave, cast herself -upon it, and for the first time since she felt his -heart stop beating beneath hers, moaned and sobbed -as if her very life were going from her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a few moments the garments of our poor mourner -were saturated with rain—still she clung closer to the -grave, murmuring words of wild endearment to the -unconscious inmate, and congratulating herself, with -strange earnestness, that she was still able to shield -his bosom from the storm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last, the clouds rolled away, and though the sun -was just going down, his last fires kindled a rainbow -amid the water drops that yet filled the air. Malina -lifted her head, and gazed upward—a smile parted -her lips when she saw the rainbow, and pressing her -cheek upon the grave again, she whispered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The angels have built thee a bridge, love!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun went down, and Malina arose from the -grave, shivering from head to foot. She gazed -around, and was turning her eyes with a wistful -look on her late resting place, as if she meditated -casting herself down again, when a low neigh from -the horse which still remained by the fence, aroused -her, and leaving the shawl behind, she hurried toward -the patient animal, and mounting him, rode away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina must have wandered from the usual road, -in the strange abstraction of her mind, for it was -midnight when she came opposite the old meeting-house. -Prompted, doubtless, by some vague fear of -returning home, or perhaps allured to pause by the -open gate, the weary and half bewildered girl -turned her horse, and riding close to the front door -of the parsonage house, dismounted, and allowed -him to wander amid the flower beds and rose bushes -which filled the yard. Thrusting her hand beneath -the door sill, she took out a key, and fitted it to the -lock, but with difficulty, for her hands trembled; and -though hot flushes every moment darted through her -frame, she was shivering with cold. She went up -stairs, holding feebly by the balusters, and guided -by the moonlight, which fell from a window overhead, -she entered a room—that which she had -decorated as the bridal chamber of her sister Phebe, -and of the departed. A clear moonlight came -through the windows, and lay like flags of silver -amid the black shadows which filled the apartment. -Every thing was still and motionless; not a breath -stirred the bridal ribands with which the muslin curtains -were looped back. The bed lay with the -moonlight sleeping amid its pillows, like a snow -drift, when the air is calm; and the atmosphere was -impregnated by the dead flowers which had been -profusely lavished on the toilet, and now hung crisp -and withered in their vases. Malina was very ill, -and a fever burned through her veins—her limbs -were almost powerless, and her forehead seemed -girdled with iron. Still was she sensible of surrounding -things, and her heart swelled with the -recollections which thronged on her aching brain. -She unfastened her damp dress, and with difficulty -crept into bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor, poor Phebe,” she murmured, gathering -the white counterpane over her shivering form, -“how little she thinks I am here—how she would -pity me, so ill, and all alone. Alas, how sad a thing -this trouble is—I have not thought of Phebe these -many long days—I wonder if she is ill as I am—if -her head is so hot, and her limbs chilled, till they -shake so. This is a cold bed—very, very cold—but -his is colder still. Oh, my God! <span class='it'>he is dead</span>—and I -have seen his grave. I—but it was not me—no—he -loved my sister. But I had his dying kiss! It was -the last throb of his heart that beat against mine, and -chilled me so. That was it—that was it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With such fragments of speech, and moans of -pain, Malina verged into the delirium of a raging -fever. At times she would weep, and call for her -sister, in tones of yearning tenderness—then notes -of music would break from her lips, and ring -through every corner of the solitary house, as if a -prisoned angel were pleading for release there. -When the fever came on, fierce and strong, she -began to ask for water—to weep, and wring her -hands, while she entreated some visionary being to -leave her in the grave-yard where <span class='it'>he</span> was; where -showers were continually falling and weaving rainbows -around those who thirsted for rest or drink; -and so her voice of suffering rose and swelled -through the lone building all night. When the day -dawned, she was still awake and delirious; tears -stood on her crimson cheeks, and entreaties for -water still rose to her parched lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It came at last—she knew not how it was, but a -pale, sweet face bent over her, a soft voice was -speaking comfort, and a glass of water cooler and -more refreshing than she had ever tasted before was -held to her lips. She was just conscious enough to -think that it was Phebe who ministered to her wants, -or some good seraph that looked as sweetly sad and -kind. Then she sunk to sleep, and it was many weeks -before she awoke from the dream that followed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was Phebe Gray who stood by the sick bed of -the sufferer. A villager had seen Mrs. Gray’s horse -that morning, bridled and with his saddle on, trampling -among the flower beds and feasting upon the -choice rose bushes which grew in the parsonage -yard—he went in to secure the animal and was terrified -by the voice of suffering which issued from the -house. He went up stairs, saw the delirious young -creature who occupied the bridal chamber, and -hastened to inform Mrs. Gray—but Phebe had struggled -with her own sufferings and stood over Malina’s -sick bed many hours before the mother had arranged -her dress and prepared herself to pass through the -village with that degree of propriety which she -considered due to her character.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Malina lay many weeks before the fever left her; -then a cough set in and a hectic spot settled and -burned into her thin cheeks. The poor girl smiled -a sad quiet smile, when she heard them say each evening, -that a little over exertion had excited her, that -she had taken a slight cold which in the turn of her -disease was felt more than usual. Still the cough -deepened, the crimson spot burned on, and she knew -that the life which kindled would soon be exhausted. -And so it was, that autumn when the woods were all -flushed with those dyes which an early frost brings -to the foliage, when the nuts were ripe and the brown -leaves fell in showers over the crisp moss, Malina -Gray was extended beneath the snowy drapery which -her own hands had gathered above the bridal bed. -White ribands were still knotted amid the folds which -seemed brooding over her like a cloud, and a few -crimson fall flowers lay scattered upon the pillow, -some of them so close to the marble cheek that a -faint tinge was coldly reflected there. For two -whole nights Phebe watched the beautiful clay reposing -in the dim light upon her own bridal bed, but -scarcely more changed than her own sweet self. -Malina was the happiest, her heart had broken amid -the struggle of its suffering, but that of the watcher -lay crushed and withering in her young bosom. She -felt that life was yet strong within her; but hope, -love, every thing that makes life pleasant to a woman, -had departed. She was still good, still pure almost as -an angel, but the sad smile which settled on her lips -never deepened to a laugh again, and no human being -ever saw a tear in her changeless and sorrowful eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They laid Malina Gray down to sleep beside old -minister Brown—in the very spot she had yearned -to repose in. A large circle of neighbors gathered -around the grave, some in tears, and all very sorrowful. -Mrs. Gray stood by the coffin; her mourning -was arranged with great care, and a veil of new -crape, deeply hemmed, fell decorously over her -face, and the white handkerchief, with which she -concealed those maternal tears proper for a mother, -whose duty it was to be resigned under any dispensation. -But Phebe stood silent and motionless; no -handkerchief was lifted to her eyes, and the face -which gleamed beneath the crape veil, was profoundly -calm, almost as that of the corpse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We had a new minister, on trial, of Mrs. Gray’s -choosing, who performed the funeral service, and -when all was over, returned home with the mourners; -when they knelt in the little parlor that night, -he prayed earnestly, and with genuine tears, for the -bereaved mother; he besought the Lord to visit, -with consolation, one who was a mother in Israel, a -bright and shining ornament in the Christian church; -a woman who had brought up her children in the -fear and admonition of the Lord; whose path was -growing brighter and brighter to the perfect day -when she would reap a rich reward in heaven.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Amid a few natural sobs which awoke in the -widow’s heart, she murmured, “Amen,” satisfied -that her life had been one of perfect rectitude, and -that in all things she had been a pattern mother, and -an ornament to the church, which ought to be her -consolation under any bereavement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new minister was a very conscientious man, -but practical in all his ideas; he was honest in the -high opinion which he entertained of Mrs. Gray, and -not sufficiently sensitive to shrink from offering his -hand to Phebe, when that lady delicately gave him -to understand that the step would be satisfactory to -herself. The old parsonage house was still empty, -and Phebe’s inheritance. He was an installed pastor, -and Miss Gray’s engagement to his predecessor -never entered his mind as an objection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phebe betrayed no emotion when the proposal was -made. She simply declined it, without giving a -reason; and when he married another person, and -would have rented the parsonage, she said with -decision—“It must remain as my sister left it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And when Mrs. Gray would have remonstrated, -she answered, still with firmness—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am of age, mother, but still will obey you in -all things else. Act as you like regarding the other -property—but no stranger shall ever live in the parsonage. -Poor Malina furnished it for <span class='it'>him</span>, and for -me. She died there, and so will I!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<p class='pindent'>It may be so, for the old house is still uninhabited. -Every thing remains as Malina left it; the bridal -chamber, the easy chair, and the flute upon the -table; time has made little change in those silent -apartments, for every week Phebe, who has become -a calm and sorrowful old maid, goes up to the house -alone, and remains there for many hours; sometimes -seated at the study table, and gazing at a -grave which may be seen through the trees. Once, -a child gathering valley lilies, beneath the window, -saw her standing at the open sash, with her sad eyes -turned toward the grave-yard. She was talking to -herself—the child dropped his flowers and listened, -for there was something so mournful in her voice, -that his little heart thrilled to the sound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They tell me that he wearied himself, and died -of fever,” she said; “and that thou, my sister, perished -naturally, and as we all must. Alas, if I could -but think so. Why not have told me how he was -beloved before it was too late? I would have given -him up—and while you were happy, this heart had -not become so palsied and feelingless. Alas, it was -well that thy heart <span class='it'>could</span> break, my poor, poor -Malina!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><h1><a id='noo'></a>NOON.<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee</p> -<p class='line0'>And worshiped, while the husbandman withdrew</p> -<p class='line0'>From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man</p> -<p class='line0'>Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or rested in the shadow of the palm.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  I, too, amid the overflow of day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Behold the power which wields and cherishes</p> -<p class='line0'>The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock</p> -<p class='line0'>That overlooks the Hudson’s western marge,</p> -<p class='line0'>I gaze upon the long array of groves,</p> -<p class='line0'>The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in</p> -<p class='line0'>The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;</p> -<p class='line0'>Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays</p> -<p class='line0'>Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,</p> -<p class='line0'>The swelling river into his green gulfs,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unshadowed save by passing sails above,</p> -<p class='line0'>Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys</p> -<p class='line0'>The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>That would not open in the early light,</p> -<p class='line0'>Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool,</p> -<p class='line0'>That darkly quivered all the morning long</p> -<p class='line0'>In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again,</p> -<p class='line0'>The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within</p> -<p class='line0'>Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within</p> -<p class='line0'>His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog</p> -<p class='line0'>Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.</p> -<p class='line0'>Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws,</p> -<p class='line0'>No more sits listening by his den, but steals</p> -<p class='line0'>Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,</p> -<p class='line0'>And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while</p> -<p class='line0'>A ceaseless murmur from the populous town</p> -<p class='line0'>Swells o’er these solitudes; a mingled sound</p> -<p class='line0'>Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang,</p> -<p class='line0'>And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,</p> -<p class='line0'>And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,</p> -<p class='line0'>Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.</p> -<p class='line0'>Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings</p> -<p class='line0'>No pause to toil and care; with early day</p> -<p class='line0'>Began the tumult, and shall only cease</p> -<p class='line0'>When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds</p> -<p class='line0'>Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain</p> -<p class='line0'>And luxury possess the hearts of men,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thus is it with the noon of human life.</p> -<p class='line0'>We in our fervid manhood, in our strength</p> -<p class='line0'>Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care,</p> -<p class='line0'>Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh</p> -<p class='line0'>Our spirits with the calm and beautiful</p> -<p class='line0'>Of God’s harmonious universe, that won</p> -<p class='line0'>Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire</p> -<p class='line0'>Why we are here, and what the reverence</p> -<p class='line0'>Man owes to man, and what the mystery</p> -<p class='line0'>That links us to the greater world, beside</p> -<p class='line0'>Whose borders we but hover for a space.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_5'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f5'><a href='#r5'>[5]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>From an unpublished Poem.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tru'></a>TRUTH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>“This above all!—to thine own self be true!</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And it must follow, as the night the day,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Thou canst not then be false to any man.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother! mother!” exclaimed a sweet, eager -voice, and the speaker, a child of thirteen years, -burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at work, -“don’t you think there is to be a prize given on -exhibition day for the best composition! And I mean -to try for it—sha’nt I?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was a little, harum-scarum looking imp! I -suppose she had run all the way home from school, -for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead of -her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was -streaming in such disorder about her glowing face, -that you could not tell if she were pretty or not; but -you could see a pair of brilliant, gray or blue or black -eyes—they certainly changed their color with every -new emotion; but I think they were really gray—full -of laughter, and love beaming through the truant -tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh, -warm soul. This change in the child’s eyes is no -freak of a foolish fancy; for every one noticed it; -and her school-crony, Kate Sumner, used to declare, -that when Harriet was angry they were black; gray -when she was thoughtful; violet when sad; and -when happy and loving, they changed to the tenderest -blue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and -smoothed back the rebellious curls, at the same time -exclaiming, with a long drawn sigh, “My <span class='it'>dear</span> -Harriet! how you <span class='it'>do</span> look!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, mother! it’s not the least matter how <span class='it'>I</span> look! -If I were only a beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, -I would keep my hair as smooth as—as <span class='it'>any</span> thing; -but I wouldn’t rub my cheeks though, as she does -always, just before she goes into a room where -there’s company—would <span class='it'>you</span>, mother?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mother gazed at her child’s expressive face, -as she spoke, with its irregular, yet lovely features, -the strange, bright eyes, the changing cheek, the full -and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, -“Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not -change your simple, innocent, childlike unconsciousness, -for all Angelina’s beauty, spoiled as it is by -vanity and affectation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, -for I want to write it now, this minute!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Harriet,” said Mrs. Carlton quietly, “go and -brush your hair, change your shoes, and mend that -rent in your dress as neatly as you can.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harriet half pouted; but she met her mother’s -tranquil eye; the pout changed to a good-humored -smile, and kissing her affectionately, she bounded -off to do her bidding.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While she is gone, you would like—would you not, -dear reader?—to ask a few questions about her. I -can guess what they are, and will answer them, to -the best of my knowledge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, -and a handsome house in Tremont street, Boston. -She has been a star in fashionable life, but since -the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, -she has retired from the gay world, and devoted -herself to her child—a wild, frank, happy, generous -and impetuous creature, with half a dozen glaring -faults, and one rare virtue which nobly redeemed -them all. That virtue, patient reader, you must find -out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a glimpse -of it in</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>AUNT ELOISE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Harriet was busy with her composition, when her -aunt, who was on a visit to Mrs. Carlton, entered -the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak minded and weak -hearted lady of a very uncertain age—unhappily -gifted with more sensibility than sense. She really -had a deal of feeling—for herself—and an almost inexhaustible -shower of tears, varied occasionally by -hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing -exigency in the fate of her friends demanded self-possession, -energy, or immediate assistance. If, too, -there happened, as there will sometimes, in all households, -to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion -by any member of the family, such as sewing, watching -with an invalid, shopping with a country cousin, -poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most unfortunately -seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain -in the side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness, or -some trouble of the kind, which quite precluded the -propriety of asking her aid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified -the family with a wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell -had interrupted, and every evening she grew -sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight -hour awakened. It was then that innumerable -shades of former admirers arose. Some doubted if -they had ever been <span class='it'>more</span> than shades; but Aunt -Eloise certainly knew best about that, and who had a -right to deny, that Mr. Smith had knelt to her for -pity; that Colonel Green had vowed eternal adoration; -and that Lawyer Lynx had laid his heart, his -hand, and his fees, which were not quite a fortune, -at her feet?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise had been—at least she hinted so—a -beauty and a blue, in her day; and, to maintain both -characters, she rouged, wore false ringlets, and scribbled -love-verses, which she had a bad habit of leaving, -by accident, between the leaves of books in -every frequented room of the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond -of her niece, during her early childhood, and imagined -that she displayed a graceful enthusiasm in exclaiming, -every now and then, in her presence, and -in that of others, “Oh! you angel child! I do think -she is the sweetest creature! Come here and kiss -me, you beauty!” &c. &c. But no one ever saw -Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to its -little wants, or doing any thing for its benefit. The -only tangible proof of her affection for her niece, -was in the shape of bonbons and candy, which she -was in the habit of bringing home from her frequent -walks in Tremont street. Harriet regularly handed -these forbidden luxuries to her mother, and Mrs. -Carlton as regularly threw them in the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t it a pity to waste such nice things, mother? -Why not give them to some poor child in the street?” -asked the little girl one day, as she watched, with -longing eyes, a paper full of the tempting poison, -which her mother was quietly emptying into the -grate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her -child—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That would be <span class='it'>worse</span> than wasted, dear. It -would be cruel to give to another what I refuse to -you on account of its unwholesomeness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Harriet had now been for a long time out of -the spinster’s books—as the saying is—and this misfortune -occurred as follows—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning, when she was about six years old, -the child came into her mother’s room from her -aunt’s, where she had been alternately pelted, scolded, -and teased, till she was weary, and, seating herself -in a corner, remained for some time absorbed in -thought. She had been reading to her mother that -morning, and one sentence, of which she had asked -an explanation, had made a deep impression upon -her. It was this—“God sends us trials and troubles -to strengthen and purify our hearts.” She now sat -in her corner, without speaking or stirring, until her -mother’s voice startled her from her reverie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of what are you now thinking, Harriet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen -and purify my heart?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean, my child?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, the book says he sends trials for that, and -she is the greatest trial <span class='it'>I</span> have, you know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The indignant maiden was just entering the room -as this dialogue began, and hearing her own name, -she had stopped, unseen, to listen. Speechless with -rage, she returned to her chamber, and was never -heard to call Harriet an angel child again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s -follies than they deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s -all-important composition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, -took it into her head sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; -and officious too, particularly where she -thought her literary talents could come into play. -She walked up to Harriet and looked over her -shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, -Harriet, I am glad to see you taking to literary pursuits. -Come, child! give me the pen and I will improve -that sentence for you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I -would like you to help me, if it were not to be -shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know, -to pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for -a prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a prize! So much the more reason that you -should be assisted. There, dear, run away to your -play and I will write it all for you. You’ll be sure -to win the prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had -grown larger and darker, and at the close, she turned -them, full of astonishment, from her aunt’s face to -her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of the -latter, she replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you -know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, -“It is a very common thing, I assure you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” -said Mrs. Carlton; “pray let Harriet have her own -way about it. It would be far better to lose the prize, -than to gain it thus dishonestly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have -<span class='it'>her</span> own way; but she said no more then, and Harriet -pursued her employment without further interruption.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>THE PRIZE.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had -finished her story several days before, and read it to -her mother. It was a simple, graceful, childlike -effusion, with less of pretension and ornament, and -more of spirit and originality than the compositions -of most children of the same age contain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt -Eloise had criticised it without mercy. At the same -time she was observed to smile frequently with a -cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar to herself—an -expression which she always wore when -she had a secret, and secrets she had, in abundance—a -new one almost every day—trivial, petty secrets, -which no one cared about but herself; but which -<span class='it'>she</span> guarded as jealously as if they had been apples -of gold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The exhibition day had arrived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, -glancing for a moment into the breakfast-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful -dress, made for the occasion. She held the story in -her hand, neatly enclosed in an envelope, and her -eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of childhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be surprised, Harriet,” said her aunt, “at -any thing that may happen to-day. Only be thankful -if the prize is yours, that’s all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If Kate Sumner don’t win it, I do <span class='it'>hope</span> I shall!” -replied the eager child, and away she tripped to -school.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At twelve o’clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took -their seats among the audience, in the exhibition -room. The usual exercises were completed, and it -only remained for the compositions to be read aloud -by the teacher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. -Mr. Wentworth, the teacher, looked first surprised, -then amused, then vexed as he read, while a gaily -and fashionably dressed lady, who occupied a conspicuous -place in the assembly, was observed to -toss her head and fan herself with a very complacent -air, while she met, with a nod, the conscious eyes -of a fair and beautiful, but haughty looking girl of -fifteen seated among the pupils.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Angelina Burton,” said the teacher, as he -concluded, and laying it aside without further comment, -he took up the next—“Lines to a Favorite -Tree,” by Catherine Sumner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was short and simple, and ran as follows—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>Thy leaves’ lightest murmur,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! beautiful tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>Each bend of thy branches,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The stately, the free,</p> -<p class='line0'>Each wild, wavy whisper,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is music to me.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I gaze thro’ thy labyrinth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Golden and green,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where the light loves to linger,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In glory serene,</p> -<p class='line0'>Far up, till yon heaven-blue</p> -<p class='line0'>  Trembles between.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I shut out the city,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its sight and its sound,</p> -<p class='line0'>And away, far away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For the forest I’m bound,</p> -<p class='line0'>For the noble old forest,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Which ages have crowned!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I lean on its moss banks,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I stoop o’er its rills,</p> -<p class='line0'>I see, thro’ its vistas,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The vapor-wreathed hills,</p> -<p class='line0'>And my soul with a gush</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of wild happiness fills!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>I pine for the freshness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The freedom, the health,</p> -<p class='line0'>Which Nature can give me—</p> -<p class='line0'>  My soul’s dearest wealth</p> -<p class='line0'>Is wasted in cities;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Where only, by stealth,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The mountain-born breezes</p> -<p class='line0'>  Can fitfully play,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where we steal but a glimpse</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of this glorious day,</p> -<p class='line0'>And but by the calendar,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Learn it is May.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But away with repining,</p> -<p class='line0'>  I’ll study, from thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>A lesson of patience,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Oh! noble, old tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>’Mid dark walls imprisoned,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou droop’st not like me;</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>But strivest forever,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Still up, strong and brave,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Till in Heaven’s pure sunshine,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy free branches wave!</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh! thus may <span class='it'>I</span> meet it,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No longer a slave!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The next was a story, and Harriet Carlton’s eyes -and cheeks changed color as she listened. It was -the same, yet not the same! The incidents were -hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a -flowery and highly wrought sentence had been -introduced, which she had never heard before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and -dismay, and though several other inferior compositions -were read, she was so absorbed in reverie, that -she heard no more until she was startled by Mr. -Wentworth’s voice calling her by name. She looked -up. In his hand was the prize—a richly chased, -golden pencil-case, suspended to a chain of the same -material. The sound, the sight recalled her bewildered -faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she -had formed a resolution, which, however, it required -all her native strength of soul to put in practice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!” and the teacher -leaned forward to throw the chain around her neck. -The child drew back—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir,” she said in a low, but firm and distinct -voice, looking up bravely in his face, “I did not -write the story you have read.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not write it!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, “Why, -then, does it bear your name? Am I to understand, -Miss Carlton, that you have asked another’s assistance -in your composition, and that you now repent -the deception?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes -first flashed, and then filled with tears; her lip trembled -with emotion, and she paused a moment, as if -disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused -her, and she answered, respectfully but firmly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. -Some one has changed it without my knowledge. -It was not so good as that you have read; so -I must not take the prize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a murmur of applause through the -assembly, and the teacher bent upon the blushing -girl a look of approval, which amply repaid her for -all the embarrassment she had suffered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aunt Eloise took advantage of the momentary -excitement to steal unobserved from the room. Harriet -took her seat, and Miss Angelina Burton was -next called up. The portly matron leaned smilingly -forward; and the graceful, little beauty, already -affecting the airs of a fine lady, sauntered up to the -desk and languidly reached out her hand for the -prize.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot say much for your taste in selection, -Miss Burton. I do not admire your author’s sentiments. -The next time you wish to make an extract, -you must allow me to choose for you. There are -better things than this, even in the trashy magazine -from which you have copied it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with this severe, but justly merited reproof of -the imposition that had been practiced, he handed -the young lady, not the prize, which she expected, -but the MS. essay on Friendship, which she had -copied, word for word, from an old magazine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The portly lady turned very red, and the beauty, -bursting into tears of anger and mortification, -returned to her seat discomfited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Catherine Sumner,” resumed the teacher, -with a benign smile, to a plain, yet noble-looking -girl, who came forward as he spoke, “I believe -there can be no mistake about <span class='it'>your</span> little effusion. I -feel great pleasure in presenting you the reward, -due, not only to your mental cultivation, but to the -goodness of your heart. What! do <span class='it'>you</span>, too, hesitate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you be kind enough, sir,” said the generous -Kate, taking a paper from her pocket, “to read -Harriet’s story before you decide. I asked her for a -copy several days ago, and here it is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You shall read it to the audience yourself, my -dear; I am sure they will listen patiently to so kind -a pleader in her friend’s behalf.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The listeners looked pleased and eager to hear the -story; and Kate Sumner, with a modest self-possession, -which well became her, and with her fine eyes -lighting up as she read, did full justice to the pretty -and touching story, of which Harriet had been so -cruelly robbed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is well worth reading,” said Mr. Wentworth, -when she had finished; “your friend has won the -prize, my dear young lady; and, as she owes it to -your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of -bestowing it, yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kate’s face glowed with emotion as she hung the -chain around Harriet’s neck; and Harriet could not -restrain her tears, while she whispered,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will take it, <span class='it'>not</span> as a prize, but as a gift from -<span class='it'>you</span>, dear Kate!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now, Miss Sumner,” said Mr. Wentworth, -in conclusion, “let me beg your acceptance of these -volumes, as a token of your teacher’s respect and -esteem,” and presenting her a beautifully bound edition -of Milton’s works, he bowed his adieu to the retiring -audience.</p> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you lend me your prize-pencil this morning, -Harriet?” said Mrs. Carlton the next day. She was -dressed for a walk, and Harriet wondered why she -should want the pencil to take out with her; but she -immediately unclasped the chain from her neck, and -handed it to her mother without asking any questions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying -at the side of her plate, with the single word, -“Truth” engraved upon its seal.</p> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i069.jpg' alt='a young woman holds two young girls and a dog in her lap' id='iid-0002' style='width:75%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>E. T. Parris. Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch, & Smillie.</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'>True Affection.</span><br/> <br/><span class='it'>Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.</span> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<div><h1><a id='aff'></a>TRUE AFFECTION.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Matron in thy golden prime,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Well the world may envy thee;</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hast reached the happy time</p> -<p class='line0'>  When life holds her jubilee—</p> -<p class='line0'>Midway on her pilgrimage,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Looking backward and before,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where end infancy and age</p> -<p class='line0'>  On her being’s misty shore.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Turning to the past, thine eye</p> -<p class='line0'>  Dwells upon a way of flowers—</p> -<p class='line0'>Not a cloud upon the sky</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Neath which passed the happy hours.</p> -<p class='line0'>Clear the vision of the True!—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Standing on the verge of Time,</p> -<p class='line0'>See! Hope opens to your view</p> -<p class='line0'>  Glories of the better clime!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>So the past and present life—</p> -<p class='line0'>  What the tale the present tells?</p> -<p class='line0'>Childhood—maidenhood—a <span class='it'>wife</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thus the tide of being swells—</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Mother!</span> oh all else in this</p> -<p class='line0'>  Fade as stars before the sun,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou the highest point of bliss</p> -<p class='line0'>  Yielded to the True hast won.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Love—communion—in these words</p> -<p class='line0'>  All the happiness we know;</p> -<p class='line0'>Without them the world affords</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nought to bind the heart below;</p> -<p class='line0'>“True Affection!” with unrest</p> -<p class='line0'>  We the boon demand of all;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly seeking, still unblest—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Strangers at life’s carnival.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Earnest, calm, unchanging love,</p> -<p class='line0'>  With no doubt its light to shade—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh, the happiness above</p> -<p class='line0'>  Is but this eternal made!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou hast found it—in thine eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the eyes that look to thine,</p> -<p class='line0'>As the stars from summer skies</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sweetly do we see it shine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Exiles from a better sphere</p> -<p class='line0'>  Weary wanderers are we,</p> -<p class='line0'>Doomed ’mid clouds to linger here,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Source of bliss, unknowing thee!</p> -<p class='line0'>Save, when from the world apart</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou upon our gloomy way</p> -<p class='line0'>Shinest from a kindred heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Turning darkness into day!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='per'></a>THE PERSECUTOR’S DAUGHTER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY CHARLES J. PETERSON.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The last days of November are at hand, and the -melancholy woods, shorn of their foliage, stand -skeleton-like against the cold, lowering sky; or toss -their branches to and fro, with a low moaning -sound, in the fitful tempest. Hark! how the gale -swells out with the deep voice of a cathedral organ, -or dies plaintively away like the cry of a lost child -in the forest. The sky is covered with cloud-rifts of -a deep, leaden color, only a spot of blue sky being -here and there visible; but occasionally the sun, -bursting, like a god, from the darkness that encircles -him, covers the brown hills with an effulgent -glory, while the opposite firmament is lit up with a -dull, fiery glow, that has something almost spectral -in its aspect. The streams are swollen and discolored, -and roll their turbid waters hoarsely onward. -Along the fields the brown grass whistles in -the wind, and the bare flower-stalks rattle, with a -melancholy tone, in the garden. Now and then, -drops of rain plash heavily to the ground. The -wind comes with a sudden chill to the nerves—the -bay is crisped into foam by the fitful gusts—and -along the bleak coast the now mountain waves roll -in with a hoarse, sullen roar, forewarning us of -shipwreck and death. Sad thoughts insensibly possess -the mind, and tales of sorrow, that had long -been forgot, come up to our memories. One such -is even now heavy on our heart—listen! and we -will rehearse it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was on just such a morning as this, many a long -year ago, and far away from our own happy land, -that a little congregation was gathered together in -the hills to worship God. The time was in those -sore and evil days when the decree of a tyrannical -king had gone forth, that no man should worship, -except as a corrupt hierarchy and lascivious court -might ordain—and when, all over Scotland, those -who would not give up the free birthright of their -fathers, were driven to meet in mountain glens, and -on lonely moors, whither their pastors—the holy -men who had baptized them in infancy, and united -them to the dear objects of their love—had already -been hunted. And often, in solitary places, where -hitherto only the cry of the eagle had been heard, -the Sabbath hymn rose sweetly up from tender -maidens and tearful wives, while their brothers and -husbands listened with weapons in their hands, or -watched from some neighboring eminence, lest the -fiery dragoons of Claverhouse should be in sight. -And when these God-defying troopers, with hands -red with the blood of the saints, burst into the little -flock, woful was the tale, and loud the wailing that -went through all the vales around. Every new Sabbath -brought its tale of slaughter, until the land -smoked with blood, and the incense thereof went -up from a hundred hills, crying for vengeance to the -Most High.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And such a congregation had now met in the hollow -of three hills, far away from the usual track of -the persecutors. A simple rock served the hoary -headed pastor for a pulpit; while hard by, a rivulet, -brawling over its pebbly bed, and then for a moment -expanding into a mimic lake, bottomed with silvery -sands, formed the holy font for baptism. Around -was gathered the little flock—aged sires and young -striplings, staid matrons and meek-eyed maidens, -young children and stalwart men—all gazing upward -into the pastor’s face, a sacred throng. But -there was one other there, who seemed equally with -him an object of anxious interest, and on whom -every eye was occasionally turned—a bright, beautiful -being, with far more of heaven than earth in -her deep, azure eyes. Oh! lovely was that fair-haired -girl, even as we may have dreamed a seraph -to be, all glorious with golden wings, under the -throne of God. And now there sat in those soft blue -eyes an expression of meek sorrow, tempered with -high and holy faith, for many and sore had been -the trials of Helen Græme; but grace had been -given her to endure them all, and even to rise above -them, with a courage which had made her dear unto -every heart among these wandering and persecuted -ones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The father of Helen was the last son of a family -which had been decaying for centuries, and which, -of all its once mighty possessions, retained only the -comparatively small estate of Craigburnie, in one of -the southern counties of Scotland. To rebuild the -fortunes of his house had been the darling wish of -her father. For this purpose he had entered the -army of the Covenanters, during the wars of the -great revolution, and served with some distinction, -though without permanent advantage, in consequence -of the return of the king. On the happening -of this event, Mr. Græme retired to his estate, -soured and disappointed. Here he would have been -far more discontented than he was, but for his wife, -a lady of the meekest piety, and whose single minded -charity was known throughout all her native hills, -for Mrs. Græme was the daughter of one of the -holiest ministers of the kirk, and inherited not only -his piety, but the fervent admiration with which he -was regarded by his parishioners. She early instilled -into her child the pure precepts of our holy religion, -and often might the little girl be seen seated at her -mother’s knee, lisping the word of God, which the -parent taught her thus early to peruse. And, on the -Sabbath, who listened more attentively to the venerable -pastor, or joined with sweeter voice in the -anthem of praise? Nurtured thus, what wonder -that at seventeen she seemed the counterpart of the -mother, and was regarded by the poorer folk around -the Brae—her mother’s birthplace, and where she -spent several months each year—almost with veneration, -for had not many of them, in times of sore -trial, been sustained by the bounty, and cheered by -the smiles of the heavenly girl?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But at length her mother fell sick, and for many a -weary month Helen watched by the sufferer’s bed-side, -a ministering angel. During this illness she -noticed that, at times, her father would seem lost in -thought, as if something weighed heavily on his mind; -but Helen regarded it little, attributing it to his suspense -at her mother’s danger, for he loved both her -and his child with an intensity seemingly in contradiction -to his hard, unbending character, but which, -in truth, was the result of his total seclusion from the -world; for the sympathies thus shut out from others -lavished themselves wholly on his wife and daughter. -At length, Mrs. Græme died, and for many days it -seemed as if that strong man’s heart would break, -while Helen wept in silence, though not less uncontrollably. -Her father was now sterner than ever, -though not to her. He was more alone, often indulged -in fits of musing, and was absent at Edinburgh -for some days—an unusual occurrence—and -when he came back it was as Sir Roland Græme, -a title which men said he had purchased by selling -himself to the Court. Helen heard these rumors—which, -however, came to her ears in whispers, and -which at first she could not believe—with sorrow and -despair of heart; but no word of reproof broke from -her lips. Her sufferings were endured silently; but -so deep was her grief, that she pined away, seeming -to all eyes a being lent awhile to earth, and gradually -exhaling to heaven. Her father, thinking her -sorrow sprung wholly from her mother’s death, and -wishing, perhaps, that she should be from home -when he should first act for the government, sent -her to her mother’s native vale, alleging, and doubtless -hoping, that change of air would restore her to -health. It were doing him no more than justice to -say, that his paternal love was fully aroused to -Helen’s danger, and that he took the only possible -means to keep at his side this dear bud of her who -was now in heaven. He forgot how much the little -family at the Brae leaned toward the persecuted -sect—he forgot the disaffected character of the district -into which Helen went—he forgot the danger -lest her own feelings should become enlisted in behalf -of those against whom he was so soon to draw -his sword; remembering only—for was he not a -father?—that his child’s health was in danger, and -that a residence in the mountain district where she -had been born, and where she had spent so many -happy years, was the sole chance of saving her -life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now Helen was once more amid the scenes -where her childhood had been spent, and every old -counsel and prayer of her mother, recalled to mind -by the spots where they had been first heard, rose -up before her, and softened her heart; and often, at -Sabbath eve, or in the still watches of the night, it -seemed to her as if the spirit of that sainted mother -hovered over her, whispering her heavenward, and -bidding her never to forget or forsake her God. All -the sympathies which now surrounded her, drew her -to the persecuted sect; for her cousin and aunt were -both among the non-conformists; and though the -little kirk, standing all alone in the hills, a cool well -in a parched desert, was now closed, and he who -had formerly ministered there an outcast, yet the -sight and recognition of him, at more than one stolen -meeting, recalled to Helen’s mind the time when he -blessed her, nestling bird-like to her mother’s bosom, -she looking the while half affrightedly, yet oh, how -reverentially, up into the face of the mild old man! -And was not her heart softened, even to tears, when -the patriarch, well remembering her—for none did -he ever forget—sought her among the crowd, and, -laying his hands on her head, blessed her, hoping -that God still kept her in the way her mother had -trod? From that hour Helen became a changed -being. The light heartedness of youth was gone. -She wept often, and prayed in solitary places by -herself; for lo! the struggle in her bosom, between -duty to her parent, and a higher duty to God, waxed -stronger and stronger; but daily she yearned more -and more to the oppressed remnant, until finally it -was whispered in the scattered congregation that the -persecutor’s daughter—that child of many prayers—was -to become a professed member of the flock. -And old men and nursing mothers in the church -blessed God as they heard it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On this Sabbath morning, Helen had, for the first -time, openly attended a meeting in the hills. At -first, she had come with fear and trembling, but -when she saw the looks of kindly sympathy with -which all regarded her, she became more composed, -and could enter on the holy duties of the day in a -fitting mood. And when the aged pastor gave out -the hymn, and the congregation joined in the sacred -anthem, what voice sang of redeeming love so -sweetly as that of Helen?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lo! the vision of light has passed from our souls, -and in place of that seraphic countenance, we behold -the face of a stern warrior, in every feature of -which we read of cruelty and blood. Even now he -is hot in pursuit of the suffering remnant, and with -his troop of fiery dragoons interrupts the Sabbath -quiet of the vales and glens, with the jingling of -broad swords and the ribald jests of scoffers; and -many a dark-browed peasant scowls on the persecutor -as he passes, and prays that God will yet avenge -his slaughtered saints. Nor, if the popular rumor is -to be believed, is that vengeance altogether withheld; -for men say that Sir Roland Græme, having -sold his religion for the paltry honors of earth, has -been already cursed from on high, and that, sleeping -or waking, he finds no rest from the stingings of -remorse; yet, like one who has committed the unpardonable -sin, he cannot draw back from his career -of blood, but is impelled onward, as if by some irresistible -power, to still darker crimes. Look upon -his face again, and tell us if there is not something -there which you shudder to behold—something of -untold horror in that stern, God-defying brow, as if -the arch-enemy had already been suffered to affix his -seal upon it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And whither was that man of blood going? Far, -far over hill and dale, to the slaughter of the saints. -He had heard, through some traitor, of the assemblage -to be held that morning in the hills, and with -the first dawn of day he and his troopers had been in -the saddle, thirsting to participate in the bloody sacrament. -For the last half hour he had seemed lost in -thought, and now he suddenly drew in his rein, and -turned to his lieutenant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lennox,” he said, “I believe I will not lead -these brave fellows to-day, but surrender the command -to you. I see, over yonder hill, the blue summit -that looks down on the Brae, where my daughter -is visiting. I have not seen her for months, nor is it -probable I shall be in this district for many months -more. The country here is widely disaffected, and -therefore an unbecoming residence for a child of -mine. It has just struck me that I might cross the -hills, and bring her home with me this afternoon. -And yet something whispers to me that I ought -rather to pursue these traitors and schismatics,” he -continued, as if to himself; “however, I can trust -to you, and it is imperative that my daughter leave -this district. We will meet here by four o’clock. -Your road lies down yonder glen. All I have to say -is, ‘spare none!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I understand,” said the subordinate; “neither -age nor sex.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Neither age nor sex, nor even those of rank, if -such there be,” sternly said Sir Roland; “when the -poison has sunk deep, nothing but the cautery will -cure. And hark ye! on the faithful execution of -your commands depends your hope of preferment. -I would not spare my own child, if I found her -among these spawn of Satan!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And, with these memorable words, he ordered a -detachment of his company to follow him, and rode -off, though at first reluctantly, in the direction of the -Brae.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The route was passed in silence, for Sir Roland -was buried in thought. There was indeed cause for -it. One or two things in the last letter he had received -from his daughter—and that missive had now -been written a month—made him feel uneasy, lest -she looked more favorably on the persecuted sect -than became a daughter of his; and it was this fear, -all at once recalled to mind by the business on -which he had set forth this morning, that determined -him so suddenly to leave the dispersion of the conventicle -to his lieutenant, while he should ride over -to the Brae, and bring his daughter home. Other -thoughts, too, were busy within him. The long -coveted rank had brought little alleviation to his -soured and disappointed mind, for his fortune was -now more than ever inadequate to his condition, -and all the peculiarly sensitive feelings of a proud -man were stung to the quick by the indignities to -which, in consequence, he was often exposed. -Moreover, he was aware of the light in which he -was held, since his change of politics, not only by -the common people, but by large portions of the -gentry; so that, on every hand, he was soured and -irritated, and longed to wreak on the Covenanters -the hate which he felt toward all men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And yet, as he approached the Brae, and saw at a -distance the low roof of the mansion from which he -had taken his bride, gentler feelings stole into his -bosom. He thought of her whom he had once loved -with all the fervor of a first passion—he remembered -the happy years they had spent together—and when -he recollected that she was now no more, and that -the last time he had beheld these roofs he had been in -her company, a tear almost gathered into his eye. -Then he thought of his daughter. As her image rose -up before him, his heart was fully melted. With all -the sternness of his character he loved that daughter -as few fathers loved—ay! loved her doubly since -her mother’s death, for she was now the only object -in the whole wide world on which he could bestow -aught of affection. And now, joy at the prospect of -meeting her gave to his spirits the glad exhilaration -of boyhood, and quickening his pace, he galloped -gaily across the hills, nor drew his rein until he -reached the door of the old mansion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Brae was an antique and partially dilapidated -residence, at present inhabited by the aunt of Helen, -and a daughter about the age of Miss Græme. At -all times it wore a sombre, deserted look, but on this -morning it seemed peculiarly desolate, for the whole -front of the house was closed, and all the outhouses -shut up. A strange fear came over the father, as he -beheld the absence of these signs of life, and he -hastily ordered one of the dragoons to dismount and -knock at the door. The man obeyed, but for a time -knocked in vain. The sound of the hilt of his heavy -sword, striking on the door, echoed through the long -hall of the house; but no signs of life within were -visible. The usual frown on the face of Sir Roland -grew darker, and he cried angrily—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blow off the lock with a pistol, and search the -house!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this instant, however, and just as the trooper -was proceeding to execute this order, the face of an -old woman was protruded from one of the upper -windows, while she demanded who was below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir Roland Græme,” replied the leader; “where -are the family? where is Miss Græme? Is any one -sick?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They are all well, but out!” briefly said the -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out—out!” exclaimed the persecutor, “and on -Sunday, when there is no church within miles. By -G—,” he continued, striving to drown his fears in -rage, “is this a time to be out? Where have they -gone? Answer truly, on your life!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May it please your honor,” said one of the -dragoons, touching his cap, “may they not have -gone to this conventicle, and taken your daughter -with them?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quick as lightning, Sir Roland wheeled round on -the unthinking speaker, and while the indentation -on his brow became deeper than ever, and his -eye flashed with rage, he said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>My</span> daughter consorting with traitors and schismatics! -Breathe but the word again, and by the -God of heaven I will cleave you to the chine!” -and his fingers played nervously with the hilt of his -sword; but, seeing the deprecating look of the -trooper, he recovered himself, and added, “tush! -man, you are innocent, but take care how even innocently -you rouse the tiger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tiger,” shrieked the old woman, who had known -Sir Roland in former days, and who now seemed impelled -by some sudden gust of passion to speak out, -“it is well said; ay! one whose fangs have been in -the hearts of the persecuted remnant—but God will -avenge his people. Know, false persecutor, that -your daughter <span class='it'>has</span> gone forth to-day to become one -of the chosen few against whom, oh! man of sin, -you have so often ridden with steel and war horse, -holding the commission of your master, the Evil -One. Go to, Roland Græme, I mind ye when ye -were a boy, and little did I think ye would ever become -the Judas you are now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is probable that if her hearer had comprehended -the whole of this harangue, a bullet would have been -the speaker’s reward; but the first words of the old -woman, when taken in connection with the desertion -of the house, and his own misgivings from Helen’s -late letter, assured him that his daughter had indeed -attended the conventicle. The conviction fell on his -heart with agonizing force. Remembering the injunctions -of indiscriminate butchery he had laid on -his subordinate, and well knowing that the command -would be fulfilled to the very letter, he staggered -back in his saddle, with a face whiter than ashes, -and was fain to grasp the pommel for support, while -he exclaimed in tones wrung from him by the keenest -anguish—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My child!—my child!—I have murdered my -child!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is that ye say?” screamed the old hag, -leaning eagerly forward; “have ye sent out your -reiving dragoons against the Lord’s anointed? and -ye fear that they will slay your ain bairn. Oh! man -of blood, the judgment of God has come upon ye—the -judgment has come upon ye!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But to the voice of the speaker, as well as to the -astonished looks of the dragoons, the father was insensible. -He still remained clutching the saddle, -every feature of his face working with intense -agony, and his eyes glaring vacantly on the air. -Those who looked on him shrunk back aghast at -the horror of his aspect; which, fearful as it was, -only faintly shadowed forth the torture of the soul -within. The peril of his only child stupefied him for -a time. Then a succession of wild images rose up -to his mind. He saw his daughter flying before the -ruthless dragoons—he heard her cries for mercy, and -the bitter sneer of disbelief on the part of her pursuers—he -beheld her lying a corpse on the bare -heath, her bosom gashed with brutal wounds, and -her long fair hair dabbled with blood. In that moment -the memory of every one whom he had slain -came up before him—the mothers who had clung to -his knees, the babes who had looked innocently in -his face as they died, the daughters whose aged -parents he had slain before their eyes. He thought -of the silvery headed patriarch whom he had shot -for refusing the test, and the prophetic warning of -the victim that he, even he, the proud persecutor, -should curse the day he ever drew his sword against -the saints, came up to his memory. He groaned in -anguish. For a time none dared to intrude on his -misery. One of his men, a trusty body adherent, at -length ventured to speak, by asking him if they had -not better ride with all haste after Lennox, in the -hope that they might yet come up in time. Starting, -as if a shot had struck him, the father plunged his -rowels into the side of his steed, until the blood -gushed forth, and wheeling his horse sharp around, -looked back sternly on his followers, as he led the -way at a fearful pace up the hill. Well did he -know the country around, and necessary, indeed, -was that knowledge, for his frantic gallop required -the most intimate acquaintance with every turn and -inequality of the road. Over hill and dale, through -glen and moor he dashed, reckless of danger, for -how could he think of aught but his daughter? Oh! -what would he not have given to be assured that he -should once more look into her soft blue eyes, that -he should again press her to his bosom. What now -to him was rank or wealth? Perhaps he thought -that Helen would be able to reveal her name ere she -fell a victim—but no! for even if she spoke, would -his subordinate believe her story? Once, the very -suspicion that she favored the Covenanters had angered -him, but now he would forgive every thing, -only to be assured of her safety. The contending -emotions—hope and fear, love and anger, suspense -and despair—that agitated his bosom, made that -hour’s ride an hour of agony, such as he had never -before thought a human being could endure, and -live. He felt that the curse of God was on him—that -all the agonies he had inflicted on others were -now concentrated on himself—that he was bound to -the wheel of fire. His punishment had already begun. -He had rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty’s -buckler, and found, like him of old, that -man could not contend against the Most High.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We remember, when a boy, waking from a dream -of horror, to find our mother smiling over our sleep. -Oh! never shall we forget the heavenly radiance of -that loved face, for radiant with heaven it seemed to -us, after the terrors of that midnight vision. Even -so we feel when turning from contemplating the tortures -of the persecutor, to gaze on his sainted child. -The hour was now approaching noon, and Helen, in -the presence of the silent flock, had taken upon her -those vows she could never put off. Tears fell from -many an eye as the worshipers beheld her thus in -their midst; and the old pastor was so affected that -he could scarcely speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God will reward you, my daughter, and give you -strength,” he said; “I bless His holy name that thou -art delivered from the dominion of Baal. It is hard, -I know, to disobey a parent; but saith not the Scripture, -that we must leave father and mother, if required, -and take up our cross and follow Christ? -Only persevere, and God will make your way plain -to you, guiding you, even as he led the children of -Israel, with a pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by -night. Trials, and sore ones, we must all have in -this world—and I boast not, but only speak to cheer -you, when I say that mine have been many and hard, -but God has given me grace to endure all, even as -He will give it unto you. But my race is nearly run; -the golden urn will soon be broken at the fountain. -I only pray to die like the martyrs of old, with my -armor on, and my sword girt to my thigh. Come, -oh! Lord, most mighty,” he continued, raising his -hands and eyes rapturously above, “come, oh! Lord -most gracious, and come quickly!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A deep silence followed the conclusion of this -prayer, while the tears of many fell fast and thick. -Every eye was fixed on the holy man, or turned to -Helen, for the countenances of both already seemed -to glow, as those of angels. None dared to draw a -breath, lest they should dispel the hushed stillness -that so well accorded with the solemnity of the moment. -But suddenly a cry was heard, clear, loud -and startling—“The dragoons—the dragoons are -here!” and had a voice come from the dead, it -would not have produced a more sudden change in -the hearers. Every one started up, and all eyes -were turned toward the point whence the cry had -proceeded. There, on a gentle eminence, stood a -shepherd waving his plaid, and making gestures for -the congregation to fly up the glen. In an instant all -was confusion. Mothers clasped their infants to -their bosoms, and looked up tremblingly, with faces -whiter than ashes—maidens clung to their lovers, -and gazed around with dilated eyes and looks of -terror—and fathers and brothers, gathering around -these dear ones, hurried them on foot and horseback, -in the direction indicated by the sentinel. The escort -of Helen and her aunt had been several armed retainers, -and these now rallied to the side of their -mistress and the pastor, prepared to make good their -retreat, or defend themselves to the last. Hoping to -escape the notice of the pursuers, they dashed off in -a different direction from that pursued by the others -of the congregation; but just as they turned the angle -of the hill, the pennons of the troopers came into -sight, and by the immediate diversion of a party in -pursuit of them, the fugitives knew they were detected. -Pricking their horses, they now hurried -rapidly onward, and for several hundred yards lost -sight of their pursuers. At length, the little party -reached the brow of a slight acclivity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Faster—faster,” said one who had looked back, -“they gain on us—press on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every eye was turned in the direction of the pursuers, -and there, not half the distance they had been -before, were the dragoons, thundering along with -fiery haste. The sight gave new energy to the fugitives, -who urged on their steeds with redoubled vigor. -For a while now the result seemed doubtful. During -this interval of suspense the feelings of the fugitives -were of the most conflicting character—the instinctive -love of life alternating with a holy resignation -to whatever fate might be assigned them. Now, as -they gained on the troopers, the former prevailed, -and now, as they saw their pursuers drawing nigher, -the latter won the mastery. The emotions of each, -meanwhile, were different. The old pastor, with -eyes uplifted, seemed rapturously awaiting martyrdom—the -aunt and cousin of Helen were pale and red -by turns as their fear or faith rose triumphant, while -the serving men frowned darkly as they looked behind, -and appeared to wish for a chance to exchange -passes with their steel-clad oppressors. But the feelings -of Helen were most difficult to analyze, though -perhaps they had less of earth in them than those of -any except the pastor. Subdued by the day’s sacrifice -of herself, and all glowing with divine faith and -energy, what had she to fear from death? Yet, even -with this perfect resignation, she could not avoid -looking back on their pursuers, while her heart heat -quicker as the distance increased between the troopers -and themselves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We gain—we gain—press on, we shall escape,” -shouted the leader of the little party, “the Lord will -yet deliver us from our enemies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, nay,” said the pastor suddenly, “the hour -has come—see ye not that we are cut off in front, lo! -the horses and the men-of-war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A cry—almost a shriek—broke from Helen’s two -female companions as they looked ahead, and saw, -emerging from a narrow ravine, another party of -dragoons, led by a tall, dark man far in advance of -the rest, and all riding with tumultuous haste. Helen -spoke not, but only raised her eyes to heaven, for -escape was now impossible. The ravine ahead was -the only feasible outlet in that direction, from the -glen up which the fugitives had fled, and to turn back -would be to fall on the swords of their pursuers. -The serving men looked aghast, and drew in their -reins, which example the rest of the party immediately -followed. For a minute there was a profound -silence. At length the leader again spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why stand we here? Escape is impossible, unless -we can cut our way through. Let us charge the -party behind, for that is the smaller. Form a circle -around the women—wheel—trot.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no time for consultation, and the proposal -seemed to point out the only feasible plan. -With the words they wheeled their horses, and dashed -to the desperate attack. The dragoons seemed -for an instant astonished by the movement, but did -not slacken their pace. Their leader waved his -sword, and turning to his men, led the onset in person, -shouting “God save the king and bishops,” -while the Covenanters, unsheathing their blades, -raised the cry of “The sword of the Lord and Gideon.” -And thus, borne in the midst of those armed -men as in the embrace of a whirlwind, Helen -was hurried toward the dragoons. And as they galloped -along, the heavenly girl, with heart uplifted, -prayed, while her countenance shone with a glory -as of the cherubim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And who was it that dashed so frantically up the -glen, as if fearful that he might not arrive to whet -his blade in the blood of the fugitives? Who, but -Sir Roland Græme, flying to save his daughter, and -even now almost maddened with the thought that he -had come too late, for the instant that he emerged -from the ravine he recognized his child, and now, -when he saw her turned back to the pursuers, and -his practiced eye told him that he could not reach her -until the two parties should be engaged in deadly -combat, the same sickening sensation of horror -which had attacked him at the Brae came over him -again. With a sharp cry of agony he ploughed his -spurs into the already bloody sides of his horse, and -sprang forward at a pace even more frantic than that -which he had before led; but swift as was his progress -it seemed to him only that of a snail. On—on—he -urged his gallant beast, and nearer and nearer -the fugitives and their first pursuers drew to each -other. What though he gained on the group!—he -saw that the hostile parties would meet while he -would yet be far away. Oh! what were his feelings as -this conviction forced itself on him. If only another -mile, in which to overtake them, had been given -him, he might perhaps have succeeded; but now -hope was in vain! Cold drops of sweat stood on his -brow, while his heart throbbed almost to bursting -against his corselet. Did none recognize him, and -could they not understand his frantic signs? He -shouted—again—again—again. The dead might as -well be expected to hear. He waved his plumed hat -on high, but, at that instant, with the shock of an -earthquake, the opponents met. A dizziness came -over his eyes, but with a mighty effort he rallied his -reeling faculties, and looked at the fight. Was his -child yet alive? He saw the gleam of the broadswords, -the blaze of firearms, and all the tumult of -the conflict, but his daughter was not visible. Suddenly -a sharp, quick, female shriek, rising shrill over -the uproar, met his ear. God of heaven, had his -Helen fallen! Another leap of his frantic steed, and -he was near enough to hear the shouts of the combatants -and distinguish particular persons. He trembled -with eagerness, but lo! his daughter was still -unharmed, girt around as with a wall of steel, by -the broadswords of her defenders. He rose in his -stirrups at the sight, and waving his hat around his -head, shouted with the voice of a Titan. Joy—joy! -they recognize him, and his child extends her arms -toward him. She is saved. But no! for at this very -instant, when at length they understood by their leader’s -gestures that they were to desist, one of the -dragoons, availing himself of the confusion of the -moment and thirsting for vengeance for a wound he -had received, aimed a pistol at the pastor’s bosom, -and though a fellow soldier struck aside his arm, it -was only to wing the deadly ball to another heart, -even that of Helen, who all along had been nestled -by the side of the holy man. She fell back into his -arms, the blood gushing from her bosom, and for an -instant they thought her gone. But when the pastor -called on her name she faintly opened her eyes, -pressed his hand, smiled sweetly, and murmuring of -heaven, sank away apparently into a slumber.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One wild cry of horror had risen, at her fall, from -those immediately around her, telling the tale of her -murder; but the father needed not this confirmation -of his worst fears, for he had seen the shot and beheld -her fall. Galloping wildly forward, with a few gigantic -leaps he reached the offender, whom he smote -to the earth with a single blow of his broadsword. -The next instant he was by his daughter’s side, the -group opening awe-struck to let him pass. He spoke -not, but oh! the terrible agony of his countenance. -Putting them aside with arms extended, he approached -and gazed down into the face of his child—gazed as -Sapphira did when the apostle told her doom, and she -saw the bearers returning from her husband’s burial. -And for a minute of profound silence he continued -gazing thus, into that fair sweet face, on which, -though now stilled as in death, there yet lingered a -smile of heavenly joy. He shuddered as he looked, -and his countenance became livid as that of a corpse. -He essayed to speak, but though his lips moved, no -sound proceeded from them. At length slowly, almost -reluctantly, he stooped down and took her -hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Helen—Helen,” he said, in a choking voice, -“you are not dead. Say so—tell me I am not your -murderer. Oh! speak, and forgive me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dying girl faintly opened her eyes, and gazed -vacantly into her father’s face. Her senses were -fast deserting her. She did not recognize him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh God! my child is dying,” groaned the father. -“Helen, Helen,” he continued, raising his voice, -“do you not know me? I am your father—your -murderer. Do not look on me with such strange -eyes! Helen, Helen dear, say, if only by a smile, -that you forgive me. Oh! Lord God of heaven,” -he exclaimed, lifting his eyes agonizingly above, -“have mercy on me—suffer her to live to forgive -me—crush not the bruised reed,” and hot tears -gushed from his eyes and trickled in his daughter’s -face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who weeps?” faintly said the dying sufferer, -“weep not for me. Tell my father how I love him, -and die blessing him—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank thee, Almighty Father, I thank thee,” -gasped the penitent. “Helen, here is your father—I -am he.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the first time, now, the dying girl seemed fully -to comprehend her situation. She looked a minute -around the group, and then, with a sweet smile, her -eyes rested on her father’s face. She faintly pressed -his hand. Tears gushed from his eyes like rain, and -though he strove to speak he could not for his sobs. -She murmured of him, of her mother, of heaven, and -then they knew she was dead. The father looked on -her a moment, and with a groan—which none there -ever forgot—sunk helpless to her side. They raised -him, but he was a corpse. “Vengeance is mine,” -saith the Lord, “and I will repay.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rac'></a>A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MR. SEBA SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hardly any event creates a stronger sensation in -a thinly settled New England village, especially -among the young folks, than the arrival of a fresh -and blooming miss, who comes to make her abode -in the neighborhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, -the only lawyer in the place, and a very respectable -man of course, told Farmer Jones one afternoon -that his wife’s sister, a smart girl of eighteen, -was coming in a few days to reside in his family, -the news flew like wildfire through Pond village, and -was the principal topic of conversation for a week. -Pond village is situated upon the margin of one of -those numerous and beautiful sheets of water that -gem the whole surface of New England, like the -bright stars in an evening sky, and received its appellation -to distinguish it from two or three other -villages in the same town, which could not boast of -a similar location. When Farmer Jones came in to -his supper about sunset that afternoon, and took his -seat at the table, the eyes of the whole family were -upon him, for there was a peculiar working about -his mouth and a knowing glance of his eye, that -always told them when he had something of interest -to communicate. But Farmer Jones’ secretiveness -was large, and his temperament not the most active, -and he would probably have rolled the important -secret as a sweet morsel under his tongue for a -long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was of rather an -impatient and prying turn of mind, contrived to draw -it from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Mr. Jones,” said she, as she handed him -his cup of tea, “what is it you are going to say? Do -out with it; for you’ve been chawing something or -other over in your mind ever since you came into -the house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s my tobacher, I s’pose,” said Mr. Jones, with -another knowing glance of his eye.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, father, what is the use?” said Susan; “we -all know you’ve got something or other you want to -say, and why can’t you tell us what ’tis?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La, who cares what ’tis?” said Mrs. Jones; “if -it was any thing worth telling, we shouldn’t have to -wait for it, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hereupon Mrs. Jones assumed an air of the most -perfect indifference, as the surest way of conquering -what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones’ obstinacy, -which by the way was a very improper term to apply -in the case; for it was purely the working of -secretiveness without the least particle of obstinacy -attached to it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause for two or three minutes in the -conversation, till Mr. Jones passed his cup to be filled -a second time, when with a couple of preparatory -hems he began to let out the secret.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are to have a new neighbor here in a few -days,” said Mr. Jones, stopping short when he had -uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and filling his -mouth with food.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said -not a word, but attended to the affairs of the table, as -though she had not noticed what was said. The -farmer’s secretiveness had at last worked itself out, -and he began again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Squire Johnson’s wife’s sister is coming here in -a few days, and is going to live with ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The news being thus fairly divulged, it left free -scope for conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck up -piece,” said Mrs. Jones.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t think she would be,” said Susan, -“for there aint a more sociabler woman in the -neighborhood than Miss Johnson. So if she’s at all -like her sister I think we shall like her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder how old she is,” said Stephen, who was -just verging toward the close of his twenty-first year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The squire called her eighteen,” said Mr. Jones, -giving a wink to his wife, as much as to say, that’s -about the right age for Stephen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder if she is handsome,” said Susan, who -was somewhat vain of her own looks, and having -been a sort of reigning belle in Pond village for some -time, felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare be bound she’s handsome,” said Mrs. -Jones, “if she’s sister to Miss Johnson; for where’ll -you find a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, go -the town through?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson’s -store, and told the news to young Charles -Robinson and all the young fellows who were -gathered there for a game at quoits and a ring at -wrestling. And Susan went directly over to Mr. -Bean’s and told Patty, and Patty went round to the -Widow Davis’ and told Sally, and before nine o’clock -the matter was pretty well understood in about every -house in the village.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, -a chaise was seen to drive up to Squire Johnson’s -door. Of course the eyes of the whole village -were turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was -just coming in from milking, set her pail down on -the grass by the side of the road as soon as the chaise -came in sight, and watched it till it reached the -squire’s door, and the gentleman and lady had got -out and gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing -up the ironing that afternoon, and she had just taken -a hot iron from the fire as the chaise passed the door, -and she ran with it in her hand and stood on the door -steps till the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, -and entering the house, was over. Old Mrs. Bean -stood with her head out of the window, her iron-bowed -spectacles resting upon the top of her forehead, -her shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows -to defend her red eyes from the rays of the setting -sun, and her skinny chin protruding about three -inches in advance of a couple of stubs of teeth, which -her open mouth exposed fairly to view.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Seems to me they are dreadful loving,” said old -Mrs. Bean, as she saw Mrs. Johnson descend the -steps and welcome her sister with a kiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La me, if there isn’t the squire kissing of her -tu,” said Patty; “well, I declare, I would a waited -till I got into the house, I’ll die if I wouldn’t. It -looks so vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out -doors tu; I should think Squire Johnson would be -ashamed of himself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I shouldn’t,” said young John Bean, who -came up at that moment, and who had passed the -chaise just as the young lady alighted from it. “I -shouldn’t be ashamed to kiss sich a pretty gal as that -any how; I’d kiss her wherever I could ketch her, -if it was in the meetin-house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, is she handsome, Jack?” said Patty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, she’s got the prettiest little puckery kind of -a mouth I’ve seen this six months. Her cheeks are -red, and her eyes shine like new buttons.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” replied Patty, “if she’ll only take the -shine off of Susan Jones when she goes to meetin, -Sunday, I sha’n’t care.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While these observations were going on at old Mr. -Bean’s, Charles Robinson and a group of young fellows -with him were standing in front of Robinson’s -store, a little farther down the road, and watching -the scene that was passing at Squire Johnson’s. -They witnessed the whole with becoming decorum, -now and then making a remark about the fine horse -and the handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire -bend his head down and give the young lady a kiss, -when they all burst out into a loud laugh. In a moment, -being conscious that their laugh must be heard -and noticed at the squire’s, they, in order to do away -the impression it must necessarily make, at once -turned their heads the other way, and Charles Robinson, -who was quick at an expedient, knocked off the -hat of the lad who was standing next to him, and -then they all laughed louder than before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here comes Jack Bean,” said Charles, “now we -shall hear something about her, for Jack was coming -by the squire’s when she got out of the chaise. How -does she look, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Handsome as a picter,” said Jack. “I haint -seen a prettier gal since last Thanksgiving Day, -when Jane Ford was here to visit Susan Jones.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Black eyes or blue?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blue,” said Jack, “but all-fired bright.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tall or short?” said Stephen Jones, who was -rather short himself, and therefore felt a particular -interest on that point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rather short,” said Jack, “but straight and round -as our young colt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know what her name is?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They called her Lucy when she got out of the -chaise,” said Jack, “and as Miss Johnson’s name -was Brown before she was married, I s’pose her -name must be Lucy Brown.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just such a name as I like,” said Charles Robinson; -“Lucy Brown sounds well. Now suppose, in -order to get acquainted with her, we all hands take a -sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, -and invite her to go with us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Agreed,” said Stephen Jones. “Agreed,” said -Jack Bean. “Agreed,” said all hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The question then arose, who should carry the invitation -to her; and the young men being rather -bashful on that score, it was finally settled that -Susan Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany -her to the boat, where they should all be in -waiting to receive her. The next day was a very -long day, at least to most of the young men of Pond -village; and promptly, an hour before sunset, most -of them were assembled, with half a score of their -sisters and female cousins, by a little stone wharf on -the margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All -the girls in the village, of a suitable age, were there, -except Patty Bean. She had undergone a good deal -of fidgeting and fussing during the day, to prepare for -the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new bonnet -was not done; and as for wearing her old flap-sided -bonnet, she declared she would not, if she -never went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy -Brown were seen coming down the road. In a moment -all were quiet, the laugh and the joke were -hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When -they arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of -introducing Miss Brown to each of the ladies and -gentlemen present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But how in the world are you going to sail?” -said Miss Brown, “for there isn’t a breath of wind; -and I don’t see any sail-boat, neither.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, the less wind we have, the better, when we -sail here,” said Charles Robinson; “and there is -our sail-boat,” pointing to a flat-bottomed scow-boat, -some twenty feet long by ten wide.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We don’t use no sails,” said Jack Bean; “sometimes, -when the wind is fair, we put up a bush to -help pull along a little, and when ’tisn’t, we row.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The party were soon embarked on board the scow, -and a couple of oars were set in motion, and they -glided slowly and pleasantly over as lovely a sheet -of water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In -one hour’s time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted -with Miss Lucy Brown. She had talked in -the most lively and fascinating manner; she had told -stories and sung songs. Among others, she had -given Moore’s boat song, with the sweetest possible -effect; and by the time they returned to the landing, -it would hardly be too much to say that half the -young men in the party were decidedly in love with -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A stern regard to truth requires a remark to be -made here, not altogether favorable to Susan Jones, -which is the more to be regretted, as she was in the -main an excellent hearted girl, and highly esteemed -by the whole village. It was observed that as the -company grew more and more pleased with Miss -Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less and less animated, -till at last she became quite reserved, and -apparently sad. She, however, on landing, treated -Miss Brown with respectful attention, accompanied -her home to Squire Johnson’s door, and cordially -bade her good night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The casual glimpses which the young men of -Pond village had of Miss Brown during the remainder -of the week, as she occasionally stood at -the door, or looked out at the window, or once or -twice when she walked out with Susan Jones, and -the fair view they all had of her at meeting on the -Sabbath, served but to increase their admiration, -and to render her more and more an object of attraction. -She was regarded by all as a prize, and several -of them were already planning what steps it was -best to take in order to win her. The two most prominent -candidates, however, for Miss Brown’s favor, -were Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. Their -position and standing among the young men of the -village seemed to put all others in the back ground. -Charles, whose father was wealthy, had every advantage -which money could procure. But Stephen, -though poor, had decidedly the advantage over -Charles in personal recommendations. He had -more talent, was more sprightly and intelligent, -and more pleasing in his address. From the evening -of the sail on the pond, they had both watched -every movement of Miss Brown with the most intense -interest; and, as nothing can deceive a lover, -each had, with an interest no less intense, watched -every movement of the other. They had ceased to -speak to each other about her, and if her name was -mentioned in their presence, both were always observed -to color.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The second week after her arrival, through the -influence of Squire Johnson, the district school was -offered to Miss Brown on the other side of the pond, -which offer was accepted, and she went immediately -to take charge of it. This announcement at first -threw something of a damper upon the spirits of the -young people of Pond village. But when it was understood -the school would continue but a few weeks, -and being but a mile and a half distant, Miss Brown -would come home every Saturday afternoon, and -spend the Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be reconciled -to the temporary arrangement. The week -wore away heavily, especially to Charles Robinson -and Stephen Jones. They counted the days impatiently -till Saturday, and on Saturday they counted -the long and lagging hours till noon. They had both -made up their minds that it would be dangerous to -wait longer, and they had both resolved not to let -another Sabbath pass without making direct proposals -to Miss Brown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles -Robinson, and, in any enterprise where both were -concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, except -where money could carry the palm, and then, of -course, it was always borne away by Charles. As -Miss Lucy had been absent most of the week, and -was to be at home that afternoon, Charles Robinson -had made an arrangement with his mother and sisters -to have a little tea party in the evening, for the purpose -of inviting Miss Brown; and then, of course, -he should walk home with her in the evening; and -then, of course, would be a good opportunity to -break the ice, and make known to her his feelings -and wishes. Stephen Jones, however, was more -prompt in his movements. He had got wind of the -proposed tea party, although himself and sister, for -obvious reasons, had not been invited, and he resolved -not to risk the arrival of Miss Brown and her -visit to Mr. Robinson’s, before he should see her. -She would dismiss her school at noon, and come the -distance of a mile and a half round the pond home. -His mind was at once made up. He would go round -and meet her at the school-house, and accompany -her on her walk. There, in that winding road -around those delightful waters, with the tall and -shady trees over head, and the wild grape-vines -twining round their trunks, and climbing to the -branches, while the wild birds were singing through -the woods, and the wild ducks playing in the coves -along the shore, surely there, if any where in the -world, could a man bring his mind up to the point -of speaking of love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Accordingly, a little before noon, Stephen washed -and brushed himself up, and put on his Sunday -clothes, and started on his expedition. In order to -avoid observation, he took a back route across the -field, intending to come into the road by the pond, a -little out of the village. As ill luck would have it, -Charles Robinson had been out in the same direction, -and was returning with an armful of green -boughs and wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for -the evening. He saw Stephen, and noticed his -dress, and the direction he was going, and he at -once smoked the whole business. His first impulse -was to rush upon him and collar him, and demand -that he should return back. But then he recollected -that in the last scratch he had with Stephen, two or -three years before, he had a little the worst of it, -and he instinctively stood still while Stephen passed -on without seeing him. It flashed upon his mind at -once that the question must now be reduced to a -game of speed. If he could by any means gain the -school-house first, and engage Miss Lucy to walk -home with him, he should consider himself safe. -But if Stephen should reach the school-house first, -he should feel a good deal of uneasiness for the consequences. -Stephen was walking very leisurely, -and unconscious that he was in any danger of a -competitor on the course, and it was important that -his suspicions should not be awakened. Charles, -therefore, remained perfectly quiet till Stephen had -got a little out of hearing, and then he threw down -his bushes and flowers, and ran to the wharf below -the store with his utmost speed. He had one advantage -over Stephen. He was ready at a moment’s -warning to start on an expedition of this kind, for -Sunday clothes were an every-day affair with him. -There was a light canoe, belonging to his father, -lying at the wharf, and a couple of stout boys were -there fishing. Charles hailed them, and told them if -they would row him across the pond as quick as -they possibly could, he would give them a quarter of -a dollar a piece. This, in their view, was a splendid -offer for their services, and they jumped on board -with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a -paddle, and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and -help propel her ahead. The distance by water was -a little less than by land, and although Stephen had -considerably the start of him, he believed he should -be able to reach the school-house first, especially if -Stephen should not see him and quicken his pace. -In one minute after he arrived at the wharf, the boat -was under full way. The boys laid down to the oars -with right good will, and Charles put out all his -strength upon the paddle. They were shooting over -the water twice as fast as a man could walk, and -Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when -they had gone about half a mile, they came in the -range of a little opening in the trees on the shore, -where the road was exposed to view, and there, at -that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy -walk. Charles’ heart was in his mouth. Still it was -possible Stephen might not see them, for he had not -yet looked round. Lest the sound of the oars might -attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming -in sight, ordered the boys to stop rowing, and he -grasped his paddle with breathless anxiety, and -waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just as -he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, -where the boat would be out of his sight, Stephen -turned his head and looked round. He stopped short, -turned square round, and stood for the space of a -minute looking steadily at the boat. Then lifting his -hand, and shaking his fist resolutely at Charles, as -much as to say I understand you, he started into a -quick run.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, boys,” said Charles, “buckle to your oars -for your lives, and if you get to the shore so I can -reach the school-house before Stephen does, I’ll give -you half a dollar a piece.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This of course added new life to the boys and increased -speed to the boat. Their little canoe flew -over the water almost like a bird, carrying a white -bone in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the -glassy wave behind her. Charles’ hands trembled, -but still he did good execution with his paddle. Although -Stephen upon the run was a very different -thing from Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had -strong hopes of winning the race and gaining his -point. He several times caught glimpses of Stephen -through the trees, and, as well as he could judge, the -boat had a little the best of it. But when they came -out into the last opening, where for a little way they -had a fair view of each other, Charles thought Stephen -ran faster than ever; and although he was now -considerably nearer the school-house than Stephen -was, he still trembled for the result. They were -now within fifty rods of the shore, and Charles appealed -again to the boys’ love of money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now,” said he, “we have not a minute to -spare. If we gain the point, I’ll give you a dollar -apiece.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The boys strained every nerve, and Charles’ paddle -made the water fly like the tail of a wounded shark. -When within half a dozen rods of the shore, Charles -urged them again to spring with all their might, -and one of the boys making a desperate plunge upon -his oar, snapped it in two. The first pull of the other -oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw at once -that the delay must be fatal, if he depended on the -boat to carry him ashore. The water was but three -feet deep, and the bottom was sandy. He sprung -from the boat, and rushed toward the shore as fast -as he was able to press through the water. He flew -up the bank, and along the road, till he reached the -school-house. The door was open, but he could see -no one within. Several children were at play round -the door, who, having seen Charles approach with -such haste, stood with mouths and eyes wide open, -looking at him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where’s the schoolma’m?” said Charles, hastily, -to one of the largest boys.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?” said the boy, opening his eyes still -wider, “is any of the folks dead?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You little rascal, I say, where’s the schoolma’m?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She jest went down that road,” said the boy, -“two or three minutes ago.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was she alone?” said Charles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She started alone,” said the boy, “and a man -met her out there a little ways, and turned about and -went with her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and -that he might as well give it up for a bad job, and go -home. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown walked very -leisurely home through the woods, and Charles and -the boys went very leisurely in the boat across the -pond. They even stopped by the way, and caught a -mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their lines -into the boat when they started. And when they -reached the wharf, Charles, in order to show that he -had been a fishing, took a large string of the fish in -his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss -Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, -had undoubtedly been informed of the proposed tea-party -for the evening, to which she was to be invited, -and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones -were not invited; and when Miss Lucy’s invitation -came, she sent word back, that she was <span class='it'>engaged</span>.</p> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><h1><a id='far'></a>THE FAREWELL.</h1></div> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Farewell, farewell—O! ne’er from me</p> -<p class='line0'>  Till now that word hath hopeless passed;</p> -<p class='line0'>But, sweet one, faltered forth to thee,</p> -<p class='line0'>  It seems this once as ’twere the last—</p> -<p class='line0'>The last that thou wilt ever hear</p> -<p class='line0'>  From him who knows thy worth too well;</p> -<p class='line0'>I’ll stifle one relenting tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That mingles in this last farewell.</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><h1><a id='har'></a>HARRY CAVENDISH.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR,” “THE REEFER OF ’76,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CONCLUSION.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>I was now alone in the world; I had neither ship, -nor home; and she I had loved was wedded to -another. It is strange how misanthropical a man -becomes, after disappointment has soured his disposition, -and destroyed, one after another, the beautiful -dreams of his youth. When I sat down and thought -of the hopes of my earlier years, now gone forever; -when I speculated upon my future prospects; when I -recalled to mind how few of the friends I had begun -life with remained, an indescribable sadness came -over me, and, had it not been for my manhood, I -would have found a relief in tears. My zest for -society was gone. I cared little for the ordinary -business of life. I only longed for a fitting opportunity -to re-enter the service, and distinguish myself by -some gallant deed, which I did not care to survive, -for even fame had become hateful to me, since it -reminded me how insufficient it was to win or retain -the love of woman. In a word, I had become a misanthrope, -and was fast losing all the energy of my -character in sickly regrets over the past.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the St. Clairs I had not inquired since my return, -and their names, from motives of delicacy -perhaps, were never mentioned in my presence. -Yet they occupied a large portion of my thoughts, -and often would I start, and my heart flutter, when, -in the streets, I fancied, for a moment, that I recognized -the form of Annette. But a nearer approach -made evident my mistake, and dissipated my embarrassment. -Much, however, as I thought of her, I -had never inquired to whom she had been married; -yet my curiosity on this point continually gained -strength; and when I had been a fortnight in Newport -without hearing any allusion to her, I began to -wish that some one would break the ominous silence -which seemed to hang around her and her family. -Still I dared not trust myself to broach the subject. -I continued, therefore, ignorant of their present -situation, and of all that concerned them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is, not far from the town, and situated in -one of the most beautiful portions of the island, a -favorite resort which has long been known by the -familiar and characteristic name of “The Glen.” -The spot is one where the deity of romance might -sit enshrined. Here, on a still summer night, we -might, without much stretch of fancy, look for fairies -to come forth and gambol, or listen to the light music -of airy spirits hovering above us. The whole place -reminds you of an enchanted bower, and dull must -be his heart who does not feel the stirrings of the -divinity within him as he gazes on the lovely scenery -around. He who can listen here unmoved to the low -gurgle of the brook, or the light rustle of the leaves -in the summer wind, must be formed of the coarsest -clods of clay, nor boast one spark of our immortal -nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The glen was my favorite resort, and thither would -I go and spend whole afternoons, listening to the -laughing prattle of the little river, or striving to -catch, in pauses of the breeze, the murmur of the -neighboring sea. A rude bench had been constructed -under some trees, in a partially open glade, at the -lower extremity of the ravine, and here I usually -sat, indulging in those dreamy, half-sick reveries -which are characteristic of youth. The stream, -which brawled down the ravine, in a succession of -rapids and cascades, here glided smoothly along on -a level bottom, its banks fringed with long grass -interspersed with wild roses, and its bed strewed -with pebbles, round and silvery, that glistened in the -sunbeams, which, here and there, struggled through -the trees, and shimmered on the stream. Faint and -low came to the ear the sound of the mill, situated -at the upper end of the ravine; while occasionally a -bird whistled on the stillness, or a leaf floated lazily -down into the river, and went on its way, a tiny -bark. The seclusion of my favorite retreat was -often enlivened by the appearance of strangers, but -as they generally remained only a few minutes, I -had the spot, for most of the time, to myself. Here -I dreamed away the long summer afternoons, often -lingering until the moon had risen, to make the -scene seem even more beautiful, under her silvery -light. I had no pleasure in any other spot. Perhaps -it was because I had once been here with Annette, -when we were both younger, and I, at least, -happier; and I could remember plucking a flower -for her from a time-worn bush that still grew on the -margin of the stream. God knows how we love to -haunt the spot made dear to us by old and tender -recollections!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I was sitting, one afternoon, on the rude bench I -have spoken of, listlessly casting pebbles into the -river, when I heard the sound of approaching voices, -but I was so accustomed to the visits of strangers, -that I did not pause to look up. Directly the voices -came nearer, and suddenly a word was spoken that -thrilled through every nerve of my system. It was -only a single word, but that voice!—surely it could -be none other than Annette’s. My sensations, at -that moment, I will not pretend to analyze. I longed -to look up, and yet I dared not. My heart fluttered -wildly, and I could feel the blood rushing in torrents -to my face; but, if I had been called on at that instant -to speak, I could not have complied for worlds. -Luckily the tree, under whose shadow I sat, concealed -me from the approaching visitors, and I had -thus time to rally my spirits ere the strangers came -up. As they drew near I recognized the voice of -Mr. St. Clair, and then that of Annette’s cousin Isabel, -while there were one or two other speakers -who were strangers to me. Doubtless one of them -was Annette’s husband, and, as this thought flashed -across me, I looked up, impelled by an irresistible -impulse. The party were now within almost twenty -yards, coming gaily down the glen. Foremost in -the group walked Isabel, leaning on the arm of a -tall, gentlemanly looking individual, and turning -ever and anon around to Annette, who followed immediately -behind, at the side of her father. Another -lady, attended by a gentleman, made up the rest of -the company. Where could Annette’s husband be? -was the question that occurred to me—and who was -the distinguished looking gentleman on whose arm -Isabel was so familiarly leaning? But my thoughts -were cut short by a conversation which now began, -and of which, during a minute, I was an unknown -auditor—for my position still concealed me from the -party, and my surprise at first, and afterwards delicacy, -prevented me from appearing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! Annette,” said Isabel, archly, turning around -to her cousin, “do you know this spot, but especially -that rose-bush yonder?—here, right beyond that old -tree—you seem wonderfully ignorant all at once! I -wonder where the donor of that aforesaid rose-bud is -now. I would lay a guinea that it is yet in your possession, -preserved in some favorite book, pressed out -between the leaves. Come, answer frankly, is it not -so, my sweet coz?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I could hear no reply, if one was made, and immediately -another voice spoke. It was that of Isabel’s -companion, coming to the aid of Annette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are too much given to believe that Annette -follows your example, Isabel—now do you turn -penitent, and let me be father confessor—how many -rose-buds, ay! and for that matter, even leaves, have -you in your collection, presented to you by your -humble servant, before we had pity on each other, -and were married? I found a flower, last week, in -a copy of Spenser, and, if I remember aright, I was -the donor of the trifle.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! you betray yourself,” gaily retorted Isabel, -“but men are foolish—and of all foolish men I ever -met with, a certain Albert Marston was, before his -marriage, the most foolish. I take credit to myself,” -she continued, in the same playful strain, “for -having worked such a reformation in him since that -event. But this is not what we were talking of—you -wish to divert me from my purpose by this light -Cossack warfare—but it won’t do,” she continued, -and I fancied she stamped her foot prettily, as she -was wont to do at Clairville Hall, when she was disposed -to have her way; “no—no—Annette must be -the one to turn penitent, and I will play father confessor. -Say, now, fair coz, was it not a certain fancy -to see this same rose-bush, that induced you to insist -on coming here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During this conversation the parties had remained -nearly stationary at some distance from me. Strange -suspicions began to flash through my mind, as soon -as Isabel commenced her banter; and these suspicions -had now been changed into a certainty. -Annette was still unmarried, and it was Isabel’s -wedding at which I had come so near being present, -at Clairville Hall. Nor was this all. I was still -loved. Oh! the wild, the rapturous feelings of that -moment. I could with difficulty restrain myself -from rising and rushing toward them; but motives -of delicacy forbade me thus to reveal that the conversation -had been overheard. And yet should I -remain in my present position, and play the listener -still further? I knew not what to do. All these -considerations flashed through my mind in the space -of less than a minute, during which the party had -been silent, apparently enjoying Annette’s confusion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, not ready to answer yet?” began Isabel; -“well, if you will not, you shan’t have the rose from -that bush, for which you’ve come. Let us go back,” -she said, playfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole party seemed to enter into the jest, and -laughingly retraced their steps. This afforded me -the opportunity for which I longed. Hastily rising -from my seat, I glided unnoticed from tree to tree, -until I reached a copse on the left of the glen, and -advancing up the ravine, under cover of this screen, -I re-entered the path at a bend some distance above -the St. Clairs. Here I listened for a moment, and -caught the sound of their approaching voices. Determining -no longer to be a listener to their conversation, -I proceeded down the glen, and, as I turned -the corner, a few paces in advance, I came full in -sight of the approaching group. In an instant the -gay laughing of the party ceased, and I saw Annette -shrink blushing behind her father. Isabel was the -first to speak. Darting forward, with that frankness -and gaiety which always characterized her, she -grasped my hand, and said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t know how happy we all are to see -you. Where could you have come from?—and how -could you have made such a mistake as to congratulate -Annette, instead of me, on being married? But -come, I must surrender you to the others—I see they -are dying to speak to you. Uncle, Annette—how -lucky it was that we came here to-day!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear boy,” said Mr. St. Clair, warmly pressing -my hand, “I cannot tell how rejoiced I am to -see you. We heard a rumor that you were lost, and -we all wept—Isabel for the first time for years. It -was but a few days since that we heard you were at -Newport, and, as we were coming hither, I hastened -my journey, determined to search you out. We are -on our way there now, and only stopped here a few -minutes to relieve ourselves after a long ride. This -day shall be marked with a white stone. But here I -have been keeping you from speaking to Annette—we -old men, you know, are apt to be garrulous.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>My eyes, indeed, had been seeking Annette, who, -still covered with blushes, and unable to control her -embarrassment, sought to conceal them by keeping -in the back ground. As for me, I had become wonderfully -self-possessed. I now advanced and took -her hand. It trembled in my own, and when I -spoke, though she replied faintly, she did not dare -to look into my face, except for a moment, after -which her eyes again sought the ground in beautiful -embarrassment. My unexpected appearance, combined -with her cousin’s late raillery, covered her -face with blushes, and, for some time, she could not -rally herself sufficient to participate in the conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What more have I to tell? I was now happy, -and for my misanthropy, it died with the cause that -produced it. Mr. St. Clair said that the wedding -need not be delayed, and in less than a month I led -Annette to the altar. Years have flown since then, -but I still enjoy unalloyed felicity, and Annette seems -to my eyes more beautiful than ever. It only remains -for me to bid my readers <span style='font-size:smaller'>FAREWELL</span>!</p> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='hol'></a>THE HOLYNIGHTS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY MORFORD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Some say that ’gainst the time that season comes</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The bird of dawning singeth all night long,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And then they say no sprite dares stir abroad,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>The nights are wholesome then, no planets strike,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>No fairy takes or witch hath power to charm,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>So hallowed and so gracious is the time.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Hamlet.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Hushed be the voice of mirthfulness,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And stilled be the plaintive tones of care,</p> -<p class='line0'>That from too many a heart recess</p> -<p class='line0'>  Go forth to float on the midnight air;</p> -<p class='line0'>It is no time for the wild excess,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No time for the loose unbridled reign</p> -<p class='line0'>That passion gives to her votaries</p> -<p class='line0'>  When they sever away the golden chain.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Stilled on the ears of the seraph choir</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let the lingering hymns of the season go,</p> -<p class='line0'>As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the anthem of love and peace below;</p> -<p class='line0'>And let us keep in a holy mood</p> -<p class='line0'>  The coming hours of that sacred time</p> -<p class='line0'>When the word went forth for the hush of blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the passing knell for the soul of crime!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>When the hosts of the upper region stirred</p> -<p class='line0'>  That another star came forth to shine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the rush of an angel’s wing was heard</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er the moonlit plains of Palestine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And a softer light o’er the earth was flung</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the pale stars waxed no longer dim,</p> -<p class='line0'>And forth on a thousand harps outrung</p> -<p class='line0'>  The rising notes of the angels’ hymn.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The same bright stars that then looked down</p> -<p class='line0'>  With a guardian watch o’er hill and plain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unfading gems in the starry crown</p> -<p class='line0'>  Glittering on in the blue remain,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the solemn awe that crept them round</p> -<p class='line0'>  As they watched their flocks that holy time,</p> -<p class='line0'>An echo with us to-night has found</p> -<p class='line0'>  In the new-born light of another clime.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>It has been felt this many a year,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sacred spell of the season’s death,</p> -<p class='line0'>And the brighter glow of the starry sphere</p> -<p class='line0'>  As it came that time with the angels’ breath,</p> -<p class='line0'>For brighter yet the stars gleam out</p> -<p class='line0'>  As the noisome vapor shrinks away</p> -<p class='line0'>From the open glade that it hung about</p> -<p class='line0'>  Darkened and damp this many a day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>List how the spirit-breathings come</p> -<p class='line0'>  Upon our ears from the voice sublime</p> -<p class='line0'>Of him who ruled in the spirits’ home,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who wrote and sang for the end of time!</p> -<p class='line0'>Hark how he tells when the time is near,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The bird of the dawn sings all night long</p> -<p class='line0'>And the fairy legions disappear</p> -<p class='line0'>  When he comes abroad with his matin song.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>No spirits forth, nor the rank compound</p> -<p class='line0'>  That glows with the witches’ midnight toil,</p> -<p class='line0'>No deeps of the forest-close resound</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the wizard shriek and the caldron boil.</p> -<p class='line0'>No planets chill the warm heart’s blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  With the mockery of a demon fire,</p> -<p class='line0'>No vapors veil with a sickly shroud</p> -<p class='line0'>  The moss-grown top of the old church spire,—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For he who stood in that dreadful watch</p> -<p class='line0'>  On the gray rampart of Elsinore</p> -<p class='line0'>Told how they ceased from their revel catch</p> -<p class='line0'>  And their reign at the Christmas time was o’er;</p> -<p class='line0'>We feel it now, as he felt it then,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That the air is full of holiness,</p> -<p class='line0'>And we need not forms from the earth again</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of the starry hosts to guard and bless.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Then stilled on the ears of the seraph choir</p> -<p class='line0'>  Let the lingering hymns of the season go,</p> -<p class='line0'>As they sweep their hands o’er the golden wire</p> -<p class='line0'>  To the anthem of love and peace below;</p> -<p class='line0'>And let us keep in a holy mood</p> -<p class='line0'>  The passing hours of that sacred time</p> -<p class='line0'>When the word went forth for the hush of blood</p> -<p class='line0'>  And the passing knell for the soul of crime!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><h1><a id='lad'></a>THE LADIES’ LIBRARY.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY W. A. JONES.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That admirable manual of “<span class='it'>les petites morales</span>,” -and even of higher matters occasionally, the Spectator, -contains a paper which we hesitate not to accept -as a just specimen of cotemporary satire on female -education; we refer to the catalogue of a Ladies’ -Library. This heterogeneous collection embraces -heroical romances and romancing histories, the ranting -tragedies of the day, with the libertine comedies -of the same period. In a word, it leads us to infer -pretty plainly the insignificant pretensions the gentle -women of Queen Anne’s day could lay to any thing -like refinement of education, or even a correct propriety -in dress and demeanor. Tell me your company, -and I will disclose your own character; speak -that I may know you, are trite maxims; but give me a -list of your favorite authors is by no means so common, -though at least as true, a test. The literary -and indirectly the moral depravity of taste exhibited -by the women of that age, is easily accounted for, -when we once learn the fashionable authors and the -indifferent countenance given to any authors but those -of the most frivolous description. The queen herself -was an illiterate woman, and we are told never once -had the curiosity to look into the classic productions -of Pope. King William, the preceding sovereign, -was so ignorant of books and the literary character, -as to offer Swift, with whom he had been agreeably -prepossessed, the place of captain of a regiment of -horse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Indulging ourselves in a rapid transition, we pass -from this era to the epoch of Johnson and Burke, and -Goldsmith and Sheridan, we come to the reign of -George III. Here we find the scene altered. From -the gay saloon we are dropped, as if by magic, into the -library or conversation room. We read not of balls, -but of literary dinners and æsthetic teas, and we meet -for company, not thoughtless, dressy dames of fashion -and minions of the goddess of pleasure, but grave, precise -professors in petticoats, women who had exchanged -a world of anxiety for the turn of a head-dress, -or the shape of a flounce for an equally wise -anxiety about the philosophy of education, the success -of their sonnets and tragedies, and moral tales for the -young. The pedantry of authorship and dogmatic -conversation superseded the more harmless pedantry -of dress. Then we read of the stupidest company in -the world, which arrogated to itself the claim of being -the best. A race of learned ladies arose; <span class='it'>bas bleus</span>, -the Montagues, the Mores, the Sewards, the Chapones, -patronized by such prosing old formalists as -Doctors Gregory and Aiken, and even by one man -of vigorous talent, Johnson, and one man of real -genius, Richardson. The last two endured much, -because they were flattered much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When we speak thus contemptuously of learned -ladies, we intend to express a disgust at the pretensions -of those who pass under that name. Genuine -learning can never be despised, whoever may be its -possessor; but of genuine learning it is not harsh to -suspect a considerable deficiency where there is so -much of display and anxious rivalry. Even where -the learning is exact and solid, it is to be remembered -that many departments are utterly unsuited to the -female mind; where, at best, little can be accomplished -and that of a harsh repulsive nature. We -want no Daciers, no Somervilles, no Marcets, but -give us as you will as many Inchbalds, Burneys, -Edgeworths, Misses Barrett, as can be had for love -or money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From the ladies we seek literature, not learning, -in its old scholastic sense. They certainly have received -pleasure from books, and are bound to return -the gratification in a similar way by delighting us. -And this they can do in their legitimate attempts. It -shall be a prominent object of the present general -introduction to a short series of critical sketches, to -attempt a definition of the limits which should bound -those attempts, and also to endeavor at suggesting -the proper studies for ladies, and the authors that -ought to rank as favorites with the fair. In a list of -the latter, female writers should bear a considerable -proportion, and will assuredly not be forgotten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We believe the question as to the relative sexual -distinctions of intellectual character, is now generally -considered as settled. There is allowed to be a species -of genius essentially feminine. Equality is no -more arrogated than superiority of ability, and it -would be as wisely arrogated. The most limited -observation of life and the most superficial acquaintance -with books, must effectually demonstrate the -superior capacity of man for the great works of life -and speculation. It is true, great geniuses are rare -and seldom needed, and the generality of women -rank on a par with the generality of men. In many -cases, women of talent surpass men of an equal -calibre of mere talent, through other and constitutional -causes—a greater facility of receiving and transmitting -impressions, greater instinctive subtlety of apprehension, -and a livelier sympathy. We cordially -admit the female intellect, in the ordinary concerns -of life and the current passages of society, has often -the advantage of the masculine understanding. Cleverness -outshines solid ability, and a smart woman -is much more showy than a profound man. In certain -walks of authorship, too, women are pre-eminently -successful; in cases narrative of real or -fictitious events, (in the last implying a strain of -ready invention,) in lively descriptions of natural -beauty or artificial manners; in the development of -the milder sentiments, especially the sentiment of -love; in airy, comic ridicule. On the other hand, -the highest attempts of women in poetry have uniformly -failed. We have read of no female epic of -even a respectable rank: those who have written -tragedies, have written moral lectures (of an inferior -sort) like Hannah More; or anatomies of the passions, -direct and formal, like Joanna Baillie; or an historical -sketch, as Rienzi. We are apt to suspect that -the personal charms of Sappho proved too much for -the admirers of her poetic rhapsodies, otherwise -Longinus has done her foul injustice; for the fragment -he quotes is to be praised and censured solely -for its obscurity. This would have been a great -merit in Lycophron.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the volume of British Poetesses, edited by Mr. -Dyce, it is astonishing to find how little real poetry -he has been able to collect out of the writings of -near a century of authors, scattered over the surface -of five or six centuries. It must be allowed that -some of the finest shortest pieces by female writers -have appeared since the publication of that selection. -In the volume referred to, much sensible verse and -some sprightly copies of verses occur; a fair share -of pure reflective sentiment, delivered in pleasing -language rarely rising above correctness; of high -genius there is not a particle,—no pretensions to sublimity -or fervor. The best piece and the finest -poem, we think, ever composed by woman, is the -charming ballad of Auld Robin Gray. That is a -genuine bit of true poesy, and perfect in the highest -department of the female imagination in the pathos -of domestic tragedy. In the present century we -have Mrs. Howitt and Mrs. Southey, but chief of all, -Miss Barrett.<a id='r6'/><a href='#f6' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[6]</span></sup></a> The finest attempts of the most -pleasing writer of this class, do not rise so high as -the delightful ballad above named. They are sweet, -plaintive, moral strains, the melodious notes of a -lute, tuned by taper fingers in a romantic bower, not -the deep, majestic, awful tones of the great organ, -or the spirited and stirring blasts of the trumpet. -The ancient bard struck wild and mournful, or hearty -and vigorous, notes from his harp—perchance placed -“on a rock whose frowning brow,” &c. and striving -with the rough symphonies of the tempest; but the -sybil of modern days plays elegant and pretty, or soft -and tender airs upon her flageolet or accordion, in -the boudoir or saloon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A poet is, from the laws both of physiology and -philology,—masculine. His vocation is manly, or -rather divine. And we have never heard any traits -of feminine character attributed to the great poet, (in -the Greek sense,) the Creator of the universe. The -muses are represented as females, but then they are -the inspirers, never the composers, of verse. So -should be the poet’s muse, as she is often the poet’s -theme. There are higher themes, but of an abstract -nature, in general: ethical, religious, metaphysical. -Let female beauty then sit for her portrait instead of -being the painter. Let poets chant her charms, but -let her not spoil a fair ideal image by writing bad -verses. If all were rightly viewed, a happy home -would seem preferable to a seat on Parnassus, and the -Fountain of Content would furnish more palatable -draughts than the Font of Helicon. The quiet home -is not always the muses’ bower; though we trust the -muses’ bower is placed in no turbulent society.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women write for women. They may entertain, -but cannot, from the nature of the case, become instructors -to men. They know far less of life, their -circle of experience is confined. They are unfitted -for many paths of active exertion, and consequently -are rendered incapable of forming just opinions on -many matters. We do not include a natural incapacity -for many studies, and as natural a dislike for -many more. Many kinds of learning, and many actual -necessary pursuits and practices, it is deemed -improper for a refined woman to know. How, then, -<span class='it'>can</span> a female author become a teacher of men?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Literature would miss many pleasant associations -if the names of the best female writers were expunged -from a list of classic authors, and the world -would lose many delightful works—the novel of -sentiment and the novel of manners, letter writing, -moral tales for children, books of travels, gossiping -memoirs—Mrs. Inchbald, Madame D’Arblay, Miss -Edgeworth, Lady M. W. Montague, Miss Martineau, -and Miss Sedgwick, with a host besides. Women -have sprightliness, cleverness, smartness, though but -little wit. There is a body and substance in true -wit, with a reflectiveness rarely found apart from a -masculine intellect. In all English comedy, we recollect -but two female writers of sterling value, -Mrs. Conley and Mrs. Guthrie, and their plays are -formed on the Spanish model, and made up of incident -and intrigue, much more than of fine repartees or -brilliant dialogue. We know of no one writer of the -other sex, that has a high character for humor—no -Rabelais, no Sterne, no Swift, no Goldsmith, no -Dickens, no Irving. The female character does not -admit of it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women cannot write history. It requires too -great solidity, and too minute research for their -quick intellects. They write, instead, delightful -memoirs. Who, but an antiquary or historical -commentator, had not rather read Lucy Hutchinson’s -Life of her Husband, than any of the professed -histories of the Commonwealth—and exchange Lady -Fanshawe for the other royalist biographers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Neither are women to turn politicians or orators. -We hope never to hear of a female Burke; she -would be an overbearing termagant. A spice of a -talent for scolding, is the highest form of eloquence -we can conscientiously allow the ladies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Criticism is for men; when women assume it, -they write scandal. The current notion of criticism -with most, is that of libelous abuse. From all such, -Heaven defend us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Women feel more than they think, and (sometimes) -say more than do. They are consequently better -adapted to describe sentiments, than to speculate on -causes and effects. They are more at home in their -letters, than in tracts of political economy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The proper faculties in women to cultivate most -assiduously are, the taste and the religious sentiment; -the first, as the leading trait of the intellectual; and -the last, as the governing power of the moral constitution. -Give a woman a pure taste and high principles, -and she is safe from the arts of the wiliest -libertine. Let her have all other gifts but these, and -she is comparatively defenceless. Taste purifies the -heart as well as the head, and religion strengthens -both. The strongest propensities to pleasure are not -so often the means of disgrace and ruin, as the carelessness -of ignorant virtue, and an unenlightened -moral sense. This makes all the difference in the -world, between the daughter of a poor countryman, -and the child of an educated gentleman. Both have -the same desires, but how differently directed and -controlled. Yet we find nineteen lapses from virtue -in the one case, where we find one in the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Believing that what does not interest, does not -benefit the mind, we would avoid all pedantic lectures -to women, on all subjects to which they discover -any aversion. Study should be made a pleasure, -and reading pure recreation. In a general -sense, we would say the best works for female -readers are those that tend to form the highest -domestic character. Works of the highest imagination, -as being above that condition, and scientific -authors, who address a different class of faculties, -are both unsuitable. An admirable wife may not -relish the sublimity of Milton or Hamlet; and a -charming companion be ignorant of the existence of -such a science as Algebra. A superficial acquaintance -with the elements of the physical sciences, is -worse than total unacquaintance with them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Religion should be taught as a sentiment, not as an -abstract principle, or in doctrinal positions, a sentiment -of love and grateful obedience; morality, impressed -as the practical exercise of self-denial and -active benevolence. In courses of reading, too much -is laid down of a dry nature. Girls are disgusted -with tedious accounts of battles and negotiations, -dates and names. The moral should be educed best -filled for the female heart, and apart from the romantic -periods, and the reigns of female sovereigns, or -epochs when the women held a very prominent -place in the state, or in public regard. We would -have women affectionate wives, obedient daughters, -agreeable companions, skilful economists, judicious -friends; but we must confess it does not fall within -our scheme to make them legislators or lawyers, -diplomatists or politicians. We therefore think -nine tenths of all history is absolutely useless for -women. Too many really good biographies of great -and good men and women can hardly be read, and -will be read to much greater advantage than histories, -as they leave a definite and individual impression. -The reading good books of travels, is, -next to going over the ground in person, the best -method of studying geography. Grammar and rhetoric,<a id='r7'/><a href='#f7' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[7]</span></sup></a> -(after a clear statement of the elements and -chief rules,) are best learnt in the perusal of classic -authors, the essayists, &c.; and, in the same way, -the theory of taste and the arts. The most important -of accomplishments is not systematically treated in -any system—conversation. But a father and mother -of education, can teach this better than any professor. -Expensive schools turn out half-trained pupils. -Eight years at home, well employed, and two at a -good but not fashionable school, are better than ten -years spent in the most popular female seminary, -conducted in the ordinary style. Such is a meagre -outline of our idea of female education, into which -we have digressed unawares.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Female authors should constitute a fair proportion -of a lady’s library—and those masculine writers who -have something of the tenderness and purity of the -feminine character in their works. The subjects -and authors we propose for occasional consideration, -will embrace specimens of each, in prose and -poetry, fiction and reality, satire and sentiment. We -think we may promise a less erudite paper for the -second number, though to some readers all that is -not very lively is proportionably dull.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_6'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f6'><a href='#r6'>[6]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>This lady’s failure in an attempt to translate Æschylus, -is a fair confirmation of our opinion of the inability of the -female imagination to soar beyond a certain height.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_7'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' class='footnoteid'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div class='footnote-id' id='f7'><a href='#r7'>[7]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The benefit flowing from <span class='it'>these</span> studies is chiefly of a -negative character.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i106.jpg' alt='a man on horseback stopped at a cottage doorway' id='iid-0003' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>A. L. Dick</span><br/></p> <br/><span class='it'><span class='it'>The Pastor’s Visit</span></span><br/> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='pas'></a>THE PASTOR’S VISIT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The noon is past—the sun declines</p> -<p class='line0'>  Below the western hills;</p> -<p class='line0'>Upon the peasant’s face joy shines.</p> -<p class='line0'>  And peace his bosom fills.</p> -<p class='line0'>He stands beside the cottage door,</p> -<p class='line0'>  His wife and children round,</p> -<p class='line0'>With that content which evermore</p> -<p class='line0'>  Doth with the true abound.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>The pastor, pausing on his way,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Surveys the happy scene;</p> -<p class='line0'>If all mankind were pure as they</p> -<p class='line0'>  Slights tasks for him, I ween!</p> -<p class='line0'>Not in the peasant’s cottage dwell</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sin and her joyless train,</p> -<p class='line0'>He thinks of palace, dome and cell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And passes on again!</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='has'></a>THE HASTY MARRIAGE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BRIDAL.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How few “look before they leap,” even in an affair -of so much moment as matrimony. We fear the -fault is in our system. We educate our daughters -superficially—for <span class='it'>display</span> rather than usefulness—to -catch the eye rather than win the heart. Our girls -are taught in early life, either directly or indirectly, -that marriage is the great object of woman’s ambition, -and in endeavoring to secure that object, and to surpass -in the race of conquest their companions and -rivals, they sometimes wed rashly and to the sacrifice -of happiness. Difficult, we are aware, is the task -of discrimination with the young and inexperienced. -Pure and artless themselves, they are apt to imagine -the possession of like virtues by all others, and to -conceive it impossible for a fine form and a handsome -face to be associated with a false heart. Alas! -how often are they disappointed! How frequently -do the sudden attachments of early life prove hollow -and unsubstantial! How often is it discovered that -the first dream of love, which has been so extravagantly -eulogized by poets and romancers, was a mere -delusion that would not bear the test of time and of -reason! With what bitterness of disappointment -have many started from this dream! Stripped of the -rainbow coloring with which the fancy is apt to paint -an object of idolatry, how prominent appear the darkness -and the deformity! How broad the contrast -between the just view of truth and the rapid and prejudiced -survey of passion! How often do we see -beings standing before the altar, pledging themselves -to each other for weal and for wo, who, comparatively -speaking, were strangers but yesterday! -Knowing little of each other’s lives and dispositions, -merits or demerits, they are willing to risk peace of -mind for long years, and to identify destinies for time, -perhaps for eternity! Can we wonder that strife -sometimes mars the domestic circle—that wives are -left lonely and deserted—that the agency of man -should so often be invoked to part beings who have -been joined together by an ordinance of God!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A happy union is indeed a scene upon which, without -irreverence, we may suppose the angels in Heaven -gaze from their bright places of abode with -delight and approval. An unnatural or a discordant -marriage, on the other hand, must form a source of -delight to the arch enemy of mankind, for in it he -can recognize the soul of evil. That the young -should seek for and cling to a kindred spirit is natural. -The undivided possession of a pure heart is perhaps -the very acme of human felicity. “One home, one -wife, and one God,” is the sentiment of one of the -wisest of his race, and it is only when man is on the -shady side of fifty that he begins to appreciate the -truth of this philosophy in all its solemnity and force. -Then his pleasures of life are derived as much from -the past as the future, and the associations of that -past, if mingled with virtue, fidelity, patriotism and -religion, are indeed blissful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We pity the lonely and the desolate—the loveless -and the unloved—the being without a wife or a friend—without -one trusting and confiding spirit, to whom -the heart may turn in its hour of sorrow and pour out -its inmost and saddest thoughts. The cold and selfish -mortal who passes year after year without experiencing -the delightful concord of sentiment to be found in -a kindred soul, is indeed the most miserable of his -species. Even his joys are robbed of half their delight, -because unshared by another, by one to whom -he is allied by love and friendship. Wretched indeed -is the isolated individual who, mingling with -the multitude, can single out no destiny identified -with his—no faithful and devoted heart, the breath of -whose existence seems bound up with his. Nature -has denied to such a being the holiest impulses -that warm and agitate the human breast. Even the -birds are mated, and without a ministering angel “a -sweet companion,” the first born was lonely and -desolate in the garden of Eden. So it must ever be -with the frail and feeble things of mortal existence. -If Paradise could not be appreciated and enjoyed -alone, how can man reconcile loneliness to his fallen -condition? The desire of the heart is for sweet companionship—the -inward craving of the spirit is for a -being to love. Can we wonder then that in this -country, where early marriage is taught to be desirable, -so many should choose rashly?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We remember <span class='sc'>Annette Delisle</span> as a being of -yesterday. She sang well—she danced well—and in -many respects she was a beauty. Not one of our -beauties at the time, for her form was too slight and -sylph-like,—her joy was too gushing—her spirits too -redundant. She dressed from early childhood with -taste and elegance, and wore her dark hair in long -ringlets over her shoulders. She had many friends, -and even at sixteen her admirers were liberal in -number and profuse in flattery. Her mother, a -weak and vain woman, was proud of her daughter—proud -of the attention that daughter received, and -eager to display her on every occasion. Thus she -not only frequently accompanied her to public balls, -which were then more fashionable and somewhat -more select than at present, but she permitted her to -accept of numerous invitations to parties, and to -mingle almost nightly during the winter season in -the gay scenes of our metropolis. The father, good-natured -man, was a manufacturer, and was so wedded -to business, that he could not spare time even -for the proper care of his favorite child. Alas! -this good nature in fathers! It sometimes degenerates -into a sad vice, and is the source of much -misery in after life. The man who lacks the energy -to control his own household,—who is either too -negligent, or too weak to point out the true path and -to direct the footsteps of his offspring therein, is -guilty of much that is unpardonable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But such a father was Mr. Delisle, while the mother, -worse if possible, gave the reins almost wholly -into the hands of her daughter, and was but too fond of -the hollow and unmeaning admiration which the practiced -in art and in compliment among the sterner sex -are so apt to bestow upon the vain and empty, whether -old or young.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The result of this course upon Annette Delisle may -well be imagined. While she sparkled in the ball -room, and glittered in the giddy throng, her heart, -her mind, and her morals were neglected. The -mazes of the world, its quicksands and its hypocrisy -were unknown to her. She flirted, laughed and -trifled with the many, caught one hour by a fine -form, another by a rich voice, and a third by a dashing -exterior. And yet, in the depths of that young -girl’s breast, were rich and true affections. Properly -trained, she would have graced any circle. Her -mind was good by nature—her spirit was benevolent -and cheerful—and many of the lights of beauty -flashed and brightened around her. Despite her -artificial manner, and her air of coquetry, her feelings -were deep and strong. Her being was one of -impulse, and her attachments, even to her school -companions, were animated by truth and fidelity. -Thus it was when Annette discovered that the society -of Howard Leroy possessed an unusual charm for -her—that she saw him approach with pleasure—that -she listened with more than her wonted attention -to his remarks—that she felt the blood mount to -her cheek at his compliments—that she found her -eyes following as he wandered through the ball -room—that she lisped his name even in her dreams.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Never can I forget the dashing Leroy. He was -what is usually denominated “a handsome fellow”—one -of the butterflies of society—a ladies’ man, -in the general acceptation, and a favorite also with -his own sex. He rode well, talked well, and sang -an excellent song. This latter qualification was in -some respects a fatal gift, for it introduced him into -many a gay circle from which he otherwise would -have been excluded—made him sought for, and vain -of his voice, and thus won him away from the more -useful pursuits of life. Leroy, moreover, was fond of -poetry—was able to quote glowing passages, and had, -withal, a touch of romance in his character, which -served not a little to enhance him in the estimation -of some of his female acquaintance. He assumed a -remarkable degree of independence—was rather -bold and reckless in his manner and language, and -possessed the faculty of talking for hours in relation -to the prominent beauties of Moore, Byron and Bulwer. -These were the traits of character which won -upon the mind and heart of Annette Delisle. Her -education and mode of life had fitted her for the arts -of such a man. She fancied him something superior -to the ordinary fop—to the mere merchant or shopkeeper. -Leroy became her ardent and enthusiastic -admirer. The fact soon reached the ears of her -father. He roused himself for the moment, and proceeded -to investigate the realities of the case. Leroy -he ascertained to be an idle, dissolute pretender, and -dependent, he feared, upon the gaming-table for his -means of subsistence. He was of good family, and -had received a fair education. But he had gone -astray from the path of rectitude in early life, and -now contrived to appear on the principal promenades -as a fashionable lounger—but the world wondered -how!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The manufacturer was terrified at the prospect for -his daughter, whom he really loved, but it was too -late. Leroy saw the storm coming, and prevailed -upon Annette, by falsehood and misrepresentation, -to consent to a secret marriage. Fondly and long -she clung to the delusion that her husband had been -slandered—that one who could <span class='it'>talk</span> so well, and <span class='it'>profess</span> -so much, could not be a villain. He <span class='it'>was</span> not -one, perhaps, in the usual interpretation; but we -can conceive of no more heartless wretch than the -man who deliberately deceives and betrays a fond -and confiding woman. Leroy never loved Annette -with a true and exalted affection. He felt himself -bankrupt in fortune, and nearly so in character, and -he was base enough to become the husband of an -unsuspecting girl, in the hope of a dependency upon -the bounty of her father. Deceived in this, for the -old manufacturer would have nothing to do with -him, he soon threw off the mask. At first cold and -indifferent, he speedily grew harsh and unkind. -True, there were moments when his better nature -prevailed, and he would endeavor, by apparent contrition -and well turned promises, to atone for his conduct. -But, they were few and far between, and -diminished in number as time rolled on. Strange, -despite the giddy character of Annette—despite the -little care which had been bestowed upon her principles, -she clung to him with the true fidelity of -woman. She loved him with her whole soul, and -while the pride of her woman nature repelled the -idea of any public exposure of her situation, and -while she even concealed from her parents much of -the unworthy conduct of Leroy, she still cherished -a belief of his ultimate reform. Night after -night she sat in her quiet chamber, or gazed earnestly -from the window, in the hope that the form of -her husband might appear before the midnight -hour. Who may paint the agony of her mind at such -moments—the jealous fears that shot like daggers -through her breast, as to his haunts and his society—the -apprehension of danger and of death—the terrible -fancies which mingled him in some dreadful scene at -the gaming table—and, worse than all, the oft repelled, -but still returning conviction, that the wine -cup was too familiar with his lips!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>God, in pity look down upon and impart moral -courage to the lonely wives of the world—the dejected -ones to whom home is desolate, whose hearts -are breaking slowly, secretly, string by string—who -live only for their little ones, and because they know -it wrong to plunge unbidden into eternity! Beings -who have ventured their all of earthly happiness, -and have lost all—who have been deceived, betrayed, -and are now deserted! Pity and console -them, Great Creator, for the misery of unrequited -love, of wounded pride, of crushed affection, of -hopeless despair throughout this life, can only be -soothed and softened by a heavenly influence!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Annette! Step by step her husband plunged -on in the downward path. Ray after ray departed -from the light of her beauty. Wider and wider became -the gulf between the manufacturer and his -son-in-law. But, horror of horrors! the crisis soon -came! The resource of gambling failed at last with -Leroy, and <span class='it'>then</span>—he resorted to forgery!—ay! he -forged the name of George Delisle, the father of his -wife, and fled the country in order to escape the -penalty of his crime!</p> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<p class='pindent'>But a few days have gone by since we saw Annette. -Only five years have elapsed since her marriage. -What a change! The lily has supplanted -the rose—the eye has lost its fire—the step its buoyancy—the -form its grace. She is a doomed and -broken hearted woman. Disease has “marked her -for his own.” Loss of sleep—mental anxiety—the -disgrace—the shame—the ignominy of her husband’s -career, are hurrying her rapidly to a premature -grave!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mothers, be warned! Virtue, Integrity and Religion -are the only safe companions for your budding -and beautiful daughters!</p> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><h1><a id='win'></a>TO THE NIGHT-WIND IN AUTUMN.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “TECUMSEH.”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Whence art thou, spirit wind?</p> -<p class='line0'>Soothing with thy low voice the ear of Night,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And breathing o’er the wakeful, pensive mind</p> -<p class='line0'>An influence of pleased yet sad delight.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Thou tell’st not of thy birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>O viewless wanderer from land to land:</p> -<p class='line0'>  But gathering all the secrets of the earth</p> -<p class='line0'>Where’er, unseen, thy airy wings expand,</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  At this hushed, holy hour,</p> -<p class='line0'>When time seems part of vast eternity,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou dost reveal them with a magic power,</p> -<p class='line0'>Saddening the soul with thy weird minstrelsy.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  All nature seems to hear,</p> -<p class='line0'>The woods, the waters, and each silent star;</p> -<p class='line0'>  What, that can thus enchain their earnest ear,</p> -<p class='line0'>Bring’st thou of untold tidings from afar?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Is it of new, fair lands,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of fresh-lit worlds that in the welkin burn!</p> -<p class='line0'>  Do new oäses gem Zahara’s sands,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or the lost Pleiad to the skies return?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Nay! ’tis a voice of grief,</p> -<p class='line0'>Of grief subdued, but deepened through long years,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The soul of Sorrow, seeking not relief,</p> -<p class='line0'>Still gathering bitter knowledge without tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  For thou, since earth was young</p> -<p class='line0'>And rose green Eden purpled with the morn,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Its solemn wastes and homes of men among,</p> -<p class='line0'>Circling all zones, thy mourning flight hast borne.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Empires have risen in might,</p> -<p class='line0'>And peopled cities through the outspread earth,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thou hast passed them at the hour of night</p> -<p class='line0'>Listing the sounds of revelry and mirth.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Again thou hast gone by—</p> -<p class='line0'>City and empire were alike o’erthrown,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Temple and palace, fall’n confusedly,</p> -<p class='line0'>In marble ruin on the desert strown.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  In time-long solitudes,</p> -<p class='line0'>Where dark, old mountains pierced the silent air,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Bright rivers roamed, and stretched untraversed woods,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou joy’dst to hope that these were changeless there.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Lo! as the ages passed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou found’st them struck with alteration dire,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The streams new-channeled, forests earthward cast,</p> -<p class='line0'>The crumbling mountains scathed with storm and fire.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Gone but a few short hours,</p> -<p class='line0'>Beauty and bloom beguiled thy wanderings,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thou mad’st love unto the virgin flowers,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sighing through green trees and by mossy springs.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Now on the earth’s cold bed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fallen and faded, waste their forms away,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And all around the withered leaves are shed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Mementos mute of Nature’s wide decay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Vain is the breath of morn;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly the night-dews on their couches weep;</p> -<p class='line0'>  In vain thou call’st them at thy soft return,</p> -<p class='line0'>No more awaking from their gloomy sleep.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        . . . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Oh hush! Oh hush! sweet wind!</p> -<p class='line0'>Thou melancholy soul! be still, I pray,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor pierce this heart so long in grief resigned,</p> -<p class='line0'>With ’plainings for the loved but lifeless clay.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  Ah! now by thee I hear</p> -<p class='line0'>The earnest, gentle voices, as of old:</p> -<p class='line0'>  They speak—in accents tremulously clear—</p> -<p class='line0'>The young, the beautiful, the noble-souled.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  The beautiful, the young,</p> -<p class='line0'>The form of light, the wise and honored head—</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thou bring’st the music of a lyre unstrung!—</p> -<p class='line0'>Oh cease!—with tears I ask it—they are <span class='it'>dead</span>!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>        . . . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>  While mortal joys depart,</p> -<p class='line0'>While loved ones lie beneath the grave’s green sod,</p> -<p class='line0'>  May we not fail to hear, with trembling heart,</p> -<p class='line0'>In thy low tone the “still small voice of <span class='sc'>God</span>.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Natural History of New York: By Authority. Albany, -Thurlow Weed, Printer to the State. New York, Wiley -& Putnam, and D. Appleton & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We are among those who believe that, as characterizing -the present age, the cultivation of purely mechanical and -natural science has been carried much too far, or rather, -has been made too exclusive and absorbing. It is not the -<span class='it'>highest</span> science—for it concerns only that which is around -us—which is altogether outward. Man is always greater -than the world of nature in which he lives, and just as -clearly must the <span class='it'>science</span> of man, the philosophy of his moral -and intellectual being, rank far above that of the soulless -creation which was made to minister to his wants. When, -therefore, this lower science so draws to itself the life of -any age, as to disparage and shut out the higher, it works a -positive injury to the well-being of that age. Still it is -only thus in comparison with a nobler and more lofty study -that we would venture to cast the faintest reproach upon -that natural science which in no slight degree absorbs the -intellectual effort of the present generation. Regarded as -related to, and a part of, a complete system of education, it -becomes most important and necessary; and its cultivation, -even to apparent excess, a cause of rejoicing and a source -of the highest hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We need scarcely say, then, that we look upon the explorations -which have been made “by authority” into the -Geology and general Natural History of several of the most -important States in the Union, as among the proudest -achievements of the present day. Most of them, it is true, -grew out of designs not the highest on the part of those by -whom they were originated. The development of resources, -the discovery of mineral wealth, or other elements -of power, formed in most cases the principal aim of those -at whose instance these surveys were undertaken. But -this is of little importance. The results are, on this account, -none the less valuable to the cause of natural science, -nor is our joy at their successful prosecution the less ardent -or sincere. In all the States in which they have been undertaken, -they have been fruitful of the best results; and -the facts thus brought together will be found of priceless -value to students and inquirers for ages to come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The State of New York has just completed her survey, -which has been conducted on a scale commensurate with -her wealth and enterprise. The different departments of -the survey were, in 1836, assigned to eight gentlemen well -qualified for the task, and from that time until their completion, -the explorations were conducted with energy and -enthusiasm. The reports are to be published in ten magnificent -quarto volumes, of which the first is now before -us. A more splendid monument of intelligent enterprise -in the cause of science, has seldom been erected by any -State. The first volume contains only a portion of the first -report on Zoology, by Mr. <span class='sc'>James E. DeKay</span>, to whom this -department was committed. Governor Seward has written -an introduction to the work, which occupies nearly two -hundred pages. It is valuable as a historical record of the -progress of the arts, the sciences, and the various branches -of enterprise and industry in the State, though as a literary -performance it can claim no especial merit. It is, indeed, -little more than a compendium of the history of the State, -and of its general statistics, of which the different portions -have been contributed by different persons. The portion of -the Zoological Report which this volume contains—relating -merely to the Mammalia of the State—is highly valuable, -and, to the naturalist, exceedingly interesting. Previous -to this survey, no complete Zoology of the State had -been attempted. In 1813, Samuel L. Mitchell commenced -an account of the fishes of New York, which was the first -work on the subject ever undertaken; and the impulse -given to the science by his labors in fact laid the foundation -for whatever has been effected in the same department -since. Several other branches of Zoology had received -some slight attention before the commencement of the State -survey. Bachman, a well known naturalist of South -Carolina, had made interesting discoveries in the families -of smaller quadrupeds, and much valuable information -concerning the ornithology of the State had been collected -by Wilson, Audubon, Cooper, Bonaparte and DeKay. -Barnes had classified the Unionidæ of the lakes and rivers, -and the Mollusca of the sea coast had been well studied by -Dr. Gay, of New York city. But the report of Mr. DeKay -in this department presents by far a more full and comprehensive -account of the Zoology of New York than had -ever before been made. The State was divided into four -Zoological districts: first, the western district, embracing -all the western portion of the State, as far east as the -sources of the Mohawk; second, the northern, comprising -all that portion of the State lying north of the Mohawk -valley; third, the valley of the Hudson, including all the -counties watered by that river and its tributaries; and -fourth, the Atlantic district, embracing Long Island. In -regard to its natural history, the northern district is by far -the most important. Strange as it may seem to those who -are accustomed to hear only of the wealth, the refinement, -and the advanced civilization of the “Empire State,” there -is embraced in this northern district a great tract of a thousand -square miles, lying in loneliness, fresh as it came from -the hand of God, untouched, and almost unvisited by man. -It is clad with forests of great and majestic beauty, echoing -only the sigh of the tempest, the screams of the untamed -dwellers in its wilds, and now and then the rifle of the -hunter, who there finds game, such as in long gone times -the red men loved to chase. It is thickly overspread with -lakes, embosomed in mountains, now lying calmly and -smilingly beneath the sun, and the next hour lashed into -frowns, when</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>“The tempest shooteth, from the steep,</p> -<p class='line0'>   The shadow of its coming.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Travelers who would wander through it, must provide -themselves with guides, and trust to hunting and chance for -food and lodging. No one <span class='it'>lives</span> there—the whole is one -vast, solitary wilderness, untouched by man—lying in its -own majesty—unconscious even that the foot of the adventurous -Genoese has been set upon the continent.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>“Still this great solitude is quick with life;</p> -<p class='line0'>Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers</p> -<p class='line0'>They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds,</p> -<p class='line0'>And birds that scarce have learned the fear of man,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>Startlingly beautiful.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>This vast wild region is inhabited by many animals that -are rarely found in any other portion of the State. The -bear, the moose, the panther, the deer, and most fur-bearing -animals, make their homes among its mountains. Arctic -birds, too, that are never known farther south, are seen in -abundance. The whole district covers an area of about six -thousand square miles. The western district is eminent for -its fertility and beauty, and has also a high degree of zoological -interest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The number of quadrupeds enumerated in the report, as -found within the State, is something more than one hundred. -Each of these is scientifically and fully described. Included -in the volume are a great number of illustrations, taken -with the greatest care from the living animals or the best -specimens that could be found. The real colors are preserved, -and in every case the relative size is indicated. -The outlines, for the purpose of accuracy, were always -taken with a camera lucida, and the illustrations, drawn by -Hill, were lithographed by Endicott.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole style of the work is eminently worthy the enterprise, -results of which it contains, and the State which -undertook its fulfilment. We look for the forthcoming -volumes with no little interest. The botanical department -has been under the charge of John Toney; the mineralogical -and chemical were assigned to Lewis C. Beck; the geological -to W. W. Mather, Ebenezer Emmons, James Hall, -and Leonard Vanuxem, and the palæontological to Timothy -A. Conrad. Beside these reports, the results of the survey -appear in eight several collections of specimens of the animals, -plants, soils, minerals, rocks and fossils, found within -the State—one of which collections constitutes a museum -of natural history at the capital of the State, and the others -are distributed among collegiate institutions. We rejoice -at the completion of this great survey, and hope soon to see -a similar exploration effected in every State of the Union. -The cause of science will receive from it an aid of which -scientific men alone can rightly estimate the value.</p> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Holy War, made by Shaddai upon Diabolus, for the -Regaining of the Metropolis of the World. By John -Bunyan. Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The celebrated Dr. Owen was occasionally one of the -hearers of Bunyan, when he preached in London; and being -asked by Charles the Second how a learned man, like -him, could listen to the prating of an illiterate tinker, he -is said to have replied, “May it please your Majesty, could -I possess that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would gladly -relinquish all my scholarship.” His genius as an author -was even greater than he exhibited in the pulpit. Southey, -Macauley, and other eminent critics, regard him as one of -the “immortal authors of England.” The Pilgrim’s Progress -has been the most popular of his sixty or seventy -works. Probably no book by an uninspired writer has been -more universally read. The Holy War was written ten -years after the appearance of that beautiful creation, and if -not equal to it in all respects, is certainly one of the most -ingenious allegories in the language, as well as one of the -most <span class='it'>useful</span> exhibitions of practical Christianity. The edition -before us is superior to any other printed in America, -in its typography and illustrations.</p> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Little Gift</span>; <span class='it'>Useful Stories</span>; <span class='it'>Poems for Little Folks</span>. -<span class='it'>Three small volumes.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Colman, of New York, in the autumn of every year, -publishes numerous miniature gift books for children, with -fine engravings, instructive tales and poems, etc., of which -the above are specimens.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Thulia: A Poem: By J. C. Palmer, M. D., U. S. N. Illustrated -with Twelve Original Designs, by A. Agate, -Artist of the late Exploring Expedition. One volume, -octavo. New York, Samuel Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This beautifully printed and illustrated volume resembles -very much, in its appearance, the elegant edition of Gray’s -“Elegy,” published several years since in London. We -can say no more in praise of its typography and embellishments. -The poem itself possesses considerable merit. -Doctor Palmer was attached to the Exploring Expedition -which returned to this country last summer from the southern -seas, and “Thulia” is founded on incidents which occurred -on the war-ship Peacock, and the schooner Flying -Fish, while in the Antarctic ocean. The verse is free and -melodious, and the ideas and illustrations generally appropriate -and poetical. We quote a lyric that will convey -to the reader a just idea of the poet’s style.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>  ANTARCTIC MARINER’S SONG.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Sweetly, from the land of roses,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Sighing comes the northern breeze;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the smile of dawn reposes,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All in blushes, on the seas.</p> -<p class='line0'>Now within the sleeping sail,</p> -<p class='line0'>Murmurs soft the gentle gale.</p> -<p class='line0'>Ease the sheet, and keep away:</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory guides us South to-day!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Yonder, see! the icy portal</p> -<p class='line0'>  Opens for us to the Pole;</p> -<p class='line0'>And, where never entered mortal,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thither speed we to the goal.</p> -<p class='line0'>Hopes before and doubts behind,</p> -<p class='line0'>On we fly before the wind.</p> -<p class='line0'>Steady, so—now let it blow!</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory guides, and South we go.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Vainly do these gloomy borders,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All their frightful forms oppose;</p> -<p class='line0'>Vainly frown these frozen warders,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snow.</p> -<p class='line0'>Though, beneath the ghastly skies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Curdled all the ocean lies,</p> -<p class='line0'>Lash we up its foam anew—</p> -<p class='line0'>Dash we all its terrors through!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Circled by these columns hoary,</p> -<p class='line0'>  All the field of fame is ours;</p> -<p class='line0'>Here to carve a name in story,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Or a tomb beneath these towers.</p> -<p class='line0'>Southward still our way we trace,</p> -<p class='line0'>Winding through an icy maze.</p> -<p class='line0'>Luff her to—there she goes through!</p> -<p class='line0'>Glory leads, and we pursue.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The notes appended to the poem contain the most interesting -account of the expedition that has yet been given to -the public.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Scenes in the Holy Land: one volume square duodecimo. -Philadelphia, American Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work is founded on, or rather is a free translation -of, the “Scènes Evangéliques” of Napoleon Roussel, published -a year or two since in Paris. It contains an account -of the principal incidents in the lives of the Savior and of -the great apostle of the Gentiles, written with singular simplicity -and perspicuity, and illustrated with numerous etchings -by a clever French artist. It is published, we believe, -as a juvenile gift book for the holiday season.</p> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Ladies’ Annual Register for 1843. New York, S. Colman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ladies’ Annual Register is a neat little annuary, -edited for several years by Mrs. Gilman, of Charleston. It -embraces, beside the usual contents of the almanacs, many -useful recipes for the housewife, with anecdotes, poems, -etc.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Biblical and Prophetical Works of Rev. George Bush, D. D., -author of “The Life of Mohammed,” etc., and Professor -of Hebrew in the New York City University. New York, -Dayton & Newman.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Professor Bush is one of the most profound and ingenious -scholars and critics of the present age, and we perceive -with pleasure that he is rapidly multiplying the fruits of -his industrious pen. To all the lovers of sound biblical exposition -it must be gratifying to know that the Hebrew -Scriptures are in a fair way to develop their riches to the -English reader more fully than ever before. Professor -Bush’s commentaries on the Old Testament, now extending -to six volumes, embrace all the works of the Pentateuch -but the last two, and these, we learn, he proposes shortly -to enter upon. His careful study, his scrupulous fidelity -in eliciting the exact meaning of the original, and his peculiar -tact in explaining it, have made his Notes everywhere -popular, so that before the completion of the series, the first -volume has reached a sixth edition, the second a fifth, etc. -In all of them will be found discussions on the most important -points of biblical science, extending far beyond the -ordinary dimensions of expository notes, and amounting in -fact to elaborate dissertations of great value. Among the -subjects thus extensively treated are, in Genesis, the temptation -and the fall, the dispersion from Babel, the prophecies -of Noah, the character of Melchizedec, the destruction of -Sodom and Gomorrah, the history of Joseph, and the prophetical -benedictions of Jacob; in Exodus, the hardening -of Pharaoh’s heart, the miracles of the magicians, the pillar -of cloud as the seat of the Shekinah, the decalogue, the Hebrew -theocracy, the tabernacle, the cherubim, the candle-stick, -the shew bread, the altar, &c.; in Leviticus, a clear -and minute specification of the different sacrifices, the law -of marriage, including the case of marriage with a deceased -wife’s sister, very largely considered, and a full account of -the Jewish festivals. The sixth volume, including Joshua -and Judges, contains an ample and erudite exposition of -the Song of Deborah, and an extended discussion on the -subject of Jeptha’s vow, with a view to determine whether -the Jewish warrior really sacrificed his daughter. The -Professor gives an array of very strong reasons in favor of -the negative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In his celebrated “Treatise on the Millennium,” which -merely as a literary performance has received the highest -commendations of the critics, our author has assumed -the position that the millennium, <span class='it'>strictly so called</span>, is past. -But by the millennium he does not understand the golden -age of the church, which he, in common with nearly all -good men, regards as a future era. He contends that as -the memorable period of the thousand years of the apocalypse -is distinguished mainly by the binding of the symbolical -dragon, we must first determine by the legitimate -canons of interpretation what is shadowed forth by this -mystic personage, before we can assure ourselves of the -true character of the millennial age. But the dragon, he -supposes, is the grand hieroglyphic of Paganism—the -“binding of the dragon,” but a figurative phrase for the -suppression of Paganism within the limits of the Roman -empire, a fulfilment which he contends commenced in the -reign of Constantine, and was consummated in that of -Theodosius, his successor. Professor Bush draws largely -on the pages of Gibbon in support of his theory, assuming -all along the great foundation principle that <span class='it'>the apocalypse -of John is but a series of pictured emblems, shadowing -forth the ecclesiastical and civil history of the world</span>. From -a cursory examination of his Treatise, we are inclined to -adopt the opinion of one of the first theologians of our -country, that if his premises be admitted, his conclusion is -irresistible; and that <span class='it'>he</span> did not know how to gainsay the -premises.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the Hierophant, a monthly publication of which he is -editor, he enters elaborately into the nature of the prophetic -symbols, and in the last number brings out some -grand results as to the physical destiny of the globe. He -assumes that a fair construction of the language of the prophets -is far from countenancing the idle dreams of Miller -and his school respecting the literal conflagration of the -heavens and the earth, and does not even teach that such a -catastrophe is <span class='it'>ever</span> to take place. He denies not that this -<span class='it'>may</span> possibly be the finale which awaits our planet and -the solar system, but if so, it is to be gathered rather from -astronomy than revelation—from the apocalypse of Newton, -Laplace and Herschell, than from that of John.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In general literature, in science and in art, America has -furnished some of the best names in the world of letters; -but it is in theology and religious philosophy that our countrymen -have made the greatest advances. We need but -allude to Edwards, Dwight, Emmons, Marsh, Beecher, -Alexander, Stuart, McIlvaine, and Bush in proof of this. -Perhaps we may add to the list Orestes Brownson, who, -however erratic and peculiar, is a man of singular genius -and sincerity. In our endeavors to keep the readers of this -magazine advised of the condition of our literature, we -should fail of our intent if at times we did not notice books -and authors of a grave character. The useful and the true -is in every thing the national aim. The writings of which -we have spoken particularly in this brief notice, are distinguished -for remarkable directness of language and logical -clearness, as much as for profound scholarship, and they -are among the most original works of their class brought -out in our times.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Songs, Odes, and other Poems, on National Subjects: -Compiled from Various Sources: by William McCarty. -Three volumes duodecimo. Philadelphia, W. McCarty.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. McCarty is a bookseller, of the long established house -of McCarty & Davis, in Market street. He is an antiquary -also, and has in his chambers one of the best collections of -books relating to our history and antiquities to be found in -this country. Several years ago he “formed the plan of gathering -together our national songs and ballads, deeming -the task, however humble,” he says, “one of which the -result would be acceptable to his countrymen.” He has -since gleaned from all the files of magazines, newspapers -and other periodicals, in the public libraries and in his own -possession, published since Braddock’s defeat at DuQuesne, -every scrap of verse, “good, bad, or indifferent,” relating -to men, manners and events in America, and had them -printed in three neat volumes, the first of which contains -the “patriotic,” the second the “military,” and the third -the “naval.” It is certainly a very curious collection. -Some of the pieces, indeed, were written by foreigners, and -have as little relation to any thing in America as to the -quackeries of Græfenberg; and others are not decidedly -poetical; but by far the greater number belong to one or -another of the divisions in which the compiler has placed -them, and, as he well remarks, “the present and future -generations of Americans will hardly disdain those strains, -however homely, which cheered and animated our citizen -soldiers and seamen, ‘in the times that tried men’s souls,’ -at the camp-fire or on the forecastle.” We perceive that -Mr. McCarty has copied from our Magazine for October most -of the pieces included in the article on “The Minstrelsy of -the Revolution.” We have many others not embraced in -his volumes, of which we intend to present a few additional -specimens to our readers, in connection, perhaps, with some -of the most curious verses in the books he has given us.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Wing-and-Wing, or Le Feu-Follet. By the author of “The -Red Rover,” “The Pilot,” “The Path Finder,” etc. Two -volumes, duodecimo. Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We received this novel too recently to be able to do it -justice in our present number. It is a story of the sea, and -from a cursory examination we are inclined to believe it -equal to Mr. Cooper’s most celebrated naval romances. -The scene is in the Mediterranean, in the memorable years -1798 and 1799. Le Feu-Follet is a French privateer, commanded -by Raoul Yvard, a skilful, bold and chivalrous -sailor, and the interest of the tale turns principally upon -the manœuvres by which he preserves her from capture by -the English frigate Prosperine. The character second in -importance on board the republican privateer is Ithule Bolt, -a shrewd Yankee, who, impressed into the British navy, -had shared in the dangers of Nelson’s victory, and now -added to a patriotic hatred of the English, some slight ill -will created by what he deemed unjustifiable appliances of -the lash during his service on board the Prosperine. Blended -with the main narrative is a history of the loves of the commander -of Le Feu-Follet and a beautiful Italian girl, -Ghita Giuntotardi, one of our author’s most admirably -drawn heroines. Those who would know more of the plot -we refer to the book itself, or to the Yankee lieutenant, -who in due time returned to the United Slates, married a -widow, and “settled in life” somewhere in the Granite -State. He is said at the present moment to be an active -abolitionist, a patron of the temperance cause, and a terror -to evil doers, under the appellation of Deacon Bolt. We -are pleased to learn that the publishers have fixed the price -of Wing-and-Wing at half a dollar—lower by fifty per cent. -at least than an American novel was ever sold for before. -For this reason, as well as on account of its remarkable -merit, we predict for it a sale equal to that of “The Spy,” -or “The Red Rover.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Poets and Poetry of America: with a Historical Introduction. -By Rufus W. Griswold. Third edition. With -Illustrations by the First Artists.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Messrs. Carey & Hart have just issued a new edition of -this work, with beautiful illustrations from paintings by -Leslie, Inman, Creswick, Sully, Thompson, Verbryck, -Hoyt, and Harding, engraved by Cheney, Cushman, Dodson, -and Forrest. We believe that no other book of so -expensive a character has passed to a second edition in the -United States during the year. The fact that this has -reached a <span class='it'>third</span> edition in six months seems to indicate that -our poetical literature is properly appreciated, in our own -country, at least. The price of the third edition has very -properly been reduced to two dollars and a half.</p> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Little Boys’ and Girls’ Library: Edited by Mrs. Sarah -J. Hale. Six books, small quarto. New York, Edward -Dunigan.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The stories in these little volumes are written with taste -and simplicity. Though Mrs. Hale’s incidents are generally -pleasing, we do not in all cases approve their tendency. -With deference for her better judgment, we think the boy -who, in “The Way to Save,” bought the glass box, was -much wiser than he who bought the draught board.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Youth’s Keepsake: A Christmas and New Year’s Gift -for Young People.</span> <span class='it'>The Annualette: A Christmas and -New Year’s Gift for Children. Philadelphia, Thomas, -Cowperthwaite & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Two very beautiful and interesting annuals, of the character -of which the titles are sufficiently descriptive.</p> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Sporting Scenes and Sundry Sketches: being the Miscellaneous -Writings of J. Cypress, jr. Edited by Frank -Forester. In Two vols., 12mo. New York, Gould, Banks -& Co., 1842.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>J. Cypress</span>, jr.” was the late William P. Hawes, of the -city of New York; and “Frank Forester” is the name by -which one of the finest scholars, critics, and writers, whose -productions have ever given a charm to our periodical literature—Henry -William Herbert, the author of “Cromwell,” -and numerous tales and other compositions in this Magazine—is -known in the “sporting world.” Mr. Hawes was -educated for the bar; his writings were generally on political -or sporting topics, in the daily gazettes, or the magazines. -The admirable series of papers, entitled “Fire -Island Ana,” was written for the American Monthly, -while that work was under Mr. Herbert; and most of his -later compositions appeared in the “Turf Register.” We -have not room to do them justice. They have never been -excelled in this country, in richness of humor, freshness, -or originality. Mr. Hawes had the modesty of genius. -He lived in the quiet enjoyment of the life and the scenes -he so felicitously delineated, and was unknown as a writer -beyond the limited circle of his intimate friends until they -and the world were deprived of his presence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Task, and other Poems: By William Cowper. One -volume, duodecimo. Philadelphia, Carey & Hart.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the poets who have written in the English language -on religious themes, Cowper unquestionably ranks -next to Milton in genius, and before him as a teacher. -The Presbyterian poet is admired for his sublime conceptions -and his unequaled mastery of language and the intricacies -of rhythm; but the bard of Olney is loved by the good -and the true as a friend. The new edition of the Task is -one of the most beautiful specimens of typography produced -in this country, and the etchings, by Cheney, which illustrate -it, are of course admirably executed.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Way of Life: By Charles Hodge, Professor in the -Theological Seminary of Princeton, New Jersey. One -volume duodecimo, pp. 348. Philadelphia, American -Sunday School Union.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the many very excellent works published by the -American Sunday School Union, we know of none written -with more ability, or calculated to do more good than this -admirable treatise. The plenary inspiration of the Scriptures, -the great practical doctrines they teach, and the influence -which these doctrines should exert upon the heart -and life, are set forth by the learned author with candor, -simplicity and eloquence.</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Books for Youth: Heroines of Sacred History, by Mrs. -Steele; Philip and his Garden, by Charlotte Elizabeth; -Rocky Island, by Samuel Wilberforce; Alice Benden, by -Charlotte Elizabeth; Clementine Cuvier, by John Angell -James; The Simple Flower, by Charlotte Elizabeth; The -Flower of Innocence, by Charlotte Elizabeth; and Moral -Tales, by Robert Merry. New York, John S. Taylor & Co.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The eight volumes, of which we have given the titles -above, are bound in a uniform style, and constitute a very -neat and excellent library for juvenile readers. We know -of no books that can be more appropriately presented to the -young in the approaching holidays than those of Archdeacon -Wilberforce, John Angell James, and Charlotte -Elizabeth.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div><h1><a id='edi'></a>EDITOR’S TABLE.</h1></div> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Miss Barrett.</span>—In this number will be found a series of -sonnets by Miss Elizabeth B. Barrett, among the first of her -contributions to any American periodical. They were originally -intended for “Arcturus,” to which magazine they -were sent; but arriving after the discontinuance of that -periodical, its editors placed them at our disposal, “thinking -the good company into which they would be introduced in -‘Graham,’ would be every way agreeable to the fair authoress.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miss Barrett’s productions are unique in this age of lady -authors. They have the “touch of nature” in common -with the best; they have, too, sentiment, passion and fancy -in the highest degree, without reminding us of Mrs. Hemans, -Mrs. Norton, or L. E. L. Her excellence is her -own; her mind is colored by what it feeds on; the fine tissue -of her flowing style comes to us from the loom of Grecian -thought. She is the learned poetess of the day, familiar -with Homer and Æschylus and Sophocles, and to the musings -of Tempe she has added the inspiration of Christianity, -“above all Greek, all Roman fame.” She has translated -the Prometheus to the delight of scholars, and has lately -contributed a series of very remarkable prose papers to the -London Athenæum. Her reading Greek recalls to us -Roger Ascham’s anecdote of Lady Jane Grey; but Lady -Jane Grey has left us no such verses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A striking characteristic of Miss Barrett’s prose, is its -prevailing seriousness, approaching to solemnity—a garb -borrowed from the “sceptred pale” of her favorite Greek -drama of fate. She loses much with the general reader by -a dim mysticism; but many of her later poems are free from -any such defect. The great writers whom she loves will -teach her the plain, simple, universal language of poetry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her dreams and abstractions, though “caviare to the -generale,” have their admirers, who will ever find in pure -and elevated philosophy expressed in the words of enthusiasm -the living presence of poetry. On Parnassus there -are many groves: far from the dust of the highway, embosomed -in twilight woods that seem to symbol Reverence -and Faith trusting on the unseen, we may hear in the whispering -of the trees, the wavering breath of insect life, the -accompaniment of our poet’s strain. Despise not dreams -and reveries. With Cowley, Miss Barrett vindicates herself. -“The father of poets tells us, even dreams, too, are from -God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We cannot here do justice to Miss Barrett’s volume of the -Seraphim, or to her other poems. We cannot here illustrate -as we would the lofty tone of her conceptions, which -in grandeur and human interest belong to the highest and -most enduring of lyrical strains. She has thrown aside -sentimentality, the fluency without thought, the cheap eloquence -that marks a certain school of lady poets, for the -genuine language of emotion, the fire-new currency of -speech forged in the secret chambers of the heart. From -two volumes of her poetry before us, (unfamiliar as yet to -American readers—they cannot be so long,) we quote one -poem, perhaps not the most brilliant of all, but inferior to -none of the rest in the pathos, the tenderness, the deep -Christian sympathy with human life, which dwell in the -soul of this rare poetess.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>         THE SLEEP.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”—<span class='it'>Psalm cxxvii. 2.</span></span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Of all the thoughts of God that are</p> -<p class='line0'>Borne inward unto souls afar,</p> -<p class='line0'>Along the Psalmist’s music deep—</p> -<p class='line0'>Now tell me if that any is,</p> -<p class='line0'>For gift or grace surpassing this—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth his beloved sleep?”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What would we give to our beloved?</p> -<p class='line0'>The hero’s heart, to be unmoved—</p> -<p class='line0'>The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep—</p> -<p class='line0'>The senate’s shout to patriot vows—</p> -<p class='line0'>The monarch’s crown, to light the brows?—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth <span class='it'>His</span> beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>What do we give to our beloved?</p> -<p class='line0'>A little faith, all undisproved—</p> -<p class='line0'>A little dust, to overweep—</p> -<p class='line0'>And bitter memories, to make</p> -<p class='line0'>The whole earth blasted for our sake!</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say,</p> -<p class='line0'>But have no tune to charm away</p> -<p class='line0'>Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep:</p> -<p class='line0'>But never doleful dream again</p> -<p class='line0'>Shall break the happy slumber, when</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>O earth, so full of dreary noises!</p> -<p class='line0'>O men, with wailing in your voices!</p> -<p class='line0'>O delved gold, the wailers heap!</p> -<p class='line0'>O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall!</p> -<p class='line0'>God makes a silence through you all,</p> -<p class='line0'>And “giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>His dew drops mutely on the hill;</p> -<p class='line0'>His cloud above it saileth still,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though on its slope men toil and reap!</p> -<p class='line0'>More softly than the dew is shed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or cloud is floated overhead,</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep.”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>Ha! men may wonder while they scan</p> -<p class='line0'>A living, thinking, feeling man,</p> -<p class='line0'>In such a rest his heart to keep;</p> -<p class='line0'>But angels say—and through the word</p> -<p class='line0'>I ween their blessed smile is <span class='it'>heard</span>—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>For me my heart that erst did go,</p> -<p class='line0'>Most like a tired child at a show,</p> -<p class='line0'>That sees through tears the juggler’s leap,—</p> -<p class='line0'>Would now its wearied vision close,</p> -<p class='line0'>Would childlike on <span class='it'>His</span> love repose,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who “giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>And friends!—dear friends!—when it shall be</p> -<p class='line0'>That this low breath is gone from me,</p> -<p class='line0'>And round my bier ye come to weep—</p> -<p class='line0'>Let me, most loving of you all,</p> -<p class='line0'>Say, not a tear must o’er her fall—</p> -<p class='line0'>“He giveth His beloved sleep!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Stars that Have Set in MDCCCXLII.</span>—Among the -dead of the year now drawing to a close, America laments -her Marsh and Channing, and Europe, Sismondi and some -less brilliant luminaries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Rev. <span class='sc'>James Marsh</span>, D.D. was, at the time of his -death, the third day of July, Professor of Moral and Intellectual -Philosophy in the University of Vermont. He was -a calm, chaste scholar, an earnest and profound thinker, -and a powerful and eloquent advocate of the highest principles -of religion and philosophy, with the perfect simplicity -and grandeur of whose life were blended the rarest -virtues that adorn humanity. His principal published writings, -excepting a few articles in the leading reviews, and -some translations from the German, are devoted to those -high and spiritual principles of philosophy, of which Coleridge -and Kant were the most celebrated European exponents. -We are pleased to learn that Professor Torrey, one -of the dearest friends of the departed, is now superintending -the publication of a complete edition of his works.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The name of <span class='sc'>William Ellery Channing</span> has been long -familiar to the readers of America and Great Britain. He -was equally popular in both countries, and in both was -regarded as one of the greatest authors of the age. The -first edition of his collected writings we believe was published -some five or six years since in Glasgow, and the last, -in six octavo volumes, in Boston, in the winter of 1840. -We presume his later productions, unprinted sermons, etc.—sufficient -to fill several additional volumes—will soon -be published, with his memoirs. Doctor <span class='sc'>Channing</span> was -for a long period the leading divine of the Unitarian belief, -and though an ardent controvertist, was regarded by all -men with love and reverence. The purity of his life, his -high aims, his candor, and the dignity and beauty of his diction, -won for him a reputation that will endure when -most of the names now prominent in the world of letters -are forgotten. He died in Bennington, in Vermont, on his -return way from an excursion among the Green Mountains -in search of health, on the second day of October.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>John Charles Leonard de Sismondi</span> was one of the -most celebrated historical, political and æsthetical writers -of the time. He died near Geneva, on the twenty-fifth of -June, in his sixty-ninth year. He was the author of New -Principles of Political Economy, A History of the Italian -Republics, A History of the Literature of Southern Europe, -A History of France, Julia Severn, a romance, and several -other works, making in the aggregate about one hundred -and fifty volumes, in the French editions. As a -historian he has rarely been surpassed, and in every department -of letters he exercised a powerful influence for -nearly half a century.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>James Grahame</span>, author of the excellent History of -the United Slates which bears his name; Sir <span class='sc'>Robert Kerr -Porter</span>, the traveler; <span class='sc'>Theodore E. Hook</span>, the novelist, -biographer, and dramatic writer; and <span class='sc'>Robert Mudie</span>, -author of several works on natural history, etc. were better -known in this country than any of the other literary characters -who have died in Europe during the present year.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>New Books.</span>—We received several new works too late -to be noticed properly in our present number, of which we -have space to mention particularly only Mr. <span class='sc'>Norman’s</span> -“Rambles in Yucatan,” and Mr. <span class='sc'>Lester’s</span> observations -on “The Condition and Fate of England,” both from the -press of Messrs. Langley, of New York. The first is an -exceedingly interesting work, and the last quite as good as -the same author’s “Glory and Shame of England.” We -shall endeavor to do them full justice in our Magazine for -January.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The End of the Year.</span>—With the present number we -bring to a close another year of the publication of <span class='sc'>Graham’s -Magazine</span>. The many improvements which since our last -anniversary have been effected in the work, and the extraordinary -accessions to our subscription list—between -twenty and thirty thousand in twelve months!—impart to -us a satisfaction which we trust is shared in some degree -by our million readers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Since the commencement of the present year, <span class='sc'>Rufus W. -Griswold</span> has become associated with the proprietor in -the editorship of the Magazine; and to our corps of contributors -have been added <span class='sc'>William C. Bryant</span> and <span class='sc'>Richard -H. Dana</span>, the first American poets, and the equals of -any now living in the world; <span class='sc'>James Fenimore Cooper</span>, -the greatest of living novelists; <span class='sc'>Charles F. Hoffman</span>, one -of the most admired poets and prose writers of our country; -<span class='sc'>Elizabeth B. Barrett</span>, the truest female poet who has -written in the English language; <span class='sc'>J. H. Mancur</span>, the author -of “Henri Quatre;” <span class='sc'>George H. Colton</span>, the author of -“Tecumseh;” <span class='sc'>H. T. Tuckerman</span>, the author of “Isabelle, or -Sicily,” etc.; the author of “A New Home” and “Forest -Life,” who, under the name of “<span class='it'>Mary Clavers</span>,” has won a -reputation second to that of none of the writers of her sex in -America; Mrs. <span class='sc'>E. F. Ellet</span>, the well known author of -“The Characters of Schiller,” etc.; Mrs. <span class='sc'>Seba Smith</span>, -whose elegant and truthful compositions are as universally -admired as they are read; and several others, whom we -have not now space to mention. All these, with our favorite -old writers, Professor <span class='sc'>Longfellow</span>, <span class='sc'>George Hill</span>, -<span class='sc'>Edgar A. Poe</span>, Mrs. <span class='sc'>Embury</span>, Mrs. <span class='sc'>Stephens</span>, and others, -we shall retain for our succeeding volumes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We shall likewise receive regular contributions during -the ensuing year, from <span class='sc'>N. P. Willis</span>, whose many admirable -qualities as a writer have made his name familiar -wherever English literature is read; <span class='sc'>T. C. Grattan</span>, -the popular author of “Highways and Byways,” “The -Heiress of Bruges,” etc.; “<span class='it'>Maria del Occidente</span>,” the -author of “Zophiel,” and many others, whose names will -from month to month grace our pages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let our Past speak for our Future. The improvements -made in <span class='sc'>Graham’s Magazine</span>, in 1842, will be surpassed -by those that we shall introduce in 1843. In all the departments -of our work we shall remain in advance of every -other candidate for the public favor.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The Author of the Sketch Book.</span>—In a notice of the -Miscellanies of Sir Walter Scott, in the number of this -Magazine for September, we made allusion to reviews of -various publications of Mr. Washington Irving, which we -had good reason for believing were written by that gentleman -himself. We learn with pleasure, from one who -speaks on the subject by authority, that Mr. Irving is guiltless -of the imputed self laudation. He did indeed write the -article in the London Quarterly on his “Chronicles of -Grenada,” and received for it the sum we mentioned; but, -like so many of the modern “reviews,” it had very little -relation to the work which gave it a title, or to its author.</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>H. Hastings Weld.</span>—We notice that this talented and -agreeable writer, formerly editor of the Brother Jonathan, -has taken the editorial charge of the <span class='sc'>United States Saturday -Post</span>, a family newspaper of the largest class and -circulation. We feel assured that the humor and vivacity -of Mr. Weld’s pen will tend to make the paper still more -popular, and to add greatly to the already enormous subscription -list. This paper already circulates more copies -weekly than any other family newspaper in the Union.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class='noindent'>Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience. -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Obvious -punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>In the story <span class='it'>Malina Gray</span>, this concluding installment had two parts -titled Chapter III. The second Chapter III has been corrected to <a href='#chap'>Chapter IV</a>.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXI, No. 6, December 1842</span>, George R. Graham, Editor]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, VOL. 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