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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:55:33 -0700 |
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diff --git a/19383-h/19383-h.htm b/19383-h/19383-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4f1156 --- /dev/null +++ b/19383-h/19383-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7302 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + <title>The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, January 1844.</title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body { + font-family: Georgia,serif; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + } + + p { + text-align: justify; + margin: 0em 0em 0.75em 0em; + } + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + letter-spacing: .2em; + font-weight: normal; + } + + pre { + font-family: Courier,monospace; + font-size: 0.8em; + } + + sup { font-size: 0.7em; } + + ul { + list-style-type: none; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -1em; + } + + li { margin-bottom: 0.5em; 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+ font-variant: small-caps; + } + + .closing { margin-left: 50%; } + + .fancy { + font-family: "Lucida Blackletter", sans-serif; + font-size: 1.75em; + } + + span.returnFN, .jump_index { + position: absolute; + right: 1%; + left: 87%; + font-size: .7em; + text-align: left; + } + + span.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 1%; + right: 87%; + font-size: 12px; + text-align: left; + color: gray; + background-color: inherit; + /*Uncomment next line to hide the page numbers*/ + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + } + + .special_name, .first_word, .ed_table_title { font-variant: small-caps; } + + .fnmarker { + margin-left: 0.2em; + font-size: 0.8em; + vertical-align: top; + } + + .quotation { + text-indent: 0em; + margin: 1.25em 7%; + font-size: 0.9em; + } + + .small_all_caps { font-size: 0.8em; } + + .poem { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 1em; + text-align: left; + } + + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0%; } + + .poem p { + margin: 0; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; + text-align: left; + } + + .poem .stanza p>span.pagenum { + /* Make the page numbers show properly when in poetry */ + padding: 0em; + text-indent: 0em; + } + + .poem p.i2 { margin-left: 1em; } + .poem p.i4 { margin-left: 2em; } + .poem p.i6 { margin-left: 3em; } + .poem p.i8 { margin-left: 4em; } + .poem p.i10 { margin-left: 5em; } + .poem p.i12 { margin-left: 6em; } + .poem p.i14 { margin-left: 7em; } + + .poem p.poetry_break { + letter-spacing: 3em; + margin-left: 2em; + } + + .epigram { + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em; + padding-bottom: 2em; + } + + .punchline { + letter-spacing: 0.5em; + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + } + + .work_reviewed { + margin: 3em 5% 1em 5%; + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -1em; + } + + .ed_table_item { padding-bottom: 2em; } + .gossip_section { padding-bottom: 1.5em; } + .ed_table_break {letter-spacing:0.5em;} + #editors_table .poem { font-size: 0.9em; } + + #footnotes { + margin: 3em 0em; + padding-bottom: 2em; + border-top: thin gray solid; + border-bottom: 2px gray solid; + font-size: 0.9em; + } + + #footnotes li { margin-right: 2em; } + a:link { text-decoration: none; } + a:visited { text-decoration: none; } + + a:hover { + color: red; + background: inherit; + } + --> + + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly +Magazine, January 1844, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, January 1844 + Volume 23, Number 1 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 26, 2006 [EBook #19383] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KNICKERBOCKER *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div id="title_page"> +<p class="stopword">THE</p> +<p class="fancy volume_title">Knickerbocker,</p> +<p class="stopword">OR</p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.png" alt="An engraving of an old fellow sitting sideways to a writing desk, surrounded by books and papers" width="446" height="393" /> +</div> +<p class="volume_subtitle">NEW-YORK MONTHLY MAGAZINE.</p> +<p class="volume_number">VOLUME XXIII.</p> +<p class="publisher">NEW-YORK:<br /> +PUBLISHED BY JOHN ALLEN, NASSAU-STREET.<br /> +1844.</p> +</div><!--Title Page--> +<div id="index"> +<h2 class="title">INDEX.</h2> +<p class="jump_index"><a href="#masthead">Click here to jump over the index</a></p> +<p class="index_jumps"> +<a href="#index_A">A</a> +<a href="#index_B">B</a> +<a href="#index_C">C</a> +<a href="#index_D">D</a> +<a href="#index_E">E</a> +<a href="#index_F">F</a> +<a href="#index_G">G</a> +<a href="#index_I">I</a> +<a href="#index_J">J</a> +<a href="#index_K">K</a> +<a href="#index_L">L</a><br /> +<a href="#index_M">M</a> +<a href="#index_N">N</a> +<a href="#index_O">O</a> +<a href="#index_P">P</a> +<a href="#index_R">R</a> +<a href="#index_S">S</a> +<a href="#index_T">T</a> +<a href="#index_V">V</a> +<a href="#index_W">W</a> +</p> +<ul id="index_list"> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_A">A. + <ul> + <li>Apostrophe to an Old Hat. By <span class="special_name">J. G. Saxe</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page69" title="Go to Page 69">69</a></span></li> + <li>A Lady on the Rights of Women, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page79" title="Go to Page 79">79</a></span></li> + <li>A Second Ralph Ringwood, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page81" title="Go to Page 81">81</a></span></li> + <li>Ascent of Mount Ætna. By <span class="special_name">Thomas Cole</span>, <span class="index_page">103</span></li> + <li>A Night on the Prairie. By a Buffalo Hunter, <span class="index_page">114</span></li> + <li>A Winter Trip to Trenton Falls, <span class="index_page">133</span></li> + <li>A Veritable Sea-Story. By <span class="special_name">Harry Franco</span>, <span class="index_page">151</span></li> + <li>A Few Hints on the Philosophy of Size, <span class="index_page">156</span></li> + <li>American Manners and American Literature, <span class="index_page">180</span></li> + <li>An Apostrophe to Health, <span class="index_page">217</span></li> + <li>Anacreontic. By ‘G. H. H.’, <span class="index_page">275</span></li> + <li>A Christmas Carol in Prose, <span class="index_page">276</span></li> + <li>American Ptyalism: ‘Quid Rides?’ <span class="index_page">288</span></li> + <li>A Pilgrimage to Penshurst. By <span class="special_name">C. Alexander</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">307</span></li> + <li>A First Night of Racine. By <span class="special_name">Flaneur</span>, <span class="index_page">345</span></li> + <li>Apostrophe to Time. By Miss <span class="special_name">Mary Gardiner</span>, <span class="index_page">353</span></li> + <li>An Alligatorical Sketch, <span class="index_page">361</span></li> + <li>Address and Poem at Boston, <span class="index_page">387</span></li> + <li>A Brace of ‘Pellets’ from Julian, <span class="index_page">391</span></li> + <li>A Dream. By <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page">432</span></li> + <li>A Piscatorial Eclogue, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page46" title="Go to Page 46">46</a></span></li> + <li>A Picture by Murillo, <span class="index_page">503</span></li> + <li>A Song. By <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page">516</span></li> + <li>Autobiography of the Prairie Hermit, <span class="index_page">557</span></li> + <li>A Dream of Youth, <span class="index_page">561</span></li> + <li>A New Spirit of the Age, <span class="index_page">583</span></li> + <li>A Day With the great <span class="special_name">Seatsfield</span>, <span class="index_page">584</span></li> + <li>A Thrust with a Two-edged Weapon, <span class="index_page">590</span></li> + <li>Another ‘Pellet’ from <span class="special_name">Julian</span>, <span class="index_page">595</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_B">B. + <ul> + <li>Benthamiana, <span class="index_page">282</span></li> + <li>Belizarius: A Historical Sketch, <span class="index_page">337</span></li> + <li>Birth-Day Meditations, <span class="index_page">527</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_C">C. + <ul> + <li>Coronation of George the Fourth, <span class="index_page">138</span></li> + <li>Curiosities of Foreign and Domestic Literature, <span class="index_page">490</span></li> + <li><span class="special_name">Clark’s</span> Literary Remains, <span class="index_page">495, 578</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_D">D. + <ul> + <li>Descriptive Poetry, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page1" title="Go to Page 1">1</a></span></li> + <li>Drawings and Tintings. By <span class="special_name">Alfred B. Street</span>, <span class="index_page">387</span></li> + <li>Disguised Derivative Words in English, <span class="index_page">570</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_E">E. + <ul> + <li><span class="special_name">Editor’s Table</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page78" title="Go to Page 78">78</a>, 180, 283, 389, 499, 584</span></li> + <li>Essay on a Passage in Macbeth. By <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page">153</span></li> + <li>Elementary Treatise on Human Physiology, <span class="index_page">178</span></li> + <li>Early Spring at the Homestead, <span class="index_page">438</span></li> + <li>English State Trials under the Popish Plot, <span class="index_page">447</span></li> + <li>Exhibition of the National Academy of Design, <span class="index_page">595</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_F">F. + <ul> + <li>Freedom’s Beacon at Bunker-Hill, <span class="index_page">132</span></li> + <li>Fragments from the Greek. By ‘G. H. H.’ <span class="index_page">361</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_G">G. + <ul> + <li>Ganguernet: or a Capital Joke, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page62" title="Go to Page 62">62</a></span></li> + <li><span class="special_name">Gossip</span> with Readers and Correspondents, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page83" title="Go to Page 83">83</a>, 192, 289, 396, 505, 599</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_I">I. + <ul> + <li>I Follow: from the French, <span class="index_page">145</span></li> + <li>Isabel: the Death of the Young, <span class="index_page">218</span></li> + <li>Idyll: in imitation of Theocritus, <span class="index_page">323</span></li> + <li>Inscription for a Sarcophagus, <span class="index_page">367</span></li> + <li>Italy and the Italians. By <span class="special_name">J. T. Headley</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">498</span></li> + <li>Impudence of the French, <span class="index_page">499</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_J">J. + <ul> + <li><span class="special_name">Joseph C. Neale’s</span> ‘Charcoal Sketches,’ <span class="index_page">184</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_K">K. + <ul> + <li><span class="special_name">Kendall’s</span> Narrative of the Santa Fe Expedition, <span class="index_page">382</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_L">L. + <ul> + <li>Lines to a Fringed Gentian. By <span class="special_name">William Cullen Bryant</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page"><a href="#fn3" title="Go to Footnote 3 (original on Page 28)">Footnote 3</a></span></li> + <li>Lines to Death, the Great Conqueror, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page44" title="Go to Page 44">44</a></span></li> + <li>Letter to the Editor from Mr. <span class="special_name">James Jessamine</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page58" title="Go to Page 58">58</a></span></li> + <li>Love’s Elysium: from the German, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page61" title="Go to Page 61">61</a></span></li> + <li>Lines to an Evening Cloud, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page73" title="Go to Page 73">73</a></span></li> + <li><span class="special_name">Literary Notices</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page74" title="Go to Page 74">74</a>, 170, 276, 382, 490, 578</span></li> + <li>Lines to Time. By Mrs. <span class="special_name">J. Webb</span>, <span class="index_page">113</span></li> + <li>Life’s Young Dream, <span class="index_page">119</span></li> + <li>Life: a Sonnet, <span class="index_page">159</span></li> + <li>Lines to J. T. of Ireland. By <span class="special_name">C. W. Day</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">169</span></li> + <li>Life and Times of the late <span class="special_name">William Abbott</span>, <span class="index_page">187</span></li> + <li>Lines sent with a Bouquet. By <span class="special_name">Park Benjamin</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">211</span></li> + <li>Legend of Don Roderick. By <span class="special_name">Washington Irving</span>, <span class="index_page">262, 324, 418</span></li> + <li>Literary Record, <span class="index_page">305</span></li> + <li>Lines with a ‘Floral Messenger,’ <span class="index_page">534</span></li> + <li>Lines written under a portrait of Jupiter and Danäe, <span class="index_page">430</span></li> + <li>Lines to my Sister. By <span class="special_name">R. S. Chilton</span>, <span class="index_page">472</span></li> + <li>Legend of the Subjugation of Spain. By <span class="special_name">Washington Irving</span>, <span class="index_page">572</span></li> + <li>Lines by Prof. Plutarch Shaw, of Tinnecum, <span class="index_page">577</span></li> + <li>Life in the New World. By <span class="special_name">Seatsfield</span>, <span class="index_page">581</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_M">M. + <ul> + <li>Mexico as it was and is. By <span class="special_name">Brantz Mayer</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page"><a href="#page77" title="Go to Page 77">77</a></span></li> + <li>Music, Musicians, Musical Critics, and Ole Bull, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page80" title="Go to Page 80">80</a></span></li> + <li>Mr. <span class="special_name">Cheever’s</span> Lectures on the Pilgrims, <span class="index_page">388</span></li> + <li><span class="special_name">Mary May</span>: the Newfoundland Indian, <span class="index_page">523</span></li> + <li>Mental Hygiene. By <span class="special_name">William Sweetser</span>, M. D., <span class="index_page">581</span></li> + <li>Magazine Writing, <span class="index_page">589</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_N">N. + <ul> + <li>Night and Morning. By ‘<span class="special_name">Polygon</span>’, <span class="index_page">257</span></li> + <li>Night-Thoughts: to <span class="special_name">Blumine</span>, <span class="index_page">436</span></li> + <li>North-American Review for the April quarter, <span class="index_page">492</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_O">O. + <ul> + <li>Old reflections on the New Year, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page78" title="Go to Page 78">78</a></span></li> + <li>One Reading from Two Poets. By <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page">218</span></li> + <li>On Rivers and Other Things. By do., <span class="index_page">349</span></li> + + </ul></li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_P">P. + <ul> + <li>Poems of <span class="special_name">James Russell Lowell</span>, <span class="index_page">170</span></li> + <li>Professor Shaw, of Tinnecum, <span class="index_page">549</span></li> + <li>Poetry and History of Wyoming. By <span class="special_name">William L. Stone</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">382</span></li> + + </ul></li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_R">R. + <ul> + <li>Reminiscenses of a Dartmoor Prisoner, <span class="index_page">146, 356, 517</span></li> + <li>Rêves et Souvenirs, <span class="index_page">343</span></li> + <li>Religious Controversy. By ‘<span class="special_name">Flaccus</span>,’ <span class="index_page">445</span></li> + + + </ul></li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_S">S. + <ul> + <li>Song of the New Year. By Mrs. <span class="special_name">R. S. Nichols</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page25" title="Go to Page 25">25</a></span></li> + <li>Stanzas suggested by <span class="special_name">Gliddon’s</span> Lectures, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page29" title="Go to Page 29">29</a></span></li> + <li>Sketches of East Florida: St. Augustine, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page45" title="Go to Page 45">45</a></span></li> + <li>Sonnet to the Old Year, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page53" title="Go to Page 53">53</a></span></li> + <li>Some Thoughts on the Country, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page70" title="Go to Page 70">70</a></span></li> + <li>Scenes and Scenery in the Sandwich Islands, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page77" title="Go to Page 77">77</a></span></li> + <li>Sicilian Scenery and Antiquities. By <span class="special_name">Thomas Cole</span>, <span class="index_page">103, 236</span></li> + <li>Some Sentiments on Sonnets, with Sundry Specimens, <span class="index_page">283</span></li> + <li>Stanzas to <span class="special_name">Mary</span>. By Mrs. <span class="special_name">M. E. Hewitt</span>, <span class="index_page">348</span></li> + <li>Stanzas on the Burial of an Infant, <span class="index_page">460</span></li> + <li>Stanzas to Niagara. By <span class="special_name">Claude Halcro</span>, <span class="index_page">489</span></li> + <li>Stanzas to my Three Departed Sisters, <span class="index_page">556</span></li> + <li>Stanzas Written in Indisposition. By the late <span class="special_name">Willis Gaylord Clark</span>, <span class="index_page">569</span></li> + + </ul></li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_T">T. + <ul> + <li>The Idleberg Papers: a Christmas Yarn, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page11" title="Go to Page 11">11</a></span></li> + <li>Thoughts on Color. By <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page26" title="Go to Page 26">26</a></span></li> + <li>The Quod Correspondence, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page30" title="Go to Page 30">30</a>, 120, 245, 368, 473, 529</span></li> + <li>Thoughts from Bulwer. By Mrs. <span class="special_name">M. T. W. Chandler</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page52" title="Go to Page 52">52</a></span></li> + <li>The Mail Robber, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page53" title="Go to Page 53">53</a></span></li> + <li>The Æneid of Virgil: with Notes by <span class="special_name">Chas. Anthon</span>, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page76" title="Go to Page 76">76</a></span></li> + <li>The Sacrifice, <span class="index_page">127</span></li> + <li>The Death-Bed. By the ‘<span class="special_name">Country Doctor</span>,’ <span class="index_page">128</span></li> + <li>The Ruins of Burnside. By <span class="special_name">James Lawson</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">137</span></li> + <li>The Smithy. By <span class="special_name">Alfred B. Street</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page">155</span></li> + <li>Two Pictures: Love Celestial and Love Terrestrial, <span class="index_page">160</span></li> + <li>The Hermit of the Prairie, <span class="index_page">161</span></li> + <li>Translation from <span class="special_name">Catullus</span>. By Rev. Geo. W. <span class="special_name">Bethune</span>, <span class="index_page">166</span></li> + <li>The Painted Rock, <span class="index_page">167</span></li> + <li>Thirty Years among the Players of England and America, <span class="index_page">175</span></li> + <li>The Study of Woman’s Life, <span class="index_page">179</span></li> + <li>The American Review, <span class="index_page">179</span></li> + <li>The North American Review, for January, <span class="index_page">183</span></li> + <li>The Alms-House: a New-England Sketch, <span class="index_page">212</span></li> + <li>The Tyranny of Affection, <span class="index_page">222</span></li> + <li>The Fratricide’s Death, <span class="index_page">232</span></li> + <li>The Spectre Imp. By Mr. <span class="special_name">George Harvey</span>, <span class="index_page">338</span></li> + <li>The Church Bell, <span class="index_page">368</span></li> + <li>The Inner Life of Man. By Mr. <span class="special_name">Charles Hoover</span>, <span class="index_page">389, 599</span></li> + <li>The Floral Resurrection, <span class="index_page">417</span></li> + <li>The Dog-Star Spirit: or, Tray’s Reflections, <span class="index_page">431</span></li> + <li>The Poet Halleck: Epistle to the Editor, <span class="index_page">437</span></li> + <li>The Plague at Constantinople in 1837, <span class="index_page">511</span></li> + <li>The Song of Death. By <span class="special_name">Miss Mary Gardiner</span>, <span class="index_page">523</span></li> + <li>The Householder. by <span class="special_name">John Waters</span>, <span class="index_page">528</span></li> + <li>The Hearth of Home, <span class="index_page">548</span></li> + + </ul></li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_V">V. + <ul> + <li>Vicissitudes, <span class="index_page"><a href="#page10" title="Go to Page 10">10</a></span></li> + <li>Voices of Affection, <span class="index_page">336</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +<li class="index_letter" id="index_W">W. + <ul> + <li>Winter Evening: an Extract. By <span class="special_name">J. G. Percival</span>, Esq., <span class="index_page"><a href="#page24" title="Go to Page 24">24</a></span></li> + <li>What is Transcendentalism? <span class="index_page">205</span></li> + <li>Wanderings of a Journeyman Tailor, <span class="index_page">281</span></li> + <li>What is It? A Lover’s Query, <span class="index_page">489</span></li> + </ul> +</li> +</ul> +<div class="transcriber_note"> +<p>Transcriber’s Note: The page numbers in the index convert to issues in the following way:</p> +<table id="index_conversion" summary="Conversion of index page numbers to issue month"> + <tr> + <th>Month</th> <th>Pages</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>January, 1844</td> <td class="pages">1-102</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>February</td> <td class="pages">103-204</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>March</td> <td class="pages">205-306</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>April</td> <td class="pages">307-408</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>May</td> <td class="pages">409-510</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>June</td> <td class="pages">511-608</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> +</div><!--Volume Index--> +<div id="masthead"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>1</span></p> +<h1 class="issue_title">THE KNICKERBOCKER.</h1> +<table id="mastdate" summary="A cheat to display the masthead properly"> + <tr> + <td class="leftcell">Vol. XXIII.</td> <td class="centercell">January, 1844.</td> <td class="rightcell">No. 1.</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div><!--Masthead--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.</h3> +<p><span class="first_word">Whatever</span> the poets may say, it is incontrovertible that the great +majority of men look upon the beauties and glories of Nature that surround +them with almost entire indifference. We shall not inquire +whether this is the result of a natural incapacity to perceive and admire +the beautiful and sublime, or whether it is that their impressions +are so deadened by familiarity as to be passed by unnoticed. Probably +the former is the case with the greater number; although we cannot +believe with some writers, that all our ideas of beauty are but the +results of association, or of our perceptions of the proportion, or fitness, +or utility of things. When we say that some things are naturally +agreeable, and others naturally disagreeable, we have said all that we +know about the matter; and this amounts to nothing more than a confession +of our ignorance. Yet, if we admit in all men the existence of +a natural sense of beauty, daily observation shows us that the pleasure +arising from it is in most cases very feeble and evanescent. How +many live in the midst of the most magnificent natural scenery, and +never perceive its beauties until they are pointed out to them by some +intelligent traveller! And often if admiration be professed, it is of that +vague, undistinguishing kind, which indicates little knowledge of the +causes why they admire. Even among men of cultivated tastes, there +is much more of affected than real enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>If what we have said be true, it is a curious subject of inquiry why +descriptive poetry has been so popular. How happens it that so many +who have looked upon Nature herself with great indifference, have been +so much delighted with the reflection of her image in the pages of the +poets? We suspect, indeed, that a part of the popularity of this class +of writers is factitious. <span class="special_name">Thomson</span>, the most popular, is we suspect +oftener purchased than read; and his ‘Seasons’ are not unfrequently +spoken of with admiration by those who know little of them but the +episodes. The chief interest of the ‘Task’ is to be sought for in other +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>2</span>sources than its descriptions, notwithstanding the <i>curiosa felicitas</i> of +Cowper’s diction.</p> + +<p>The pleasure which we feel in reading descriptive poetry may perhaps +in all cases be traced to one of the three following sources: the conception +in our own minds of objects corresponding in a greater or less +degree to those which exist in the mind of the poet; the train of associations +which his language awakens; or the moral interest with which +he invests what he describes. In the case first mentioned, the emotions +we feel are similar to those which the sight of the objects themselves +would produce; if beautiful, of pleasure; if terrible, of awe. A +painting, which is an accurate representation of nature, regarded irrespective +of the skill of the artist, would affect us in the same way. But +the effects resulting from this cause are too inconsiderable to require +particular mention. The picture which words are able to present is so +indistinct and vague as rarely to produce any strong emotion. If the +objects themselves are generally looked upon with indifference, much +less can a verbal description of them afford us any great degree of +pleasure.</p> + +<p>The language which the poet uses often suggests to the mind of the +reader trains of thought and imagery which were never present to his +own mind. Hence many expressions which are in themselves eminently +poetic, will arouse associations, oftentimes, that entirely spoil the passage. +On the other hand, an expression low and vulgar may be ennobled by +its associations, and give dignity and force to the composition. We not +unfrequently meet phrases which have great beauty in the eyes of one +man, which seem flat and insipid in the eyes of another. Every writer +who has attempted dignified or pathetic composition, has felt how difficult +it is to avoid those words which will suggest ideas that are unworthy of +the subject. If, however, the poet is sometimes a loser, he is also sometimes +a gainer from this cause. The reader often finds in his own associations, +sources of pleasure independent of the poet. The light that +illumines the page is but the reflected radiance of his own thoughts, and +is unseen by all save himself.</p> + +<p>But it is in the moral interest with which the poet invests the objects +he describes, that the chief source of our pleasure is to be found. The +poet paints Nature, not as she is, but as she seems. He adorns her with +beauty not her own, and presents her thus adorned to men, to admire +and to love. It is by interweaving human sympathies and feelings with +the objects of the material world, that they lose their character of ‘mute +insensate things,’ and acquire the power to charm and to soothe us, +amidst all the cares and anxieties of our life. The intellectual process +which here takes place is so interesting and important that we shall +make no apology for treating the subject at some length.</p> + +<p>It is sufficiently obvious that an accurate description of nature, or a +beautiful work of art, is not poetical. On the other hand, in proportion +as the minuteness of the description is increased, the poetry vanishes. +The traveller who should give us the exact dimensions of the pyramids, +the precise height of the terraces, the width and height of the inner +passages, would give us much more definite ideas of those structures +than he who should paint to us the effects produced on his own mind by +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>3</span>their vastness, their antiquity, and the solitude that surrounds them. So +in descriptions of natural scenery, the geographer who gives us the +measurement of mountains, and rivers, and plains, is much more accurate +than he who describes them solely from the picture that exists in his +fancy. We wish to be rightly understood. We do not mean that +vagueness and generality are essential to poetical description. As on +the one hand, mathematical accuracy, by allowing no play to the imagination, +produces a feeble impression, so on the other the indistinctness +arising from indefinite expressions is equally unfavorable. But in +neither is the poetry of the description dependent on the greater or less +degree of minuteness with which particular objects are spoken of. +When Whitbread described the Phenix, according to Sheridan’s version, +‘like a poulterer; it was green, and red, and yellow, and blue; he did +not let us off for a single feather,’ he did not fail more egregiously than +Thomson in the following lines, in which, by the force of language, a +flock of geese are made highly poetical objects:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i14">‘Hushed in short suspense</p> +<p>The plumy people streak their wings with oil,</p> +<p>To throw the lucid moisture trickling off,</p> +<p>And wait the approaching sign to strike at once</p> +<p>Into the general choir.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The poet indeed must give us a lively and definite image of the scene +or object which he undertakes to describe. But how shall this be done? +Simply by telling us how it appeared to him; introducing those circumstances +which had the greatest effect on his own imagination. He looks +on nature neither as a gardener, a geographer, an astronomer, nor a +geologist, but as a man, susceptible of strong impressions, and able to +describe clearly to others the objects which affected himself. This he +will do in the style which the emotion raised within him naturally dictates. +His imagery, his illustrations, his whole language, will take the +hue of his own feelings. It is in describing accurately the effect, not +the cause, the emotion, not the object which produced it, that the poet’s +fidelity to nature consists. Let us illustrate our meaning by two or +three examples. In Thomson we find the following description of a +thunder-storm:</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i14">‘A boding silence reigns</p> +<p>Dread through the dun expanse; save the dull sound</p> +<p>That from the mountain, previous to the storm,</p> +<p>Rolls o’er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood,</p> +<p>And shakes the forest leaf without a breath.</p> +<p>Prone to the lowest vale, the aërial tribes</p> +<p>Descend: the tempest-loving raven scarce</p> +<p>Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze</p> +<p>The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens</p> +<p>Cast a deploring eye, by man forsook,</p> +<p>Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast,</p> +<p>Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave.</p> +<p>’Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all,</p> +<p>When to the startled eye the sudden glance</p> +<p>Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud</p> +<p>And following slower in explosion vast,</p> +<p>The thunder raises his tremendous voice.</p> +<p>At first heard solemn o’er the verge of heaven</p> +<p>The tempest growls; but as it nearer comes</p> +<p>And rolls its awful burthen on the wind,</p> +<p>The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more</p> +<p>The noise astounds; till over head a sheet</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>4</span>Of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts</p> +<p>And opens wider; shuts, and opens still</p> +<p>Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.</p> +<p>Follows the loosened, aggravated roar,</p> +<p>Enlarging, deepening, mingling; peal on peal</p> +<p>Crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth.’</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<p><span class="special_name">Mr. Irving</span> describes a similar scene in the following terms: ‘It +was the latter part of a calm sultry day, that they floated quietly with +the tide between these stern mountains. There was that perfect quiet +which prevails over nature in the languor of summer heat; the turning +of a plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from +the mountain side, and reverberated along the shores. To the left the +Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over height, forest over +forest, away into the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the +bold promontory of Antony’s nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about +it; while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to +lock their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. +In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile of bright snowy +clouds peering above the western heights. It was succeeded by another +and another, each seemingly pushing onward its predecessor, and towering +with dazzling brilliancy in the deep blue atmosphere; and now +muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind the mountains. +The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the +sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze +came creeping up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and +sought their nests on the high dry trees; the crows flew clamorously +to the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of the +approaching thunder gust. The clouds now rolled in volumes over +the mountain tops; their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower +parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in broad +and scattered drops; the winds freshened, and curled up the waves; at +length it seemed as if the bellying clouds were torn open by the mountain +tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling down. The lightning +leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against the +rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest trees; the thunder burst +in tremendous explosions; the peals were echoed from mountain to +mountain; they clashed upon Dunderberg, and then rolled up the long +defile of the Highlands, each headland waking a new echo, until old Bull +Hill seemed to bellow back the storm.’</p> + +<p>We think that no one who attentively reads the foregoing extracts can +fail to see the infinite superiority of the latter over the former, in every +thing that pertains to a faithful representation of nature. Irving has +given us the scene just as he saw it, unmixed with any hue or coloring +with which the mood of his own mind might have invested it. We see +the objects themselves, disconnected from the associations of the spectator. +Had there been a thousand persons looking on, each would have +heard the same sounds, and seen the same sights. There is nothing +that is extraneous. He has given us an exact copy of his original, and +nothing more. Thomson, on the contrary, has not described a thunderstorm +as he saw it, but according to the effect that it produced on his own +mind. His epithets are rarely descriptive of the qualities that exist in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>5</span>the objects to which they are applied. They have reference rather to +the emotions which their presence produces in himself. Thus, in the +first line, ‘boding’ is not a quality that can be predicated of silence. +To the feeling that the silence preceding a storm is wont to excite, the +epithet is properly enough applied. So with the expression ‘dubious +dusk.’</p> + +<p>In connection with these extracts, we will look at one taken from +<span class="special_name">Scott’s</span> description of the scenery around Loch Katrine:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Boon nature scattered free and wild,</p> +<p>Each plant, or flower, the mountain’s child;</p> +<p>Here eglantine embalmed the air,</p> +<p>Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;</p> +<p>The primrose pale, and violet flower,</p> +<p>Found in each cleft a narrow bower;</p> +<p>Foxglove and night-shade, side by side</p> +<p>Emblems of punishment and pride,</p> +<p>Grouped their dark hues with every stain</p> +<p>The weather-beaten crags retain;</p> +<p>With boughs that quaked at every breath,</p> +<p>Gray-birch and aspen wept beneath;</p> +<p>Aloft the ash and warrior oak</p> +<p>Cast anchor in the rifted rock;</p> +<p>And higher yet the pine tree hung</p> +<p>His scattered trunk, and frequent flung</p> +<p>Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high</p> +<p>His boughs athwart the narrowed sky.</p> +<p>Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,</p> +<p>Where glistening streamers waved and danced,</p> +<p>The wanderer’s eye could barely view</p> +<p>The summer heaven’s delicious blue.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The same remarks which we applied to Irving are applicable with +some little restriction here. With one or two exceptions, the epithets +mark attributes that exist in the subjects. Every one can see at a +glance the appropriateness of such terms as <em>pale</em> primrose, <em>gray</em> birch, +and <em>narrow</em> bower. They are not dependent for their effect upon any +fanciful train of associations which their names may excite.</p> + +<p>If we compare the above extracts together, we arrive at certain results +which we shall briefly state. We will throw out of view for a +moment any pleasure which the rhythm may give us, as foreign to our +present purpose. Each of these writers is describing a scene from +nature. Each of them has the same object, to interest others by a representation +of those sights and sounds that interested themselves. Scott +accomplishes his purpose by presenting as exact a picture of nature as it +is possible perhaps for words to give. He does not tell us how he is +affected by what he sees, and looks upon neither directly nor indirectly. +He does not search for any resemblances that are not palpable, and +founded in the nature of things. All similes and metaphors which serve +to express his own emotions are carefully avoided. The whole is picturesque +and life-like in the highest degree, yet every circumstance is +mentioned in the cool, unimpassioned way in which we mention any +common occurrence.</p> + +<p>Thomson accomplishes his purpose by portraying his own feelings; +not indeed in so many words, but by the use of those expressions, and by +those transitions of thought, which mark a state of emotion. The epithet +‘boding,’ to which we have referred, is an example. It is an indirect +disclosure of the mood of his own mind. At another time it is not improbable +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>6</span>that an epithet of a directly opposite meaning would have been +selected. The reader is affected by it, because by a law of sympathy, +we are affected by whatever reveals the presence of passion in another. +It influences us precisely as the tones of the voice of a person in distress +influence us. Both are expressive of emotion, and we cannot remain +unaffected by them.</p> + +<p>This is the main source of the pleasure we feel in reading Thomson's +description. It conveys to us but a very indistinct idea of the subject +matter. Different readers, according to their mental peculiarities, will +be differently affected by it. He does not paint to the bodily eye, but to +the eye of the mind; and he will feel most pleasure who puts himself +in the same position as the poet, and sees with his eyes and hears +with his ears. Unless he can do this, he will derive but little gratification +from the perusal.</p> + +<p>Less minute than Irving, and more picturesque than Thomson, Scott +will probably to most readers give more pleasure than either of them. +In conveying lively impressions of natural objects he is unsurpassed, +but he is scarcely less successful in inspiring the mind of the reader +with the same emotions that fill his own breast. There is ever between +the thought and its expression a perfect harmony. It is only when agitated +by passion that he uses the <em>language</em> of passion. Hence we never +find that timid phraseology which so often disgusts us in Thomson; <i>vox +et præterea nihil</i>. No one delights more in the use of figurative language, +nor employs metaphors that more appropriately convey the sentiment +that pervades his mind. In the passage we have quoted are the following +lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Aloft the ash and warrior oak</p> +<p>Cast anchor in the rifted rock.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The poet looking up at the trees firmly rooted in the rifts of the rock, +defying the tempest and storm, felt an emotion of pleasure which the +sight of their lofty position, and the apparent danger of their being hurled +headlong at the first blast of wind, contrasted with the sense of their +real security, produced. To express this pleasurable emotion, he fastens +upon the resemblance between a root of the tree and an anchor; a +resemblance not between the things themselves, but between their uses. +Neglecting all the points of difference, and confining his attention to this +single point of similarity, he presents an image which all admit to be +highly forcible and poetical.</p> + +<p>The great merit of all descriptive poetry consists in the unity of feeling +which pervades it. Unlike the epic, or the drama, it has none of +the interest which arises from a connected narrative, or the development +of individual character in reference to a certain end. The poet confines +himself to the expression of those feelings which are awakened +by the sight of the beauty and sublimity of nature. Passing, as he +necessarily must, from one object to another, each fitted to excite in his +bosom conflicting emotions, his attention is so much diverted, that none +of them produces upon him its legitimate effect. There is wanting +some central object of interest to which all others are subordinate. +Hence is explained the listlessness of which every one is conscious in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>7</span>the continuous perusal of the Seasons. We find the greatest pleasure +by reading a page here and a page there, according to the state of our +feelings.</p> + +<p>It is never in short poems that the descriptive poets succeed best. +L’Allegro and Le Penseroso are gems; but all Milton’s genius could +not have made the Paradise Lost readable, were it deprived of its unity +as an epic, and broken up into a series of detached pictures. The Deserted +Village of Goldsmith is the longest poem of this class that we +now remember, having all its parts so pervaded by a common spirit that +a succession of new objects does not impair the designed effect. Sweet +Auburn as it was in its palmy days, and as it is in its desolation, presents +two distinct pictures, yet so closely connected that each heightens +the effect of the other by the contrast. Nothing can exceed the exquisite +art with which Goldsmith has seized upon those circumstances +that tend to make the desired impression, and rejected all others. +How perfect are each of the following descriptions, and how much would +their beauty be marred by the transfer of a single circumstance from +one to the other:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘How often have I paused on every charm,</p> +<p>The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm;</p> +<p>The never-failing brook, the busy mill,</p> +<p>The decent church that topped the neighb’ring hill;</p> +<p>The hawthorn-bush with seats beneath the shade,</p> +<p>For talking age and whispering lovers made.</p> +</div> +<p class="poetry_break">·····</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘The dancing pair that simply sought renown,</p> +<p>By holding out to tire each other down;</p> +<p>The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,</p> +<p>While secret laughter tittered round the place;</p> +<p>The bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of love,</p> +<p>The matron’s glance, that would those looks reprove.</p> +</div> +<p class="poetry_break">·····</p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,</p> +<p>But choked with sedges works its weedy way;</p> +<p>Along thy glade, a solitary guest,</p> +<p>The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;</p> +<p>Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,</p> +<p>And tires the echoes with unvaried cries;</p> +<p>Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all,</p> +<p>And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It is by the selection of such objects as have in themselves no common +bond of union, but which combine to raise a certain emotion, that +the essential distinction is to be found between the descriptions of the +poet and the prose-writer. The latter joins objects together as they are +joined in nature, following a principle of association which is simple +and obvious. His resemblances are usually such as are cognizable by +the senses; a likeness in the sensible qualities of things. The poet’s +principle of association is in the effect produced on his imagination. +Things which have not in themselves a single point of similarity, are +connected together, because they produce the same emotions of pleasure, +or pain, or hope, or melancholy. A beautiful illustration of this is +found in the opening stanzas of Gray’s Elegy:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,</p> +<p>The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea,</p> +<p>The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,</p> +<p>And leaves the world to darkness and to me.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,</p> +<p>And all the air a solemn stillness holds,</p> +<p>Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,</p> +<p>And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>8</span>A summer evening in the country is associated in most minds with +images of mirth and joy. Thus Goldsmith has described it:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening’s close,</p> +<p>Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;</p> +<p>There as I passed with careless steps, and slow,</p> +<p>The mingling notes came softened from below;</p> +<p>The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,</p> +<p>The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;</p> +<p>The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool,</p> +<p>The playful children just let loose from school,</p> +<p>The watch-dog’s voice, that bayed the whisp’ring wind,</p> +<p>And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>With what consummate skill, if indeed it be not rather the instinct of +the poet, has Gray avoided all mention of those objects which might +awaken associations discordant with the mood of his own mind! Each +epithet is full of a plaintive melancholy. There is not one that does +not contribute something to the effect; not one that can be omitted; not +one that can be altered for the better. Yet there is scarcely one that is +descriptive of any quality actually existing in its subject. The fitness +of each is to be felt rather than seen.</p> + +<p>In the selection of those circumstances and objects which Gray has +enumerated, he was governed by the effect which each had upon his +own feelings. He looked upon nature in the reflected light of his own +heart. He was mournful in view of the destiny of man; and wandering +amidst the graves of the lowly and obscure, he saw all the external +world colored with the hue of his own sad thoughts. The melancholy +spirit within him transformed all things without into its own likeness. +His imagination, darting hither and thither, and governed in its flight by +laws too subtle and delicate to be analyzed, reposed itself for a moment +amidst the gloom of the historical associations that cluster around the +curfew, hovered over the lowing herd, and followed the ploughman as +he homeward plods his weary way. Goldsmith, recalling the scenes +where he had spent many happy hours, looks upon nature under a far +different aspect. Every thing to him is gay and joyous. He hears not +the hollow tones of the curfew, nor the drowsy tinklings that lull the distant +folds. He sees not the wearied ploughman, caring for nought but +to forget his toils in the sweet oblivion of sleep. He hears but the song +of the milk-maid, and the soft response of her rustic lover; the watchdog’s +voice, and the loud laugh of the happy idlers. He sees but the +children just escaped from school, running and leaping, and romping in +their innocent glee. Happy himself, he fastens upon whatever in nature +around him seems to sympathise with him, and dwelling fondly upon it, +casts away from his thoughts every thing that can obstruct the full, free +flow of his joyous emotions.</p> + +<p>We may remark in passing, what has probably been before remarked +by the attentive reader, that both Gray and Goldsmith, excited as they +are by different passions, refer to the ‘lowing herd’ as raising on the +one hand a cheerful, and on the other a melancholy feeling. To our +thought, the associations connected with the return of the herds from the +fields at sunset are best fitted to awaken that quiet, reflective state of +mind which is most congenial to the mood of the elegiac poet. To +another, these associations may be of such a character as to produce a +directly opposite effect.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>9</span>The writer of prose who should describe scenes like these, would aim +to give us a distinct and accurate picture by presenting all their prominent +features, omitting nothing, and grouping them as Nature herself had +grouped them. Such descriptions we daily see in all books of voyages +and travels. Or if the descriptions be of scenes wholly imaginary, +their essential character is not changed. Although they cease to be +real, they do not become poetical. The extract which we have made +from Irving is not poetical. Accurate, vivid, life-like, it is. We cannot +read it without a feeling of pleasure. We admire the genius of the +writer; we wonder at the magnificence of the spectacle which, by a +few masterly touches, he has raised up before us. But there is no +more poetry in it than in his description of Herr Van Tassel’s supper +table, covered with all the luxuries of Dutch housewifery. It is true, +there may be more of beauty and sublimity in the scenery of the Hudson, +in the gathering clouds and muttering thunder, than in the sight of +dough-nuts and crullers, sweet-cakes and short-cakes, peach pies and +pumpkin pies, slices of ham and slices of smoked beef; yet the spirit +of poetry exists no more in the one than in the other. Poetry has its +abode in the <em>heart</em> of man; not in the winds, in the clouds, in the +mountains, or in the vales. It does not derive its power from the outward +world, but breathes into it its own breath of life, investing the +earth with a beauty which has no existence but in the human soul, and +filling the air with sweet harmonies, which are unheard save by the +inspired ear of the poet.</p> + +<p>We have now, we think, sufficiently answered the question, why so +many who read descriptive poetry with pleasure, look with indifference +upon what is beautiful or sublime in nature. The poet is to them like +one who gives sight to the blind. The landscape which formerly lay +before their eyes unregarded, almost unseen, is now ‘beautiful exceedingly.’ +Nature has not changed; they themselves have not changed; +yet there <em>is</em> a change. There is a glory unseen before, cast over the +earth. It is, as it were, transfigured before them, and made radiant +with celestial light. This is the poet’s work. With a keener perception +of the beautiful and sublime than other men; with a greater facility +of association, and with the power to give to language the hue and +intensity of his own feelings, he clothes lifeless nature with the attributes +of humanity, making it instinct with human sentiment and passion. +Like Burns, he pours forth his lament over the mountain-daisy cut down +in its bloom, in a few simple words that find a response in the hearts of +all men; and henceforth it is embalmed in our memories, and shall be as +immortal as the star that shines in the far depths of the heavens. Like +Wordsworth, he wanders upon the banks of his native lakes, and mingles +his song with the noise of their waters, until the faintest whisper of +the rippling waves seems but the echo of his voice. Wherever he goes +fruits, flowers, and herbage spring up in his footsteps. A divine +Presence goes with him; Nature speaks to him with her thousand voices, +and he hears, and answers, making sweet music in the joy of his heart. +Nothing is so inconsiderable as to be without the pale of his sympathy; +nothing too humble to stir the fountains of love in his breast. The solitary +flower that blossoms by the way-side, the rivulet far away amid the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>10</span>hills, is but the starting point of that wondrous chain of thick-coming +fancies, that fill his eyes with light, and his ear with harmony; as if +multitudes of angels were hovering around, and he heard on every side +the rustling of their wings.</p> + +<p>Such are the gifts of the poet. They are God’s gifts, and are indeed +‘wonderful in our eyes.’</p> + + +</div><!--Descriptive Poetry--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">VICISSITUDES.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Hast</span> thou not been where wild winds, freshly blowing,</p> +<p class="i2">Brought odorous gladness on each passing gale;</p> +<p>Hast thou not been where the pure streamlet flowing,</p> +<p class="i2">In each soft murmur told a gentle tale:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>As the bright flashing of its gushing water,</p> +<p class="i2">Glad as the tones of merriment and glee</p> +<p>That joyous burst from children in their laughter,</p> +<p class="i2">Swift dashes onward to the boundless sea?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not been where the enamelled mead</p> +<p class="i2">Its beauty gave to the enraptured sense,</p> +<p>And the crushed lily, from the elastic tread,</p> +<p class="i2">Yielded its life in breath of sweets intense?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not been in spring-time’s early hours,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the lone bird its short sweet carol gave</p> +<p>To the young bursting leaves and budding flowers,</p> +<p class="i2">Beside some wildly-rushing mountain wave?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Not such the lay it sings in summer hours,</p> +<p class="i2">When love beats high within its little breast,</p> +<p>And its exulting song it joyous pours,</p> +<p class="i2">Where thick embowering leaves conceal its nest.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not marked, when autumn’s gorgeous glory</p> +<p class="i2">Fled in the rushing of the hurrying blast,</p> +<p>The deep’ning pathos of the moral story</p> +<p class="i2">Sighed in each cadence, as it onward passed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not heard the ancient forests, bending</p> +<p class="i2">To the far sweeping of the mighty wind,</p> +<p>Send forth a solemn sound, as though responding</p> +<p class="i2">To voices deep that secret powers unbind?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not stood where ocean madly raging,</p> +<p class="i2">Rolled onward as with overmastering shock:</p> +<p>‘Till hushed the storm, the chaféd surge assuaging,</p> +<p class="i2">It gently laved the firm-opposing rock?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hast thou not gleaned a lesson to thy reason</p> +<p class="i2">From winter’s fostering power and spring’s awakening reign;</p> +<p>Summer’s brief heat, autumn’s maturing season,</p> +<p class="i2">And learned vicissitudes are not in vain?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But from the varied page outspread before thee,</p> +<p class="i2">Garner’d of wisdom for thy fleeting days,</p> +<p>Whether the sunshine or the storm be o’er thee,</p> +<p class="i2">Forward to look with hope, and trust, and praise?</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="location">Newport, Rhode-Island, Dec., 1843.</span> <span class="author">E. R. G. H.</span></p> +</div><!--Vicissitudes--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>11</span></p> +<h2 class="title">THE IDLEBERG PAPERS.</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle">A CHRISTMAS YARN.</h3> +<p><span class="first_word">At</span> Christmas every body is or should be happy. The genial influence +of the season lightens alike the lofty hall and the lowly cottage. +It is the same at home or abroad, on the land or the billow, in royal purple +or in ragged poverty; here and every where, to one and to all, it is +always ‘merrie Christmas.’ At such a time there is an obligation due +from every man to society, to be happy, and the more cheerfully it is +paid, the better. The man who would be found scowling and glowering +like a thunder-cloud, cherishing his private griefs or animosities at a +time when every other countenance is glowing with light, and hope, and +sunshine, should be denied all the charities of humanity, and exiled to +Kamschatka, or some other inhospitable clime, to growl and fret with the +wild beasts, or the wilder elements.</p> + +<p>How dear is the light of home when glowing with the fires of Christmas! +What though the elements be wild without, or Jack Frost blow +his whistling pipe at the door, or fierce winds rumble down the chimney, +and tell of sweeping gusts and howling storms abroad, if within and +around that charmed circle is breathed the spirit of kindness and affection! +Should the titled stranger or the ragged beggar knock, throw wide open +the doors of thy hospitality; and while prattling infants recount the joys +of the season, and school-boy striplings pursue their holiday sports, and +gray-haired men who have traversed the wide world over, tell how in +all their wanderings they have never passed a Christmas from home; +he will turn his thoughts with a melancholy pleasure to the distant fireside +beyond the sea, and to the friends who are gathered there, and wonder +where the wanderer is spending his Christmas.</p> + +<p>With all respect for the ancient and honorable class of ‘old bachelors,’ +whose sympathy and good fellowship we most earnestly desire, +be it said, that if to any it is allowed to be miserable at Christmas, +it surely is to them. We would not for the world say aught to heighten +the sad picture of their social desolation, by dwelling on the thousand tender +endearments of home, the ten thousand cords of love, of which they +know nothing. Certain it is, that to many of them ‘merrie Christmas’ +brings only pangs of remorse; and we have known more than one +crusty member of the fraternity, who on such occasions would rush incontinently +from the scene and the sound of merriment, and shut themselves +under lock and key, until the storm was passed, and people have +recovered their lost senses.</p> + +<p>Such an one, however, we are proud to say, was <em>not</em> <span class="special_name">Tom Hardesty</span>, +though bachelor he was, in the superlative degree. Every body wondered +how he managed to preserve his good-humor and vivacity under the +frosts of three-score winters. At the period of this authentic history, +Tom was the village grocer; a station he had filled to his own profit +and the town’s convenience until he had become a piece of village furniture, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>12</span>necessary to its existence as a corporation. His little store, with +its great variety of commodities, adapted to every human want, was in +itself a perfect ‘curiosity-shop.’ Odd-looking boxes, kegs, chests, +casks, barrels and hogsheads, contained his groceries, drugs and dye-stuffs. +A few remnants of domestic prints and muslins, together with +stray fragments of broadcloth, constituted his stock of dry-goods. Then +there was a modicum of hardware and cutlery; a few spelling-books +and new testaments for a book store; and sundry jars and bottles filled +with fancy-colored powders and liquids, for an apothecary shop. His +remaining list of commodities was made up of hats, caps and bonnets, +boots and shoes, tin-pans and looking-glasses, slate-pencils and sifters; +and as his standing advertisement in the village newspaper duly notified +the public, ‘other articles too numerous to mention—call and see for +yourselves.’ If any body desired an article nobody ever heard of before, +he could find a large lot thereof at Tom Hardesty’s; and if any +lucky or ingenious wight had found or made any thing that nobody else +would have as a gracious gift, let him call on Mr. Hardesty, and it was +the very thing he wanted. In a word, his shop was a grand dépôt for +every article the ingenuity of man could devise, or his necessities require.</p> + +<p>What a blessed convenience was Tom Hardesty! How could we have +gotten along without him? How honest and affable! What long ells +and heavy pounds he gave! And then his tea! how it inspired the +village gossip on long winter nights in a chimney corner! All the +matrons of the village were quite in love with Tom, or his tea; and +many an old crone, as she sat inhaling cup after cup of the divine beverage, +has been known to pause in the midst of her inspirations, and +exclaim with uplifted hands, ‘God bless Tom Hardesty!’</p> + +<p>And yet Tom Hardesty was a bachelor, and kept ‘bachelor’s hall.’ +The only members of his mess were an orphan boy of his adoption, +who waited in the store, and a brindle cat which the master had honored +with his own name. This point, however, is still wrapt in obscurity, +for Tom and ‘Tom’ were both so venerable that nobody could swear +whether the cat had been named after the master, or the master after +the cat. It had been rumored by those who should know, that Mr. +Hardesty should not be held strictly accountable for this sin of celibacy, +since he had offered his hand, his heart, and a partnership in his worldly +goods, to more than one village beauty, each of whom had found it +impossible to ‘love for antiquity’s sake,’ and rejected his matrimonial +offers accordingly. Still Tom never repined. His daily experience +behind the counter had taught him the useful lesson, that each applicant +does not necessarily always drive a trade, and the commodity which +one rejects may be eagerly sought by another; and acting on the faith of +this philosophy, he lived cheerfully on, cherishing the hope that even yet +some fond heart would beat responsive to his own, and promise before +the competent authority, to ‘love, honor and obey’ him, Tom Hardesty.</p> + +<p>On a memorable Christmas-eve we enter his little counting-room. A +cheerful fire blazes on the hearth; and at the moment grimalkin is +purring on the rug. Master John, the adopted, is poring over a picture-book, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>13</span>probably an early edition of Peter Parley’s Travels, and Mr. +Hardesty is standing before a broken fragment of looking-glass, diligently +brushing his scanty locks.</p> + +<p>‘John!’ said Mr. Hardesty, turning from the mirror, and looking full +at the boy, ‘do I look very old to-night?’</p> + +<p>The boy turned up his innocent face, gazed steadily on his master +from top to toe, and answered, ‘Sir!’</p> + +<p>‘Do I look very <em>old</em> to-night, John?’</p> + +<p>John scratched his head. ‘Not much older than you did this time +last night, Sir.’</p> + +<p>‘Humph!’ said Mr. Hardesty, appealing to the glass, and renewing +his efforts with the brush, while John resumed his reading.</p> + +<p>‘But, John,’ resumed Mr. Hardesty, seating himself beside the boy, +‘do you really think that a middle-aged lady, of right comfortable property, +would have, <em>could</em> have, any rational objection to be called Mrs. +Hardesty?’</p> + +<p>‘I think not, Sir,’ replied John, taking up the cat; ‘I’m sure you have +been very kind to me and old Tom here, and I know you would be so to +her.’</p> + +<p>‘Very true, John,’ said Mr. Hardesty, whose feelings were touched +by this expression of the boy’s gratitude; ‘but I wish to extend the +sphere of my usefulness; and I may venture to hope—but don’t mention +it—that in the course of three or four years, or may-be a little +longer, there’ll be a little boy at our house for you to play with; and if +it’s a girl, John, you shall marry her when you get old enough. Eh, +John! how would you like <em>that</em>?’ And the old gentleman chuckled +himself into a fit of coughing that seemed to threaten his longevity, and +prevented John’s reply to a suggestion that had never occurred to him +as being within the bounds of the most remote possibility.</p> + +<p>Having amused himself sufficiently with these flights of his fancy, +Mr. Hardesty rose from his seat, gave John eighteen-pence for Christmas-money, +stroked his namesake’s back, put on his cloak and cap, and +after bidding John be a good boy, and not to mention it, and to take care +of the fire till he came back, left the house on his errand of love.</p> + +<p>Christmas eve! Surely the village streets were never so gay before! +You may know there is a moon, for though the sky is darkened with +clouds, and the snow is falling as it never fell before, there is a glow of +light above and around, that would burst on the eye like dim revealings +of fairy-land, but for the mist that floats through the dim upper air, and +seems striving to bind the earth as with a mantle.</p> + +<p>What a merry, merry Christmas! Gust after gust comes whirling +on, full-freighted with the virgin snow. There are shouts of revelry +that rise and fall with the sound of the blast. There are hurried footsteps +that glide over the crackling snow. There are merry hearts +within those bounding sleighs, and hands that clasp the hands they love, +though wrapped in countless furs and muffs. Gay steeds dash on with +steaming nostrils, as if their toil were sport; and their bells, as they ring +cheerily out in the sombre night, give promise of marriage-bells to +come.</p> + +<p>Through all this busy scene Tom Hardesty pressed on, turning neither +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>14</span>to the right nor left, except when he turned a corner. As the wind +dashed the driving snow in his face, he drew his cloak more closely +around him, and, shivering, passed on with cheerful thoughts of love +and matrimony. Sometimes the boys pelted him with their snowy +artillery, or old acquaintances inquired after his health, but he glided +on like a dim shadow, heedless alike of all. By degrees the holiday +din of the village waxed faint in his ears, and as he approached the +suburbs, his heart beat fast while his steps were slow with indecision, +for he was approaching the end of his pilgrimage—the dwelling of Miss +Peggy Sidebottom.</p> + +<p>While Mr. Hardesty is pausing at the door, stamping the snow from +his feet, and making the accustomed use of his pocket-handkerchief, we +will take advantage of his delay to state, briefly, that Miss Sidebottom, +beside being sole proprietress of the cottage-like mansion aforesaid, +claimed also among her chattels sundry shares in bank, and certain +notes of hand, yielding her sufficient income, without calculating the +value of her personal charms, to make her hand and heart two very +desirable items of furniture in a bachelor’s apartments. Her household +consisted of herself, and a nephew and niece, christened Dick and +Belinda, orphan children of a deceased brother. Dick was a wild, +rattling scape-grace, as ever robbed hen-roost or melon-patch; Belinda +was nothing, particularly, except a little, quiet, blue-eyed girl, the pride +of her aunt, and a pattern of propriety to all little girls. That Miss +Sidebottom was kind and motherly to the two orphans, there is no question; +but it was rumored that in consideration thereof she enjoyed a +comfortable legacy. It is only necessary to premise, farther, that Miss +Sidebottom had been younger by some two-score years than she was that +night; that she was one of Mr. Hardesty’s best customers; and that +after long worshipping her across the counter, he had suddenly determined +to declare his passion with all the eloquence he possessed; which +was not inconsiderable, as many can bear witness.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty knocks and is admitted to the hall. Another door is +opened, and there, in the snuggest corner, and by the snuggest fire conceivable, +sits Miss Sidebottom. The opposite end of the hearth is +decorated by Belinda, while a cat is sleeping on the rug between them. +It was a picture of quiet happiness that touched Mr. Hardesty’s heart; +and advancing into the room, he bows with all the elegance of a Beau +Brummel.</p> + +<p>Miss Sidebottom turned her eyes upon the new-comer, and as they +fell on the familiar and smiling countenance of the grocer, she sprang +to her feet, and exclaimed: ‘Why, Mr. Hardesty! I am so glad to see +you! Let me have your cloak and cap, Sir. Come, be seated; draw +near the fire.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty kept bowing all this time with as much nobility as +was displayed by the famous stick that was too crooked to lie still; and +after grasping Belinda’s hand very affectionately, he seated himself, and +drew near the fire.</p> + +<p>‘Dear me! what a night!’ said Miss Sidebottom; ‘ain’t it cold out, +Mr. Hardesty?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty replied by shivering palpably, and said he had seen +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>15</span>colder, and he had seen warmer, but it would do. Having said thus +much, he produced his snuff-box, which he extended to the ladies, and +then helped himself.</p> + +<p>‘I am truly glad, Miss Peggy,’ continued Tom. ‘to see you situated +so comfortably—I am.’ And he smiled tenderly and shifted his chair; +but in doing so, he infringed on the cat’s tail, and the animal, as cats +are wont to do, squalled vehemently. Mr. Hardesty bounded from his +seat.</p> + +<p>‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Miss Sidebotton, ‘don’t do that!’</p> + +<p>‘Positively, Madam,’ said Tom, ‘I am very sorry, indeed—I am!’</p> + +<p>‘Poor thing!’ said Belinda, taking the injured quadruped in her arms; +‘poor thing!—did he hurt its tail?’</p> + +<p>‘’Deed, Madam,’ said Mr. Hardesty, stroking the animal’s back, ‘I +wouldn’t have done that for forty ordinary cats. I may say, Madam, +speaking metaphorically, that your cat is of the short-horn Durham +stock, and wasn’t made to be trod on.’</p> + +<p>‘Lor’, Sir,’ replied Miss Sidebottom, adjusting her cap, ‘cats is cats, +and cattle is cattle—that’s my sentiments; but as I was going to say, +Mr. Hardesty, I was telling Mrs. Jenkins to-night, not an hour ago, that +I felt a kind of nervous kind of feeling that somebody was coming; and +sure enough, here comes you. You see, Mrs. Jenkins was here to take +tea with me to-night, and beside the baby, why her little Jack and Sally +and Bill and Susan <em>would</em> come, because, they said, pap wasn’t at home, +and they would starve if they staid there. And here, sure enough, +come they did, before Mrs. Jenkins had fairly pulled off her bonnet; +and stay they would, though she boxed ’em well; but they didn’t mind +that, and I told her Christmas come but once a year, and as it turned +out, the poor things <em>were</em> hungry, in yearnest. And you never see +children eat so; I do believe they hadn’t had a good meal for a fortnight. +Well, we hadn’t got fairly seated after supper, when rap! rap! +at the door, and there was Jake Crow had come for Mrs. Jenkins; for +Jenkins had got into a drunken row, and had his head cut with a stick. +And you never hearn sich a fuss; and Mrs. Jenkins and the little brats +went home crying all the way; and here me and Belinda have been by +ourselves ever since. But poor Mrs. Jenkins! I wonder men will get +drunk and leave their wives and children to starve. <em>You</em> never get +drunk, Mr. Hardesty, do you?’</p> + +<p>‘Drunk! Madam, drunk!’ said Mr. Hardesty, placing his hand over +his heart, and shaking his head emphatically. ‘No, Madam; I only +get what you may call intoxicated, and not with liquor neither; and I +feel it coming on me now—I do indeed!’</p> + +<p>‘Well, well!’ replies Mrs. Sidebottom, holding up her hands in utter +astonishment, ‘I never heard tell of the like of that before. P’raps its +the cold, Mr. Hardesty.’</p> + +<p>‘No, Madam,’ persisted the old gentleman; ‘it’s the heat.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear me! Mr. Hardesty; then I’ll open the door.’ And Miss Peggy +started to her feet.</p> + +<p>‘No, my dear Madam, don’t, if you please. It ain’t this here fire in +the hearth, but,’ striking his breast passionately, ‘it’s <em>here</em>, Madam.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s just where Mrs. Jenkins is affected sometimes, and she says +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>16</span>Madeira’s the best thing for it; and she has drank nearly all that last +quart I got of you, Mr. Hardesty, and I don’t see as she gets any better.’</p> + +<p>‘Madeira, indeed!’ said old Tom, scornfully. ‘Madeira, madam, +instead of squenching, would only add fuel to the flame that is consuming +me. There <em>are</em> men as takes to the bottle for it when they despair; +but bless your soul!’ he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper, +‘I haven’t despaired.’</p> + +<p>At this eloquent appeal, Mrs. Sidebottom looked at the fire and said +nothing, until an audible snore from Belinda, who had fallen asleep in +her chair, aroused her.</p> + +<p>‘Bless me!’ exclaimed Miss Peggy, bouncing to her feet; ‘look at +the child there! Belinda dear, wake up. Poor dear thing! you had +better go up stairs to bed.’ And rubbing her eyes, the child took up a +lighted candle, bowed politely to Mr. Hardesty, and disappeared behind +the stair-door.</p> + +<p>Miss Sidebottom resumed her seat and looked again at the fire, and +Mr. Hardesty looked at Miss Sidebottom. Presently, that amiable lady +turned her gaze, lighted as it was by an equivocal smile, full upon +Tom. In the space of about fifteen seconds, after trying in vain to interpret +that smile to his own satisfaction, Mr. Hardesty quailed, while +his heart commenced vibrating against his ribs, as though it would +burst their feeble barrier, and take refuge in his waistcoat-pocket. Miss +Sidebottom, however, showed no such symptoms of alarm, and her courage +rose as Tom’s fell. By the way, composure in such delicate +epochs is like see-sawing; one ascends as the other descends, until perchance +the weaker party fails to recover his equilibrium, and tumbles +off the fence. Diffident young courtiers should remember this.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty was bewildered beyond endurance. How could a man +speak more plainly? And yet he would try once more.</p> + +<p>‘Let me tell you, my dear Miss Sidebottom, once for all, I’m——’</p> + +<p>There was a noise of some one opening the front door, and as Mr. +Hardesty turned his head, Dick entered the room.</p> + +<p>‘Why, Dicky, where have you been this cold night?’ asked his aunt.</p> + +<p>Dicky replied that he had been snow-balling, of which there were +sufficient marks on his person. His countenance was flushed and heated, +and he proceeded to say that he was tired, and wanted to go to bed.</p> + +<p>At this Mr. Hardesty rose deliberately from his seat, saying it was +time to go.</p> + +<p>‘But, Mr. Hardesty,’ urged Miss Peggy, ‘it’s cold and snowing; stay +all night there with Dicky,’ pointing to a comfortable bed in one corner. +‘I know you are delicate, and it’s snowing hard. I’ll go and see. +Here Dicky,’ and she left the room followed by Dick. Mr. Hardesty +looked around at the comfortable quarters offered him, and determined +to remain. Scarcely had he come to this decision, when the affectionate +aunt and nephew returned, the former telling him not to think of going +out on such a night, and the latter assuring him it was snowing ‘like +sixty.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll stay, Madam, and thank’ee too,’ said Mr. Hardesty, re-seating +himself. Miss Peggy bade her guest a very good night, and, threatening +to catch him for a Christmas gift next morning, disappeared up the stairs +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>17</span>and locked the door after her. Tom watched her retreating figure until +she disappeared, and then addressed himself to the boy.</p> + +<p>‘Been snow-balling to-night, eh, Dicky? Fine sport, Dicky; fine +sport.’</p> + +<p>‘I should say it was, Sir, when your side toes the mark and don’t run,’ +said Dick, placing his damp shoes on the hearth. ‘Them shoes’ll +never run away with <em>my</em> feet in ’em, certain.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, Dicky,’ continued Mr. Hardesty, stirring the fire, ‘you’re a +brave boy.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Sir,’ said Dick, ‘braver than you think for. Catch me napping +when there’s work to do, and I am to get a pie for it in the bargain, +will you?’ The bare suggestion amused Dick, and as he divested +himself of his damp clothes, he laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>‘That’s just what I was saying, Dicky, and was going on to add, that +snow-balling and such like ain’t for me now, but the time was when +none was better at them than I.’</p> + +<p>‘P’raps not,’ said Dick, ‘but as I’m rather tired, and don’t mind the +cold, I’ll get in and warm the bed, and you can come along when you +like;’ and the light-hearted boy sprang into his nest, and in less than five +minutes was snoring audibly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty stirred the fire, and as the myriad sparks flew up the +chimney, he wished he had just so many dollars; he would give them +all if <em>she</em> would but love him. Growing weary of this delusive sport, +he looked at his watch, compared it with Miss Sidebottom’s yankee +clock, and finding his own time-piece was just five minutes the faster, +concluded that both were wrong just two minutes and a half, and he +would split the difference. He might be mistaken, but if he was he +would consult the town clock to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty resumed the poker and stirred the fire until its bright +blaze threw a broad glare over the chamber; and out of the glowing +coals he built strange towers and castles, and saw them change by turns +into ashes, and grow dim like his own recent dreams of love. This being +a melancholy contemplation, he lent his ear to a solitary cricket that +was cheerily singing its household song, though the winds were wild +without. Presently the cricket ceased its chirrup, and Mr. Hardesty +growing tired of sitting, yawned, stretched himself, and walked to the +window.</p> + +<p>Outside, the ground was covered with a wild waste of snow, and the +heavy flakes were still falling. Suddenly it occurred to him that somebody +might accidentally pass that way and recognize him; so he let fall +the curtain and walked across the room. Here, lifting his eyes from the +floor, a looking-glass stared him in the face, and he started back. +He turned again and walked to the bed-side where Dick was sleeping. +The boy, he thought, might one day be his nephew, and he revolved in +his mind a thousand schemes for advancing him in the world and making +him a clever fellow.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty left the bed-side and looked up at the ceiling. Beyond +that, he thought, was the adored Miss Sidebottom. What a narrow +space sundered them! He walked to the fire-place and looked on the +mantel for a book. He selected an old copy of Burns, and opened at +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>18</span>the pathetic ballad of ‘John Anderson.’ Mr. Hardesty sat down and +read it once aloud. Then he read it to himself over and over again, +until he had gotten it by heart. And then by degrees the room swam +dizzily before him, the fire glowed like a pale meteor, his eyes closed +heavily, the open book fell from his hand, and Mr. Hardesty was asleep.</p> + +<p>He slept and dreamed. Smiles like those of sleeping infancy stole +over his venerable features. In one short moment he was the happiest +man alive; his love had been crowned with success; and putting forth +his hand to grasp the dear shadow, he lost his balance and fell from his +chair.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty looked around him, wondering. He resumed his seat +and rubbed his eyes. The fire had almost gone out. The wick was long +and dim. He looked at the clock; it wanted just twenty minutes of +midnight.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty snuffed the candle and commenced divesting himself +of his apparel; placed his boots beside Dicky’s shoes on the hearth; +threw his upper garments on the back of a chair, and his nether ditto +on the seat thereof. But his extremities were cold, he thought, and +placing a chair bottom upward on the floor, he put his feet to the fire.</p> + +<p>For some minutes Mr. Hardesty stared steadily at the ceiling, beyond +which Miss Sidebottom was sleeping in virgin security; and whether +from the magnetic effect of his constant gaze, or the slumbrous air that +pervaded the room, his eyelids soon closed, and he was again soundly +asleep. The candle burned dimly on; coal after coal was turned to +ashes; at last both went out, and still Mr. Hardesty slept.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a stir in the bed occupied by Dick. The boy +rose on his pillow and looked cautiously around him. He called Mr. +Hardesty, but there was no answer. At this Dick put one leg out of +bed, and then the other, and stood firmly on the floor. Gliding +cautiously over the carpet, he stooped over the sleeper, whose deep +breathing assured him that all was safe. Then stepping softly to the +chair on which Mr. Hardesty’s clothes were lying, he selected that gentleman’s +nether garment, then went to the hearth and lifted the boots, +and slipping on his own shoes, glided cautiously out of the room with +his booty. Returning in a few minutes he again stooped over the +sleeper, and then stole to bed, where, after laughing immoderately yet +quietly, he was soon as fast asleep as Mr. Hardesty himself.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Hardesty awoke he found himself still reclining on the +back of the chair. Not a little vexed with himself for lying there all +night, he rose to his feet, and looking around, found that Dick had risen +before him, and the bed was empty. ‘Why didn’t he wake me, I wonder?’ +said Mr. Hardesty.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty walked to the window, lifted the curtain, and looked +out. The mists and clouds had cleared away, and left the sky all bright +and blue. The sun had just risen, and was shedding his early splendor +on the myriad snow-drops as brightly as if to atone for the darkness +and gloom of yesterday. It was a cheerful and beautiful view; but +Mr. Hardesty heard the sound of shuffling footsteps overhead; so he +turned shivering from the window to dress himself for the day. ‘It’ll +never do to be caught in this fix,’ said Mr. Hardesty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>19</span>His first search was for his boots, but these had been taken out, as he +supposed, to be polished. He would put on his breeches and wait for +his boots. He cast his eye on the pile of clothes, but the breeches were +not there. Then he looked on the floor, and in all the corners of the +room, and then on the bed and under the bed—but in vain. ‘What +the d——l has become of my breeches!’ said Mr. Hardesty.</p> + +<p>It occurred to him at length that by some mysterious power of locomotion +the garment had gotten into the drawer of a bureau that stood in +one corner. He pulled at this drawer most lustily, but it was locked, +and Miss Sidebottom had the key. To add to his discomfiture, he again +heard the sound of footsteps overhead. He had but a moment to spare, +and looking around for a place of retreat, his eye fell on a closet-door +that opened beneath the stairs. Putting on hastily the remnant of his +apparel, he presented altogether an appearance the like of which the +writer has never seen, and will not attempt to describe, and managed to +effect his retreat into the closet just as Miss Sidebottom and Belinda +entered the room from above.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty applied his eye to the key-hole, but saw nothing save +the form of either lady as it flitted from time to time across the limited +range of his vision. Presently a conversation began between the two, +of which, however, he could hear nothing except a confused murmur, +and occasionally a most uproarious fit of laughter. Before long the +merry tones of the elder lady were changed to those of anger. Miss +Sidebottom was evidently scolding one of the servants, and then came +reiterated sounds of castigation, interspersed with tongue-lashings, by far +the most terrible of the two. Mr. Hardesty resigned himself to his +fate, and was willing to endure a confinement that revealed to him the +evil spirit that reigned within a form of so much loveliness.</p> + +<p>After a while came the indescribable sounds of breakfast; the rattling +of knives and forks, and cups and saucers, suggestive to Mr. Hardesty’s +mind of coffee, hot biscuits, and butter. Presently the table was +cleared away, and he caught a glimpse through his key-hole of the two +ladies, dressed in their cloaks and bonnets. In a moment they departed, +leaving Mr. Hardesty sole proprietor.</p> + +<p>Each moment of this time was one of intense agony to Mr. Hardesty. +Exposed to hunger and thirst, and cold and insult, what had he done to +deserve such misfortunes? And that was Christmas, too; what a +merry day to all the world without; and in what a contemptible plight +was he! What would little Master John think of his absence; and +how much would be sold at his little store before night? These reflections +only enhanced the agony of his imprisonment; so wrapping himself +tightly in the folds of his cloak, he crouched down in a corner of the +closet, and soon fell fast asleep.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty slept on until night-fall. So soon as he realized his +situation, he determined to be a prisoner no longer, but to emerge from +his confinement, whatever might be the danger of an exposure. Fortunately +for him, the room was deserted. The ladies had not yet returned +from their visit. Mr. Hardesty approached the window and +found it quite dark without. He had little time left for deliberation, for +he heard the sound of a key turning in the street-door lock, and recognized +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>20</span>the well-known voice of Miss Sidebottom; so hoisting the window, +he crawled rapidly through it, and leaped on the ground.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty breathed once more like a freeman; and muttering +deep anathemas against the inhospitable house and all its inmates, he +stole quietly along, with his bootless feet buried at each step in the snow. +Leaving the more frequented streets, and worming his way through bypaths +and dark alleys; now turning a corner, under the direful apprehension +of meeting some acquaintance, and now darting this way or +that to avoid a random snow-ball, he pursued his painful way until he +reached home, where he knocked and was admitted by Master John.</p> + +<p>The grocer bolted in, rushed into his counting-room, and throwing off +his cloak, stared wildly at the bewildered boy. ‘What do you think of +that, John?’ pointing to his denuded extremities. ‘How does that become +your old master, Sir?’</p> + +<p>Master John, frightened partly at the anomalous appearance of the +grocer, and partly at the sternness of his voice and manner, started +back to the remotest corner of the room, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>‘What’s the matter now, you little fool?’ said his master. ‘Are +you afraid of old Tom Hardesty? If you are, you needn’t be; nobody +need be afraid of such an old coward as I am—darned if they +need!’ And feeling that he was growing melancholy, he determined to +subdue the propensity, and to that end commenced cutting the complicated +figure entitled a pigeon-wing. This exhilarating sport soon restored +the grocer’s good humor, and he laughed heartily and made such a +racket altogether, that the boy gradually approached him to inquire +what it all meant, how he had spent his Christmas, what had become of +his breeches, and all about it.</p> + +<p>‘Here, John,’ said Mr. Hardesty, seating himself by the fire, ‘sit +here and I’ll tell you all about it. But what an old fool I am! Here’s +twenty-four blessed hours gone, and the d——l a bit or a drop have I had +since last night at supper. Is this my house or not, John? for I’ve +forgot every thing except one, and wouldn’t swear I ain’t dreaming, +and haven’t been all day.’</p> + +<p>The boy gave him every assurance that he was at home.</p> + +<p>‘Well, John,’ pursued the master, ‘I think the last time I was here—it +may be a year, or it may be more—I’ll be hanged if I know—but I +rather think there was a lot of prime cheese, and a few barrels of +crackers. You haven’t sold ’em all, John?’</p> + +<p>John smiled, and answered negatively.</p> + +<p>‘I rather think, too, there were several casks of best three-year-old +whiskey, prime lot; any of <em>that</em> left, John?’</p> + +<p>John pointed, in reply, to a row of casks in one corner that answered +the description.</p> + +<p>‘No! stop, Sir!’ said Mr. Hardesty, soliloquizing; ‘I think she said +Madeira was good for it. Yes, John, I’ll take a little of the Madeira, +if you’ve any on hand.’</p> + +<p>John opened a cupboard door, and producing a black quart-bottle, +assured Mr. Hardesty it was nearly full.</p> + +<p>‘That’ll do, Sir,’ said the grocer. ‘Set the table; never mind the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>21</span>cloth. Crackers and cheese and old Madeira, and ‘away with melancholy.’’</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the table was spread according to directions, after +which Mr. Hardesty seated himself near it and did ample justice to the +simple fare.</p> + +<p>‘You see, John,’ said the old gentleman, when his appetite was somewhat +assuaged, ‘it’s all on account of that old, ugly, and infernal Peggy +Sidebottom. Here’s hoping she may—may never drown her sorrows +in the flowing bowl!’</p> + +<p>The grocer drank this toast with infinite gusto and replenished his glass.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Sir, as I was about saying, I went there last night to spend an +hour in a little sociable chat, and was about taking leave——’ At this +point the speaker was interrupted by several violent raps at the door.</p> + +<p>‘Who’s that?’ inquired Mr. Hardesty, draining his glass.</p> + +<p>‘It’s me,’ said a voice from without.</p> + +<p>‘What do you want?’ said Mr. Hardesty.</p> + +<p>‘Nothin’; what do <em>you</em> want?’</p> + +<p>‘Who the d——l are you?’ said the grocer, in a voice of thunder.</p> + +<p>‘Dick!’ replied the voice.</p> + +<p>‘Dick what?’</p> + +<p>‘Dick Sidebottom!’</p> + +<p>‘What do you want here?’ said the grocer, rising and pacing the +floor. ‘John, where’s my cow-hide? Clear yourself, you little rascal, +or I’ll——’</p> + +<p>‘But I’ve got your breeches and your boots, Sir,’ said Dick.</p> + +<p>‘Oh! you <em>have</em>, have you?’—and Mr. Hardesty threw aside the cow-hide, +and opened the door. Dick marched boldly in, deposited his +plunder on a chair, and then looked Mr. Hardesty full in the face with +a glance of perfect innocence. The owner of the recovered booty +picked them up, examined them closely to satisfy himself of their identity, +and without saying a word, put them on in their appropriate places. +This done, he surveyed himself with a smile of approbation, and felt +that he was indeed Mr. Hardesty once more. After helping Dick to a +highly sweetened draught from the contents of the black bottle, he +begged of him a detailed account of the affair of the lost boots and +breeches. This Dick proceeded to give; by telling, in his peculiar and +highly figurative manner, how his aunt had first suggested the feat to +him; how he had risen while Mr. Hardesty was asleep, secured the +booty, and hid it in an adjoining hay-loft; how his aunt had promised +him a Christmas pie, and though often requested thereto, had failed to +comply; how she had inflicted personal chastisement on him for some +trivial offence; and how, on reflecting what a kind-hearted old gentleman +Mr. Hardesty was, and what a crabbed old thing Aunt Peggy was, +he had repented of his theft, and determined to make restitution at the +earliest opportunity; ‘and there they are on you,’ said Dick, in conclusion, +‘and that’s all about it.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty listened with due attention to this detail, and then sat +for some time in silence.</p> + +<p>‘And you can swear to all this in a court of justice, can you?’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly, Sir.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>22</span>‘And you’ll do it when called on?’</p> + +<p>Dick bowed his head in assent.</p> + +<p>‘Good!’ said Mr. Hardesty, grasping the boy’s hand. ‘Take a little +more of this,’ he continued, filling Dick’s glass. ‘Your aunt shall suffer +for this yet, if there’s any law or justice in the land.’</p> + +<p>‘Ain’t there no law,’ inquired Dick, pausing in his draught, ‘for +suing an old lady for ’sault and batterhim?’</p> + +<p>‘No, Dicky, I fear not in your case; but if I get any damages, I’ll +give you half.’</p> + +<p>Dick drained the contents of his glass, and shaking hands most cordially +with Mr. Hardesty and Master John, bade them good night. It +is scarcely necessary to add, that the last surviving male heir of the +Sidebottoms was gloriously drunk in less than an hour, and made such +a demonstration of that fact to his sober and discreet aunt, that she +caused his head to be soused repeatedly in cold water, and then flogged +him into sobriety.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that the disappearance of the village grocer +from his usual post for a whole day together, and particularly on Christmas, +that busiest of all days, failed to excite a degree of general curiosity +and inquisitiveness as to the cause of his absence; but to the +many inquiries of his friends touching that subject, he only replied by +shaking his head and saying that time would show. Enough had leaked +out, however, to satisfy the public that the affair was shrouded in a +mystery that was worth the trouble of penetrating; so that when on the +morning of the first of January immediately succeeding the year that +had just closed, Mr. Thomas Hardesty and Miss Margaret Sidebottom +were summoned each by three lusty cheers from the town-crier to appear +before his worship the police judge of Idleberg, the populace rushed to +the scene of judicial conflict, until the humble and contracted audience-chamber +was crowded to overflowing.</p> + +<p>The witnesses summoned in the case were Mrs. Jenkins, Jake Crow, +and Master Dick Sidebottom. In due time the defendant came into +court, leaning on the arm of her next friend and privy counsellor, Mrs. +Jenkins, who as usual was attended by a bevy of young Jenkinses. +Before embarking in this trying embassy, the ladies, by the way, had +gone to the Madeira bottle; the one complaining of a pain in the breast, +and the other of general nervousness. Mr. Hardesty was unattended, +and so were his remaining witnesses.</p> + +<p>The warrant gravely charged the defendant with stealing or causing +to be stolen from the plaintiff, on the night of the twenty-fourth of December +last past, a pair of boots and a pair of breeches, whose respective +values were duly set forth. The reading of this document created quite +a sensation throughout the court-room. Mrs. Jenkins was called and +sworn. She deposed that on the night specified in the warrant, she had +taken tea at the defendant’s house; that she was suddenly called home, +missing thereby a great deal of anticipated pleasure; that the defendant +passed the next day, being Christmas-day, at her (witness’s) +house; and witness did not at any time see defendant steal or cause to +be stolen from plaintiff the said boots and breeches, nor did she believe +Miss Sidebottom to be capable of such an act; ‘and particular,’ she +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>23</span>said in conclusion, ‘from such a pitiful old scamp as Tom Hardesty;’ +and glancing around triumphantly at the audience, and scornfully at +the plaintiff, she waited for the court’s cross-questions.</p> + +<p>‘Is that all you know about the case, Madam?’ inquired his worship, +smiling.</p> + +<p>That was all.</p> + +<p>‘You can retire. Call Jake Crow.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Crow stood in no need of being called, as he marched up to the +judge immediately, and deposed that on the last Christmas-eve night, +he had called at defendant’s house for Mrs. Jenkins, as old Jenkins had +been knocked on the head and carried home drunk. (At this Mrs. +Jenkins looked like a carnation pink, and commenced fanning herself +violently with her pocket-handkerchief.) Witness, however, did not +enter the house, and knew nothing whatever of the matter in dispute.’</p> + +<p>‘You can retire, Mr. Crow. Call Richard Sidebottom.’</p> + +<p>Dick had managed, with his usual restlessness, to retire some time before +this from the crowded room, and was breathing the pure air and +playing his boyish pranks in a distant part of the town. The officer +who was despatched for the young gentlemen returned presently, lugging +him by the coat-collar. After being introduced to the court by the +usual solemnities, Dick proceeded to give in detail the events of the +memorable night, as already known to the reader. He also gave an interesting +account of the defendant’s oft-repeated cruelties to himself +personally; how on Christmas night he had restored the stolen articles +to plaintiff, and how the rightful proprietor was wearing the same in +court.</p> + +<p>A general hurrah and stamping of feet succeeded the delivery of this +testimony; at which the judge frowned, and the constable cried ‘Order!’ +with all his lungs.</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Hardesty,’ said the judge, when order was restored, ‘do you +feel disposed to prosecute this suit? I fear I must dismiss the warrant, +on the ground that the court can furnish no relief in the case. What +say you?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Hardesty arose. ‘May it please your worship, the time was, +and I care not who knows it, when I entertained for the defendant in +this cause feelings of the most profound respect and admiration. And +I had been led to hope that my passion was not altogether disregarded; +that Miss Sidebottom would one day become Mrs. Hardesty. And this, +Sir, as detailed to you by the last witness, her own nephew, is the treatment +I have received!’ The speaker paused and applied his pocket +handkerchief to his eyes. The audience was touched. ‘It ain’t the +temporary loss of my breeches; it ain’t the long weary hours I spent +shivering in that closet; it ain’t the wading home bare-footed in the +snow; it ain’t the finger of scorn some gentlemen may p’int at me now, +that wounds my heart; but it’s feeling and knowing that the woman I +loved better than my own life; the woman I would have lived for, or +died for, to make her happy; that that very woman——’ He could say +no more; his feelings overpowered him, and he sat down.</p> + +<p>Miss Sidebottom’s sympathies were evidently touched throughout this +harangue. Until now, she had been rocking to and fro in her seat, and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>24</span>when Mr. Hardesty concluded, she rushed through the crowd, threw herself +on his neck, and kissed him passionately.</p> + +<p>‘Clear the room!’ bawled his worship, starting to his feet. ‘Clerk,’ +he continued, addressing that official personage, who was standing near, +‘write me a license to unite Thomas Hardesty and Margaret Sidebottom +in the holy bands of matrimony. I know they are of age, and don’t +need any guardeens.’</p> + +<p>The judge sat down, convulsed by his own wit, while the clerk proceeded +to his task. The loving pair looked up and smiled through their +tears. ‘I loved you, Tom, all the time; I did indeed. It was all in +fun, dear man—indeed it was!’ Tom Hardesty threw his arms around +her neck, and pressed her head to his bosom.</p> + +<p>‘Come!’ said his worship, after reading the license, ‘none of your +hysterics here, but stand up and be married.’ And married they were; +and the bride, in consideration of her cruelty, paid the costs of the suit +and the marriage fees; and off they marched homeward, amid the +deafening huzzas of the multitude that was gathered in the street.</p> + +<p>Happy New-Year! that sealed Tom Hardesty’s happiness! Many +a changing season has come and gone since then, and nobody knows +but they are the happiest couple in Idleberg. Mr. Hardesty’s first domestic +advice to his bride was to decline Mrs. Jenkins’s farther acquaintance, +which she did most readily. The old gentleman has long +since despaired of having an heir direct, but has promised John, who is +prospering behind his old master’s counter, that he and Belinda shall +marry before long. Mr. Richard Sidebottom is one of the ‘reformed +drunkards,’ and eschews Madeira especially. He is now an attorney, +<i>in embryo</i>, and gives ample promise of carrying into his profession all +the acuteness and cunning which distinguished his exploits on the memorable +night that opened this chapter in the biography of Mr. Tom +Hardesty.</p> + +</div><!--The Idleberg Papers--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">WINTER EVENING.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">The</span> fire is burning cheerly bright, the room is snug and warm,</p> +<p>We keep afar the wintry night, and drive away the storm;</p> +<p>And when without the wanderer pines, and all is dark and chill,</p> +<p>We sit securely by the fire, and sparkling glasses fill.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And ever as the hollow wind howls through the moaning trees,</p> +<p>Strange feelings on the boding heart with sudden chillness seize:</p> +<p>But brightly blazes then the hearth, and freely flows the wine;</p> +<p>And laugh of glee, and song of mirth, then wreathe their merry twine.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>We think not how the dashing sleet beats on the crusted pane,</p> +<p>We care not though the drifting snow whirls o’er the heath amain;</p> +<p>But haply, while our hearts are bright, far struggling through the waste,</p> +<p>Some traveller seeks our window’s light, with long and fruitless haste.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Hark his halloo! we leave the fire, and hurry forth to save:</p> +<p>A short half hour, and he had found beneath the snow a grave.</p> +<p>Pile on the wood!—feed high the flame!—bring out our choicest store!</p> +<p>The traveller’s heart grows warm again; his spirit droops no more.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">J. G. P.</span></p> +</div><!--Winter Evening--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>25</span></p> +<h2 class="title">SONG OF THE NEW YEAR.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">I have</span> come, I have come from a shadowy clime,</p> +<p>An heir of the monarch Earth’s children call <span class="special_name">Time</span>;</p> +<p>With years yet unborn, I have stood in the hall</p> +<p>That was reared by our sire, awaiting his call:</p> +<p>Last eve, as I lay on his bosom at rest,</p> +<p>I saw slowly rise a white cloud in the west;</p> +<p>Now through the blue ether, through regions of space,</p> +<p>It floated up softly, with fairy-like grace,</p> +<p>And paused ’neath the light of the white-shining stars,</p> +<p>Whose rays pierced its centre, like clear silver bars;</p> +<p>The winds revelled round it, unchecked in their mirth,</p> +<p>As it hung, like a banner, ’mid heaven and earth.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The soft fleecy folds of the clouds swept aside,</p> +<p>The winds ceased their revels, and mournfully sighed;</p> +<p>A car slowly rolled down the pathway of Time,</p> +<p>A bell slowly tolled a funereal chime:</p> +<p>A sound in the air, and a wail on the breeze,</p> +<p>Swift as wave follows wave on tempest-tossed seas;</p> +<p>Thin shadows swept by in that funeral train,</p> +<p>As glide o’er old battle-grounds ghosts of the slain.</p> +<p>I saw the dim spectres of long-buried years—</p> +<p>The Seasons close followed, in mourning and tears.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Arrayed in his armor, death-darts in his hand,</p> +<p>The grim King of Terrors strode on with the band,</p> +<p>While cold, stark and ghastly, there lay on his bier</p> +<p>The death-stricken form of the hoary <span class="special_name">Old Year</span>!</p> +<p>How bent was his figure, how furrowed his brow,</p> +<p>How weary he looked from his pilgrimage now!</p> +<p>The phantoms of Passion, of Hope and Despair,</p> +<p>With dark, waving plumage, encircled him there;</p> +<p>The Months stood around, and the bright dancing Hours</p> +<p>On spirit-wings floated, like birds among flowers.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A voice sweet as music now smote on my ear:</p> +<p>‘Go forth in thy beauty, thou unspotted Year!</p> +<p>The old Year hath died ‘mid rejoicings and mirth,</p> +<p>That rocked the stern heart of the rugged old Earth!</p> +<p>The midnight is passing; away to thy car!</p> +<p>Thou’lt sail by the lustre of morning’s bright star;</p> +<p>Away!’ And I rose from the bosom of Time,</p> +<p>And fled through the gates of that shadowy clime;</p> +<p>My car sped along on the wings of the wind,</p> +<p>While Winter, old man! tottered slowly behind.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The sky’s eastern portals impeded my flight,</p> +<p>When Morning rose up from the arms of the Night;</p> +<p>The dawn faintly glowed, and I saw the old Earth,</p> +<p>And sailed in my kingdom, a monarch at birth!</p> +<p>‘Then give me wild music, the dance and the song,</p> +<p>For ever!’ I shouted, while whirling along:</p> +<p>‘I have come, I have come from a shadowy clime,</p> +<p>A breath of the monarch Earth’s children call <span class="special_name">Time</span>!’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="location">Cincinnati, December, 1843.</span></p> +</div><!--Song of the New Year--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>26</span></p> +<h2 class="title">ON COLOUR.</h2> +<div class="epigram"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Full</span> angel-like the birdis sang their hours<a href="#fn1" id="fnm1" class="fnmarker" title="Heures, prayers.">1</a></p> +<p>Within their curtains green, within their bowers</p> +<p class="i4">Apparelled with white and red, with bloomys sweet.</p> +<p>Enamell’d was the field with all coloùrs:</p> +<p>The pearlit drops shook as in silver showers,</p> +<p class="i4">While all in balm did branche and leavis fleit.<a href="#fn2" id="fnm2" class="fnmarker" title="Float.">2</a></p> +<p class="i4">Depart fra’ Phœbus did Aurora greit;</p> +<p>Her chrystal tears I saw hing on the flowers</p> +<p class="i4">Which he, for love, all drank up with his heat.</p> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">Dunbar.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class=""> +<ol> +<li>The <span class="special_name">Lord</span> is my shepherd; I shall not want.</li> +<li>He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters; He restoreth my soul.</li> +</ol> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">A Psalm of David.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + + + +<p><span class="first_word">As</span> I walk over the surface of this fair Earth, an erring and a wayward +being, at times dejected by the trials of a solitary and an almost +abortive life, or sustained or elevated by its prosperous incidents; I +sometimes think that no one other blessing of existence hath ever comforted +my heart and restored my soul so much, as the pleasures and delights +of <span class="special_name">Colour</span>. It is my wealth, my joy, my faculty, my fountain!</p> + +<p>The recreative pleasure that others find in Music, although this is not +denied is less to me than to them, a restorative and a balm. Music +excites, arouses me; melts me into weakness, or animates me into passionate +exertion; but it is in the green pasture and beside the still +waters, in bowers apparelled with white and red; it is in the tints with +which autumn is bedecked, and Day expires; that I feel I shall not +want, and that <span class="special_name">God</span> restoreth my soul! And it is among huge and solitary +mountain masses of grey castellated rock, in the crevices of which +the stinted pine, and the cedar with its brown and tattered trunk, struggle +out a hard and scanty existence and are yet covered with never-fading +verdure—mountains to which the Saviour of mankind might +have retired to meditate and pray—that I feel that the Lord is my +Shepherd, and shall bring me to the green pastures, and lead me beside +the still waters; my Rock! my fortress! and my high tower!</p> + +<p>Sometimes my heart takes a fancy altogether for <em>brown</em> hues; and +as you cannot at all times command these in the country, I seat myself +down quietly in front of a precious Cuyp with which <span class="special_name">God</span> hath endowed +me, and that (except the sky and water) is composed entirely of them +in every gradation and shade; and when I rise up from the contemplation +of it, I feel that it is in brown hues that <span class="special_name">God</span> restoreth my soul.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I dwell upon the silvery trunk of the birch-tree, or upon +the darker hue of the beech. Sometimes my soul drinks the full beauties +of the umbrageous chestnut; or revels in the golden berries, and +the graceful branches that seem overladen with them, of the mountain-ash. +As I grow old I wave often in the grey pendulous mosses of the +South, or stand in thought under the gigantick branches of the live oak, +with all its leaves of laurel, and its heroick gesture. <span class="special_name">Good God</span>! I say, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>27</span>when I think that we might all have been born, ate, drank, smoked, +grown up, built, propagated, and died, as thoroughly and effectually +as we now do, and all these precious objects of our sight and joy been +made for us—out of the one desolate colour of an old pipe!</p> + +<p>And <span class="special_name">Water</span>—that element of Life, that upon the plaintain-leaf looks +so like a molten mass of diamond that you can hardly persuade yourself +it is aught else, might as well have been created of a mere drab quaker-colour; +or not even as bright as a bit of Quartz Rock! and yet have +satisfied our thirst as well as if it had gushed forth from the limpid +sources of the Croton; or been drawn from the transparent body of Lake +George; or from those mountain streams of sparkling chrystal that, in +alternate shade and gleams of light of tropical brilliancy, bound and +gush and dance their way downward from rock to rock to the sound of +their own musick, and make themselves into rivers of joy as they descend +along the <i>Grand Etang</i> of the Island of Grenada!</p> + +<p>And <span class="special_name">Wine</span>, that <span class="special_name">God</span> hath sent to make glad the heart of man, and +hath blessed it in the cup; and which might perhaps have had the same +hilarious effect, though it were of the dingy colour of the ashes of the +grate by which I sit; but which, for our more perfect happiness, He +hath made to outvie the Topaz and the Ruby, in its lustre and its +varied hue!</p> + +<p>There are many of us who have this one quality, the love of colour, +in common with the magnificent <span class="special_name">David</span>, whose precious inspiration I +have quoted at the head of my Essay, and who in a thousand passages +interweaves it like a golden thread amid his works; but as in the minds +of many others, it may be a blessing only half appreciated, I have +thought that a few words upon this subject might fall not unfruitfully +upon the heart, perchance of some one young Reader of this article, just +opening to the knowledge of this peculiar work of the great Master of +mankind, <span class="special_name">Colour</span>.</p> + +<p>Even Music, although itself an occupation revealed to us as of the +Angels of Light, is, except perhaps as they enjoy it—with whom poetry +and modulated sound adapted to the thought are inseparably one—even +music is less refined, less gentle, perfect, unobtrusive. For the +enjoyment of Colour involves no possible interruption of another’s tastes; +no outbreak upon the quiet stillness of the day; no intrusion on ‘the +ear of night;’ nor yet any expression, that by pouring abroad the sensations, +might diminish the deep earnestness of the soul; which, all +sight, all ear, becomes the Recipient. The enjoyment of colour is the +Spirit within us listening to the language of <span class="special_name">God</span>! to the mute expression +of His unspeakable Love! <span class="special_name">Colour</span>—the conception He hath +chosen for His bow of promise in the Heavens! by which He decorates +the Earth, and tells of Himself in the ocean, and in the sky, and by +which He restoreth the Soul of man!</p> + +<p>And in that state of celestial existence which attends the redeemed +Soul disenthralled from ‘the body of this death,’ is it to be doubted, that +among the joys that ‘the eye hath never seen, nor the heart conceived,’ +there exist colours beautiful beyond all earthly wealth of imagination; +beyond the poet’s fancy and the painter’s dream? There where the +pure gold of which the city is constructed, is transparent as glass, and +each gate is one pearl, and the very foundations of the walls are of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>28</span>jasper, and chalcedony, sapphire, emerald, ruby, amethyst and topaz; +and the glory of <span class="special_name">God</span> is the light that lightens it!</p> + +<p>But it is not to another world that the joys of colour are postponed, +nor even to another climate that we need look for the precious satisfaction +that they impart. We have not the carpets of flowers of rainbow +tints, that spread themselves over whole prairies of Texas and Mexico, +but what a gem upon the bosom of Earth when it is unexpectedly +found among us is the blue campanula! And the small white lily of the +valley, sheltered and concealed in its green leaves like a hidden tear of +Joy, and almost as rare! And the bright and graceful lobelia cardinalis +that loves the neighbourhood of the still waters. And the fringed gentian +of a tint so cerulean that our true poet derives it from the firmament; +as his own spirit, if left to approach its kindred element, might claim +affinity with the overshadowing expanse of celestial life!<a href="#fn3" class="fnmarker" id="fnm3" title="This allusion is to BRYANT’S lines...">3</a></p> + +<p>I speak not to thee of the gorgeous sunsets and of those piles of +massy clouds of living and ever-varying colours on which the Day +pillows himself to rest in a luxurious repose; but open thine heart upon +the Eastern bank of the Hudson at the grey of morning, and look with +the Sun upon the opposite shore; and as the mists arise and are dispelled +from before thee, there shall come change after change of colour +neutral and calm and slowly warming into beauty, until a violet haze +shall rest upon the hill-tops and the cliffs that might outvie the golden +haze of Italy, and that shall raise thy thoughts in silent thankfulness, +and educate thee to enjoy the untold treasuries of colour that glow in +upper Heaven; and hope shall spring forth renewed within thee; and +sorrow shall fade from thy widowed, or thy childless heart; the peace +which passeth understanding shall come over thee; and <span class="special_name">God</span> even +thine own <span class="special_name">God</span> shall bless thee; and to thine eyes, now opened to the +wonders of His goodness, all the ends of the Earth shall <em>shew forth</em> His +praise!</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">John Waters.</span></p> +</div><!--On Colour--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>29</span></p> +<h2 class="title">STANZAS</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle">SUGGESTED BY GLIDDON'S LECTURES ON THE ANTIQUITIES OF EGYPT.</h3> +<h3 class="byline">MISS H. J. WOODMAN</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Sublime</span> hath been thy conquest o’er the past,</p> +<p class="i2">Stemming Oblivion’s torrent by thy might,</p> +<p>Reading symbolic records long o’ercast</p> +<p class="i2">By the deep shadows of unbroken night;</p> +<p>Tracing with reverent finger names of kings</p> +<p>That long had slumbered with forgotten things.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The mists that deeply veiled historic rays,</p> +<p class="i2">Thou art dispelling with resistless hand;</p> +<p>And dynasties that flourished ere the days</p> +<p class="i2">When <span class="special_name">Abraham</span> forsook the promised land,</p> +<p>No longer noteless, nameless, boldly claim</p> +<p>Their lofty tablet in the arch of fame.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thy curious finger with a magic key</p> +<p class="i2">Unlocked the store of ages, and the light,</p> +<p>Flooding the pass of time, sublime and free,</p> +<p class="i2">Decks ruined temples in its vesture bright:</p> +<p>These are the relics of <em>thy</em> grandeur flown,</p> +<p>Land of the Pharaohs and their prostrate throne.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ere the white stranger’s land had trodden been</p> +<p class="i2">By foot of pilgrim, Egypt sat supreme,</p> +<p>Queen of the nations, and her realm within</p> +<p class="i2">Wealth, learning, power convened—a full, deep stream!</p> +<p>The bulwarks of her throne were safely reared</p> +<p>In hearts by which her greatness was revered.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And now, with Science for his trusty guide,</p> +<p class="i2">The stranger comes to read her mystic lore,</p> +<p>Tread her deserted cities, stand beside</p> +<p class="i2">Her sculptured temples, eloquent once more;</p> +<p>Not with man’s voice, but with the nobler speech</p> +<p>Of days beyond our spirit’s utmost reach.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And those proud monuments of youthful time,</p> +<p class="i2">The pyramids, whose lofty sides have borne</p> +<p>The storms of centuries in that fierce clime,</p> +<p class="i2">And seeming still to smile in speechless scorn,</p> +<p>When bow the everlasting hills with age,</p> +<p>Then shall they vanish from the world’s bright page.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A mournful ruin to thy utmost bound,</p> +<p class="i2">A type of glory long since passed away,</p> +<p>The statue voiceless whence the thrilling sound</p> +<p class="i2">Of gushing music hailed the rising day;</p> +<p>Thus art thou now, oh Egypt! but the flame</p> +<p>Of new-born Science gilds thine ancient name.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And from the dust shalt thou arise once more,</p> +<p class="i2">Not by thine own degenerate sons upreared,</p> +<p>But strangers who have sought thy verdant shore</p> +<p class="i2">Shall hail thy fallen greatness, still revered;</p> +<p>Until among the kingdoms of the earth</p> +<p>Thou shalt appear renewed—a second birth!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Stanzas on Egyptian Antiquities--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>30</span></p> +<h2 class="title">THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle fancy">Harry Harson.</h3> +<h4 class="chapter_title">CHAPTER NINETEENTH.</h4> +<p><span class="first_word">Notwithstanding</span> his having made what most persons would have +considered a hearty meal at Harry Harson’s, Mr. Kornicker had nevertheless +such perfect reliance on his own peculiar gastronomic abilities, +that he did not in the least shrink from again testing them. Leaving +Michael Rust’s presence with an alacrity which bordered upon haste, +he descended into the refectory with somewhat of a jaunty air, humming +a tune, and keeping time to it by an occasional flourish of the fingers. +Having seated himself, his first act was to shut his eyes, thrust his feet +at full length under the table; plunge both hands to the very bottom of +his breeches-pockets, where they grasped spasmodically two cents and +a small key, and laugh silently for more than a minute, occasionally +breaking in upon his merriment to gossip to himself in the most profound +and mysterious manner.</p> + +<p>‘A queer dog! a very queer dog! d——d queer, old Michael is! +Well, that’s <em>his</em> business, not mine.’</p> + +<p>As soon as this idea had fully impressed itself upon him, he sat up, +became grave, and looked about in search of the waiter. In doing so, +he encountered the eyes of a short fat man at a table near him, who at +the first glance seemed to be reading a newspaper, but at the second, +seemed to be reconnoitering him over it. Mr. Kornicker observing this, +not only returned his glance, but added a wink to it by way of interest. +The man thereupon laid down his paper, and nodded.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker nodded in reply; and said he hoped he was well, and +that his wife and small children were equally fortunate.</p> + +<p>The face of the stranger was a round, jolly face, with two little eyes +that twinkled and glistened between their fat lids, as if they were very +devils for fun; and his whole appearance was cozy and comfortable. +His chin was double; his stomach round and plump, with an air of +respectability; and he occasionally passed his hand over it, as if to say: +‘Ah ha! beat that who can!’ But notwithstanding his merry look, at +this last remark his face grew long; and with a melancholy shake of +his head, he pointed to his hat which hung on a peg above him, and was +swathed in a broad band of crape, terminating in two stiff skirts projecting +from it like a rudder, and giving it the appearance of a corpulent +butterfly in mourning, at roost on the wall.</p> + +<p>‘Ah!’ said Mr. Kornicker, looking at the hat, ‘that’s it?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ replied the stranger, with a deep sigh, ‘that’s it.’</p> + +<p>‘Father?’ inquired Mr. Kornicker, nodding significantly toward the +hat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>31</span>‘No—wife,’ replied the other.</p> + +<p>‘Dead?’ inquired Mr. Kornicker.</p> + +<p>‘Dead as a hammer.’</p> + +<p>‘Was it long or short? consumption or fits?’ asked Mr. Kornicker, +drawing up his feet and turning so as to face the stranger, by way of +evincing the interest which he felt in his melancholy situation.</p> + +<p>The man shook his head, and was so affected that he was troubled +with a temporary cold in his head; which, having alleviated by the aid +of his handkerchief, he said: ‘Poor woman! She undertook to present +me with a fine boy, last week, and it proved too much for her. It exhausted +her animal natur’, and she decamped on a sudden. She was a +very fine woman—a very fine woman. I always <em>said</em> she was.’</p> + +<p>‘And the child?’ inquired Kornicker; ‘I hope it’s well.’</p> + +<p>‘Quite well, I thank you. It went along with her. They are both +better off; saints in heaven, both of ’em; out of this wale of tears.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker told him to cheer up. He said that every man had a +crook in his lot. Some men had big crooks, and some men had little +crooks; and although this crook made rather a bad elbow in his lot, +that perhaps all the rest was square and straight, and he could build on +it to advantage, especially if it was twenty-five feet by a hundred, +which was the ordinary width and length of ‘lots in general.’</p> + +<p>Having delivered himself of this rather confused allegory, Mr. Kornicker, +by way of farther consolation, drew out his snuff-box, and +stretching out as far as was possible without falling from his chair, +tendered it to the stranger, who in return leaning so far forward as +slightly to raise his person from the chair, gently inserted his fingers in +the box, and helped himself to a pinch, at the same time remarking, +that it ‘was a great comfort, in his trying situation, to find friends who +sympathized with his misfortunes. That he <em>had</em> found it so; and that +Mr. Kornicker was a man whose feelings did credit to human natur’.’</p> + +<p>Kornicker disclaimed being any thing above the ordinary run of men, +or that his feelings were more than every other man possessed, or ought +to possess. But the stranger was vehement in his assertions to the contrary; +so much so, that he rose from his seat, and drawing a chair to +the opposite side of Kornicker’s table, proposed that they should breakfast +together.</p> + +<p>Kornicker shook his head:</p> + +<p>‘It’s against the agreement,’ said he; ‘it can’t be done.’</p> + +<p>‘But it <em>can</em>, Sir—it <em>shall</em>, Sir! A man of your sympathies is not to +be met with every day, and must be breakfasted with, whether he will +or not—agreement or no agreement. Don’t agreement me!’ said the +stranger, lifting up his chair and setting it down opposite Kornicker, +with great emphasis. ‘What’s the natur’ of this agreement?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker assumed a very grave and legal expression of countenance, +and without replying, asked:</p> + +<p>‘What’s your name?’</p> + +<p>‘Ezra Scrake.’</p> + +<p>‘I, Edward Kornicker, forbid you, Ezra Scrake, from breakfasting +with me, telling you that it is contrary to a certain agreement, referred +to but not set forth; and I now repeat the request, that you forthwith +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>32</span>retire to another table, and that I be permitted to take my meal by myself.’ +He threw himself back in his chair, and looked Mr. Scrake full +in the face.</p> + +<p>‘And I, Ezra Scrake, say that I <em>won’t</em> leave this table, and that I +<em>will</em> breakfast with a fellow whose benevolence might warm the witals +of a tiger.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, Sir,’ said Kornicker, relaxing from his former severe +expression; ‘I’ve done my duty. Old Rust can’t blame me. The +breach of contract is not on my part. I’m acting under compulsion. +Just recollect that I desired you to leave me, in case it gets me into hot +water, and that you refused; that’s all. Now old fellow, what’ll you +take? Only recollect, that each man rides his own pony.’</p> + +<p>The stranger nodded, and said that of course he would ‘foot his own +bill.’</p> + +<p>These preliminaries being settled, the boy, who had been standing at +their elbow in a state of ecstatic delight at the proceedings of Mr. Kornicker, +with whom he had become familiar, and whom he regarded as a +gentleman of great legal acumen, and in all other respects as rather a +‘tall boy,’ was desired by the stranger to hand him the bill of fare, and +not to keep him waiting all day. Having been gratified in this respect, +Mr. Scrake commenced at the top and deliberately whispered his way +to the bottom of the list.</p> + +<p>‘Beef-steak; shall I say for two?’ asked he, looking up at Kornicker.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, but always under protest, as to our breakfasting together,’ said +Mr. Kornicker, winking at him. ‘Don’t forget that.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course. Now, my son, what trimmings have you got?’ said he +to the boy.</p> + +<p>‘’Taters.’</p> + +<p>‘Are they kidneys, blue-noses, or fox?—and will they bu’st open +white and mealy?’</p> + +<p>‘They’m prime,’ replied the boy.</p> + +<p>‘Bring one for me; or, stop—are they extra?’</p> + +<p>‘We throws them in with the steak, gratis.’</p> + +<p>‘Then bring a dishful, with coffee, bread, and whatever else adds to +the breakfast, without adding to the bill.’</p> + +<p>The boy, having no other interest in the establishment than that of +securing his own wages and meals, was highly delighted at this considerate +order of Mr. Scrake, and forthwith disappeared to obey it.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Mr. Scrake, after having deliberately re-perused +the bill of fare, and not observing any thing else which could be got for +nothing, laid it down, and looking at Mr. Kornicker, who was gazing +abstractedly at the table-cloth, said that he hoped he (Mr. Scrake) was +not going to be impertinent; and as Mr. Kornicker made no other reply +than that of looking at him, as if he considered it a matter of some +doubt whether he was or was not, he elucidated the meaning of his +remark, by inquiring who Michael Rust was.</p> + +<p>‘The old gentlemen that caters for me,’ replied Kornicker, carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘And does he make you eat alone?’</p> + +<p>‘If I dine double, he’ll stop the prog, that’s all.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>33</span>‘A sing’lar bargain—quite sing’lar; very sing’lar, in fact. Does +he keep a tight eye over you?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker did not exactly know what kind of an eye a tight eye +was, but he replied: ‘Sometimes he does, sometimes he don’t. He’s +nigh enough to do it. His office is overhead.’</p> + +<p>‘Lawyer, I suppose?—<em>must</em> be,’ said Mr. Scrake, drumming carelessly +on the table.</p> + +<p>‘You’re out, old fellow. I’m with him, and should know something +of him; and he isn’t.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah!’ said the stranger, leaning back and yawning, and then sharpening +his knife on the fork. ‘What is he then?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker raised his finger gently to his nose, winked so violently +at Mr. Scrake that he caused that gentleman to stop short in his performance +to look at him; after which he shut both eyes, and gave vent +to a violent inward convulsion of laughter.</p> + +<p>‘What <em>is</em> he?’ repeated Kornicker, in a tone of high surprise; then +sinking his voice, and leaning over the table, he whispered confidentially +in Mr. Scrake’s ear: ‘He’s hell.’</p> + +<p>‘No! he isn’t though, is he?’ said Mr. Scrake, dropping his knife +and fork, and sinking back in his chair.</p> + +<p>‘Yes he is,’ repeated Mr. Kornicker; ‘and if you was a certain +gentleman that I know, you’d find it out. <em>He</em> will some day, I rather +think.’</p> + +<p>‘Are <em>you</em> that individual?’ inquired Mr. Scrake, with an air of deep +interest.</p> + +<p>‘No, I ain’t, but I suspect some one else is. But come,’ said he, +‘there’s the breakfast, so let’s be at it, and drop all other discussion.’</p> + +<p>This remark found an answering echo in the stomach of Mr. Scrake, +who resumed the sharpening of his knife, as the breakfast entered the +room, and did not desist until the steak was on the table, when he immediately +assaulted it.</p> + +<p>‘Shall I help you? What part will you take?’</p> + +<p>‘Any part,’ replied Kornicker, carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘Well, it’s sing’lar; I never could carve. I’ll help you as I would +help myself,’ said Mr. Scrake, in his ignorance depositing on Mr. Kornicker’s +plate an exceedingly tough piece of dry meat, and upon his +own a cut which was remarkably tender and juicy.</p> + +<p>‘Do you always help yourself as you have helped me?’ said Mr. +Kornicker, snuffing with great deliberation, and eyeing his portion with +no very contented eye.</p> + +<p>‘Always, always.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you do yourself d——d great injustice.’</p> + +<p>‘Ha! ha! good—very good; sheer ignorance on my part, upon my +soul. But you were telling me about this man, this Rust,’ said Mr. +Scrake, mashing his potatoes, and entombing a lump of butter in the +heart of a small pyramid of them. ‘You said he was hell, or the devil, +or something of that sort. What then? Eh?’</p> + +<p>Kornicker, though not at all pleased with the ignorance of his companion, +in the particular branch in which it had just displayed itself, +was not of a sulky disposition, and was easily won into a communicative +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>34</span>mood, particularly as Mr. Scrake begged him, with tears in +his eyes, to tell him which was the best part of a beef-steak, so that he +might avoid in future the mortification of being guilty of a similar +error.</p> + +<p>As the coffee went down, and the beef-steak followed, Mr. Scrake +seemed to relax, and to forget that his hat hung over his head, commemorative +of the recent retirement of Mrs. Scrake from this ‘wale of +tears,’ and became quite jocular on the subject of the fair sex, congratulating +Kornicker upon his looks; calling him a lucky dog, and +telling him that if <em>he</em> were him, he’d ‘make up to some charming +young woman with a fortune, and be off with her.’ He then went into a +detail of his own juvenile indiscretions, relating many incidents of his +life; some of which were amusing, some ridiculous, some tragic, some +pathetic, and not a few quite indecent. It was wonderful what a devil +that fat-cheeked, little-eyed, round-stomached fellow had been. Who +could resist the influence of such a man? Not poor Kornicker; it gradually +had its effect upon him, for he in turn grew communicative; +talked freely of Rust, and of every man, woman and child of his acquaintance. +He grew merry over the rare doings which had taken +place in Rust’s den. He then descanted upon the peculiarities of the +old man; his fierce fits of passion, his cold, shrewd, caustic manners, his +coming in, and his going out; how long he was absent; how profoundly +secret he kept himself, his doings, his whereabouts, and his mode of life. +‘And,’ said he, in conclusion, ‘I know nothing of him. He’s a queer +dog, a wonderfully queer one. It would take a long time to fathom him, +I can tell you. I’ve been with him for a long time; and am his confidential +adviser, his lawyer, and all that sort of thing; and yet I’ve +never done but two things for him.’</p> + +<p>‘You don’t say so!’ exclaimed Mr. Scrake, laying down his knife +and fork; and looking at him with his mouth open; ‘and pray what +<em>were</em> those things?’</p> + +<p>‘I sued one man,’ (being a lawyer you know,) said he, nodding in an +explanatory way at Mr. Scrake, ‘and carried a letter to another.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! and who were those fortunate individuals?’</p> + +<p>‘Poh! I suppose there’s no secret about it. The man sued, was one +Enoch Grosket. The other was one Henry Harson; a jolly old boy he +<em>was</em> too. I breakfasted with him; a prime fellow; keeps a d——d ugly +cur, though.’</p> + +<p>‘Enoch Grosket, Henry Harson!’ said the stranger, musing; ‘I’ve +heard of them, I think. Who are they?’</p> + +<p>‘It is more than I can tell,’ replied Kornicker. ‘That’s the mystery +of my situation. I know nothing about any thing I’m doing, or of him, +or his acquaintances.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, you must know what you sued the man for,’ said Mr. Scrake, +earnestly; ‘you must know <em>that</em>, surely.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, but it’s a height of knowledge which don’t carry much information +with it,’ replied Mr. Kornicker. ‘I sued him on a promissory +note. What he made it for, or how Rust got it, or any thing more about +him, or it, or Harson, or Rust, I know as little as you.’</p> + +<p>The stranger drew himself up, and looking at him gravely, said in a +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>35</span>serious and even stern tone: ‘Do you mean to say that you are entirely +ignorant of every thing respecting this Rust; his family, his business, +his acquaintances, his associates, his habits, his plans and operations?’—in +short, that you know nothing more than you have mentioned +to me?’</p> + +<p>The other nodded.</p> + +<p>‘Waiter, my bill,’ said he in a peremptory tone.</p> + +<p>The boy brought him a slip of paper, on which was written the +amount.</p> + +<p>He paid it without a word; walked across the room, took down his +hat, put it on his head, and turning to Kornicker, said in a tone of solemn +earnestness: ‘Young man, you’re in a bad way, a <em>very</em> bad way. +Had I known with what people you were in the habit of associating before +I sat down at that table, Ezra Scrake’s legs and yours would never +have been under the same mahogany. A man in the employ of another +and know nothing of him! It’s enormous! He might be a murderer, +a thief; a man-slaughterer; a Burker, an arsoner, or any thing +that is bad. Young man, in spite of the injury you’ve done me, I pity +you; nay, I forgive you.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Kornicker, was merely waiting for an opportunity to suggest to +him that his company had not only been unsought, but actually forced +upon him, and even under his solemn protest. But before he could do +so, Mr. Scrake was in the street; whereupon, on ascertaining that he was +out of the hearing of Mr. Kornicker, he muttered to himself: ‘It was +no go. Waited for him two hours; then spent an hour in pumping a +dry well. Enoch Grosket, has sent me on a fool’s errand. Michael +Rust knows too much to trust that addle-headed fool.’</p> + +<p>Having given vent to these observations, he deliberately buttoned up +his coat, and walked off.</p> + +<h4 class="chapter_title">CHAPTER TWENTIETH.</h4> + +<p>In a dark room into which even in the day-time the light struggled +in such scanty streams that a kind of twilight was the nearest approach +that it ever made to broad day, but which was now only lighted by a +single candle, that flared and dripped in the currents of air, as they +eddied and whirled about, seeking an escape, sat Tim Craig, and his +comrade Bill Jones, the men with Rust’s interview with whom the +reader is already acquainted. They were sitting cheek by jowl on two +wooden benches in front of a fire, which they from time to time nourished +with sticks from a heap of wood on the hearth. The fire however +would not burn, but kept smouldering and smoking, now and then springing +up into a fitful blaze, which threw a spectral air over the room, +peopling its dim recesses with all sorts of fantastic forms, and then +expired, leaving it more gloomy than ever. The appearance of the +men, their subdued, whispering voices and startled looks, showed that +at that particular time they were not altogether in a frame of mind to +resist the gloomy influence of the place. The dark, lonely room, with +its large shadowy corners and gaping seams, through which the wind +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>36</span>sighed and wailed, and the pattering of the rain as it swept heavily +against the side of the house and on the roof, all tended to add to the +melancholy and sombre tone of their feelings. Bill drew his bench to +the fire, looked suspiciously about him, and then, as if half ashamed of +having done so, said:</p> + +<p>‘It’s a h-ll of a night! I don’t know how it is, but I’m not in trim +to-night. Blow me, if the sight of that old fellow don’t make one’s blood +cold. I can’t get warm; and this bloody fire keeps sputtering and +smoking, as if to spite one.’</p> + +<p>Tim Craig, to whom this remark was addressed, turned and looked +him steadily in the face, without speaking; and then his eyes wandered +about the room, as if he were fearful of being watched or overheard, +in what he was going to say.</p> + +<p>‘Bill,’ said he in a low voice, his thin lips quivering; but whether +from anger or any other emotion, was a matter of much doubt; ‘d——d +if I know which way to leap! Enoch pulls one way and Rust another. +Either of them could send us to kingdom come. Ugh! how cold it is! +Something comes over me to-night—I can’t tell what. I don’t half +like the job. Bill,’ continued he after a pause, drawing nearer his comrade +and lowering his voice, ‘I’m haunted to-night. You know that +fellow, the man up town, the cartman——’ He hesitated, and leaned +his mouth close to the ear of the other, while in the dim light his face +seemed ghastly; ‘the—the man, last year——’</p> + +<p>Jones looked at him significantly; and then drew his finger across +his throat. ‘Do you mean that fellow?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ replied Craig in a husky tone, and scarcely able to articulate, +for the choking in his throat. ‘He’s been <em>here</em> to-night. Three times +I’ve caught him looking over my shoulder! <span class="special_name">God</span>! There he is again! +Light! light! light!’ shouted he, springing up; ‘make the fire burn, +I say—make it burn! Heap on wood! heap it on! Do <em>anything</em>—but +keep <span class="special_name">him</span> off!’</p> + +<p>‘Why, Tim, you seem to be took bad,’ exclaimed his companion, at +the same time getting on his knees, and setting assiduously to work to +blow the fire. ‘Come, this is worse than ever. We’ve got to work to-night; +and it wont do to go into your fantastics.’</p> + +<p>He paused in his remarks to apply his breath to the fire, and with +such success, that in a few minutes a bright blaze was dancing up the +chimney, lighting the whole room, and dispelling at once that shadowy +appearance which its great size and dilapidated state had tended to give it.</p> + +<p>‘There now, that’s as comfortable a fire as you can want; and arter +all, what you was just talking of was all fancy,’ said he, resuming his +seat. ‘Dead men stay where you put ’em.’</p> + +<p>Craig had been pacing furiously up and down the room, as if to out-walk +some demon that <em>would</em> keep at his side; but he stopped short, +and going up to his comrade, placed his hand on his shoulder and said: +‘Bill Jones, that’s a lie! Whoever says so, lies! Dead men <em>don’t</em> stay +where you put ’em. I’ve had that man walking with me for hours +together. I’ve had him at the same table with me, when I ate; I’ve +had him in bed with me—ay, all night long; and to-night he’s been +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>37</span>here with his face almost touching mine. Blast him! if I could but +get him by the throat, I’d throttle him!’</p> + +<p>‘Come, come, Tom, none of this,’ said Jones, with more gentleness +than his appearance indicated. ‘I’m sorry for you; you must feel bad +enough, or you wouldn’t go on so. I’ve know’d you since we were +boys together; and I know it’s not a little matter that works you up, +like you are now. Come, sit down.’ He led him to a seat, and kneeling +at his feet, took his hand in both of his. ‘Don’t give in so, my old +feller. Don’t you know, when we were boys, how we all looked up to +you; and although I could have doubled you up, with my big limbs, +yet you always had the mastery over me. Ha! ha! Tim, don’t you +remember the old schoolmaster, too? Hallo! what now?’</p> + +<p>Craig leaned his head upon Jones’ shoulder and sobbed aloud. Don’t +talk of those days, Bill; it’ll drive me mad. Oh! if I was a boy +again! But no, no; I’m a fool,’ exclaimed he, springing up, apparently +swallowing his emotion at one fierce gulp, and in an instant becoming +as hardened as ever. ‘Am I crazy, to-night, or <em>what</em> ails me, that I’ve +become as white-livered as a girl? Where’s the grog? Give us a sup; +and we’ll see what’s to be done.’</p> + +<p>‘There, now you talk right,’ said Jones, putting his hand in his coat-pocket +and drawing out a small bottle, cased in leather; ‘that’ll wake +you up; and now to business. You hav’n’t told me what’s to be did, +and who you’ll go with, Grosket, or Rust.’</p> + +<p>‘Rust,’ said Craig, abruptly; ‘he’s our man. He can bleed; Enoch +can’t. <em>He</em> never fails in what he wants to do; Enoch <em>does</em>; but they +are both devils incarnate. I’d rather fight against ten other men than +either of them; but rather against Enoch than Mike Rust.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, what is it? He told you all about it. I couldn’t hear what +he said.’</p> + +<p>‘He’s been on the prowl for two days: God knows what he’s arter; +but he wants us to break in a house and steal a girl.’</p> + +<p>‘The profligate willain!’ exclaimed Mr. Jones, with an air of great +horror; ‘I’ll tell his father of him!’</p> + +<p>‘It’s only a child.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh! that alters the case,’ said Mr. Jones, ‘Then I’ll tell his wife. +Well?’</p> + +<p>‘We are to go to the house, get the girl at all hazards, rob the house +if we choose, and bring <em>her</em> here. What he wants of her, who she is, +is more than I know. ‘You are to get her, and ask no questions,’ that’s +what he said.’</p> + +<p>‘Who’s in the house?’</p> + +<p>‘Only an old man and a woman.’</p> + +<p>‘The man?—is he used up, or what?’</p> + +<p>‘He’s a bull-dog,’ was the laconic reply.</p> + +<p>‘We’ll want <em>them</em> then,’ said Jones, pointing to a closet which was +partly open, showing several pairs of pistols on a shelf.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose so. Bring ’em out, and look at the locks; not the flintlocks—it’s +a wet night; get the others. We must have no trifling.’</p> + +<p>Jones made no other reply than to take out a pair of pistols, which he +carried to the light, and examined their locks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>38</span>‘Are they loaded?’ inquired Craig.</p> + +<p>Jones nodded: ‘Two bullets in each! Suppose they twig us?—are +we to fight or run?’</p> + +<p>‘‘You had better die than fail.’ He said that,’ replied Craig, in a +low tone; ‘and when I saw his look I thought so too. D—n him! +I’m afraid of him. It’ll be no baby-work if they discover us.’</p> + +<p>The other robber made no reply, but continued to examine the pistols, +carefully rubbing the barrels, to remove any trace of rust, and working +the hammers backward and forward; after which he put two fresh caps +on the cones. ‘All right! I’m ready as soon as it’s time. When do +you go?’</p> + +<p>‘Not till an hour after midnight. That’s the time when folks sleep +soundest. You could cut a man’s throat then without waking him. +Don’t let the fire get down,’ said he, turning an apprehensive eye toward +the fire-place. ‘It’s cold, and we’ve three hours to be here +yet.’</p> + +<p>Jones, with the same good-natured alacrity which he had before displayed, +threw several sticks on the fire, and then turning to his comrade, +said:</p> + +<p>‘Suppose we rattle the dice till midnight?’</p> + +<p>Craig shook his head.</p> + +<p>‘What say you to the paste-board?’</p> + +<p>‘No cards for me,’ replied the other, seating himself and leaning his +cheeks between his hands, with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes +fastened on the fire. ‘I want to be on the move. God! How I wish it +was time! This cursed room is enough to suffocate one. Curse me, +but it smells of coffins and dead men, and is as cold as a church-vault. +It goes to a fellow’s very bones.’</p> + +<p>There was something so unusual in the mood of his comrade, that +Jones at last started up and said:</p> + +<p>‘Blast me, Tim, but you must stop this. You’re making me as wild +and frightened as yourself. Talk of your beaks, and courts, and +prisons, and bullets, and pistols, as much as you like; but d—n it, +leave your dead men, and coffins, and vaults, and all them ‘ere to themselves, +will you! Curse me, if you ain’t enough to make a sneak of +any man. So just stop, will you? If you can’t talk of something +better, don’t talk at all.’</p> + +<p>Craig took him at his word; and drawing his bench closer to the fire, +maintained his position, without moving or speaking for more than an +hour.</p> + +<p>Jones, in the mean while, for want of employment, again examined the +pistols; drew out the loads, and reloaded them; then going to the closet, +he brought out two very dangerous-looking knives, and after trying the +points on his finger, proceeded to oil them. This over, he betook himself +to whistling, at the same time, keeping time to his music by drumming +his heel heavily on the floor. This, however, could not last forever; +and finally, wrapping a heavy coat around his shoulders, he +stretched himself at full length in front of the fire, and was soon sound +asleep.</p> + +<p>Not so his companion. In silence, without stirring, and scarcely +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>39</span>breathing, yet wide awake, with ears alive to every sound, and distorting +every sigh of the wind into the voice of a human being, he sat with +white lips and a shaking hand until the faint chime of a clock, which +reached him even above the noise of the storm, told him that the hour +was come.</p> + +<p>‘Wake up!’ said he, touching Jones with his foot. ‘It’s time to be +off.’</p> + +<p>Jones, with instinctive quickness, obeyed the call by springing to his +feet, apparently as wide awake as if he had not closed his eyes during +the night.</p> + +<p>‘All right!’ said he, looking hastily about the room. ‘Hey! but +what’s all this noise?’</p> + +<p>‘It’s a horrible night; all hell seems abroad,’ said Craig. ‘But +come; get ready, and let’s be off.’</p> + +<p>‘Will we want any of <em>them</em>?’ asked Jones, pointing to an upper shelf +in the closet, on which was lying a number of uncouth-looking instruments, +the nature of which was best known to themselves.</p> + +<p>‘Take the small crow; we may want <em>that</em>, but nothing more.’</p> + +<p>‘The bag, too?’ inquired Bill.</p> + +<p>‘No; it’s a girl we’ve to steal; d—n it, I wish it wasn’t!’</p> + +<p>While he was speaking, he had thrust his arms into a shaggy great-coat, +and was tying a thick woollen wrapper over his mouth, so that the +last remark was nearly lost in it. He then put on an oil-skin cap, not +unlike what is called by sailors a ‘sou’-wester,’ and stood watching the +proceedings of his comrade, which were by no means as expeditious as his +own; for that gentleman proceeded very leisurely to encase his feet +in a pair of thick woollen stockings, and a pair of shoes more capable of +resisting the wet than those which he then wore. After this, he put an +oil-cloth jacket over his other one, and surmounted the whole by a coat +similar to that worn by Craig.</p> + +<p>‘One would suppose you was a baby, from your tenderness to yourself,’ +said Craig, impatiently. ‘You ain’t sugar, are you? Do you +expect the rain to melt you?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m a sweet fellow, I know that,’ replied the other, carefully buttoning +his coat to the chin. ‘I may be sugar for all I know, shouldn’t +be surprised if I was. I’ve been told so afore this; let me tell you +<em>that</em>, my old feller. You ain’t in kidney to-night. Take another pull +at little Job,’ said he, handing him the bottle, ‘and we’ll be off.’</p> + +<p>Whatever Craig’s contempt of the rain might be, it did not seem to +extend to other liquids; for he took the bottle, and applying it to his +lips, did not remove it until the bottom of it was not a little inclined +toward the ceiling; perhaps its elevation might even have increased, +had not Jones reminded him that it being late at night, the vessel could +not be replenished, and that there was a ‘small child’ to be helped after +him, who hated above all things sucking at the neck of a dry bottle.</p> + +<p>Craig permitted the bottle to be taken from his hand, and stood with +his eyes fixed on the floor in deep thought; nor did he arouse himself +until Jones took him by the arm, and said:</p> + +<p>‘Come on; all’s ready.’</p> + +<p>Craig started at the words. ‘The pistols and the glim?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>40</span>‘I’ve got ’em.’</p> + +<p>‘And the crow-bar?’</p> + +<p>‘All snug <em>here</em>,’ said Jones, touching the pocket of his great-coat.</p> + +<p>‘Good! Follow me.’ Craig strode across the room, and went out.</p> + +<p>It was a dreadful night. The rain spouted furiously from the water-conductors, +and sped boiling and foaming through the streets. The +wind too caught it up as it fell, and swept it in long sheets through the +streets; and as the two men battled their way along, it seemed actually +to hiss around them, like the long lash of a whip. The tempest had a +rare frolic that night, and right merrily did it howl over the house-tops, +and through the narrow streets; and fast and furiously did the water +bubble and boil, as it dashed on like mad to the deep river, to take refuge +in her bosom from its tormentor the hurricane.</p> + +<p>Not a thing was stirring; not a beast. Not a man, except the two +felons. A right glorious night it was for rapine and midnight murder. +The house-dog had slunk in his straw, and the watchman was dozing +away, under some shed, or stoop, or in some dark door-way. There +was nothing to stand in the way of these enterprising men, save the +fierce storm, and what cared they for that? It was the very night for +them. If it came to blows, or if a life was to be taken, the death-cry +would be lost in the howling of the wind; it was the night of all nights +for <em>them</em>; and so thought Craig and his comrade, as they toiled along, +with their heads bent down to keep the rain out of their faces.</p> + +<p>‘Is it far?’ at last inquired Jones; ‘we’ve come a mile.’</p> + +<p>‘Half a mile more,’ replied Craig; and that was all that passed between +them, until they stood in front of Harson’s house.</p> + +<p>‘This is it,’ said Craig.</p> + +<p>He lifted the latch of the gate opening into the door-yard, and approached +the house.</p> + +<p>‘Where are we to begin?’ inquired Jones.</p> + +<p>Craig pointed to a small window on a level with, or rather sunk somewhat +below, the surface of the ground, with a kind of area around it. +‘<em>There</em>; there are iron gratings, but they are set in the wood, which is +all rotten. Quick! try them with the crow-bar; they’ll give.’</p> + +<p>Jones, with an alacrity and adroitness which showed a long experience +in such matters, after feeling his way to the place, and passing his +hand over the bars to discover their exact situation, inserted his crow-bar +between the stone-work and the wood, and at the very first application +forced the whole out. A wooden shutter which opened from within, +being merely secured by a wooden button, gave way before a strong +pressure of his hand, and left the entrance open.</p> + +<p>‘Go in quick!—don’t keep a fellow in the rain all night,’ said Craig, +in a sharp whisper. ‘It’s only three feet to the floor. Get in, will +you?’</p> + +<p>‘Shut up! Cuss ye!’ exclaimed Jones, savagely; ‘let me take my +own way.’</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he inserted his feet, and gradually let himself down +until he touched the floor. In a moment Craig was at his side, and +closed the shutter.</p> + +<p>‘Now, quick! a light!’ whispered he. In another minute, the dark +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>41</span>lantern was lighted, and Craig, taking it up and throwing back the +slide, turned it carefully around the place. It was a cellar, filled with +empty barrels and boxes; and seemed to be a sort of receptacle for +rubbish of all descriptions. At one end was a door leading to the upper +part of the house. It was partly open. Without a word, Craig went +to it and ascended the stairs, which were shut off from the kitchen by +another door.</p> + +<p>Craig opened this, and crossed the room with a quick yet stealthy step, +but with the air of one perfectly familiar with the precincts. Passing +through the entry, he went into Harson’s sitting-room; from there into +the outer room, communicating with the street.</p> + +<p>‘We’ll open the street door, Bill,’ said he, ‘in case we have to bolt +quick. There,’ said he, as he drew back two bolts, and turned the +key, don’t forget the road. Leave all the doors open. That’ll do. +We’ll get the girl first, and then we’ll see what’s to be done. First +door at the head of the stairs. Quiet, quiet; there’s a dog in the next +room.’</p> + +<p>Stealing up the stairs, they opened the door, and the full light of the +lamp fell in the child’s room. They could hear her low, regular breathing +as she slept. Craig handed the light to his companion.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll take her,’ whispered he. ‘Bring the light so that I can see. +There, that will do.’ He bent over her. As he did so, he accidentally +stirred the bed-clothes, and the child opened her eyes; and before he +could prevent it, a single wild cry escaped her as she caught sight of the +wild faces which were bending over her.</p> + +<p>‘Christ! how she yelps!’ exclaimed Craig, in a fierce whisper. He +clapped his hand over her mouth. ‘By G-d! there goes the dog too! +we must be off. My chicken,’ said he, in a low tone, ‘if you understand +plain English, you know what I mean when I say if you whisper +loud enough to wake a cat, you’ll get a bullet through your head. Hist! +Bill, was that a door creaking? I can’t hear for the d——d dog!’ Both +stopped and listened.</p> + +<p>‘It was only the door below,’ said Jones. ‘Quick! quick!’</p> + +<p>Craig caught the child out of bed, wrapped a blanket about her to +stifle her cries, in case she should make any, and moved to the door.</p> + +<p>‘Turn the light on the door; I can’t see. There, that will do. Now +then, it’s open, and the game’s ours.’</p> + +<p>‘<em>Not quite</em>!’ said a stern voice; and the next instant Craig received +a blow from a fist which sent him reeling back into the room.</p> + +<p>‘Watch! watch! murder! thieves!’ bellowed Harson from without, +while from the din, at least forty pug-dogs seemed to be barking in all +parts of the entry.</p> + +<p>‘Shoot him! shoot him down!’ shouted Craig, springing to the door. +‘By G-d! the door’s shut, and he’s holding it from the outside!’ exclaimed +he, pulling it with all his force. ‘He’s as strong as a bull. +Quick! shoot through the panel! He must stand behind the knob. +Fire!’</p> + +<p>Instead of obeying him, Bill Jones seized the child. ‘Hark ye, old +fellow,’ said he; ‘shut up, or I’ll dash this girl’s brains out. If I don’t, +d—n me!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>42</span>This appeal was heard, and operated upon Harson; but in a different +manner from what they expected, for he relaxed his hold of the door +so suddenly, that Craig fell backward, and bursting into the room, with +a single blow prostrated the burglar, who was bending over the child, +and dashed the light to the ground. His advantage was only momentary; +for in a minute Craig flung himself upon him. But the old +man’s blood was up. In his young days he had been a powerful +wrestler; and even now the robber found him no easy conquest, for he +said, in a husky tone: ‘This won’t do, Bill. Drop the girl and come +here. This blasted old fool will keep us all night.’</p> + +<p>Instead of obeying him, Jones stole to the head of the stairs and listened. +In an instant he sprang back.</p> + +<p>‘We must be off, Tim! Some one is coming. Quick! Let loose +the man.’</p> + +<p>But there were two to that bargain; for Harson had heard the words +as well as the robber, and he held him with a grip like a vice.</p> + +<p>‘Let go your hold and we’ll be off,’ said Craig, in a husky voice.</p> + +<p>‘Never! You shall taste what you are so ready to give!’ said Harson, +fiercely.</p> + +<p>‘Bill, there’s no time to lose!’ exclaimed Craig, in a stern tone. +‘Shoot him, and have done with it! There, now; I’ll hold him.’</p> + +<p>The report of a pistol followed; but as it did so, a deep groan came +from Craig. ‘You’ve done for me, Bill. The old fellow dodged. +Run! run!—my rope’s out.’</p> + +<p>‘Can’t I help you, Tim?’ exclaimed Jones.</p> + +<p>‘No, no; go! Get off; I’ll not blow on you.’</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, the robber paused no longer. But escape was now no +easy matter; for at the door he was saluted by a loud voice:</p> + +<p>‘Hallo! Harry; is this you?’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, a thief! Grab him, Frank!’</p> + +<p>The next instant Jones was in the grip of a powerful man, but he +was a giant himself, and desperate. He flung himself with all his force +upon his adversary, and both went to the floor together; Jones’ hand +on the other’s throat.</p> + +<p>There is something fearful in the grapple of a desperate man, even +when feeble in frame; and in the case of Jones, who knew that every +thing depended on his efforts, and whose fierce spirit was backed by +muscles of iron, the conflict was one of such fury that the very walls +of the old house shook. From step to step, from the landing to the hall, +they fought; tugging and tearing at each other like two dogs, while +Harry Harson in vain hung about them; the darkness and the rapidity +of their motions preventing him from distinguishing friend from foe.</p> + +<p>‘By G-d! he’s an ox for strength,’ at last said Frank; ‘if you’d +do any thing, Harry, go to the door and sing out for the watch. I’ll +hold him.’</p> + +<p>It might be that in order to utter these words the Doctor relaxed his +grip, or it might be that the knowledge of the increased risk that he +would run gave additional strength to the robber, for he made a single +desperate effort, tore himself from the iron grasp that held him down, +rose to his knee, and striking the Doctor a blow in the face that for a moment +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>43</span>bewildered him, sprang to his feet, dashed Harson from the door, +bounded across the room between the hall and the street-door, and darted +into the street at full speed.</p> + +<p>‘D—n me, Harry, he’s off!’ said the Doctor, assuming a sitting +posture on the floor. ‘He deserves to escape, for he fought like a devil +for it. D—n him, he’s a brave fellow! There’s no use in chasing +him, I suppose; you and I ain’t cut out for running. If that last crack +had hit me on the nose, it would have smashed it. Come, let’s see after +the other fellow; perhaps he’s playing possum, and may be off. If you +don’t stop the barking of that d——d dog of yours, I’ll kill him.’ Groping +their way back to the upper floor, from which they caught sight +of Spite, rapidly retreating as they advanced, they found the house-keeper +standing in the room which they had just left, arrayed in a particularly +large white night-gown and wearing a particularly high cap, +with a particularly fierce white ribbon on the top of it, and bearing in +her hand a dim rush-light.</p> + +<p>‘Quick! Martha; more lights, and some brandy!’ said Harson, pushing +past her. ‘Thank God! <em>you’re</em> not hurt, Annie! Come, Doctor, +this poor devil is human,’ said he, pointing to Craig, who lay on the +floor apparently dead. ‘Look to him; he breathes. I hear him.’</p> + +<p>It needed no second appeal; for before he had finished, the Doctor +had turned the robber over, opened his vest, and displayed a wound in +his breast. He thrust his finger in it, and then looking up at Harry, +shook his head.</p> + +<p>‘He’s a case; <em>must</em> go!’</p> + +<p>‘Poor fellow! God only knows what may have driven him to this. +Help me to put him on the bed.’</p> + +<p>Taking him in their arms, they placed him on the bed; and there +they sat and watched him until the dawn of day. The bright sunshine +came cheerily in at the window; the storm had passed, and the sky +looked clear and blue, as if it had never been unruffled. And at that +hour, and in that room, with the golden sunbeams streaming in, lay Tim +Craig, his head pressed heavily back upon the pillow, bound round +with a cloth dabbled in blood. His face was blackened and bruised, +and his shirt and the bed-clothes stained with blood. His breath was +short and heavy, and at times, gasping; his mouth half open, and his +dull eye fixed with a heavy leaden stare at the ceiling. His race was +nearly run. He seemed utterly unconscious of the presence of any +one, until the door opened, and Harson, who had gone out, came in.</p> + +<p>He went to the bed, and leaned over the burglar. As he did so, his +shadow falling across the man’s face, attracted his attention, and he +turned his heavy eye, and asked, in a husky voice:</p> + +<p>‘Will I go? What does he say?’</p> + +<p>Harson shook his head. ‘It’s almost over with you, my poor fellow; +God help you!’</p> + +<p>The man turned his head away and looked at the wall.</p> + +<p>‘Do you understand me?’ said Harson, anxiously bending over him.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, yes,’ replied the man in the same mumbling tone; ‘yes, I’m +come for; my time’s up. I was a strong man yesterday; and now! +now——! It’s very strange! very strange!’ He muttered a few inarticulate +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>44</span>words, and then resumed his old position, looking at the wall, +with no sound escaping him except the low panting of his breath. Suddenly +he said, in a louder tone:</p> + +<p>‘It’s all very strange <em>here</em>.’ He pointed to his head. ‘Were you +ever at sea? Yes; well, well—did you ever see a ship toss and swing +to and fro—to and fro—to and fro, and yet keep straight on? Well, +my brain reels and swims in that way. There are dim strange things; +men, beasts, birds, and ghosts hovering about it; but I see straight on, +and they are on all sides of the path; yes, I see it straight, straight, +straight and plain. I’m going on it. They can’t make me swerve; +but it’s awful to have such company about me on such a journey. +Come close to me!’</p> + +<p>Harson drew his chair close to the bed and sat down. ‘I’ve sent for +a clergyman,’ said he, in a low tone; ‘He’ll be here presently. You +must endeavor to chase away these thoughts; they are only dreams.’</p> + +<p>Craig’s thin lips contracted into a smile which was horrible, as +without moving his eyes from their fixed position, he whispered: ‘No, +no; he won’t do it—he’ll not do it. No; I won’t blow on you, Bill. +Ha! how hot that bullet was! Lift me up! <em>He’s</em> there! Yes, lift +me up, so that I may be above him; up! up! Ha! ha! that’ll do. +Bill, do you recollect the old school-master? There! Up! up!’</p> + +<p>Harson put his arm under him, and raised him. As he did so, Craig’s +head fell against his shoulder, dabbling it with blood. The next instant +he stretched himself out at full length, gave a shudder; a long rattling +breath followed; and he fell back on the pillow—dead.</p> + +</div><!--Quod Correspondence--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">LINES TO DEATH.</h2> +<div class="epigram"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">How</span> vain is human strength to flee,</p> +<p>Thou mighty <span class="special_name">One</span>! from thee!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Thou</span> hid’st the scenes that lie the grave beyond—</p> +<p>Thou hast the secrets of the world unseen;</p> +<p>Where the loved ones, the beautiful, the fond,</p> +<p>And all who tossed on life’s wild sea have been,</p> +<p>Have gone in silence at thy dreadful call,</p> +<p class="i8">Great conqueror of all!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Empires are crumbled at thy dread command,</p> +<p>And nations rise and nourish but to fall;</p> +<p>Even earth is thine; and thou e’er long shalt stand,</p> +<p>And mark its wealth, and power, and beauty, all</p> +<p>Fade and depart as sunbeams in the heaven</p> +<p class="i8">Vanish and die at even!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The midnight storm, the tempest raging high,</p> +<p>The sweeping pestilence, and fell disease,</p> +<p>Rude winter’s blast, and balmy summer’s sigh,</p> +<p>Earth, and the sea whose murmurs never cease,</p> +<p>All are but agents of thy sovereign will,</p> +<p class="i8">Thy bidding to fulfil.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>45</span>Couldst thou to man’s earth-fettered soul reveal</p> +<p>The bliss thou bringest to the pure in heart,</p> +<p>Would sudden horror o’er his spirit steal,</p> +<p>When called at last with low-born joys to part?</p> +<p>Would he not rather sigh for that bless’d shore,</p> +<p class="i8">Where death is known no more?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Stern Power! though others shudder at thy tread,</p> +<p>And vainly seek thy arrow to evade,</p> +<p>Before thy stroke I fain would bow my head,</p> +<p>Nor grieve to see my transient pleasures fade:</p> +<p>In thy embrace my sorrows all shall cease,</p> +<p class="i8">For in the grave is peace!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">H. C.</span></p> +</div><!--Lines to Death--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">SKETCHES OF EAST-FLORIDA.</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle">NUMBER FOUR.</h3> +<h4 class="chapter_title">ST. AUGUSTINE: THE LAST LOOK.</h4> +<p>Our schooner was ‘up’ for Charleston by the first fair wind; but the +captain was fastidious, and the only fair wind was directly aft. A point +or two off would not do, unless it had been blowing for a day or two +and was likely to continue till the captain could land his passengers in +Charleston. Running in on the Georgia coast was always very delightful +to the passengers, but not at all so to Captain S——. We had +taken berths in the schooner about the middle of April, and when the +first week in May had passed by, we began to think it would be difficult +to find the precise article of air which the captain desired. During +this time it seemed to have become coquettish, giving us all kinds of +northerly, all varieties of east, and a preponderance of westerly wind, +finishing off with a sirocco from the south-west, (‘a Boston east wind +boiled,’ and the only unpleasant summer wind on the coast,) after which +it stopped short; the sand and the orange blossoms settled again, and +every thing hung perpendicular. The next morning a puff came up +from the south in a very blustering manner, as though it had an immense +capital to back it, but proved very short-winded. Our little craft +thinking to beat us, shook its sails out right and left, and dashed out of +the harbor, rounding the point in a handsome manner; but before +reaching the bar it slacked away, till ‘small by degrees and beautifully +less,’ it came to a dead stand; and the same evening we dashed back +again with a no’th-east-by-east behind us, to the great delight of promenaders +on the sea-wall and the public in general. Ladies rode +through the streets at a hard-gallop; little niggers crept under balconies; +and an individual who shall be nameless performed a feat with a certain +Di. Vernon of that ilk, which resulted in a bill the next morning of some +odd dollars for extra motion, and a severe lesson upon the moralities of +fast-riding. The mid-day weather at this time was decidedly summerish, +the temperature having the <em>feel</em> of about seventy in our latitude, +but ranging there from eighty to ninety degrees.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>46</span>We were beginning the summer custom of gathering every morning +to meet the ‘doctor’ (sea-breeze) on the square, only a short walk below, +which I prolonged on the sea-wall to the little schooner, examined the +labels on the berths, crushed an orange at the corner shop, and lounged +up to the nine-pin alley to close up the ‘unfinished business.’ After +bowling, if it was too warm to invent any thing that would not be forgotten +before dinner, the old routine was the order of the day; and +back-gammon or flirtation had it, according as we were nearer the +Florida House or the one ‘round the corner.’ The thirty or forty +others who had helped make the winter pleasant, had been gone for +weeks, and our little parties for bathing or riding, or any other trifling +matter which might be better than a cigar on the piazza, had that snug +kind of personality which is so much more pleasant than safe, that I +half-wished the thirty or forty had gone much sooner than they did.</p> + +<p>I was sitting on the piazza one morning with a number of un-appropriated +blank hours before me, a little embarrassed whether to tease the +big bear in the yard or lean over and give up to it, with the old dog +who was snapping at flies on the floor, when it struck me as something +very fresh, that as the wind was still two points off, I could make one +more sally into the country. Before the thought had time to cool, my +horse was brought to the door, and looking about for a companion, I +asked Miss H——, who hesitated and declined; but I found one in Lieut. +T——, who was that morning going over to Picolata. The distance is +eighteen miles, through an unbroken pine-barren, (one opening only, at +Fort Searle, twelve miles out,) and an under-growth of palmettos of just +sufficient height for Indians to hide in. For a long time the travel over +all that portion of the territory lying south of a line fifty miles north of +us, was with an escort of fifteen or twenty men, who moved at a slow +rate, a hundred yards apart, so as not to present to the Indians more than +one or two shots at a time from any one point.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the precaution of a strong escort every day, out or +in, on the Picolata road, there had been more downright murdering +there than in any other part of the territory, some having been shot +down almost in sight of Augustine. This was not escort-day, but if it +had been, our horses were not disposed to be six hours in the sun, in +going so short a distance. The little grey steed that I had been using +for some weeks was not by any means a lady’s article, but he had been +alongside of them in many a ride on the beach, and so learned the trick +of combining the playful and gallant in a very pretty manner. His +ambition was to be always up to the mark, and a head more if his companion +would allow it; but at the least indication of rivalry his head +went down, and nothing less than iron muscles could keep him from his +twelve-mile gait. If not well-matched it was his delight to dash ahead +for a hundred yards, and then stop and look back, or perhaps return, +make a short sweep around his companion, jog on sociably for a little, +and then repeat the manœuvre; and in doing this my arms were only +sufficient to guide him a little in case he attempted the barren, and keep +him clear of the saw-palmetto. T——‘s animal belonged at Picolata. +The quarter-master at the barracks had sent him up to be taken over, +and as we mounted at the Florida House, I could not help smiling as I +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>47</span>recognized the same fellow that the quarter-master had politely sent me +for a similar purpose some time previous. He was long-bodied and +very long-limbed, and having been brought up in camp, his motion had +all the stiffness of the marching step. His point, any two points being +given, was to make the straight line between them in the shortest possible +time, in an unbroken trot; but there was no danger of his breaking it; +he was not capable of a gallop; his limbs couldn’t be brought to it.</p> + +<p>We passed out of town at an easy pace, talking over the last night’s +ball; and while crossing the bridge the lieutenant called my attention +to his saddle, a cast-iron frame thinly covered with leather, leaving large +rib-spaces on the back, which he commended as being delightfully cool. +‘But, my dear fellow,’ said I, ‘why didn’t you get a blanket?’ He +replied that after getting accustomed to it, it was much easier than the +padded saddle. ‘Do you know,’ said I, ‘that that horse is a trotter?’ +‘I’m used to trotters,’ said he. ‘You ease up a little in the stirrups?’ +‘No; contrary to rules.’</p> + +<p>We now entered the barren, and the moment the horses dipped their +hoofs in the sand, the old ‘forker,’ seeing the problem to be solved, took +the bit in his teeth and started for Picolata. At the first dash the forker +went ahead. He had laid his course, as they say at sea, and no up-helm +or down-helm had the slightest effect upon him. His mind was +made up; no wavering, no playfulness, no scarishness, no looking to +the right or left. Picolata was the point; ‘no two ways’ to Picolata; +he was on the right way, and he was the horse to do it in double-quick +time. The little grey had evidently thought it was too hot for any thing +in his line; but as soon as he noticed any thing like game in his companion, +his head went down as usual; and after a little hard running, +we brushed by the old fellow, made the requisite heading, wheeled, +passing the forker on the larboard quarter, and made the circuit, to his +great satisfaction. ‘Here we go!’ said I, as we passed him again; +and this time the grey kept ‘head on’ for some miles, till at length I +succeeded in stopping him, and looked back. The forker was coming +in a bee-line, T—— bobbing up and down ‘with a short uneasy motion,’ +endeavoring to make a seat of his jacket which he had stripped off; +and as he came nearer I noticed that he was trying to look very cool +and comfortable. We waited till they came up, but there was no stopping; +the forker went by without winking or noticing the grey in the +slightest manner.</p> + +<p>Easing up on the reins till we came abreast, ‘How are you now?’ +said I. ‘Oh, this is nothing’ said T——, turning round a very little with +a highly-charged expression of face; ‘a little rough; yes, a little—little +rough; but you observe my seat, Sir—West Point?’ ‘O yes,’ said I; +‘very fine—and cool, I suspect.’ But there was not much chance of +intelligible conversation. T—— kept on talking, but his remarks, meant +for the quarter-master, were so barbarously broken, that I could only +guess occasionally at some exclamations, which for point and emphasis +were highly military. Our rate of travel was not, you observe, from +five to ten, or from eight to twelve miles an hour, but exactly ten. That +was the forker’s motion, from which there was no deviation. If he was +struck, his heels went up suddenly and very high, but it was no impediment. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>48</span>He evidently took the blow as a military order for a rear motion; +nothing more, and no occasion for malice. Now, if any body wishes +to know about the face of the country; how bounded, what products, etc., +between Augustine and Picolata, I am unable to give the slightest information +from any notes taken that morning. My perceptions were all +<em>in medias res</em>; and I only remember seeing a wild turkey that we scared +up, and an alligator that made for the water while we were a quarter +of a mile distant, and splashed in in a great fright some time after we +had passed him.</p> + +<p>In little more than an hour we entered the opening at Fort Searle so +suddenly, that I heard the orderly report, as he marched up to the commanding +officer: ‘Two gentlemen from Augustine, Sir.’ ‘Very well,’ +said the officer; and he turned to receive the lieutenant, but T—— was +past all dignities. Stretching himself on a bench he ordered brandy-and-water, +and as that was not quite the thing, added a little cherry +bounce, and finished with old Jamaica, and presently went round a corner +with a tumbler of the latter; but whether for external or internal application, +I am unable to say. Without stopping long enough to get stiff, +we mounted again, and after a few closing flourishes from the little grey +entered the city of Picolata, consisting of one house, and were greeted +with the chattering of ten thousand black-birds all in full chorus. A +boat coming up very opportunely, we took passage in her that night, +and next morning were at Pilatka.</p> + +<p>A few miles south of that place, there is a small plantation on the +river that had been deserted and the house burned down by the Indians +during the first winter of the war. Some weeks previous, while at +Pilatka, Colonel —— had politely offered me a sergeant and nine men to +visit the place, but shortly after reaching it they complained of the musquitoes +and rode back to the camp, leaving me with the guide and Gen. +W—— to finish the survey. I now found a young physician who was +waiting an escort for Tampa Bay, and we went out alone; and after +studying trails for a long time, and taking directions by the compass, we +came in sight of the hammock when some miles distant, and entering +by a winding road that was arched over so as to be almost dark as +night, we emerged, after a quarter of a mile, in a little round spot in +the wilderness, which for quiet beauty was beyond any thing I had ever +before seen. There were some forty acres in the circle, and yet it +looked not unlike a dollar in a tumbler, so high and dense was the +forest. The magnolias, a hundred feet in air, were in full blossom, their +white tops making an unbroken wreath over the area, while the lower +branches of the live-oaks were loaded with the long moss, hanging like +curtains, motionless in the bright light, and not a single bird on the tree-tops +to break the perfect charm of the place. Beautiful, very beautiful! +but how strangely still! A squirrel chattering, or the rat-tat of a woodpecker, +would have been something; but there was not a single voice +out; not so much as the hum of a musquito, though it was the hottest +of summer days.</p> + +<p>Why didn’t the oaks speak, or the magnolias? If they had, shaken +their white heads, and raising their trailing garments, had all burst +out in some grand anthem, I should only have thought it quite in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>49</span>character; and if personally addressed, it would have seemed entirely +a matter of course. I should have replied civilly, begged pardon for +intruding in so informal a manner, and backed out as soon as possible; +and perhaps the click of a rifle would have produced the same effect. +We rode around the little gem, and found the charred timbers where the +house stood, and a few orange trees that the Indians had left; but the +cool spring was so hid in the high grass, that we were forced back with +parched lips to the flat water at Pilatka, which place we reached in +time for a late dinner; and just as the evening set in I took passage +again for Picolata.</p> + +<p>All the boats running on the river were in the government service, +and ours at this time was loaded fore and aft with a company of +dragoons, bound to Black Creek. As we left the dock, another large +boat came out in a pompous manner, and gave us chase; and as the +day had been intensely hot, a large line of clouds rolled over the bluff +at the same time, probably from the gulf <em>en route</em> to the Atlantic, and +moving slowly across the river, gathered their black folds around the +pine-tops, shutting all up, river and forest, every thing but our chimneys, +in utter darkness. And now began a scene which combined little +and great in a manner quite fantastic. Boatmen swearing and yelling +to each other as the boats came near collision, and that infernal +scream sounding off through the pine barrens like some spirit newly +damned; horses prancing and threshing on the bows; men growling at +cards, and over head thunder and lightning leading off the storm in a very +brilliant and point-blank manner; all which was quite rousing and +melo-dramatic. While I was noticing the pilot’s manner of steering by +flashes, a gentleman came up, whom I recognised as a resident of St. +Augustine; and as he had a horse at Picolata, we agreed to go over +together that night, as the darkness was rather favorable, and the road +being sandy, we could ride rapidly without being heard.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when we reached Picolata; and with a +good deal of uproar, men shouting, steam puffing, and half a dozen +blacks gesticulating on shore, we each made a fortunate leap to the +dock; and walking up to the camp in a blaze of pitch-pine, we ordered +our horses, and at eleven o’clock entered the pine woods for St. Augustine. +‘I wouldn’t go over to-night,’ said the man as he brought up my +horse; ‘the rascals have been seen about here within a day or two; +for God’s sake, Sir, <em>don’t</em> go over to-night!’ But this only gave a keener +zest to the ride. I had carried with me every where a double-barrelled +gun, but I had found it an awkward companion, and having been all day +in the saddle I concluded to leave it to be sent over, and mean time trust +to my friend’s pistols.</p> + +<p>The rain had ceased, and the wind had gone down, but the night was +still so dark that we could only guess at the road by the strip of light +over head, and now and then a flash, which would light up the avenue +for a long distance ahead, and then leave it still darker than before. +As we entered the barren at an easy trot, I was pleased to notice that +the darkness or the storm had tamed my little grey into a very sober +humor, and his companion also was in a very moralizing way. There +was no starting at the lightning, no attempt at running, but with a noiseless +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>50</span>tread they stepped daintily in the sand, pointing their ears hither +and yon, and as it seemed to me, affecting a little scarishness, though +what they could hear when the forest was so breathless, it was difficult +to imagine; but every little while they would both leap some fifteen feet +across the road, (which couldn’t be affectation) shiver a little, and then +pick their way carefully as before. We could see nothing, hear nothing; +but horses are keen snuffers, and they might smell when we +couldn’t; but what was singular, the vaulting was done from the same +side of the road.</p> + +<p>We were still keeping up a little small-talk, when some miles in the +forest, both horses, without any jump or start of any kind, stopped suddenly; +and looking ahead, we saw something moving stealthily toward us. +My companion cocked a pistol and challenged; but we only heard a little +grumbling, and I counted him a dead man; but before we had time to +guess about it, something brushed by, and by a flash of light we saw a +glitter of buttons, and a man on horseback. Whoever or whatever he +was, we saw him but a moment, and he was soon out of hearing. +With a remark or two upon the fool-hardiness of the man, we quickened +our pace, and went on at a dashing rate, abreast and Indian fashion, just +as it happened; now one leading and now the other, according to the +wind of our horses; and in this manner we were passing the most dangerous +part of the road, when there was a sudden whizzing about our +ears, and the report of half a dozen rifles. The little grey reared and +plunged and I landed—where, I don’t know; but the next that I remember, +I was standing alone in the pine barren. I had been running for +a long time; how far I couldn’t tell, being conscious only of dodging +often from one tree to another. On looking about I remarked that the +clouds had opened a little, and that there was nothing to be seen or +heard in any direction. Presently I heard a yell, and looking around, +a strapping Indian, with his rifle drawn to his eye, fired as I faced him, +and the ball parted a lock of my hair in a manner very embarrassing. +I levelled upon the rascal, but missed fire; the rain had wet the powder +in the tube. The fellow took no pains to hide himself, but was very +coolly loading again, and had got his ball ready, when I once more started +off at full speed.</p> + +<p>It was a sharp race, and a warm one. After running a mile or more, +there was a small stream to be crossed; and with a few well-balanced +steps on a half-decayed log that lay at the edge of the water, I reached +the opposite bank just as my pursuer stepped on at the other end. Hearing +a strange kind of shock, I turned and saw the big six-footed animal +astride the log, twisting and writhing about in great agony. He +had slipped and fallen in such a manner as to pain him almost beyond +endurance. I stood on the bank and laughed at him; and—shall I +confess it?—I tried half a dozen more caps at the fellow, with a most +savage deliberateness; to all which he paid not the slightest attention; +but as his strength came gradually back, I took to my heels again, and +fortunately reached the highway….</p> + +<p>The last ten miles of our ride that night were passed over in a very +headlong manner: we stopped only once, as we heard the cry of some +hounds on the south side, and then on again, keeping our horses just +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>51</span>within their speed, till at the worst place on the road, we gave up the +reins and let them go. In less than two hours from Picolata, we snuffed +the salt air again; and reaching the open country, walked our horses +leisurely into St. Augustine.</p> + +<p>As we entered the city my companion left me; and as I drew rein on +the square, I noticed that the schooner was still at the dock, and all +about the city was quiet and undisturbed. The storm had gone by, its +skirts hanging on the eastern horizon, and forming a back-ground to the +light of the light-house, while the city and bay were bright in the starlight; +and if stars shine any brighter in the small hours, they were +doing their best then. All looked pleasant and quite at home, even to +the sentry at the corner; and there was nothing, you would say, to +make one sad; but as I turned the corner I drew a breath of such +yawning profundity that the old dog at the Florida House started up +and growled impromptu. That dog had held a stout nigger all night in +the yard, not long before; but fortunately he knew me, and after smelling, +to make sure that all was right, he followed me into an out-house, +when I rolled Bob out of a cradle, and giving a general order in a low +voice for a warm bath in the morning, found my quarters and went +to bed.</p> + +<p>At sunrise the next morning I was half awake, grasping at the skirts +of a pleasant dream, when Bob came in, blew about the room for awhile, +and cried out ‘Massa, did you order um wom bath?’ ‘No; clear out! +Eh? warm bath? Yes; warm bath, to be sure.’ And Bob went out, +and came in directly with two wenches and a warm bath. ‘How’s the +wind Bob?’ ‘De wind?’ ‘Yes; where’s the wind’ ‘Dun know, +Sah.’ ‘Well, go out in the balcony and see where it comes from.’ Bob +shouted through the open window, ‘De wind come from de Souf.’</p> + +<p>I made but one spring, and the blacks vanished. Going below, I +found the house in commotion. The schooner was to sail at nine +o’clock, and the signal would be the report of a two-pounder which the +captain carried on his quarter-deck. At eight o’clock I had been all +over town from the fort to the powder house; looked in at the church, +where were some fifteen or twenty kneeling, silent and devotional; and +was seated at breakfast, when we heard the captain’s gun, an hour before +the time. ‘My God!’ said I, ‘I can’t go without seeing Mrs. J—— +and kind Mrs. G——; and then there’s the pretty Di. Vernon!’ (I had +bade them good-by a dozen times.) I rushed into the street, and seeing +half-a-dozen ladies not far off, gave them a touch-and-go shake; rushed +up a wrong street, then back again, and finally came out on the square +and saw the little schooner’s sails bellied out full; passengers waving +their handkerchiefs, and the people all around crying out to me to hurry, +or I should lose my chance. But I <em>didn’t</em> hurry. The idea of hurry, +after we had waited six weeks! That captain too, had he been asleep +all this time, and just awaked? No; I did not hurry, but walked leisurely +across the square, looking over my shoulder occasionally to see if —— was +any where in sight, for she had promised to be at the dock; +and passing over the long wharf in the same stubborn way, I stepped +on board the schooner with a stiffer upper lip than I ever remember to +have had in that climate. The moment that my feet touched the deck, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>52</span>the ropes slipped and away flew the schooner; but in all this ‘heat, +haste and hunger,’ from a half-swallowed breakfast, and consignments +of pacquets and kind wishes that were left behind, the sentiment of my +last look was burnt to a cinder.</p> + +</div><!--Sketches of East-Florida--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">THOUGHTS FROM BULWER.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">BY MRS. M. T. W. CHANDLER.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<h4 class="subtitle">I.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">It</span> cannot be that earth was given for our abiding place,</p> +<p>Or that for nought we’re darkly doomed the storms of life to face;</p> +<p>It cannot be our being’s cast from ’neath the ocean wave</p> +<p>Of vast Eternity, to sink <em>again</em> within its grave.</p> +<p>Else tell me why the aspiring thoughts, the glorious hopes of man,</p> +<p>Which spring up from his ‘heart of hearts,’ brook not earth’s narrow span;</p> +<p>Oh! tell me why unsatisfied forever here they roam,</p> +<p>And seem to claim in higher spheres a refuge and a home.</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="subtitle">II.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Why is it that the rainbow and the tints of evening clouds</p> +<p>Dispel the mists in which the world our spirits still enshrouds?</p> +<p>The chord they strike!—oh, tell me not that it can be of earth—</p> +<p>The golden heart-string that they touch is <em>not</em> of mortal birth:</p> +<p>The very buds and blossoms, and the balmy summer air,</p> +<p>Awake within us shadows vague of things more bright and fair;</p> +<p>’Tis almost like <em>remembrance</em>—oh! would that I could tell</p> +<p>The meaning of that hidden charm my spirit knows so well!</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="subtitle">III.</h4> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>A simple tone can rouse it; a smile, or even a sigh</p> +<p>Can make the ghost-like shadows flit before my dreaming eye;</p> +<p>’Tis one of life’s deep mysteries; in vain we seek to trace</p> +<p>The hidden spell’s dark origin that chains our feeble race:</p> +<p>But, oh! may we not fancy, may we not sweetly think,</p> +<p>’Tis between us and another world a dim mysterious link?</p> +<p>May we not hope that secret chord from God to man was given,</p> +<p>To shadow forth within his soul pure images of heaven?</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="subtitle">IV.</h4> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The very stars which pierce the veil far o’er this world of sin,</p> +<p>And seem to give faint visions of a paradise within,</p> +<p>In all their hallowed loveliness, their vague and mystic lore,</p> +<p>Oh! do they not seem beckoning to a purer, holier shore?</p> +<p>And tell me why the well-loved eyes which here upon us beam</p> +<p>Gleam radiantly o’er our path, then vanish like a dream;</p> +<p>My <span class="special_name">Mother</span>! oh! my Mother! shall they find belief in me,</p> +<p>Who tell me there’s no happy land where I shall meet with thee?</p> +</div> + +<h4 class="subtitle">V.</h4> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I <em>know</em> there is a heaven which is peopled not with shades,</p> +<p>Where the buds and flowers ne’er wither, and the rainbow never fades:</p> +<p>Where the mourners cease from mourning, and in smiles of joy are drest,</p> +<p>Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest:</p> +<p>Oh! there is gladness in the thought; ’tis deep, deep joy to me</p> +<p>To feel that those I love so well I there again shall see;</p> +<p>To know that though around them now my very heart-strings twine,</p> +<p>They’ll be forever with me there—forever more be mine!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Thoughts from Bulwer--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>53</span></p> +<h2 class="title">SONNET: TO THE OLD YEAR.</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Good-by</span>, Old Year! we wait to greet the New,</p> +<p class="i2">And hope within its circling hours to see</p> +<p class="i2">More of content and less of misery.</p> +<p>Yet, haply, all life’s toilsome journey through,</p> +<p>No happier scenes than thine will meet our view;</p> +<p class="i2">If so, we humbly bow to Heaven’s decree,</p> +<p>With hearts, though wounded, still as firm and true</p> +<p class="i2">As when we first knelt to the <span class="special_name">Deity</span>.</p> +<p>Many will weep, Old Year! while thou dost lay</p> +<p class="i2">Thine aged head within the voiceless tomb.</p> +<p><em>We</em> weep, yet on the clouds of grief doth play</p> +<p class="i2">The bow of promise, lighting up their gloom.</p> +<p>Not so with many hearts that crushed and bleeding lie,</p> +<p>Whose only thought of gladness is like thee to die!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="location">Brooklyn, Dec., 1843.</span> <span class="author">Hans Von Spiegel.</span></p> +</div><!--Sonnet: To the Old Year--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">THE MAIL ROBBER.</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle">NUMBER SIX.</h3> +<h4 class="chapter_head">LETTER TO THE EDITOR FROM HIS ENGLISH CORRESPONDENT.</h4> +<p><span class="first_word">Sir</span>: My friends abroad complain that my last letter reached them in +small type, most pernicious to English eyes, and half hidden among the +rubbish of your editorial remarks, literary notices, and chit-chat with +your million butterfly correspondents. Unless I am better served in +future, I shall be compelled to transfer my patronage to the post-office, +dangerous as it is, and liable to the occasional interference of American +citizens. I have conferred with an attorney, who tells me that there is +just ground for an action for breach of trust, in the unfaithful performance +of the duty you have undertaken. It remains with yourself to +avert any such consequence, by attending more strictly in future to the +proper conveyance of my correspondence.</p> + +<p>During the last week I have received a note from the gentleman who +stole the letters. This I enclose to you; and as I do not know where +to address him, I will simply reply to him, through the Magazine, that +although I have the highest respect for his talents, I would see him +several miles on his way to the devil, before I would comply with his +polite request.</p> + +<p class="closing">Truly yours, etc.,</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">—— ——.</span></p> + +<h4 class="chapter_head">THE MAIL ROBBER’S NOTE.</h4> + +<p><span class="first_word">My Dear Friend</span>: You will be surprised that I have found out your +address, and indeed it required some sagacity. But now that I have, +you will pardon me for broaching a matter in which we are mutually +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>54</span>concerned. You must be aware how horribly I have been used by the +Editor of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>, and all through the share I have unfortunately +had in your troublesome correspondence. He still persists in +refusing to pay me a proper remuneration for my services, for which +hitherto, I am sorry to say, I have received only insult and vexation. +I have been advised by my lawyer to institute a suit at law against the +miscreant, and matters are now in progress toward that desirable result.</p> + +<p>In the mean time I have thought proper to apply to your sense of +justice for a partial compensation of the trouble you have caused me. +My character has been assailed, my tranquillity disturbed, and my +valuable time taken up, without a penny of remuneration. Now, Sir, +if you think fit to transmit to the address of ‘M. R.,’ through the post-office, +a hundred dollars ($100), I will overlook what is past, and resign +solely to yourself what interest I possess in your epistolary intercourse +through the pages of that infamous Magazine. With sentiments of +esteem,</p> + +<p class="closing">Yours, as before,</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">M. R.</span></p> + +<p class="post_break">‘<span class="first_word">So</span> shaken as we are, so wan with care,’ we begin to wish that we +had never undertaken the publication of these letters. Between two +impending law-suits how shall we muster courage to keep on the even +tenor of our way? Even our staunch friend, the anonymous Public, +torments us with frequent accusatory epistles, charging us with dulness, +impiety, and irreverence for American institutions. All these we must +lay on the back of our Englishman, whose compatriots we confess are +apt to assume a latitude of style hardly tolerated among us. In the +mean time, gentle Public, respected Cockney, and worthy Mail-Robber, +we cry you mercy all round!</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">Ed. Knickerbocker.</span></p> + +<h4 class="chapter_title">LETTER SIXTH.</h4> + +<h5 class="title">TO CHARLES KEMBLE, ESQUIRE, LONDON.</h5> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Good</span> Cassio, Charles, Mercutio, Benedick,</p> +<p>(Of all your names I scarce know which to pick,)</p> +<p>Colossal relic of the nobler time</p> +<p>When great <span class="special_name">John Philip</span> trod the scene sublime;</p> +<p>Ay, true Colossus, for like that which strode</p> +<p>From shore to shore, while seas beneath him flowed,</p> +<p>You seem to stand between two generations,</p> +<p>High o’er the tide of Time and its mutations;</p> +<p>Be not alarmed; this comes not from a dun,</p> +<p>Nor any scheming, transatlantic <span class="special_name">Bunn</span>,</p> +<p>Tempting with golden hopes your waning years,</p> +<p>Like ‘certain stars shot madly from their spheres,’</p> +<p>Like <span class="special_name">Mathews</span> or old <span class="special_name">Dowton</span>, to expose</p> +<p>The shank all shrunken from its youthful hose;</p> +<p>So boldly read, howe’er it make you sigh,</p> +<p>Nor manager nor creditor am I;</p> +<p>Yet in some sort you are indeed my debtor,</p> +<p>And owe me for my pains at least a letter.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Not long ago, conversing at the Club</p> +<p>Which Londoners with ‘<span class="special_name">Garrick’s</span>’ title dub,</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>55</span>We both confessed, and each with equal grief,</p> +<p>That poor Melpomene was past relief;</p> +<p>So many symptoms of her dotage shows</p> +<p>This nineteenth century of steam and prose.</p> +<p>Nor in herself, said you, entirely lies</p> +<p>Th’ incurable complaint whereof she dies;</p> +<p>’Tis not alone that play-wrights are too poor</p> +<p>For gods or men or columns to endure;<a href="#fn4" class="fnmarker" id="fnm4" title="By the word 'columnæ,' Horace...">4</a></p> +<p>Nor that all players in a mould are cast,</p> +<p>Every new Roscius aping still the last;</p> +<p>Nor yet that Taste’s too delicate excess</p> +<p>Demands perfection and despises less;</p> +<p>But mere indifference, that worst disease,</p> +<p>From bard and actor take all power to please.</p> +<p>How strive to please? when all their friends that were,</p> +<p>To empty benches empty sounds prefer;</p> +<p>And seek, like bees attracted by a gong,</p> +<p>The fairy-land of tip-toe and of song;</p> +<p>Whether a voice of more than earthly strain</p> +<p>Be newly sent by Danube or the Seine,</p> +<p>Or some aërial, thistle-downy thing</p> +<p>Float from La Scala on a zephyr’s wing.</p> +<p>Say, might a <span class="special_name">Siddons</span>, conjured from the tomb,</p> +<p>Again the scene of her renown illume?</p> +<p>Could her high art, (ay, even at half price,)</p> +<p>The crowd from ‘La Sonnambula’ entice?</p> +<p>No; dance and song, the Drama’s deadly plagues,</p> +<p><span class="special_name">Rubini’s</span> notes, and <span class="special_name">Ellsler’s</span> heav’nly legs,</p> +<p>Would nightly still bring amateurs in flocks,</p> +<p>To watch the bravos of the royal box.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>While thus, between our filberts and our wine,</p> +<p>We mourned with sighs your mistress’s decline,</p> +<p>You half indulged the fond imagination,</p> +<p>That what seemed death was but her <em>emigration</em>.</p> +<p>Perhaps, quoth you, and ’twas a bold ‘perhaps,’</p> +<p>Ere many years of exile shall elapse,</p> +<p>The wand’ring maid may find in foreign lands</p> +<p>More loving hearts and hospitable hands.</p> +<p>Perchance her feet, with furry buskins graced,</p> +<p>May shuddering walk the cold Canadian waste,</p> +<p>And rest contented with a bleak repose</p> +<p>In shrubless climes of never-thawing snows.</p> +<p>Yes, in those woods that gird the northern lakes,</p> +<p>Pathless as yet, and wild with shaggy brakes,</p> +<p>Or in the rank savannahs of the south,</p> +<p>Or sea-like prairies near Missouri’s mouth,</p> +<p>Fate may conduct her to some sacred spot,</p> +<p>Where to resume her sceptre and to—squat.</p> +<p>Some happier settlement and simpler race,</p> +<p>Where, though her worship lack its ancient grace,</p> +<p>New days may dawn, like those of royal <span class="special_name">Bess</span>,</p> +<p>And every stream a Stratford shall possess;</p> +<p>Where, though in marshes resonant with frogs,</p> +<p>And rudely housed in temples built of logs,</p> +<p>The nymph, regenerate in her classic robe,</p> +<p>May see revived the ‘Fortune’ and the ‘Globe.’</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Such was the dream your fancy dared to mould</p> +<p>Of what yourself had witnessed here of old;</p> +<p>When with your twins—your <span class="special_name">Fanny</span> and your fame—</p> +<p>Among our cousins of the west you came;</p> +<p>But you mistook a momentary fashion</p> +<p>For a deep-seated and enduring passion:</p> +<p>Now to your own a friend’s experience add,</p> +<p>And judge what grounds your glorious vision had.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>56</span>Beyond that Cape which mortals christen Cod,</p> +<p>Where drifted sand-heaps choke the scanty sod,</p> +<p>Round the rough shore a crooked city clings,</p> +<p>Sworn foe to queens, it seems, as well as kings.</p> +<p>On three steep hills it soars, as Rome on seven,</p> +<p>To claim a near relationship with heaven.</p> +<p>Fit home for saints! the very name it bears</p> +<p>A kind of sacred origin declares;</p> +<p>Ta’en, as I find by hunting records o’er,</p> +<p>From one <span class="special_name">Botolfo</span>, canonized of yore,<a href="#fn5" class="fnmarker" id="fnm5" title="The name of Boston...">5</a></p> +<p>Whom bards have left nor epitaph nor verse on,</p> +<p>Though in his day, sans doubt, a decent person:</p> +<p>This town, in olden times of stake and flame,</p> +<p>A famous nest of Puritans became;</p> +<p>Sad, rigid souls, who hated as they ought</p> +<p>The carnal arms wherewith the Devil fought;</p> +<p>Dancing and dicing, music, and whate’er</p> +<p>Spreads for humanity the hell-born snare.</p> +<p>Stage-plays especially their hearts abhorred,</p> +<p>Holding the Muses hateful to the Lord,</p> +<p>Save when old <span class="special_name">Sternhold</span> and his brother bard</p> +<p>Oped their hoarse throats and strained an anthem hard.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>From that angelic race of perfect men,</p> +<p>(Sure seraphs never trod the world ’till then,)</p> +<p>Descends the race to whom the sway is given</p> +<p>Of the world’s morals by confiding Heaven.</p> +<p>These of each virtue know the market price,</p> +<p>And shrewdly count the cost of every vice;</p> +<p>So, to their prudent adage faithful still,</p> +<p>Are honest more from policy than will.</p> +<p>As if with heaven a bargain they had made</p> +<p>To practise goodness and to be well paid.</p> +<p>They too, devoutly as their fathers did,</p> +<p>Sin, sack, and sugar equally forbid;</p> +<p>Holding each hour unpardonably spent</p> +<p>Which on the ledger leaves no monument;</p> +<p>While oft they read, with small but pious wit,</p> +<p>Th’ inscription o’er the play-house portals writ,</p> +<p>In a bad sense—‘<em>The entrance to the Pit.</em>’</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Among this godly tribe it was my fate</p> +<p>To view a triumph they enjoyed of late,</p> +<p>Which, lest the chroniclers who come hereafter</p> +<p>Omit, and cheat our children of their laughter,</p> +<p>I, a <span class="special_name">Daguerre</span>-like sketcher of the time,</p> +<p>Will faintly shadow as I can in rhyme.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Once these Botolphians, when their boards you trod,</p> +<p>Received you almost as a demi-god;</p> +<p>Rushed to the teeming rows in frantic swarms,</p> +<p>And rained applauses not in showers but storms.</p> +<p>But should you now their fickle welcome ask,</p> +<p>Faint shouts would greet the veteran of the mask;</p> +<p>And ah! what anguish would it be to search</p> +<p>For your old play-house in a bastard church!</p> +<p>To find the dome wherein your hour you strutted,</p> +<p>Altered and maimed and circumcised and gutted;</p> +<p>Become in truth, all metaphor to drop,</p> +<p>A mongrel thing—half chapel and half shop.</p> +<p>Long had the augur and the priest foretold</p> +<p>The sad reverse they doomed it to behold;</p> +<p>Long had the school-boy, as he passed it by,</p> +<p>And maiden viewed it with presaging eye;</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>57</span>Oft had the wealthy deacon with a frown</p> +<p>Glared on the pile he longed to batter down,</p> +<p>And reckoned oft, with sanctimonious air,</p> +<p>What rents ’twould fetch if purified with prayer;<a href="#fn6" class="fnmarker" id="fnm6" title="At the late opening of the 'Tremont Temple'...">6</a></p> +<p>While through the green-room whispered rumors went,</p> +<p>That heaven and earth were on its ruin bent.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Too just a fear! The vision long foreseen</p> +<p>Has come at last; behold the fallen queen!</p> +<p>The queen of passion, stripped of all her pride,</p> +<p>Discrowned, indignant from her temple glide.</p> +<p>With draggling robe, slip-shod, her buskin loose,</p> +<p>She flies a barren people’s cold abuse;</p> +<p>Summons her sister, who forbears to smile,</p> +<p>And leaves to rats the desecrated pile,</p> +<p>Which dogs and nags already had begun,</p> +<p>Unless by blows and hunger driv’n, to shun:</p> +<p>For well-bred curs and steeds genteel contemn</p> +<p>A stage which Taste had sunk too low for them;</p> +<p>Whereon the town had seen, without remorse,</p> +<p>A herd of bisons and a hairless horse!</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Behind the two chief mourners of the band</p> +<p>A sad procession followed, hand in hand;</p> +<p>Heroes un-heroed, most unknightly knights,</p> +<p>Wand-broken fairies, disenchanted sprites;</p> +<p>Dukes no more ducal, even on the bill,</p> +<p>Milk-livered murd’rers too ill-fed to kill;</p> +<p>Mild-looking demons that a babe might daunt,</p> +<p>Witches and ghosts most naturally gaunt;</p> +<p>Lovers made pale by keener pangs than love’s,</p> +<p>Unspangled princesses with greasy gloves;</p> +<p>Wits very witless—grave comedians mute,</p> +<p>And silent sons of violin and flute.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>After these down-look’d leaders of the show,</p> +<p>Who creep like Trajan’s Dacians, wan and slow,</p> +<p>Comes a long train of underlings that bear</p> +<p>Imperial robes that kings no more may wear;</p> +<p>With truncheons, helmets, thunder-bolts and casks</p> +<p>Of snow and lightning—bucklers, foils and masks.</p> +<p>As tow’rd the steep of Capitolian Jove</p> +<p>When chiefs victorious through the rabble strove,</p> +<p>With all their conquests in their trophies told,</p> +<p>And every battle mark’d with plundered gold;</p> +<p>When the whole glory of the war rolled by,</p> +<p>And gaping Rome seemed all one mighty eye,</p> +<p>Behind the living captives came the dead,</p> +<p>Poor noseless gods, and some without a head,</p> +<p>With pictures, ivory images and plumes,</p> +<p>And priceless tapestry from palace-looms;</p> +<p>Ev’n such, although Night’s alchymy no more</p> +<p>The crinkling tinsel turns to precious ore,</p> +<p>Appears the pomp of this discarded race,</p> +<p>As heaped with spoil they quit their ancient place,</p> +<p>Bearing their Lares with them as they go—</p> +<p>Two dusty statues and a bust or so;</p> +<p>With mail which once a Harry Fifth had on,</p> +<p>Triumphal cars with all the triumph gone;</p> +<p>Goblets of tin mixed up with Yorick’s bones,</p> +<p>Bags made of togas—barrows formed of thrones,</p> +<p>Whereon the majesty of Denmark sat;</p> +<p>Fie! Juliet’s petticoats in Wolsey’s hat!</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>58</span>Swords hacked at Bosworth, fasces, guns and spears</p> +<p>Rusted with blood before, and now with tears.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Enough of this: kind prompter, touch the bell!</p> +<p>Children of mirth and midnight, fare ye well!</p> +<p>The vision melts away, the motley crowd</p> +<p>Is veiled by Prospero in a passing cloud;</p> +<p>Like his dissolving pageantry they fade,</p> +<p>The vap’ry stuff whereof our dreams are made;</p> +<p>No more malignant winter to beguile,</p> +<p>Nor start the virgin’s tear, the judge’s smile;</p> +<p>Save when some annalist, like me, recalls</p> +<p>The ancient fame of those degraded walls;</p> +<p>Or till an age less hateful to the Muse</p> +<p>To their old shape restore the anxious pews.</p> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">T. W. P.</span></p> +</div> + +</div><!--Mail Robber--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">LETTER FROM JAMES JESSAMINE.</h2> +<h3 class="subtitle">TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER.</h3> +<p><span class="first_word">Sir</span>: It has not been until after much reflection on my own part, and +I must say, very civil encouragement on that of my friend <span class="special_name">Mr. John +Waters</span>, whose acquaintance I have chanced upon some months +back, that I have determined to venture, either in the form of an advértisement +extra, or possibly by your very polite admission of this self-introductory +letter into your fashionable pages, to submit to the view of +the more refined and intellectual part of the society of the Atlantic +cities and particularly to that of New York, the peculiar claim that I +conceive myself to possess upon their consideration and regard.</p> + +<p>I have been hitherto deterred from taking this decisive step, as well +by the very disturbed and almost turbulent state, which, since my arrival +in this country, appears to have characterized its monetary concerns—alas! +my dear Sir, those horrid yet necessary evils and grievances +of life!—as by some expectations I had cause to entertain soon +after I set foot upon your hospitable shores, of the immediate death of a +maiden aunt in Cornwall, upon which incident, and her continued celibacy, +depend very much all my present reversionary hopes.</p> + +<p>The health of the old lady being however at my latest intelligence +unexpectedly reinstated; the cotton crops coming forward as I understand +to good markets, and the wonderful discovery having been made +of converting western pork into sallad oil; the Tories being put down, +and the banks having entered into what some time ago seemed the <i>paulo +post futurum</i> of specie payments; I desire to share in the general tide +of prosperity; I launch myself upon it at its flood, discard all reserve, +and shall descend at once without farther preface into the midst of what +I have to say.</p> + +<p>I came out then some time ago <em>ostensibly</em> to kill a trout or two in +some of your delicious streams; and indeed I may without presumption +say en passant that few professors of the Rod excel me either in +the niceties of my throw, the cool self-possession with which I take my +fish, or the indomitable perseverance and perfect tact with which I drown +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>59</span>and then land him with a single hair. I say <em>ostensibly</em>, for I have now +no desire to conceal from you the ulterior objects that I had in view of +either making a book to replenish my purse, or of establishing myself +for life in this your rising land of freedom and big crops.</p> + +<p>I have had ‘good luck to your fishing’ sung to me more than once by +most sweet voices, and have realized it to my heart’s content in the way +of trout; but this is all. Since I arrived in America there have been +no less than three travelling historians upon the ground, with whose +energy of conception, art of fabrication, facility of combination, capacity +of bitterness and established name, I could not enter the lists. +And as for matrimonial projects, foreigners seem to me to have no longer +any hope of success in consequence of the entire pre-occupation of this +walk of life by a regularly drilled and educated corps of young Americans, +bred up avowedly with no other pursuit; who talk, think, dream +of nothing else than fortune by marriage; and with a shrewdness and +intelligence of calculation that entirely distance the foreigner, (but which +seem wonderfully after the nuptials to forsake them <em>in stocks of another +description</em>,) know at a glance the value, expectations, hopes, and dependencies +of each young marriageable lady even before she comes out; so +that instead of being able to accomplish a purpose of this kind, I find it +quite as much as I can do to avoid falling in love beyond repeal with +the refinement, gentleness, grace, and untold sweetness that distinguish +the portionless beauties of New-York.</p> + +<p>Indeed this class to which I have adverted of licensed fortune-hunters +is so numerous; the fortunes themselves except to the initiated are so +uncertain; and the entire want of that most useful profession, <i>les courtiers +de mariage</i>, is so grievous to all incidental visitors, that I have often +thought how admirable the arrangement would be, if the young ladies +were at once to adopt as a fashionable decoration some tasteful head +ornament, on which should be inscribed, in distinct but graceful characters, +some one of such legends as the following, which should indicate +the incontestible possessions of the wearer:</p> + +<ul> + <li>$30,000 State of New-York Fives.</li> + <li>My face is my fortune.</li> + <li>$200,000 Indiana State Bonds.</li> + <li>2 lots on Broadway, 4 in the Bowery and 1 on Union-Square.</li> + <li>Nothing but truth, discretion, intelligence and grace.</li> + <li>$60,000 Alabama Sterling Bonds.</li> + <li>The Tongues, and what you see.</li> + <li>$27,000 on indefeasible Bond and Mortgage.</li> + <li>A House and Shop in <i>Maiden-Lane</i> with fixtures, and a careful tenant at 1400 a year on lease three years unexpired.</li> + <li>Musick—four pianos done up since this time last year.</li> + <li>30,000 Pine trees and three saw-mills in Saint Lawrence county: N. B., well situated!</li> + <li>A large Manufacturing Establishment with unbounded Water-privileges, in Ulster.</li> + <li>Life and Trust—40 shares daily recovering.</li> +</ul> + +<p>The young gentlemen might wear appended to the third button-hole +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>60</span>of the left breast, epigrammatical notices of ‘<span class="small_all_caps">THE EXPECTATIONS</span>’ in +which they so generally abound, as follows:</p> + +<ul> +<li>Uncle Asa has the phthisick, I am his heir.</li> +<li>As I <span class="small_all_caps">STAND</span>, less my tailor’s bill of $1800.</li> +<li>Plenty of <span class="special_name">Lots</span>, covered partly with water, partly with parchment.</li> +<li>In full and successful business, owing only four times our capital, due us five times, chiefly in Mississippi. Expect to retire in two years and enjoy life.</li> +<li>Two-and-six-pence in my pocket, with great but indefinable hopes.</li> +<li>A <em>promising</em> young member of the Bar. Three suits;—☞<!--a hand pointing right--> one of them in court. Grant me my fourth!</li> +</ul> + +<p>A young lady, whose nice tact and discriminating judgment are only +rivalled by her sweetness of disposition and exquisite personal attractions, +has divided the world of beaux into three generick classes:</p> + +<ol> +<li>The Rich who are afraid of us;</li> +<li>The Poor whom we are afraid of;</li> +<li>The Detrimentalists.</li> +</ol> + +<p>The plan I propose would aid manifestly in the due classification of +all assistants at a ball. It is not to be thought that the sex is governed +by any mercenary motive; but in the present organization of society a +certain degree of attention to the mode in which matrimonial establishments +are to be sustained is absolutely imperative.</p> + +<p>Conceive then Mr. Editor how this explicit course would remove the +ordinary impediments on both sides. One single <i>tour de Valse</i> and the +whole affair might be adjusted! The gentleman forsakes the lady’s +eyes and fixes his own upon her tiara; she hers upon his eloquent button-hole. +During the slow movement they have deciphered the mottoes, +have ascertained, (no small desideratum in a crowded ball-room!) each +the exact value of his or her partner; they have arrived in thought, as +far as mere expediency goes, each at a decision; and are ready for +question and answer at the close of the accelerated step.</p> + +<p>By the way, as the waltz is now conducted, the employment of the +eyes during the slow sentimental movement seems frequently to the lady +a matter of some degree of embarrassment; and the method I propose +would effectually remove any thing of the sort. There could be no +want of an object on which to rest them; no looking with a fixed gaze +over the partner’s shoulder; no consulting of the cornice; no care-fraught +expression; no reluctant or displeased look, as if the lady would +have fain declined; no indeterminate thoughts, no indefinite sensations; +no languishment; and above all never more the portentous, the ominous +look which often in that entrancing dance exhibits to us the mysticism +of the Sybil, without one ray of her inspiration.</p> + +<p>No; then would the lady look, read, decide, and dance the while. +‘This might do!’—then would she sparkle. ‘Ah this would never +do!’—then would she become placid, tranquil, and complete her tour +with contentment; for as I think some one else has before me wisely +observed, <em>the end of doubt is the beginning of repose</em>. Then would the +faces of the ladies generally become vastly more attractive than at +present during the enjoyment of the waltz; for singular as may seem +the remark, although I have assisted at several New-York balls, I have +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>61</span>met two countenances only throughout the whole galaxy of beauty that, +in dancing the Waltz, have indicated either joy or undisturbed gratification: +the one, is that of a little sylph-like beam of pleasure, who +might well carry upon her beautiful hair, ‘unincumbered lots,’ as her +wedding-portion; who gains our hearts while she laughs at us; and +who, because I chance to be within half a score of her father’s years, +threatens to call me her <i>vieux chéri</i>—while the name of the other, if I +dared write it, would recall the most tasteful and fashionable costumes +of France, with the sweetest poetry of Scotland.</p> + +<p>But alas my master! I have gone prattling on without saying a +word of my own pretensions until my letter has gained such a length +that I am forced to defer them to another number, while I subscribe +myself, dear Mr. Editor of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>,</p> + +<p class="closing">Your most faithful servant,</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">James Jessamine.</span></p> + +</div><!--Jessamine's Letter--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">LOVE’S ELYSIUM.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF MATTHISSON BY WILLIAM PITT PALMER.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Grove</span>! embathed in peace celestial,</p> +<p class="i2">As in dew the rose’s bowers,</p> +<p>Where Hesperia’s golden fruitage</p> +<p class="i2">Ripens amid silver flowers;</p> +<p>Where a rosy-colored ether</p> +<p class="i2">Ever cloudless bends above,</p> +<p>Through whose calm abysses never</p> +<p class="i2">Breathed the sigh of slighted love.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="special_word">Psyche</span>, with a strange emotion,</p> +<p class="i2">Half enraptured, half dismayed,</p> +<p>Just escaped her earthly vesture,</p> +<p class="i2">Trembling greets thy glimmering shade:</p> +<p>Where, O joy! no misty mantle</p> +<p class="i2">Veils her primal purity;</p> +<p>And her immaterial pinions,</p> +<p class="i2">Like an angel’s, wander free.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ha! e’en now o’er paths of roses,</p> +<p class="i2">Glorious shape of light, she sweeps,</p> +<p>Tow’rd the shadow-peopled valley</p> +<p class="i2">Where the sacred Lethe sleeps;</p> +<p>Thither drawn by magic suasion,</p> +<p class="i2">As by gentle spirits led,</p> +<p>Fain she sees the silver billows,</p> +<p class="i2">And their flowery shores outspread.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Kneeling low with sweet foreboding</p> +<p class="i2">Griefs oblivious draught to taste,</p> +<p>Softly shines her trembling image</p> +<p class="i2">In that faithful mirror traced;</p> +<p>As from ocean’s tranquil waters</p> +<p class="i2">Fair the cloudless moon outbeams,</p> +<p>Or from crystal stream reflected</p> +<p class="i2">Hesper’s golden cresset gleams.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Not in vain she quaffs of Lethe;</p> +<p class="i2">For, anon, within the stream</p> +<p>Sinks the night-part of her being,</p> +<p class="i2">Like the phantom of a dream;</p> +<p>And from out the vale of shadows</p> +<p class="i2">Bright she soars on fearless wing,</p> +<p>To the hills whose golden blossoms</p> +<p class="i2">Smile in everlasting spring.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>What an awe-inspiring silence!</p> +<p class="i2">Softer calm than zephyr breathes</p> +<p>Murmurs in the laurel foliage</p> +<p class="i2">And the amaranthine wreaths:</p> +<p>Thus in sacred stillness rested</p> +<p class="i2">Air and wave—in such repose</p> +<p>Slumbered nature, when from ocean</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="special_name">Anadyomene</span> rose.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>What an unaccustomed glory!</p> +<p class="i2">Earth! though fair Aurora be,</p> +<p>Never from her vernal features</p> +<p class="i2">Shone such magic light for thee:</p> +<p>Lo! the ivy’s glossy tendrils</p> +<p class="i2">Bathed in purple lustre gleam,</p> +<p>And the flowers that crown each fountain</p> +<p class="i2">With a starry splendor beam!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thus in silvan wilds the dawning,</p> +<p class="i2">When the modest Cynthia spied</p> +<p>From the skies her sleeping lover,</p> +<p class="i2">And descended to his side;</p> +<p>While the fields were bathed in brightness,</p> +<p class="i2">And in magic tones expressed,</p> +<p>Heavenly greetings murmured sweetly—</p> +<p class="i2">Hail, <span class="special_name">Endymion</span> the blest!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Love's Elysium--> +<div class="article"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>62</span></p> +<h2 class="title">GANGUERNET: OR, ‘A CAPITAL JOKE.’</h2> +<h3 class="byline">TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY JOHN HUNTER.</h3> +<p><span class="first_word">Mine</span> is called Ganguernet: I say mine, for you have all had yours; +every one, at least once in his life-time, has met with one of those little +fat, ruddy, burly men, with straight close-cropped hair, low forehead, +grey eyes, broad nose, puffed-up cheeks, the neck between the shoulders, +the shoulders in the stomach, the stomach upon the legs; a sort of a +Punch figure, rolling, bawling, laughing, hallooing; one of those fellows +who come stealthily behind you, clap their hands on your head, +and cry out suddenly: ‘Who’s this?’ Who pull away your chair at +the moment you are going to sit down; who snatch from you your +handkerchief just when you wish to use it; and who, on these occasions, +when you look at them with an angry air, answer you with a +broad grin, and a stare of imperturbable assurance: ‘<em>A capital joke!</em>’</p> + +<p>You have had yours; and mine is named Ganguernet. My first +acquaintance with him was at Rheims. He was a complete adept in +his profession, and as a regular joke-player, master of all the tricks of +his trade. Well skilled was he in the art of attaching a piece of meat +to the bell-rope of a porter’s lodge, so that all the wandering dogs about +town would snap at the tempting bait, and awaken the mystified domestics +ten times a night. Very expert was he also at cutting tradesmen’s +signs in two pieces, and substituting one for another. On one occasion +he took the sign of a hair-dresser, cut it in two, and added the latter +part to that of one of my neighbours; so that it read as follows: <em>Monsieur +Roblot lets out carriages and false toupées, after the Paris fashion</em>.</p> + +<p>But if M. Ganguernet was not the most agreeable companion in the +city, still less so was he in the country, where indeed his presence, to +me at least, was always a perfect nuisance. He knew how to scatter +the hair, adroitly clipped from a brush, between the sheets of a friend, +so that the victim, before he had been a quarter of an hour in bed, would +become furious with the itching. He would pierce the partition between +two sleeping apartments, so as to pass through it a piece of twine +which he had cunningly fastened to your bed-clothes, and then, when +he found that you were asleep, he would gently pull the string, until the +covering was all drawn down to your feet. You awake half-frozen, for +Ganguernet always chooses a cold damp night for this trick, draw up +the covering, wrap yourself carefully up, and very innocently resume +your slumbers; then Ganguernet, gently pulling his cord, again strips +you naked; again you are benumbed with cold; and when you begin +to utter imprecations in the dark, his detestable voice is heard bawling +through the hole: ‘What a capital joke!’</p> + +<p>Did Ganguernet chance to fall in with one of those simple-minded +individuals, whose countenances invite mystification, he would steal from +him during his sleep his coat and pantaloons, whose dimensions with +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>63</span>needle and thread he would contrive greatly to diminish. He would +then awaken his victim, begging him to dress himself as soon as possible, +and join a hunting-party. The unsuspecting subject of the joke, +thus suddenly roused, would try to put on his pantaloons, but could not +get into them. ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaims Ganguernet, with affected +astonishment; ‘why, what is the matter, my dear Sir?—you are terribly +swollen!’ ‘Am I?’ ‘You are indeed, prodigiously!’ ‘Do you really +mean it?’ ‘I may be mistaken, but come dress yourself, and let us go +down, and see what the others say.’</p> + +<p>‘But I cannot get on my clothes.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! that’s it, you are so puffed up. It must be a thundering attack +of the dropsy!’</p> + +<p>And this would continue, the poor fellow, pale and trembling, in vain +endeavoring to get on his clothes, until the tormentor, with a hideous +chuckle, would come out with his famous sentence: ‘Ha! ha! a capital +joke!’</p> + +<p>There was one of his tricks which appeared to me to be truly abominable. +He played it upon a person reputed to be a brave man, but +who was nevertheless horribly frightened. One night, after getting +snugly into bed, this gentleman felt something cold and slimy along +side of him, he touched it with his foot; it seemed a round elongated +body; he placed his hand upon it; it was a serpent coiled upon itself! +In an ecstacy of terror, he leaped from the bed with a cry of disgust and +horror, when Ganguernet made his appearance, shaking his fat sides +and roaring out: ‘What a capital joke!’ It was an eel-skin filled +with water, that had caused the panic. The enraged gentleman would +have broken the head of the joker, but Ganguernet throwing a pitcher +of water over the sans-culotte sufferer, made his escape, yelling out at +the top of his voice: ‘A capital joke!—a capital joke!’ The master +of the house and his guests came running in at the outcry, and with +much difficulty succeeded in pacifying the mystified individual; assuring +him that Ganguernet, though fond of fun, was in the main a +charming good fellow, a pleasant boon companion, and one without +whom, especially in the country, it was impossible to drive away ennui.</p> + +<p>Our readers may perhaps think with us, that, on the contrary, this +man was one of those insufferable beings who are constantly intruding +upon the pleasures and comforts of others; like a dog in a game of nine-pins, +overturning with his paws all the arrangements of your joys and +sorrows; more insupportable, and more difficult to get rid of than the +dog, they lie in ambush to pounce upon you, and disconcert by a word +or a trick the feelings you may enjoy, or the projects you intend.</p> + +<p>Among characters of this description, there are some whom their +common-place attempts at wit consign to contempt. These performers +confine themselves to vulgar and stale jokes. To thrust the head through +the paper window-pane of a cobbler, and ask him the address of a minister +of finances, or an archbishop; to stretch a cord across a staircase, +so as to cause those who descend to take, in the words of a punster, a +<em>voyage sur la rein</em>, or ‘a voyage upon the Rhine;’ to wake up a notary +in the middle of the night, and send him in great haste to draw up a +will for a client, whom he finds in good health; these and a thousand +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>64</span>other silly pranks of the same nature, are the stock in trade of a jester; +and no one knew them better than did Ganguernet.</p> + +<p>He had, moreover, invented some original tricks, which had given +him a colossal reputation among the admirers of this branch of the fine +arts. The only truly witty one I ever knew him to perpetrate, took +place at a country-house where a large party of us were assembled. +Among the guests, Ganguernet had singled out a lady of some thirty +years, rather fantastic in her manners and appearance, who was doatingly +fond of Parisian elegance, and who preferred the pale face of a +well-looking youth of rather shallow intellect, to the coarse, purple visage +of Ganguernet. Our humourist endeavored in vain to render this +youth ridiculous in the eyes of the lady, who regarded his simplicity as +a poetical absence of mind, and his credulity as an indication of sincerity +and honest good faith. One evening, after a brisk defence of the +pale-faced youth on the part of the lady, which was listened to by Ganguernet +with a patience and a peculiar expression of the eye which +boded no good, we had all retired to our apartments. In about half +an hour, the house resounded with loud outcries of ‘fire! fire!’ which +seemed to proceed from the hall upon the ground-floor. Every one +hastened thither, men and women half-dressed, or half-undressed, which +ever you please. They entered pell-mell, candlestick in hand, and +there found Ganguernet stretched upon a sofa. To the reiterated questions +that were put him as to the cause of the clamor, he answered not +a word; but taking the pale-faced young man by the hand in a very +solemn manner, and leading him up to the fine lady, gravely said to +her: ‘I have the honor, Madam, of presenting to you the most poetic +genius of the company in a cotton night-cap.’ We all burst into a shout +of laughter, but the lady never forgave Ganguernet, nor the cotton +night-cap.</p> + +<p>All the jokes which Ganguernet played, however, were not prompted +by vengeance; a spirit of fun merely being the grand principle of most +of his tricks. Before we come to the occurrence which showed this +man to me in his true colors, I must relate a few more of the humorous +pranks in which he took the greatest pride. Opposite his residence at +Rennes there dwelt a worthy pair of venerable citizens, who were the +sole occupants of a small house, which was their only possession. +Once a week this honest couple were in the habit of dining, and having +a little game of piquet with a relation, who resided at some distance +from their abode. On these occasions they were usually regaled with +curds and whey, which they moistened with sparkling cider; and not +unfrequently a bowl of punch concluded the repast; so that the worthy +pair commonly returned home about eleven o’clock, singing and staggering +along in a state of happy elevation.</p> + +<p>On a certain fatal Sunday evening, these good folks returned to their +abode, both of them pretty much, ‘how came you so.’ They arrived +at the door of their next neighbour, which they recognized, and then +proceeded on ten paces farther, which was just the distance to their own +door. The husband, after fumbling in his pocket for the key of the +street-door, pulled it out, and sought the key-hole; but no key-hole was +to be found. ‘What has become of the key-hole?’ cried he. ‘You +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>65</span>have drank too much cider, Monsieur Larquet,’ said his wife; ‘you +are looking for the key-hole, and we are still before the wall of neighbour +Bompart.’</p> + +<p>‘That is true,’ replied Monsieur Larquet; ‘we must go a few paces +farther.’ They walked on; but this time they went too far, for as they +had before recognized the door of their right-hand neighbor, they now +found themselves in front of that of their neighbor on the left hand. +Their own door ought to be between these two doors. They return, +groping along the wall until they come to a door, which to their consternation +they again find to be that of their right-hand neighbor! The +honest couple become alarmed about the soundness of their wits, and +begin to suspect that they must certainly both be tipsy. They recommence +their inspections from the door of their neighbor on the right, +and again come to the door of their neighbor on the left. They constantly +find these two doors, but not a vestige of their own: their door +has disappeared—vanished! Who could have taken away their door? +Terror seizes them; they ask each other if they have become demented; +and dreading the ridicule which would be cast upon honest citizens +who could not find their own street-door, they grope about for more than +an hour, feeling, poking, inspecting, measuring; but alas! there is no +door; there is nothing but a wall, an unknown wall, an implacable +wall, a desperate wall! At length, terror completely overpowers them; +they utter loud cries, and call lustily for assistance. The neighbors +are attracted by the noise, and after some time, it is ascertained that +the door of the distracted couple has been carefully bricked up, and +plastered over; and when all are trying to discover who could have +played such a pitiful trick upon these honest people, Ganguernet, +who from an opposite window, in company with some kindred spirits, +had been enjoying the tribulation and despair of Monsieur and Madame +Larquet, Ganguernet shouts out his everlasting refrain: ‘A capital +joke!’ But, answered the neighbors, these poor folks will take their +death of cold.</p> + +<p>‘Bah!’ replies he; ‘a capital joke!’</p> + +<p>The incensed neighbors petitioned the king’s attorney to moderate +Monsieur Ganguernet’s strong inclination to play his mischievous +pranks; and the magistrate sent our hero to prison for some days, in +spite of his skilful defence, which consisted in incessantly repeating: +‘A capital joke!—what a capital joke, Mr. Magistrate!’</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding his excessive vanity, Ganguernet did not, however, +make boast of all his exploits; and there was one, the authorship of +which he constantly denied, possibly in consequence of a threat that +was held out of cutting off the author’s ears, should he be detected. +The trick in question was prompted by the contempt in which he was +held in a certain aristocratic circle; and the subject was no less a personage +than an ancient dame of high birth, and great pretensions, who +mingled in the most fashionable society of Rennes.</p> + +<p>Among other customs of the old school, which this lady retained, +were the following: First, that of never mixing in the society of those +of plebeian descent, such as Ganguernet: and secondly; that of always +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>66</span>being carried in a sedan-chair by porters, when she went abroad. One +evening she went to a ball, given by the first president of the court of +assizes, a ball at which Ganguernet was also present. She left about +midnight, carried as usual in her sedan-chair through a pelting shower +of rain. At the moment she got under one of those loop-holes in the +eaves-gutters, through which the rain pours down into the street in long +dashing cascades, two or three shrill whistles were heard on the right +and left hand. Immediately four men in masks made their appearance, +at sight of whom the porters, abandoning their charge, took to their +heels; but at the moment when the noble dame believed herself on the +point of being assassinated, a terrible dash of cold water upon her head +took away her breath, and almost deprived her of consciousness. The +top of the chair had disappeared as if by magic, and the gutter poured +its contents directly into the vehicle, the occupant of which in vain attempted +to force open the door. She beat and thumped against it with +fury, mounted the seat, and like an incarnate fiend, invoked the divine +wrath upon the vile miscreants, who were giving her such a cruel +shower-bath; and who only replied to her invectives by profound bows, +and the most humble salutations. The worst part of this wicked trick +was, that the lady wore hair-powder, and the mystifiers carried umbrellas.</p> + +<p>My acquaintance with Ganguernet continued about ten years. In +the low and vulgar circles of society which he was fond of frequenting, +he was held up as the most jovial, the best-natured, and the most +amusing fellow in the world; although there were some, whose sense +of propriety and moral feelings were not entirely destroyed, who held +him in merited contempt. For my own part, I always had a dread of +the man. That odious smile, forever hanging on those large red lips, +singularly annoyed me; that imperturbable gayety, exhibited on all occasions +of life, troubled me like the constant presence of a hideous +phantom; that phrase, which he appended like a moral to every thing +he did, that detested phrase, ‘A capital joke,’ sounded in my ears as +doleful and sombre as the Trappists’ motto, ‘<em>Brother, we must die</em>!’</p> + +<p>There was a fatality about the man; and it was destined that a life +should be sacrificed to his mad propensity for mischief. A day came, +on which his famous words, ‘A capital joke!’ was to be pronounced +over a tomb.</p> + +<p>On the eve of my departure from Rennes, some friends invited me to +join a hunting-party, of which I learned that Ganguernet was to make +one. This name took from me in advance half the pleasure I had anticipated. +I however repaired early in the morning to the house of one +of our friends, Ernest de B——. On my arrival I found Ganguernet +there with some others of the party. Ernest had just finished a letter, +which he sealed, directed, and placed upon the chimney-piece. Ganguernet, +in his usual inquisitive and impertinent manner, took it up, and +read the direction. ‘Ah ha!’ said he; ‘so you correspond with your +pretty cousin, do you?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ said Ernest, with an air of indifference; ‘I have informed +her that we intend visiting her chateau this evening, at about seven +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>67</span>o’clock, to take dinner there. There are fifteen of us I think, and we +shall run some risk of having but poor fare, if she does not get timely +notice.’</p> + +<p>Ernest rang for a servant, and gave him the letter, without any of us +noticing that Ganguernet disappeared for a moment with him. We set +off on our expedition. While engaged in the chase, it so happened that +Ganguernet and myself took one side of the plain on which we were +hunting, while the rest of the party pursued their sport on the other.</p> + +<p>‘We shall have some fun this evening,’ said he to me.</p> + +<p>‘How so?’ replied I.</p> + +<p>‘Would you believe it? I have given a louis to the servant that he +should not carry the letter to its address.’</p> + +<p>‘And have you taken it?’</p> + +<p>‘No, pardieu! I told him we were going to have a little joke this +evening, and that he must carry the letter to the lady’s husband. He +is sitting this moment as president of the court of assizes, and when he +finds that he is going to have fifteen stout fellows, with keen appetites, +at his house this evening, he will be in a devil of a rage. He is as +miserly as Harpagon; and the idea of our laying his kitchen and wine-cellar +under contribution will put him in such a humor, that he will +have no scruple in condemning a dozen innocent men, so that he may +reach his country-house in time to prevent the pillage.’</p> + +<p>‘If this is the case,’ said I to Ganguernet, ‘it seems to me to be a +very malicious jest.’</p> + +<p>‘Bah! a capital joke! And the best of it will be when we all arrive +at the chateau. The others, ravenous with hunger and thirst, will expect +to find there an excellent supper. But there will be nothing—absolutely +nothing!’</p> + +<p>‘And do you think, Sir,’ replied I, ‘that this will be any pleasanter +to me than to the rest of the party? And you yourself, will you not be +one of the principal dupes of your frolic?’</p> + +<p>‘Let me alone for that! Look you here; I’ve got a cold fowl and +a bottle of Bordeaux in my game-bag, and you shall have half.’</p> + +<p>‘I thank you,’ said I, ‘but I had rather find Ernest, and notify him of +your trick.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! good heavens! my dear Sir,’ said Ganguernet, ‘you cannot +take a joke.’</p> + +<p>I left him, and apprising our friends of the affair, inquired where I +could find Ernest. I was told that he had gone in the direction of the +chateau of his cousin, toward which I proceeded, intending to give +Madame de L—— notice of the trick of Ganguernet. At a turn of the +road I perceived Ernest at a distance, going toward the chateau. I increased +my speed in order to overtake him, and made so much haste +that I arrived almost at the same moment with him, so that he had just +passed the gate as I reached it. As I was about entering, the gate was +violently pulled to, and immediately I heard the report of a pistol, and +then a voice cried out: ‘Villain! since I have missed you, defend +yourself!’</p> + +<p>I hastily sprang to a grating in the wall, about the height of my head, +which opened into the court-yard, and there witnessed a frightful spectacle. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>68</span>The husband, sword in hand, was attacking Ernest with desperate +fury. ‘Ah! you love her and she loves you!’ cried he, in a +voice hoarse with passion; ‘you love her, do you? and she loves you! +Your turn first, and then hers!’</p> + +<p>The letter from Ernest to his cousin, conveyed by the malicious interference +of Ganguernet to her husband, had apprised him of a secret +which had remained hidden for more than four years; and before redressing +the wrongs of society as a magistrate, the president of the +court had hastened to avenge his own as a husband.</p> + +<p>In vain I cried, in vain I called by name the two cousins. Monsieur de +L—— with blind fury drove Ernest from one corner of the court to +another. Suddenly a window opened, and Madame de L——, pale, +with dishevelled hair, and terror painted on her countenance, appeared.</p> + +<p>‘Leonie!’ cried Ernest, ‘withdraw!’</p> + +<p>‘No! let her remain!’ exclaimed Monsieur de L——, ‘she is a +prisoner; you need not fear that she will come to separate us.’ And +he again rushed upon his cousin with such fury that the fire flew from +their swords.</p> + +<p>‘It is I—it is <em>I</em> who deserve death!’ cried Madame de L——; ‘kill +<em>me</em>!’</p> + +<p>I added my cries to theirs. I shouted, I shook the grating. I tried +to scale the wall, when suddenly, urged on by despair, bewildered, distracted, +Madame de L—— threw herself from the window and fell +between her lover and her husband. The latter, completely beside +himself with passion, directed his sword toward her. But Ernest turned +it aside, and in his turn casting off all restraint, exclaimed with vehemence: +‘Madman! would you kill her? Well, then—defend yourself!’ +And immediately he commenced a violent assault upon his antagonist.</p> + +<p>I could do nothing to separate them; neither could Madame de +L——. The unfortunate woman had broken a limb in the fall, and +lay groaning upon the pavement. It was a dreadful combat. Nothing +can express the violent terror which seized me. Already the blood of +the two cousins began to flow, which only served to increase their rage. +I had succeeded with some difficulty in climbing to the top of the wall, +and was about to leap into the court, when I perceived some of our +friends approaching. Ganguernet was at their head; he drew near, +calling to me:</p> + +<p>‘Halloo! what’s this? Why, you bawl like a man getting flayed; +we heard you a quarter of a league off. What the devil is the matter?’</p> + +<p>At the sight of this detested wretch, I rushed upon him, seized him +by the throat, and forcing him violently against the grating, I cried to +him in my turn: ‘Look there, miserable jester!—‘a capital joke!’ is +it not?—a ‘capital joke!”</p> + +<p>Monsieur de L——, pierced through the heart by a plunge of his +antagonist’s sword, was lying by the side of his wife.</p> + +<p>Ernest has left France to die in a foreign land. Madame de L—— +committed suicide the day after this horrible duel.</p> + +<p class="punchline">‘A CAPITAL JOKE!’</p> + +</div><!--A Captial Joke!--> +<div class="article"> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>69</span> +<h2 class="title">APOSTROPHE TO AN OLD HAT.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">BY JOHN G. SAXE.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Come</span> forth, Old Hat! I’ll pluck thee from the ditch,</p> +<p>Where thou hadst well nigh found a grave, ‘unwept,</p> +<p>Unhonor’d and unsung.’ I’ll rescue thee</p> +<p>A moment longer from oblivion,</p> +<p>Albeit thou art old, bereaved of rim,</p> +<p>And like a prince dethroned, no more canst boast</p> +<p>A crown!</p> +<p class="i10">Would thou couldst talk! I’d e’en consent</p> +<p>That thou shouldst steal my prating grandame’s tongue,</p> +<p>And so procure her silence and thy history.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Time-worn, adust, degraded as thou art,</p> +<p>Thine ancient quality doth still appear;</p> +<p>And this fine web, malgré thy present mien,</p> +<p>(A batter’d cylinder of dingy brown,)</p> +<p>Proclaims that once, some dozen years ago,</p> +<p>Thou wert a good and fashionable hat.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Perchance thou first wert perch’d right jauntily</p> +<p>A-top some dandy’s poll; a most convenient block</p> +<p>To keep thee in good shape, and serve beside</p> +<p>One purpose more—to advertise thy brethren.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Mayhap a lawyer, in thy pristine years</p> +<p>And his, with thy possession much enhanced</p> +<p>His meagre sum of personal estate;</p> +<p>And, in phrase professional, call’d thee ‘chattel’—</p> +<p>A vile distinction for a beaver hat!</p> +<p>A lawyer’s hat!—alack! what teeming store-house oft</p> +<p>Of mischiefs dire; ill-boding parchment; ‘writs,’</p> +<p>With hieroglyphics mystical inscribed;</p> +<p>Invention curious of graceless men,</p> +<p>And in sad mock’ry named ‘the grace of God!’</p> +<p>What mighty ‘suits at law,’ begot and born</p> +<p>Within thy strait enclosure, yet survive</p> +<p>Thy tenth successor! And what mighty ‘suits</p> +<p>In chancery,’ (so named from <span class="special_name">Chance</span>, who sits</p> +<p>Alternate there and in the legal courts,)</p> +<p>Still flourish, endless as the heap of words</p> +<p>Which mark the spot where Justice lies entomb’d!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Perhaps at first thou wert allow’d to crown</p> +<p>The ‘honorable’ head of some grave senator;</p> +<p>Or judge astute; or member of ‘the other</p> +<p>House;’ pregnant perforce with weighty matters;</p> +<p>‘Petitions’ humbly praying to abolish</p> +<p>Slavery and ‘hard times.’ ‘Bills’ to promote</p> +<p>The better culture of morality</p> +<p>And morus multicaulis! Mayhap a brief</p> +<p>And formal letter to a brother member,</p> +<p>In courteous phrase requesting leave to shoot him.</p> +<p>‘Notes,’ ‘Resolutions,’ ‘Speeches’ of vast length,</p> +<p>And just adapted to produce what thou</p> +<p>Hast wanted many a year—a decent <em>nap</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Perchance an editor, by some mysterious accident</p> +<p>Made passing rich with five-and-forty shillings,</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>70</span>First bore thee off in triumph; ’tis pity then</p> +<p>Thou canst not speak; else should we hear</p> +<p>Of much before unpublished; of countless ‘bills’</p> +<p>Unpaid; of libels prudently suppress’d;</p> +<p>Of ‘Stanzas’ much, of ‘Lines’ innumerable;</p> +<p>And love-sick ‘Songs’ to goddesses mundane,</p> +<p>All wickedly committed to the Persian’s god!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thou mayst have crown’d a parson, and couldst tell,</p> +<p>If thou hadst power of verbal utterance,</p> +<p>Of ‘the divinity that stirred within thee’</p> +<p>In shape of sermons; faithful or smooth-tongued,</p> +<p>As he who wrote them chanced to covet most</p> +<p>The smile of God or man. A lover’s hat</p> +<p>Thou surely wert, (since all men love,</p> +<p>Who have a head,) and oft no doubt hast given</p> +<p>To scented billet-doux and amorous rhymes</p> +<p>Thy friendly guardianship; secure from aught</p> +<p>Save lifting winds and porter’s curious eye.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>At second-hand ’tis ten to one thou wert</p> +<p>A Jew’s possession, got in honest barter;</p> +<p>Next, John the ostler’s; last of all, past doubt</p> +<p>A vagrant’s hat; the equitable purchase</p> +<p>Of an ill-sung song. Till quite worn out</p> +<p>With rain, and wind, and sleet, and other ‘ills</p> +<p>Thy race is heir to,’ the beggar cast thee</p> +<p>From his plebeian pate—and here thou liest.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="location">St. Alban’s, Vermont.</span></p> +</div><!--Apostrophe to a Hat--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">THE COUNTRY.</h2> +<p><span class="first_word">There</span> is something very pleasant in the country, particularly about +Thanksgiving-time, when families gather together from north, south, +east and west, around the huge roast turkey, and many pairs of jaws +masticate vigorously in gratitude for blessings received. At this season +of the year the bird which was fortunate enough to excite the enthusiasm +of Brillat-Savarin, and to be the theme of many chapters in his +immortal ‘Physiologie,’ is the emblem of our republic. A bald eagle +indeed! Who ever heard of a roast eagle? But a turkey:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘The state of a fat turkey, the decorum</p> +<p>He marches in with, all the train and circumstance!</p> +<p>’Tis such a matter, such a glorious matter!</p> +<p>And then his sauce with oranges and onions;</p> +<p>And he displayed in all parts! for such a dish now,</p> +<p>And at my need, I would betray my father.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>What native American does not respond <em>Amen!</em> from the depths of +his stomach to these appetizing verses of Beamount and Fletcher? But +higher far rises the gastronomic phrenzy of the Travelled, who have +known the bird, grand in his stuffing of chestnuts, sublime when swelling +with the bliss-bringing truffle!</p> +<p>And the country is at all seasons a pleasant idea, if properly considered; +but beware of the man of one idea, if that one be Country, as you +would of the <i>homo unius libri</i>. If you cannot distinguish timothy from +clover, and beets from carrots; if, agriculturally speaking, you don’t +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>71</span>‘know beans;’ he will annihilate you with his rural wisdom. For his +whole existence is in the soil. He worships things under the earth. +Dust he is, and to dust he shall return; (the sooner the better!) He +prattles of potatoes, talks of turnips, harangues about horse-radish, knows +no composition except compost. Speak to him of manners, and he will +answer of manures. Like the Egyptians, he worships a bull; and has +all the fondness of Pythagoras for beans. His only literature is Liebig’s +Animal Chemistry; his lighter reading, the Cultivator and the +New-England Farmer.</p> +<p>Such an one was whilom a citizen with protruding abdomen and white +cravat, who having realized a something in business, exchanges the +counter for the country; buys his acre or two, erects his manor-house, +with a grass-plat in front and a tree or two behind; and with a +little straw hat on his head, a linen coat on his back, and a hoe in his +hand, saunters around his limited possessions, as leisurely and as frequently +as an old horse in a mill, perfectly content with his place, his +plans, and himself.</p> +<p>Call not upon him unless with double-soled boots and strapless trowsers; +and choose a cool day for the visit, if it must be made; for not +over ‘hill and dale,’ but over rock and gully you must march; through +ploughed land and through weeds, through bowers of grape-vines and +<i>bosquets</i> of Lima beans; scratched by the thorns of the gooseberry +and brushed by the long dew-covered leaves of the Indian corn. Numberless +shrubs from a foot to eighteen inches in height he will point out to +you, and name them with long names: ‘This is the Prota Goras,’ ‘and +that the Demo Creitus;’ shrubs which, if you had encountered them +when alone, you might have eradicated as weeds, in a moment of generous +activity. And when muddy, breathless and dripping, you reach +the highest point of his possessions, he will wave his hand majestically +over some twenty feet of grass, and pointing to three trees and a white +fence in the <em>distance</em>, talk of scenery!</p> +<p>Nevertheless, convinced as we are that the taste for country-places +is on the increase, we think it advisable to suggest a few hints for the +instruction of the aspirants after rural felicity. Saratoga and the like +are no longer indispensable places of resort, but it <em>is</em> indispensable to be +out of town for three months of the year, if you would not be out of +fashion during the remaining nine. Select then a bare and stony spot, +for as your object is employment, the more improvements you can make +the better you will be pleased, as you take it for granted of course that +improvements cost almost nothing. On the highest part of this ground +you will build your house: an airy situation is invaluable in warm +weather; and then a view is so desirable. In the choice of a style of +architecture some difficulty arises. You may either have a clap-board +Parthenon, with Corinthian columns in front and Doric columns in the +rear, painted white, to flash back the rays of the sun, or which is perhaps +more fashionable, a Gothic cottage, with steep roof, rustic pillars, +fantastic barge-boards, and numerous pinnacles painted brown, with oak-stained +doors. This style looks well in the situation we have described; +the absence of trees bringing out more fully the beauties of the architecture. +It is attended with one or two inconveniences; scarcely however, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>72</span>worth mentioning: Gothic windows always leak, and the sloping +roof makes the second story a little <em>ovenish</em> in temperature, and <em>garrety</em> +in smell. Whichever of the two styles you adopt, you must not fail to +refer your plans to some bustling little architect, who will be sure to +write articles about himself in one of the weeklies, and will probably +give a drawing of your house, and call you the ‘intelligent, gentlemanly, +and high-minded proprietor.’ After you have removed the stones, +manured the ground, and planted grass, you will have a lawn; and after +you have dug deep holes and set out tall thin consumptive trees, you +have a wood. Secure the whole with white fences; throw rustic bridges +over the <em>impassable</em> streams; sprinkle red dahlias and tiger-lilies here +and there; buy a bull-dog to set on any small child who may be reckless +enough to trespass; and lo! you have a country-seat as well as a +town-house, and can invite your city friends to fill your one spare room +in regular rotation.</p> +<p>In the important matter of a name, you must decide for yourself; +but surely with Walter Scott and Lord Byron and the innumerable +<em>What-d’ye-call-’em</em> dales, <em>Thingumbob</em> brooks, and <em>So-and-so</em> woods, to +choose from, you can have no difficulty in fixing upon a suitable one.</p> +<p>But, says an amateur rustic, I have no fondness for floriculture, horticulture, +or agriculture; what am I to do? Buy a horse, and take a +gallop of some twenty miles or so, and if the horse does not shy you off, +or bolt you off, or kick you off, and you do not fall off, or he does not fall +under you, you will probably arrive at home safe; but as you walk from +the stable to the house, you will quote from George Colman’s parody of +the Lady of the Lake:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Hunter rest, for thou must own</p> +<p><em>Leather lost</em> and empty belly,’ etc.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Have you a fondness for fire-arms? Then procure a gun and dog, +and sally forth before day-light. Walk five miles through swamp and +thicket without starting a bird. Sky cloudless; heat intense. Suddenly +dog’s tail begins to beat half-seconds; up whirrs a bird, who is out of +sight in a moment; so is the dog, who indulges in an animated chase. +You shout yourself hoarse; at length succeed in catching dog, and try to +thresh him with decayed sticks. A little while after, dog comes to a +point again. This time he stands beautifully. You walk slowly up, +trembling with excitement, both barrels cocked. Why don’t the bird +get up? You glance inquiringly around, and at length discern a +wood-turtle fast asleep near the stump of a tree. Then, if an irascible +man, you curse. So passes the day. Now and then a bird springs; off +fly both of your barrels, aimed at vacancy, and hurling showers of +No. 8 into space; and you arrive at home late in the afternoon, sore-footed +from much travel and stiffness of boots, and alas! without a feather +except a small quail which your dog caught in his mouth.</p> +<p>No more shooting? Try fishing then. Sit all day on a rock watching +your float, or cork, or <i>dobber</i>, as the Dutch boys call it, dance merrily +over the waves, occasionally disappearing under the surface, when +the hook catches a weed. Does not even this suit you? Then, dear +friend, buy a boat of from four to six tons burthen, properly rigged and +ballasted; also buy a red shirt, a small low-crowned straw hat, some +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>73</span>tar to smear over your hands, and learn the first stanza of ‘The sea! the +sea!’ to make every thing seem more nautical and ship-shape. Hoist +jib and mainsail, and venture out. After you have drifted a mile or +two, it will fall a dead calm, and the boat (Gazelle? Wave? Gull?) +will float two or three hours, the sun flashing back from the glassy surface +of the water, burning your face to the color of bricks, and almost +frying the eyes out of your head. Then is the time to sing ‘The sea! the +sea!’ and to take some Monongahela to still the qualmishness you begin to +experience. At length the wind rises, and your boat, after many <i>yawings</i>, +dashes away before it. Suddenly, without any voluntary or visible +agency on your part, the main-boom sweeps from one side to the other, +carrying your hat overboard in its passage, and dipping the gunwale deep +under water. Agitated by this significant gesture, you steer straight +for the wharf. In attempting to round-to, the bowsprit comes in contact +with the piles and renounces its allegiance to the bow. The boat drifts +away from the landing, and finally deposits you high and dry on the +beach.</p> +<p>What! Disgusted with this, too? Then take our advice, and like +a reasonable man, stay in town.</p> +</div><!--The Country--> +<div class="article"> +<h2 class="title">TO AN EVENING CLOUD.</h2> +<h3 class="byline">BY A YOUNG LADY.</h3> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Thou</span> beautiful cloud, a glorious hue is thine!</p> +<p>I cannot think, as thy bright dyes appear</p> +<p>To my enraptured gaze, that thou wert born</p> +<p>Of Evening’s exhalations: more sublime,</p> +<p>Light-giver! is thy birth-place, than of earth.</p> +<p>Wert thou not formed to herald in the day,</p> +<p>And clothe a world in thy unborrowed light?</p> +<p>Or art thou but a harbinger of rains</p> +<p>To budding May?—or in thy subtle screen</p> +<p>Nursest the lightnings that affright the world?</p> +<p>Or wert thou born of th’ thin aërial mist</p> +<p>That shades the sea, or shrouds the mountain’s brow?</p> +<p>Whate’er thou art, I gaze on thee with joy.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Spread thy wings o’er the empyrean, and away</p> +<p>Fleetly athwart the untravelled wilds of space,</p> +<p>To where the Sun-light sheds his earliest beams,</p> +<p>And blaze the stars, that vision vainly scans</p> +<p>In distant regions of the universe!</p> +<p>Tell me, Air-wanderer! in what burning zone</p> +<p>Thou wilt appear, when from the azure vault</p> +<p>Of our high heaven thy majesty shall fade;</p> +<p>Tell me, winged Vapor! where hath been thy home</p> +<p>Through the unchangeable serene of noon?</p> +<p>Whate’er thy garniture, where’er thy course,</p> +<p>Would I could follow thee in thy far flight,</p> +<p>When the south wind of eve is low and soft,</p> +<p>And my thought rises to the mighty source</p> +<p>Of all sublimity! O fleeting cloud,</p> +<p>Would I were with thee in the solemn night!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="sign"><span class="author">B.</span></p> +</div><!--To an Evening Cloud--> +<div class="department"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>74</span></p> +<h2 class="title">LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> +<p class="work_reviewed"><span class="special_name">History of the Conquest of Mexico</span>, with a Preliminary View of the Ancient Mexican Civilization, +and the Life of the Conqueror, <span class="special_name">Hernando Cortes</span>. By <span class="special_name">William H. Prescott</span>. In three +volumes. New-York: <span class="special_name">Harper and Brothers</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="first_word">We</span> have awaited the appearance of these very elegant volumes with deep and anxious +interest. The ability, industry and taste which the author displayed in his ‘History of +Ferdinand and Isabella,’ which won for him a noble reputation in the most cultivated states +of Europe, still more endeared his name to his own countrymen, and led them to look, with +the highest hope and the most pleasant anticipations, to the future efforts of his elegant and +fascinating pen. We have for some time known that he was assiduously engaged in collecting +materials, and preparing from them a history of the famous Conquest of Mexico; +an event which, although of a very splendid and romantic character, was still but +vaguely known, even in accomplished and well-informed literary circles. The facts relating +to it were nowhere recorded in an authentic and connected form; for it has not been +until within the last fifty years that the attention of historians and general scholars has +been turned in this direction. The labors of Spanish antiquarians since that time, conducted +as they have been with great skill and industry, and under the supervision and encouragement +of the government itself, have been abundantly rewarded; and a vast number of original +documents have been accumulated in the public and private libraries, which shed floods +of light upon all historical events connected with the conquests of Spanish armies, or the +discoveries of Spanish fleets, and have thus placed within the reach of writers at the present +day materials for lack of which even the able histories of <span class="special_name">Robertson</span> and his contemporaries +became meagre and unattractive. The historians of our era are making the best +possible use of these copious and invaluable collections. The first result of their efforts was +<span class="special_name">Washington Irving’s</span> magnificent ‘Life of <span class="special_name">Columbus</span>,’ one of the most polished and +perfect works of its class in the English language, and which has done as much for American +literature abroad as it has for its eminent author at home. Then followed <span class="special_name">Prescott’s</span> +‘Ferdinand and Isabella,’ pronounced by the best critics on both sides the Atlantic to be +one of the most interesting and valuable histories ever published: and here we have, in his +‘History of the Conquest of Mexico,’ drawn from the same rich source, a work eminently +worthy to succeed its brilliant and most ‘illustrious predecessors.’</p> + +<p>Within the limits which restrain us, we can of course do nothing more than intimate very +vaguely the general character and scope of this great work; nor are we sure that even this +is not quite a useless labor, as it must find its way at once into the library of every literary +gentleman throughout the country, and be read with the greatest avidity by men of every +class. One of the most valuable portions of the history is the extended view which Mr. +<span class="special_name">Prescott</span> has presented, at the opening of the work, of the character and civilization of the +ancient inhabitants of Mexico. The Spaniards conquered no tribe of untutored savages, +roaming, in the wild lawlessness of the aborigines of our section of the western continent, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>75</span>over the sunny plains and smiling fields of Anahuac: they found a people there who, +centuries before the discovery of the western world by Columbus, possessed the arts of +civilization, and had reached a point of intellectual and moral culture in many respects surpassing +that of the most renowned nations of the other world. We are surprised to find the +high degree of refinement which they had reached. The sciences, especially of mathematics +and astronomy, were understood to a degree of nicety scarcely attained by the Romans +in their palmiest days. Their political organization was of a wonderfully perfect character; +and their laws, and especially the organization of the judiciary, the department by +which they were to be interpreted and administered, were stamped by a clear insight into +the nature of moral obligation, and the mutual duties and rights of the members of society, +which strike us with the utmost astonishment. Their mythology, with the single exception +of the sanction it gives to human sacrifices, indicates a much nearer approach to a +knowledge of the true God than the popular faith of the Greeks or Romans; and sentiments +are recorded as having been uttered by a prince of the Tezcucan tribe, guided solely by +the light of his own indwelling reason, which were worthy of Plato or of any sage that has +ever lived, unenlightened by the hopes of revelation on which Christians build their faith. +The history of such a people, dwelling centuries ago upon our own continent, shrouded as +it has heretofore been in darkness and vague uncertainty, under the lucid and brilliant pen +of Mr. <span class="special_name">Prescott</span> becomes more attractive than any offspring of the fancy or imaginative +fiction could possibly be. This preliminary sketch occupies nearly half of the first volume; +and we have never read any similar effort of the same extent with equal gratification.</p> + +<p>We can of course give no outline of the main portion of the work, the history of the +train of events by which the whole Mexican empire fell into the hands of the conquering +Spaniard. It is one of the most romantic narratives which ever bore the seal of truth. Its +prominent actors are men of eminent genius, who performed exploits worthy the greatest captains +of Europe or Asia; and the history of their lives abounds with interest and instruction. +Mr. <span class="special_name">Prescott</span> has a most happy historical style, glowing with all the warmth and shining +with a far more substantial brilliancy than that of <span class="special_name">Bancroft</span>; and blending the strict truth +of accurate narrative with the free flow of a fine imagination, all under the control of an +exquisite taste, with more success than that of any other American writer, <span class="special_name">Irving</span> perhaps +alone excepted. The authorities upon which he relies for his facts are uniformly +given in notes, and the fullest information is presented in the same form, on all points which +concern the accuracy and completeness of the work. We read the following passage in our +author’s preface with profound regret: ‘For one thing, I may reasonably ask the reader’s indulgence. +Owing to the state of my eyes, I have been obliged to use a writing-case made for +the blind, which does not permit the writer to see his own manuscript; nor have I ever corrected, +or even read, my own original draft.’ Mr. <span class="special_name">Prescott</span> may well consider this as an +ample excuse for any errors of typography; of which, by the way, we have not discovered +even one. We were already aware, on the best authority, that <span class="special_name">Washington Irving</span> had +prepared to take up the ground so ably occupied by our author; a fact to which Mr. Prescott +alludes in the following graceful terms:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>‘It was not till I had become master of my rich collection of materials, that I was acquainted with +this circumstance; and had he persevered in his design, I should unhesitatingly have abandoned my +own, if not from courtesy, at least from policy; for though armed with the weapons of Achilles, this +could give me no hope of success in a competition with Achilles himself. But no sooner was that distinguished +writer informed of the preparations I had made, than with the gentlemanly spirit which will +surprise no one who has the pleasure of his acquaintance, he instantly announced to me his intention of +leaving the subject open to me. While I do but justice to Mr. <span class="special_name">Irving</span> by this statement, I feel the +prejudice it does to myself in the unavailing regret I am exciting in the bosom of the reader.’</p> +</div> + +<p>We cannot take leave of this splendid book without making mention of the truly elegant +style in which it has been issued by its liberal publishers. It yields in no respect to the +finest issue of the Boston, and we had almost added, of the London press. The three volumes +are large octavo, of about five hundred pages each, containing elegant portraits and +illustrative maps; and yet the whole is sold for six dollars!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>76</span></p> + +<p class="work_reviewed"><span class="special_name">The Æneid of Virgil, with English Notes, Critical and Explanatory</span>; a Metrical Clavis +and an Historical, Geographical and Mythological Index. By <span class="special_name">Charles Anthon</span>, LL. D. New-York: +<span class="special_name">Harper and Brothers</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="first_word">The</span> cause of sound classical education in America is more deeply indebted to Professor +<span class="special_name">Anthon</span> than to any other scholar in the country; and the debt of gratitude already incurred +is almost daily increased by the unwearied efforts of this distinguished linguist. +Beside the voluminous and unequalled Dictionaries which he has compiled and published, +he has in course of preparation a series of the most popular Latin authors, in which his +principal aim is to adapt them to the use of scholars in our academies and higher schools. +Another volume of this series, containing the Æneid, has just been issued. It is usually +among the earliest Latin works placed in the pupil’s hands, and yet there are few which +require a more intimate and extended acquaintance with Roman history, domestic habits, +mythology, geography, and indeed with every thing relating to the Romans as a nation and +society, in order to a perfect understanding of its character, and a genuine relish of its beauties, +than this. We doubt the policy, or propriety indeed, of placing in the hands of those +who are learning the elements of a foreign <em>language</em>, poems of an elaborate and elevated +character for text-books. No one, for the purpose of learning English, would take up <span class="special_name">Milton’s</span> +Paradise Lost before the Vicar of Wakefield or <span class="special_name">Bunyan’s</span> Pilgrim’s Progress; for aside +from the fact that he would not thus be introduced to the simple dialect of ordinary life, its +classical and doctrinal allusions, its technical terms, and the profound knowledge of men, of +books, and of nature which it embraces, would render it almost a sealed volume to any but +those who have already become cultivated and accomplished scholars. And although the +case is materially different in learning the ancient languages, since the object is not to speak +or write them, but to become familiar with the great works which are written in them, it would +be unwise if not useless to teach a pupil to read <span class="special_name">Virgil</span> without at the same time providing +him with the means of thoroughly understanding and appreciating his poetry. For these he +is usually dependent upon the verbal expositions of his teacher, who, even if he chance to +be well qualified for the task, seldom has sufficient time for its proper discharge.</p> + +<p>Many attempts have been made to supply this want, and some of them have been attended +with very fair, though not full, success. <span class="special_name">Cooper’s</span> edition has had the most copious notes, +but they are not always accurate, and are often upon passages of comparatively little difficulty. +<span class="special_name">Gould’s</span> notes are better, but they are much more sparingly introduced, and do not +indeed elucidate the really intricate points. The historical and mythological references in +both these editions are quite scanty; and they must both in our judgment speedily give place +to this of Dr. <span class="special_name">Anthon</span>. The critical and explanatory notes to this are all that could be +desired. They occupy more than six hundred pages, or quite two-thirds of the book, and +relate to every point of interest or of doubt in the whole Æneid. They are full, accurate, +and perfectly satisfactory. The author tells us in the preface that they comprise the results +of all the study and research of modern European scholars, and embrace every thing which +has been brought to light up to the present time. They are very copiously and clearly +illustrated by neat and perspicuous engravings, which frequently do more than pages of +description to give a distinct impression to the scholar’s mind. The construction of Roman +ships, the mode of a naval battle, the style of conducting a siege, the form of chaplets, of +temples, of household utensils, of coins, ornaments, and in fine, the exact structure and appearance +of every thing pertaining to Roman history or Roman life, are thus rendered more +familiar to the eye than they ever could be to the ear of the student. The metrical clavis +scans all the difficult lines contained in the book, and the general index clearly and briefly +elucidates all the references which the poem contains to men, incidents, and localities. +With these recommendations, aided by the typographical clearness and beauty which the +publishers have given to it, this edition of the Æneid must be heartily welcomed by scholars +and students (all rivalry to the contrary) throughout the United States.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>77</span></p> + +<p class="work_reviewed"><span class="special_name">Mexico: as it Was and as it Is</span>. By <span class="special_name">Brantz Mayer</span>, Late Secretary of Legation to Mexico. In +one volume, octavo, pp. 426. ‘New World’ press: J. <span class="special_name">Winchester</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="first_word">We</span> looked through a large portion of this work while all its sheets were not yet through +the press, and were enabled with some confidence to predict that it would create no small +sensation in the literary world. Mr. <span class="special_name">Mayer</span> has a free, unpretending style, which renders +all that he writes eminently <em>readable</em>; a merit in which many far more practised writers +are as signally deficient. The programme furnished in the announcement of the work has +been well filled up. Many of the ruins and antiquities here described have never before +been visited or mentioned by any traveller. A detailed account is furnished of the present +social and political condition of Mexico; an elaborate description is given of the antiquities +to be found in the museum of the capital, and of the ancient remains strewn from +California to Odjaca. A record is presented of the author’s journeys to Tezcoco, and +through the <i>tierra-caliente</i>; and a full account of the agriculture, manufactures, commerce, +resources, mines, coinage, and general statistics of Mexico is given. There is beside a +complete view of the past and present <em>history</em> of the country, with vivid pictures of the domestic +manners and customs of the people. The whole is illustrated by numerous drawings +from the pencil of Mr. <span class="special_name">Mayer</span>, which have been engraved on wood by <span class="special_name">Butler</span>, in that +excellent artist’s best style. We scarcely remember to have met with a work so profusely +embellished; and the literary and pictorial artist being one and the same person, the reader +is helped to a far more life-like view of the scenes and things described and depicted than +he could have obtained under circumstances less favorable to the strict fidelity of pen and +pencil. The publisher has evinced great liberality in the pictorial department of the volume, +having expended upward of twelve hundred dollars on the illustrations alone. The volume +is printed upon a fine and white (though somewhat too thin) paper, with a large clear type. +The work can scarcely fail to attain, what indeed it well deserves, a wide diffusion.</p> + +<p class="work_reviewed"><span class="special_name">Scenes and Scenery in the Sandwich Islands, and a Trip through Central America</span>: +being Observations from my Note-book, during the years 1837, to 1842. By <span class="special_name">James J. Jarves</span>, Member +of the Oriental Society, etc. In one vol. pp. 341. Boston: <span class="special_name">Jas. Munroe and Company</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="first_word">Those</span> of our readers who may have seen a previous work of Mr. <span class="special_name">Jarves</span>, on the history +of the Sandwich Islands, which was noticed in this Magazine, will perhaps remember the +following passage in the preface: ‘It was designed to interweave with the civil and political +account of the nation, a series of sketches, illustrative of their present life and condition, +and other interesting points, which would have enlivened a bare narrative of facts; also to +have pictured the wondrous natural phenomena of that prolific portion of the Pacific, the +great volcanic eruption of 1840; and a full account of the mightiest of craters, the gigantic +<i>Lua Pele</i>, of Kilanea, in Hawaii. But it would have swelled the volume to an unwieldy +size. At an early period will be presented an additional volume, which, without being connected +with the present, will give in detail all that is necessary to form a correct view of +the Hawaiian Islands, their condition, prospects, the every-day concerns of the people, and +missionary life as it now exists; the two to form a succinct whole, illustrating each other.’ +The volume before us has been written in fulfilment of the foregoing pledge. In it the writer +has attempted to delineate that which came within his immediate observation, during +a residence of four years on the Group. As a description of the familiar life of a people, +in a novel and interesting position, one which may with propriety be termed a state of transition +from barbarism to civilization, it will attract the attention, and interest the sympathies +of readers of all classes. A portion of the sketches have been previously published in journals, +and had some circulation both at home and abroad. The volume is executed by the +eminent Boston printer, <span class="special_name">Dickinson</span>, and is illustrated with fine maps and plates.</p> + +</div><!--Literary Notices--> +<div class="department" id="editors_table"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>78</span></p> +<h2 class="title">EDITOR’S TABLE.</h2> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p><span class="ed_table_title">The New Year.</span>—We are standing once more together, reader, at that fairy vestibule +which opens rich with hope and bright to expectation upon another twelve-month; a coming +lapse of time that like a swell of the ocean tossing with its fellows, heaves onward to +the land of Death and Silence. At such a time, although it seem not meet, it may be, to +indulge in sad thoughts and pensive recollections, who can refrain from giving a backward +glance to years that have passed like a weaver’s shuttle, and woven our ‘checkered web of +life?’ Shall we not for one moment remember too, even at this joyous season, the loved +and lost who have gone before us, to solve the great mystery of life, and the momentous +secrets of death and the grave? Shall we not remember that <em>we</em> too are passing away; and +in thoughtful mood, pause to ask with the poet:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">Another</span> year! another year!</p> +<p>Oh! who shall see another year?</p> +<p>Shalt thou, old man, of hoary head,</p> +<p>Of eye-sight dim, and feeble tread?</p> +<p>Expect it not! Time, pain, and grief</p> +<p>Have made thee like an autumn leaf;</p> +<p>Ready, by blast or self-decay,</p> +<p>From its slight hold to drop away;</p> +<p>And some sad morn may gild thy bier,</p> +<p>Long, long before another year!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Another year! another year!</p> +<p>Oh! who shall see another year?</p> +<p>Shall you, ye young? or you, ye fair?</p> +<p>Ah! the presumptuous thought forbear!</p> +<p>Beside this church-yard’s peaceful bounds,</p> +<p>Pause ye, and ponder o’er the mounds:</p> +<p>Here beauty sleeps; that verdant length</p> +<p>Of grave contains what once was strength;</p> +<p>The child, the boy, the man are here—</p> +<p>Ye may not see another year!’</p></div> +</div> +<p>While however we give to emotions like these their appropriate vent, we are not called +upon to forget that there is much that is inspiring and delightful in the commencement of +the year. The time-honored custom of our metropolis has made it a point of peculiar radiance; +a halcyon period, when heart’s-ease would seem to be the general feeling, and +smiles the social insignia. Then the visit is exchanged between friends whom perhaps +the departed year had somewhat alienated; old associations are revived, and cordialities +that had well nigh been forgotten are strengthened and renewed. As the lip is wetted with +friendly wine, the bosom expands in the generous warmth of honest enjoyment; the cold +formalities of factitious station give place to undisguised welcome and open-handed cheer. +The rich and the poor meet together, and the spirit of pleasure is with all. As the parties +go their rounds, and familiar forms and faces appear to greeting eyes, the <em>necessity</em> of friendship +and the desolation of its absence come home to the mind. It is felt that comfort +is lost when allied to selfishness, and that it is good to be respected or beloved. And as +those meet between whom the year has passed in sullen estrangement; upon whose anger +many an evening sun has descended; a relenting spirit obeys the mingled voices of Memory +and Friendship: the kind resolve is made and followed; so that instead of the thorn to goad +and wound, there springs up in the pathway of the Reconciled the olive or the myrtle. How +sweet is the sight of human goodness, struggling to surmount the petty passions which discolor +its beauty, and bending to the benign suggestions of that pure and gentle principle, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>79</span><em>peace with man</em>! Doubtless there are many severe strivings with natural pride, before +these ends can be reached; but the new year awakens such throngs of conciliatory sentiments, +that it is impossible to resist them. The call is made; the oversight or neglect explained; +the breach is closed; and friendship is paramount! Months of reverses and cares +and disappointments are lost in that initial day, whose span is golden from sun to sun; a +lapse to be remembered with quiet satisfaction in trials to come. Indeed, a moment’s reflection +will assure any contemplative mind that resentment is the most pitiful passion that +can agitate the human breast. True, there is such a thing as ‘<em>spirit</em>,’ but how often is it ill-directed! +How often magnified by little causes into an importance wholly incommensurate +with the object desired! It is the province of new-year visits to crush these poisonous +weeds of our path, to quench their noxious tendrils, and to substitute in their stead the balm +of friendship and good-will. For such an object the morning of the year is most auspicious. +The grand festival of our <span class="special_name">Saviour’s</span> nativity has but lately ended, and a preservation of the +era of good feeling is enjoined both by Precept and Hope. Who can resist such appeals +to that kindness which increases the happiness of its possessor? With these reiterated +words of counsel and of affection, let us take present leave of our readers, by wishing them +in hackneyed phrase, but with unhackneyed spirit, a <span class="special_name">Happy +New-Year</span>!</p> +</div><!--The New Year--> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p><span class="ed_table_title">The Rights of Women.</span>—We wish it were possible to transfer to this printed page +the beautiful chirography of the annexed communication, which proceeds from the pen of +a lady who, with a few others of her gentle sex, sat out the reading of the lecture upon the +‘<em>Rights of Women</em>,’ by Mr. <span class="special_name">John Neal</span>, at the Broadway Tabernacle last winter, and +which was so heartily laughed at by the press and the town for a day or two after. It is +gratifying to remark that <em>women</em> themselves have been the prominent satirists of the characteristic +absurdities put forth on the occasion alluded to. But to our fair correspondent: +‘<span class="special_name">Appear</span>, bright Spirits of the ancient Nine! (for you were women, and can well appreciate +my appeal) arrayed in all the panoply of your charms! Thou, <span class="special_name">Minerva</span>! aid me with +thy wisdom! Ye, most lovely <span class="special_name">Graces</span>! attend me with the power of honey-like persuasiveness! +And thou, <span class="special_name">John Neal</span>! arrayed in the drapery of the softer sex, gracefully to +maintain the lofty eminence whereon thou standest, assist me with the glorious power of +thy overwhelming eloquence, while I assert the high prerogative of Woman! Yet when I +dwell on the brilliant efforts accomplished by thy mighty genius in our behalf, the pen falls +powerless from my despairing hand, and I can merely point to thee as the potent champion +of our down-trodden rights! Instead of dwelling in dull obscurity, victims to the caprice of +men; mending their thread-bare clothing and scolding servants—base, unwomanly pursuits!—instead +of listening in silence to the storms of political debate; instead of remaining +within the shadow of our own roofs, and gathering around the domestic hearth the +thornless roses of existence; rendering home a haven of rest to the weary and care-worn; +instead of slumbering idly, in the security of our mansions, when the torrent of war +rolls over the land; instead of girding then our brothers for the stormy fight, bidding them +<span class="special_name">God</span>-speed; instead of ignobly bending before the tyrannical power of Man, thou, O! astute +<span class="special_name">Neal</span>! wouldst have us pluck the laurel-wreath from our kinsman’s brow, and bind it on +our own. Thou wouldst have us rise in all the dignity of offended ‘equality,’ and boldly +assert the holy right of ‘<em>free suffrage to all</em>!’ Why, forsooth, should <em>we</em> rather be confined to +the narrow circle of home than our friends of the other sex? Are we not as capable of +sounding the loud alarm of war, of mingling in the strife and tumult of the battle-hour, as +the ladies of antique Amazonia, or the warrior-<em>men</em> of our own day? Have we not intellect +enough to cope with the <span class="special_name">Websters</span>, the <span class="special_name">Clays</span>, and the <span class="special_name">Wrights</span>, in the halls of Congress? +Is not our dignity sufficient to maintain, with honor to our country and ourselves, +the various offices of the government? Why may not our superior talents elevate us to +the lofty station of the presidential chair?—to become Ambassadresses, Generalesses, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>80</span>Stateswomen? Surely our intellect is as lofty, as noble, and as clear as that in which proud +man exults. Arise then, Women of America! Study immediately the tactics of military +discipline; proceed to the green savannahs of Florida; wrest their authority from those +who now possess it, and deck your own brows of loveliness with the wreaths of conquest +and of glory. March to the halls of legislation; demand from statesmen there assembled +the concession of ‘woman’s rights,’ and desert them not till that ‘vantage ground’ +is well secured. Then, ladies, will you be enabled to cast aside with disdain the bonds +of domestic confinement, which insure merely your peace and happiness; to mingle your +shrill cries with the tumult of contending armies, confounding confusion itself with your +loud clamors! You may then unite your voices with the shouts of opposing factions at the +momentous periods of election, huzzaing for your candidates, and gathering all your influence +to win success for them. So shall you nobly fulfil the high destiny allotted you, instead +of longer enduring the degrading cares attendant on the happiness of your fathers’ +and your husbands’ homes. So shall you take by storm the hearts of men as well as the +citadels of your enemies; forcing them to admire those female ‘braves’ who so kindly relieve +them of the weighty burden of their cares.’ Capital! This mock-heroic is just the +vein for a theme so ridiculous as the insane crudities here touched upon. By the by; a private +note advises us that ‘there have been recent symptoms of chuckling exhibited by the +‘champion of women,’ on the supposition, real or assumed, that the attention of the legislatures +of several States had been diverted toward ‘woman’s rights’ in the matter of personal +property between man and wife, by reason of the lecture aforesaid!’ It is unnecessary +perhaps to add, in justice to the public sense, that the action of three or four States +upon this subject had a far different origin, as their legislative records will abundantly +show.</p> +</div><!--The Rights of Women--> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p><span class="ed_table_title">Ole Bull</span>.—We confess ourselves among the uninitiated in the mysteries of music. +We are quite aware that it is not a little dangerous for one who would not lose <em>caste</em> in society +to assert that he does not greatly admire that ill-assorted compound of ‘<em>strains</em>’ which +is usually designated by the hackneyed phrases of ‘brilliant execution’ and ‘difficult passages;’ +passages which Dr. <span class="special_name">Johnson</span> wished were ‘not only <em>difficult</em> but <em>impossible</em>:’ we +cannot force an admiration nor affect an enthusiasm which we do not feel. Indeed, we +have always had great sympathy for the amateur of fashion who aspired to great refinement +of taste, to exhibit which, in one branch of art, he gave on one occasion an entertainment +of instrumental music. While the musicians were <em>all</em> at work, he seemed delighted with +the performance; but when one instrument chanced to be engaged upon a solo, he inquired, +in a towering passion, why the others were remaining idle? ‘It is a <em>pizzicato</em> for one instrument,’ +replied the operator. ‘I can’t help that,’ replied the virtuoso; ‘let the trumpets +<em>pizzicato</em> along with you; they’re <em>paid</em> to do it!’ Now in regard to musical knowledge and +taste, this hopeful amateur has many a counterpart in this day and generation, and in this +same city of Gotham. In the case of <span class="special_name">Ole Bull</span>, however, there has been no call for +<em>affected</em> admiration. He has <em>compelled</em> not only admiration but enthusiasm; not indeed by +mere artistical ‘execution,’ although in this he is acknowledged to be preëminent, but by +the creations of <em>genius</em>, which ‘take the full heart captive.’ Let the distant reader imagine +an audience of three thousand persons awaiting in breathless expectance the entrance +upon the Park-stage of this great Master. The curtain rises, and after the lapse of a moment, +a tall manly person, with a frank, ingenuous expression of countenance, emerges +with an embarrassed salutation from the wing, and with another somewhat less constrained, +stands in front of the orchestra, the focus of every eye and glass in that brilliant assemblage. +Pausing for a brief space, as if to collect himself, he raises his bow, and with a slight +motion, beckons to each member of the orchestra in turn, who ‘start into sound’ at his bidding +as if touched by the wand of <span class="special_name">Ithuriel</span>. When the tide of harmony has reached its +flood, and is gradually ebbing back to fainter sounds, the Master raises his instrument to +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>81</span>his shoulder and lays his ear upon it, as if listening for his key-note amidst the tones that +are serpentining through his brain. When to the audience ‘nothing lives ’twixt these and +silence,’ a strain which has at first a dying fall imperceptibly swells on the ear. It is <em>the</em> +instrument, beyond all peradventure; and from that moment you are ‘all ear.’ While you +are wondering why you never knew before that there was such a <em>volume</em> of sound in a +violin, a passage of infinite pathos arrests your <em>heart</em>, and you find your eyes moistening +under its influence. It subsides into tremulous tones that retreat farther and farther from +the ear, until they seem to come from a mile’s distance; anon, they begin to approach again, +and swelling gradually upon the ‘aching sense,’ almost overpower you with their fulness of +melody. This transcendent effort of genius reminded us of the phantasmagora, or ‘magic +lantern;’ for what the lessening and enlarging figures of that instrument are to the <em>eye</em>, <span class="special_name">Ole +Bull’s</span> magic sounds are to the <em>ear</em>. We had intended to allude in detail to several of the +performances of this great Master; but we lack the requisite space. We can only instance +the ‘Norwegian Rondo,’ the ‘Themes from <span class="special_name">Bellini</span>,’ and the ‘Carnival at Venice,’ as +eminently justifying the fervent enthusiasm which they excited. It was no unnatural +combination of splendid sinuosities, of small notes split into hexagonals, and attenuated into +tremors that were ‘no great <em>shakes</em>’ after all, which entranced the audience; it was full, +rich tones; it was melody, harmony, that won their loud and almost irrepressible applause. +We have not yet had the pleasure to hear <span class="special_name">Vieux-Temps</span>, the distinguished violinist recently +arrived among us. His numerous friends and countrymen in the metropolis rank him even +above <span class="special_name">Ole Bull</span>. We are inclined, however, to trust the comparison made by an eminent +brother-artist, who assisted at his first concert: ‘<span class="special_name">Vieux-Temps</span>,’ said he, ‘is a very +accomplished <em>artist</em>; but <span class="special_name">Ole Bull</span> is a magnificent <em>genius</em>.’ We shall have something to +say of <span class="special_name">Vieux-Temps</span>, <span class="special_name">Artot</span>, and Sig. <span class="special_name">Cassela</span>, in a subsequent number of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>, +should time and occasion serve.</p> +</div><!--Ole Bull--> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p><span class="ed_table_title">A Second ‘Ralph Ringwood.’</span>—We have a western correspondent, a ‘man of mark’ +in his region, and far from unknown elsewhere, who has seen a good deal of the world, and +whose entertaining epistles always remind us of the graphic ‘<em>Experiences of Ralph Ringwood</em>,’ +as recorded in these pages by <span class="special_name">Washington Irving</span>. Here is a fragment of youthful +reminiscence, fresh from his mint, ‘which it is hoped may please;’ and if it <em>does</em>, we will +use our ‘selectest influence’ to induce him to write out for us a series of papers containing +his complete autobiography, which we have good reason to believe would overflow with +romance and strange vicissitude: ‘I was raised,’ he writes, ‘as we western folks term it, +in a small village some fifteen miles from Boston, and when about sixteen years of age I paid +a visit to the metropolis for the first time in my life. When I first arrived there I spent some +hours in trying to hunt up an old play-mate who had been bound apprentice to a Boston +mechanic some two years previous. I could hear nothing of him, however, and so gave +up the search. But one day, while sauntering down the main-street, and wondering at all +I saw, I suddenly encountered a strange sight. It was <em>a sheep</em>, dead and dressed, but moving +along the side-walk in an upright position, and apparently without help! Puzzled at this +phenomenon, I turned round as it passed me, in order to observe it more closely; when to +my astonishment I discovered a boy behind it, who with the sheep on his back was shuffling +along the walk, stern-foremost. I was still more astonished when I recognized in this lad +my old and long-sought playmate. ‘<span class="special_name">Dick</span>, my boy!’ said I, grasping his hand warmly. +<span class="special_name">Dick</span> seemed a little embarrassed at first; but after a moment’s hesitation, he threw down +his load spitefully, and seizing my hand returned my grasp as cordially as it had been given. +‘For <span class="special_name">God</span>’s sake, <span class="special_name">Dick</span>,’ inquired I, ‘how long is it since you commenced walking backward?’ +‘Not a great while,’ replied he, with a grin. ‘To tell you the truth, <span class="special_name">Frank</span>, I saw +you looking in the jeweller’s window there, and knew you at once; and as I didn’t care to +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>82</span>be seen by an old comrade with a sheep on my back, I was in hopes to escape your observation +by walking in the manner in which you saw me.’ ‘And that was the very thing which +led me to discover you,’ I replied; ‘you might have passed me in the ordinary way, nineteen +times in every twenty, without being recognized.’ ‘Well, it’s all one now, since you +have found me out,’ said <span class="special_name">Dick</span>. ‘But what, after all, are you going to do with that measly-looking +animal?’ I inquired. ‘Eat it,’ replied he, with a comical twist of the nose; ‘I have +to lug one home every day; we apprentices live on them altogether. I’m a sheep myself, +almost; <em>b-a-a-h</em>!’ and here he imitated the cry of that animal so naturally, that I had no +doubt of the truth of his statement. After a few moments’ conversation, chiefly about +home, the clock struck ten, when <span class="special_name">Dick</span> suddenly resumed his load, and after giving me the +directions to the ‘old man’s’ house, and exacting a promise to call and see him in the evening, +he started for home. At the appointed hour in the evening, I called to see him, as +agreed upon, and found him waiting for me. But what a different-looking personage from +the one I met in the morning! He was now very smartly dressed in a small black frock-coat, +and drab gaiter-trowsers strapped tightly over a pair of nicely-polished boots. On his head +a black velvet cap, from which two enormous tassels were swinging, was setting jauntily on +one side, while in his hand he carried a little silver-headed cane, with which he occasionally +rapped his legs. In my unsophisticated eyes he was a very paragon of gentility, and I +couldn’t help contrasting him with my own countrified appearance. However, I had but +a moment for reflection; for sallying into the street, with me at his heels, <span class="special_name">Dick</span> at once proposed +going to the theatre. I agreed without hesitation, for the big play-bills had been +staring me in the face all day, and on them were emblazoned in large capitals the names of +<span class="special_name">Cooper</span> and <span class="special_name">Finn</span>, who were to play together that evening in one of <span class="special_name">Shakspeare’s</span> comedies. +When we arrived at the play-house, <span class="special_name">Dick</span> took me aside, and pointing to the little +window in the office, proposed that I should go and purchase the tickets; ‘because,’ said +he, ‘the box-keeper knows me.’ I couldn’t exactly comprehend why the fact of his being +known to the box-keeper should prevent his purchasing the tickets himself. However, I +supposed it was all right, and so I crowded up to the little window, and after awaiting my +turn, obtained two pit-tickets, for which I had to pay out of my own pocket, of course. +Dick took them from me when I returned, and then again resuming the lead, he conducted +me into the lobby of the play-house. Here he handed the tickets to the door-keeper, at +the same time nodding his head toward me, in order to intimate to that gentleman that I +was under his special patronage, and that the other admission was intended for me. Once +seated in the centre of the pit, <span class="special_name">Dick</span> seemed to be in his glory. He ogled the ladies in the +boxes, and whistled and shouted and stamped, and cried ‘Physic!’ until I thought he would +split his throat. But when at last the gloomy curtain rose and the stars of the evening +stood glittering before us, he clapped and shouted so much louder and longer than all the +rest, that the whole audience gazed at him with admiration. He would have gone on applauding, +I verily believe, until the end of the play, had not a tall gentleman, with a red +handkerchief round his throat, and carrying a long pole, rapped him over the head, and +peremptorily shouted ‘Silence!’ From that moment <span class="special_name">Dick</span> was as mute as a Quaker, until +the end of the play; when rushing out and dragging me after him, he proposed that we +should go and finish the evening at a celebrated coffee-house, kept by ‘a particular friend +of his,’ and where he had agreed to meet some half-dozen fellow-apprentices. Here we +stayed until a very late hour, drinking and smoking, telling stories and singing songs. As +it grew later, our companions one by one walked or reeled out of the bar-room, until we +two were left the only tenants, save the landlord. The latter then commenced closing the +house, and hinted pretty strongly that it was high time we were going. I turned to <span class="special_name">Dick</span>, +who had been remarkably silent for some time, when to my utter dismay I discovered that +he was perfectly insensible from drink. I looked up to the landlord for counsel. He was +a short, <em>squab</em> man, with a bulbous excresence growing out from between his shoulders, that +I suppose passed for a head, though it looked like a wen; a kind of expletive, to wear a +hat on, or to fill up the hollow of a shabby wig. ‘What shall we <em>do</em> with him?’ said I. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>83</span>‘Hustle him out!’ cried he; ‘hustle him out! he didn’t get his liquor here: I’ve no room +for such company!’ I then endeavored to put my companion upon his feet, but his legs +bent under him, and his whole body seemed as limber and lifeless as a wet rag. ‘You +can’t do any thing with him in <em>that</em> way,’ continued the landlord; ‘if you want to get +him home to-night, you must take him on your back and carry him there yourself. He’ll +be bright enough in the morning.’ I saw no other way of proceeding; and so, being strong +and athletic myself, while <span class="special_name">Dick</span> was of slight proportions, I managed, with the assistance +of the landlord, to get him upon my back, and then started for his master’s house. As my +burthen was perfectly speechless, I had plenty of time for uninterrupted thought as I trudged +along; and I couldn’t help contrasting the apprentice of the morning with the apprentice +of the present moment. <em>Then</em>, though rather coarsely dressed, and smooched with the +marks of labor, he blushed at being caught with a sheep on his back, though he had come +honestly by it; but <em>now</em>, though bedecked in the habiliments of a gentleman, he was being +carried home himself like a beast on the back of a companion. On reaching his master’s +house I laid him down upon the door-sill, where he commenced breathing intensely through +his nose, while I fumbled round for the handle of the bell, which I rang. The ‘old man’ +himself came to the door, and looking down at his apprentice, shook his head sorrowfully. +Then turning to a black domestic, who with a candle in her hand stood grinning behind +him, he said, ‘Here’s <span class="special_name">Dick</span> come home drunk again, Dinah; you must take him up stairs +and get him to bed in the best way you can.’ The old gentleman turned away with a tear +in his eye, and I also departed, leaving <span class="special_name">Dick</span>, who had come to his senses a little, struggling +in the arms of the brawny black, and vainly trying to kiss her polished cheek. Thus ended +my first youthful adventure in a city.’</p> +</div><!--A Second 'Ralph Ringwood'--> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p><span class="ed_table_title">Gossip with Readers and Correspondents.</span>—We encounter in our personal correspondence +not a few comments, pro and con, upon the papers on ‘<em>Mind and Instinct</em>,’ +which appeared in the last two numbers of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>. Our friend and correspondent, +‘<span class="special_name">Harry Franco</span>,’ among others, in a gossiping epistle to the Editor, writes as +follows:</p> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<div class="quotation"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">I have</span> been considerably interested in your correspondent’s paper on mind and instinct; only I +rather wonder at his laboring to prove a theory which few are inclined to question. But he does not +after all, it appears to me, draw the right conclusions from his argument. All living beings have a +mind, or reason, or what you will, which prompts them to do all that their animal functions are capable +of performing. In this respect man is as much governed by instinct as a brute. My neighbor’s dog +every night when I come home walks up to me, wags his tail, and looks in my face, and says in his +way, ‘How are you?’ His master gives me a nod, takes his pipe from his mouth, and says the same. +But when a stranger comes to my door, neither the dog nor his master salutes him; but were he to fall +into the brook, they would both run to pull him out. Are they not both influenced by exactly the same +feelings? If I should ask my neighbor to endorse my note, he would look sulky, hem! and haw! and +refuse; if I should attempt to take a bone from his dog, the brute would snarl and growl, and perhaps +bite me. Do you see any marvellous difference between the two animals? A near neighbor of mine, +about six months since, had a little boy of four years old, who had a spaniel of which he was very fond. +One day during the absence of the father, the child was taken ill with the croup; the mother was +alarmed, and it so happened that her servants were away, and she had no one to send for a physician. +The poor woman was in great tribulation, for in spite of all her efforts the child grew worse. In +about an hour after the child was taken ill, her father’s carriage stopped at the door, and her mother +made her appearance. Her father’s house was about two miles distant. The grandmother said that +Carlo, the sick child’s dog, ‘came running into the house, all bespattered with mud, and flew about +and acted so strangely that she knew something must be the matter with little Billy, her grandson, and +she came to see what it was.’ Until then, the mother of the child had not noticed the absence of the +dog from the room, for the boy was playing with him when he was taken sick. The child remained ill +three or four days, and then died; and during the whole time the dog never left his bed-side; he watched +by the corpse until it was buried, and then took possession of the little boy’s chair, which he would +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>84</span>allow no one to touch, not even the child’s mother. Every day he absented himself for three or four +hours; and the father one day going to look at his child’s grave, found that the dog had almost scratched +his way down to the coffin. He was after this kept within doors; but he refused to eat, and in a +short time died in the chair of his little master. If I had time, I could tell you a story almost as touching, +in relation to a pig, an animal that phrenologically speaking has generally been looked upon as +somewhat deficient in the region of the sentiments.’</p> +</div> +</div><!--Animals' Minds and Instincts--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p><span class="first_word">Now</span> that our attention has been awakened to the subject, we find in our casual reading +the testimony in favor of ‘mind in animals’ greatly to increase and multiply. <span class="special_name">Oleus +Magnus</span>, Bishop of Norway, in a work written in Latin some two centuries ago, tells us of +a fox that, in order to get rid of the fleas which infested his skin, was accustomed to swim out +into a lake with a straw band held high and dry in his mouth. When the water-hating +vermin had all escaped from his submerged body to the dry straw, down dived Reynard, +leaving his tormentors ‘at sea,’ and rising again beyond the scope of safe jumping. ‘Curious, +isn’t it?’ A correspondent at Rochester, ‘who experienced much satisfaction in the +perusal of the article’ above alluded to, was yet ‘a little dissatisfied with the closing portion +of it.’ The proposition of the writer to ‘abstain entirely from animal food,’ on the +score of humanity, he considers ‘especially ridiculous.’ He has ‘the gravest authority for +stating, that every drop of water that quenches our thirst or laves our bodies, contains innumerable +insects, which are sacrificed to our necessities or comforts; each ingredient in +the simplest vegetable fare conveys to inevitable destruction thousands of the most beautiful +and harmless of created beings. From the first to the last gasp of our lives, we never +inhale the air of heaven without butchering myriads of sentient and innocent creatures. +Can we upbraid ourselves then for supporting our lives by the death of a few animals, many +of whom are themselves carnivorous, when the infant who has lived for a single day has +killed an infinitely greater number of human beings than the longest life would suffice to +murder by design? Or, if we sacrifice either our lives or our comforts by scrupulously +denying ourselves the use of animal food, can we derive much consolation from considering +that we spare a few scores of beings, when we involuntarily, but knowingly, are +every moment massacreing more than the longest life-time would suffice to enumerate?’ +<span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A reference</span> to the case of ‘<em>Rachael Baker, the American Somnambulist</em>,’ +in a late London Magazine, has recalled that remarkable phenomenon very forcibly +to our mind. <span class="special_name">Rachael Baker</span> resided within four miles of ‘the house where we were +born;’ and the first exhibitions of her religious exercises during sleep took place alternately +at the homestead and the residence of a relation in its near vicinity. We remember +as it were but yesterday the solemnity which sat upon the faces of the assembled neighbors, +as they awaited the signal-groan from an adjoining apartment, to which, at about +seven <span class="small_all_caps">P. M.</span>, the Somnambulist usually retired for the night. When the door was opened +the crowd pressed in. The sleeper, dressed in white muslin, lay straight and motionless in +bed; her eyes closed, her face white and inflexible as marble; and her fingers with livid +marks beneath the nails, clasped meekly upon her bosom. Flecks of foam were visible +at the corners of her mouth, and her lips moved ‘as if they would address themselves to +speech,’ for some seconds before any audible sound came from them. At length, however, +in a clear silvery voice she opened with prayer; a prayer fervent, devotional, and evidently +direct from the heart. When this was concluded, and after the lapse of a brief space, +she began an exhortation, in language pure, beautiful, often eloquent, and occasionally +rising to a noble sublimity; and then closed with prayer. If interrupted with a question, +as she frequently was, by clergymen, medical gentlemen, and others, she answered it with +readiness, and with a felicity of language surpassing belief. ‘<span class="special_name">Rachael</span>,’ said a clergyman +to her in our hearing one evening, while in the midst of her discourse, ‘why do you engage +in these exercises? and why——’ She interrupted the speaker with words to this effect: +‘I, even I, a worm of the dust, am but a feeble instrument in the hands of <span class="special_name">Him</span> who hath +declared, ‘I will pour out of my spirit upon you; and your sons and your daughters shall +prophesy; your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. And +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>85</span>on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my spirit, and they +shall prophesy.’ Even <em>so</em> <span class="special_name">Father</span>, for so it seemeth good in thy sight!’ The girl was of +bashful demeanor; altogether uneducated; could scarcely read; knew little of the Bible; +and indeed in her waking hours conversed in a language that was far from being respectable +English; but neither in her prayers nor in her exhortations was she ever at fault; nor +did she at any time exhibit the slightest hesitation or confusion. Her answers to questions +were brief, pointed, and invariably correct. Crowds flocked to see her, until the public +curiosity overran all bounds. She was visited by many persons from New-York; and +finally, under the direction of a committee of medical gentlemen from the city, was brought +to the metropolis, where she created a great sensation. A pamphlet was written upon her +case by Dr. <span class="special_name">Mitchell</span>; and we should feel greatly obliged to any reader who would place +it for a short time in our hands. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A valued</span> friend and correspondent, to whose +kindness we have frequently been indebted, has sent us a ‘<i>Massachusetts Centinel</i>,’ printed +in Boston sixty years ago; in which, among many other curious and amusing matters, there +is a copy of an original letter written by the celebrated <span class="special_name">George Alexander Stevens</span>, +author of ‘Lecture on Heads,’ etc., dated at ‘Yarmouth Jail, County of Norfolk,’ which +runs thus:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">Sir</span>: When I parted from you at Doncaster, I imagined, long before this, to have met with some +oddities worth acquainting you with. It is grown a fashion of late to write lives; I have now, and +for a long time have had, leisure enough to undertake mine, but want materials for the latter part of it; +for my existence now cannot properly be called living, but what the painters term <em>still life</em>; having +ever since February 13, been confined in this town-goal for a London debt.</p> + +<p>‘As a hunted deer is always shunned by the happier herd, so am I deserted by the company,<a href="#fn7" class="fnmarker" id="fnm7" title="The Norwich company of players, to which he belonged.">7</a> my +share taken off, and no support left me, save what my wife can spare me out of hers:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Deserted in my utmost need</p> +<p>By those my former bounty fed.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>‘With an economy, which until now I was a stranger to, I have made shift to victual hitherto my little +garrison, but then it has been with the aid of my good friends and allies—my clothes. This week’s +eating finishes my last waistcoat; and next, I must atone for my errors upon bread and water.</p> + +<p>‘<span class="special_name">Themistocles</span> had so many towns to furnish his table, and a whole city bore the charge of his +meals. In some respects I am like him, for I am furnished by the labors of a multitude. A wig has +fed me two days; the trimming of a waistcoat as long; a pair of velvet breeches paid my washerwoman, +and a ruffled shirt has found me in shaving. My coats I swallowed by degrees. The sleeves I +breakfasted upon for weeks; the body, skirts, etc., served me for dinner two months. My silk stocking +have paid my lodgings, and two pair of new pumps enabled me to smoke several pipes. It is incredible +how my appetite, (barometer like) rises in proportion as my necessities make their terrible +advances. I here could say something droll about a good stomach, but it is ill jesting with edge tools, +and I am sure that is the sharpest thing about me. You may think I can have no sense of my condition, +that while I am thus wretched, I should offer at ridicule: but, Sir, people constituted like me, +with a disproportioned levity of spirits, are always most merry when they are most miserable; and +quicken like the eyes of the consumptive, which are always brightest the nearer the patient approaches +his dissolution. However, Sir, to show you I am not lost to all reflection, I think myself +poor enough to want a favor, and humble enough to ask it here. Sir, I might make an encomium on +your good nature, humanity, etc.; but I shall not pay so bad a compliment to your understanding, as +to endeavor, by a parade of phrases, to win it over to my interest. If you could, any night at a concert, +make a small collection for me, it might be a means of my obtaining my liberty; and you well +know, Sir, the first people of rank abroad will perform the most friendly offices for the sick; be not, +therefore, offended at the request of a poor (though a deservedly punished) debtor.</p> + +<p class="sign"><span class="author">‘Geo. A. Stevens.’</span></p> +</div><!--Letter from Stevens--> +</div><!--Reynard and Rachael Baker--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p><span class="first_word">Among</span> the facetiæ of the ‘Centinel’ we find a clever hit at two prominent official characters +of the name of <span class="special_name">Day</span>: ‘<span class="special_name">Titus</span>, a Roman emperor, we are told, once lamented that ‘<em>he +had lost a Day</em>.’ If the commonwealth of Massachusetts were to <em>lose two Days</em>, it would +not be the cause of much lamentation!’ A correspondent elsewhere observes, that in a procession +on a certain solemn occasion in this city, the place of the physician was immediately +before the corpse; which, he adds, was ‘exactly consonant with the etiquette observed at +capital executions in ancient times; the <em>executioner</em> always going before!’ By the way, +‘speaking of <span class="special_name">Stevens</span>;’ perhaps the reader of good things at second-hand may not be +aware how much he is indebted to this author’s ‘<i>Lectures on Heads</i>’ for amusement and instruction. +They were very popular throughout Great Britain; and as illustrated by the +author, after the manner of ‘<span class="special_name">Old Matthews</span>,’ they are said to have been irresistible. It +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>86</span>was in this collection that the law-cases of ‘<span class="special_name">Bullum</span> <i>vs.</i> <span class="special_name">Boatum</span>’ and ‘<span class="special_name">Daniel</span> <i>vs.</i> <span class="special_name">Dishclout</span>’ +had their origin. They are familiar to every school-boy, not less for their wit than +the canine Latinity in which they abound; ‘<i>Primus strokus est provokus</i>; now who gave +the <i>primus strokus</i>? Who gave the first offence?’ Or, ‘a drunken man is ‘<i>homo duplicans</i>,’ +or a double man, seeing things double,’ etc., etc. We annex an example or two of the writer’s +<em>individuality</em>. The first is a sketch of a <i>nil admirari</i> critic and amateur, who has travelled +long enough abroad to fall in love with every thing foreign, and despise every thing belonging +to his own country except himself: ‘He pretended to be a great judge of paintings, but only +admired those done a great way off, and a great while ago; he could not bear any thing +painted by any of his own countrymen. One day being in an auction-room where there was +a number of capital pictures, and among the rest an inimitable painting of fruits and flowers, +the connoisseur would not give his opinion of the picture until he had examined his catalogue; +when, finding it was done by one of his own countrymen, he pulled out his eye-glass, +exclaiming: ‘This fellow has spoiled a fine piece of canvass; he’s worse than a sign-post +dauber; there’s no keeping, no perspective, no fore-ground, no <i>chiar’oscuro</i>. Look you, he +has attempted to paint <em>a fly</em> upon that rose-bud! Why, it is no more like a fly than I am +like an ——’ But as the connoisseur approached his finger to the picture, the fly flew away. +It happened to be the <em>real</em> insect!’ Is not the following a forcible picture of a mercurial, +hero-loving Frenchman? ‘Has he property? An edict from the <i>Grand Monarque</i> can take +it, and he is satisfied. Pursue him to the Bastile, or the dismal dungeon in the country to +which a lettre-de-cachet conveys him, and buries him for life: there see him in all his +misery; ask him ‘What is the cause?’ ‘<i>Je ne sai pas</i>; it is the will of the <i>Grand Monarque</i>.’ +Give him a <i>soup-maigre</i>, a little sallad, and a hind-quarter of a frog, and he’s in +spirits. ‘Fal, lal, lal! <i>Vive le Roi?</i> <i>Vive la bagatelle!’</i>’ Here we have a Materialist +proving the affinity of matter: ‘All round things are globular, all square things flat-sided. +Now, if the bottom is equal to the top, and the top equal to the bottom, and the bottom and +top are equal to the four sides, then all matter is as broad as it is long.’ But the materialist +‘had not in his head matter sufficient to prove matter efficient; and being thus deficient, +he knew nothing of the matter.’ One of <span class="special_name">Stevens’s</span> ‘heads’ was that of a heartless, devil-may-care +sort of person, in some respects like the hero of ‘<i>A Capital Joke</i>’ in preceding +pages, who is always ‘keeping it up.’ He illustrates his own character very forcibly: ‘I’ll +tell you how it was; you see, I was in high spirits, so I stole a dog from a blind man, for I +do <em>so</em> love fun! So then the blind man cried for his dog, and that made me laugh; so says +I to the blind man. ‘Halloo, master! do you want your dog?’ ‘Yes, Sir, indeed, <em>indeed</em> I +do,’ says he. Then says I to the blind man, says I, ‘Go look for him! Keep it up!’ I +always turn sick when I think of a parson; and my brother, he’s a parson too, and he hates +to hear any body swear; so I always swear when I am along with him, just to roast him. +I went to dine with him one day last week; and as soon as I arrived, I began to swear. I +never swore so well in all my life; I swore all my new oaths. At last my brother laid +down his knife and fork, and lifting up his hands and eyes, he calls out: ‘<em>O Tempora! +O Mores</em>.’ ‘Oh, ho! brother,’ says I, ‘don’t think to frighten me by calling all your +family about you. I don’t mind you nor your family neither. Only bring Tempora and +Moses <em>here</em>—that’s all! I’ll box ’em for five pounds. Keep it up!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">There</span> is many +a bereaved heart that will be touched by the following sad, sad lines, from the pen of +<span class="special_name">John Rudolph Sutermeister</span>, a young and gifted poet, whose mortal part has ‘been +ashes these many a year,’ and whom the reader may remember as the author of a little +poem widely quoted and admired many years ago, commencing:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘O! for my bright and faded hours!</p> +<p class="i2">When life was like a summer stream,</p> +<p>On whose gay banks the virgin flowers</p> +<p class="i2">Blushed in the morning’s rosy beam,</p> +<p>Or danced upon the breeze that bare</p> +<p class="i2">Its store of rich perfume along,</p> +<p>While the wood-robin poured on air</p> +<p class="i2">The ravishing delights of song!’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>87</span>To us, who are familiar with the painful circumstances under which they were written, +and the deep affliction which they deplore, they seem almost to sob with irrepressible +grief:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="title">A LAMENT.</h3> +<h4 class="subtitle">I.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Give</span> not to me the wreath of green,</p> +<p class="i2">The blooming vase of flowers;</p> +<p>They breathe of joy which once hath been,</p> +<p class="i2">Of gone and faded hours!</p> +<p>I cannot love the rose; though rich,</p> +<p class="i2">Its beauty will not last:</p> +<p>Give me—give <em>me</em> the bloom o’er which</p> +<p class="i2">The early blight hath passed!</p> +<p>The yellow buds—give <em>them</em> to rest</p> +<p>On my cold brow and joyless breast,</p> +<p class="i2">When life is failing fast!</p> +</div> +<h4 class="subtitle">II.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Take far from me the wine-cup bright,</p> +<p class="i2">In hours of revelry;</p> +<p>It suits glad brows, and bosoms light,</p> +<p class="i2">It is not meet for me:</p> +<p>Oh! I can pledge the heart no more</p> +<p class="i2">I pledged in days gone by;</p> +<p>Sorrow hath touched my bosom’s core,</p> +<p class="i2">And I am left—to die!</p> +<p>Give me to drink of Lethe’s wave,</p> +<p>Give me the cold and cheerless grave,</p> +<p class="i2">O’er which the night-winds sigh!</p> +</div> +<h4 class="subtitle">III.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Wake not upon my tuneless ear</p> +<p class="i2">Soft music’s stealing strain;</p> +<p> It cannot soothe, it cannot cheer</p> +<p class="i2">This anguished heart again!</p> +<p> But place the Æolian harp upon</p> +<p class="i2">The tomb of her I love;</p> +<p>There, when Heaven shrouds the dying sun,</p> +<p class="i2">My weary steps will rove,</p> +<p>While o’er its chords Night pours its breath,</p> +<p>To list the serenade of death</p> +<p class="i2"> Her silent bourne above!</p> +</div> +<h4 class="subtitle">IV.</h4> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Give me to seek the lonely tomb</p> +<p class="i2">Where sleeps the sainted dead,</p> +<p>When the pale night-fall throws its gloom</p> +<p class="i2">Above her narrow bed!</p> +<p>There, while the winds which sweep along,</p> +<p class="i2">O’er the harp-strings are driven,</p> +<p>And the funereal soul of song</p> +<p class="i2">Upon the air is given,</p> +<p>Oh! let my faint and parting breath</p> +<p>Be mingled with that song of death,</p> +<p class="i2">And flee with it to heaven!</p> +</div> +</div><!--A Lament--> +</div><!--Bits from Centenial and sad poems--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">Who</span> hath redness of eyes?’ This interrogative ‘portion of divine scripture’ is forcibly +illustrated by an anecdote, related with most effective dryness by a friend of ours. An +elderly gentleman, accustomed to ‘indulge,’ entered the bar-room of an inn in the pleasant +city of H——, on the Hudson, where sat a grave Friend toasting his toes by the fire. +Lifting a pair of green spectacles upon his forehead, rubbing his inflamed eyes, and calling +for a hot brandy-toddy, he seated himself by the grate; and as he did so, he remarked to +Uncle <span class="special_name">Broadbrim</span> that ‘his eyes were getting weaker and weaker, and that even spectacles +didn’t seem to do ‘em any good.’ ‘I’ll tell thee friend,’ rejoined the Quaker, ‘what +I think. I think if thee was to <em>wear thy spectacles over thy mouth</em> for a few months, thy +eyes would get sound again!’ The ‘complainant’ did not even return thanks for this +medical counsel, but sipped his toddy in silence, and soon after left the room, ‘uttering +never a word.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">There</span> have been various surmises, and sundry contradictory +statements, in relation to the work superscribed ‘<i>Count D’Orsay on Etiquette</i>,’ which +we noticed at some length in our December issue. Mr. <span class="special_name">Willis</span>, of the ‘New Mirror’ +weekly journal, seems to question its having been <em>written</em> by the <span class="special_name">Count</span>, but expresses his +belief that he may have loaned his name to the publishers ‘for a consideration;’ and +this may possibly have been the fact with the latest London edition. The author of the +work in question, however, is Mr. <span class="special_name">Charles William Day</span>, an English gentleman, +whose acquaintance with the usages of the best European society is personal and authentic; +who has observed and travelled much; and who is moreover an artist of a +high order; painting in miniature, and sketching with admirable skill. An esteemed +friend and correspondent of this Magazine writes us from Boston, that the manner of the +fraud is somewhat as follows: ‘Mr. <span class="special_name">Day</span> is the author of a Journal of Travels, which +Messrs. <span class="special_name">Longman and Company</span> of London proposed to publish. As they treated him, +however, in a dishonorable manner, he withdrew his <span class="small_all_caps">MSS.</span> from them and came to America. +In retaliation, they sent orders to this country to have a spurious edition published of his +work on ‘Etiquette,’ which they had formerly brought out, and which they truly supposed +he designed to reprint in New-York or Boston. It has passed through more than twenty +editions in London; a fact which I know, from having seen the Messrs. <span class="special_name">Longmans’</span> letters +and accounts with the author. His own edition is now in press in Boston; and I learn that +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>88</span>he has added some ‘Hints’ with an especial eye to Yankee manners.’ We have also received +a letter from Mr. <span class="special_name">Day</span> himself, in which, while he ‘forbears at present to make any +comments on the conduct of the Messrs. <span class="special_name">Longman</span>,’ he proves beyond a doubt that ‘the +Count <span class="special_name">D’Orsay</span> is <em>not</em> the writer of the ‘Hints on Etiquette,’ but that he himself is ‘the +real, true author,’ past all peradventure. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A friend</span> lately returned from the west, +relates among other matters the following anecdote: ‘On board of one of the steam-boats +on the Mississippi, I encountered a deck-hand, who went by the name of <span class="special_name">Barney</span>. Like +many of his class, he was a drinking, reckless fellow, but warm-hearted, good-natured, and +generous to a fault. In early life he was in easy circumstances; was a husband, and the +father of several children. But one night during a violent storm the house in which he +resided was struck by lightning, and the whole family, save himself, were instantly killed. +His own escape was considered a miracle at the time, not even a hair of his head having been +singed. From that time, however, he took to drinking, and so sank lower and lower until +he became what I found him. When I had heard his story, I felt somewhat interested in +the man, and one day managed to draw him into conversation. He told me his early history +with much natural pathos; and finding him in the ‘melting mood’ I endeavored to +lead him to some serious thoughts upon the subject of his misfortunes, and especially of that +one which had bereft him in so awful a manner of his wife and children. ‘<span class="special_name">Barney</span>,’ said +I, ‘don’t you think it was a signal mercy that you alone should have escaped unharmed +from the bolt which destroyed all else you loved upon earth? Was there not at least +something <em>singular</em> in the fact?’ ‘That’s what I said myself,’ replied <span class="special_name">Barney</span>, in a tremulous +voice; ‘I always thought it was <em>very</em> sing’lar. But the fact I suppose was this, Mr. +<span class="special_name">Whitehat</span>. The lightning, you see, was afraid of <em>a man</em>, and so like a d——d sneak, it went +twisting about to scorch women and little children!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">Blackwood</span> has proclaimed +in a late number, the ‘<i>Characteristics of English Society</i>,’ in language of truth and +soberness, which goes explicitly to confirm the reports of nearly all American and other +‘foreigners’ who have visited England. We subjoin an extract contrasting English with +French society:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">We</span> should indeed be sorry if our demeanor in those vast crowds, where English people flock together, +rather, as it would seem, to assert a right, than to gratify an inclination, were to be taken as an +index of our national character: the want of all ease and simplicity, those essential ingredients of +agreeable society, which distinguish these dreary meetings have long been unfortunately notorious. +Too busy to watch the feelings of others, and too earnest to moderate our own, that true politeness +which pays respect to age; which tries to put the most insignificant person in company on a level +with the most considerable—virtues which our neighbors possess in an eminent degree—are, except +in a few favored instances, unknown among us; while affectation, in other countries the badge of ignorance +and vulgarity, is ours, even in its worst shape, when it borrows the mien of rudeness, impertinence, +and effrontery, the appendage of those whose station is most conspicuous, and whose dignity +is best ascertained. There is more good breeding in the cottage of a French peasant than in all the +boudoirs of Grosvenor square. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘Frivolity and insipidity are the prevailing characteristics of +conversation; and nowhere in Europe, perhaps, does difference of fortune or of station produce more +unsocial or illiberal separation. Very few of those whom fortune has released from the necessity of +following some laborious profession are capable of passing their time agreeably without the assistance +of company; not from the spirit of gaity which calls upon society for indulgence; not from any +pleasure they take in conversation, where they are frequently languid and taciturn; but to rival each +other in the luxury of the table, or by a great variety of indescribable airs, to make others feel the +pain of mortification. They meet as if to fight the boundaries of their rank and fashion, and the less +definite and perceptible is the line which divides them, the more punctilious is their pride. It is a +great mistake to suppose that this low-minded folly is peculiar to people of rank; it is <em>an English +disease</em>.’</p> +</div> +</div><!--Etiquette and Society--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p>No doubt of it; and the question naturally arises, ‘Are not these the proper people to +talk about men and manners and society in America?’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="first_word">Never</span> mind, my dear,’ says +Baron <span class="special_name">Pompolino</span>, while endeavoring to fit the fairy slipper of the lovely <span class="special_name">Cinderella</span> +upon the long splay foot of one of his ungainly daughters, ‘never mind, my dear, <em>she is not at +all like you</em>!’ The doting father, it will be remembered, gives this verdict as a flattering +compliment. We have sometimes been amused, where the <i>quo animo</i> was apparent, with +similar compliments at the hands of reciprocal critics of literature. Pleasant examples in +this kind have been furnished lately. A very voluminous critic, very far ‘down east,’ spoke +recently in a metropolitan journal of <span class="special_name">Goldsmith</span>’s ‘<i>Deserted Village</i>’ as ‘a very common-place +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>89</span>poem, at the best, and only saved from utter and most contemptuous forgetfulness by +two or three pleasantries about ‘broken tea-cups,’ etc., and by one single passage that +smacks of sublimity!’ Of the poetry however of the author of ‘<i>Man in his Various Aspects +under the American Republic</i>,’ he expresses in the same columns quite a different +opinion. ‘There has been,’ he writes, ‘no English poetry better than his, within the memory +of man!’ A writer in the last number of the ‘<i>Southern Literary Messenger</i>,’ likewise +voluminous in prose and verse, if we rightly surmise, exhibits contrasts of judgment somewhat +kindred with the foregoing, although certainly less violent. The author of ‘Man in +his various Aspects,’ he tells us, ‘has a <em>boldness</em> that attracts;’ his are the ‘strong and +struggling conceptions which seek utterance in new and original forms.’ He dares ‘to +shun the beaten paths,’ and is not afraid to be obscure. His is not the poetry ‘which takes +the popular ear without tasking the popular thought,’ like ‘the simple common-places of +<span class="special_name">Longfellow</span>.’ Such ‘criticism’ as this we have cited must needs ‘make the judicious’ +laugh merely, being too impotent to make them ‘grieve.’ It is not perhaps assuming +too much to suppose, that <span class="special_name">Goldsmith</span>’s ‘Deserted Village’ and <span class="special_name">Longfellow</span>’s ‘Psalms +of Life,’ <em>simple</em> though they be, will live and be cherished in generations of human hearts, +when the volumes of our critics and their client that yet survive the recollection of any +save their publishers, shall be ‘forgotten and clean out of mind.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span>It is related of the +celebrated clergyman, <span class="special_name">John Mason</span>, that sitting at a steam-boat table on one occasion, just +as the passengers were ‘falling to’ in the customary manner, he suddenly rapped vehemently +upon the board with the end of his knife, and exclaimed: ‘Captain! is this boat out of +the jurisdiction of <span class="special_name">God Almighty</span>? If not, let us at least thank <span class="special_name">Him</span> for his continued +goodness;’ and he proceeded to pronounce ‘grace’ amidst the most reverent stillness. It is +to be hoped, however, that his ‘grace’ was not like the few set words handed down from +father to son, mumbled without emotion, and despatched with indecent haste, which one +sometimes hears repeated over country repasts. ‘Bless this portion of food now in readiness +for us; give it to us in thy love; let us eat and drink in thy fear—for <span class="special_name">Christ</span>’s +sake——<span class="special_name">Lorenzo</span>, <em>take your fingers out of that plate!</em>’ was a grace once said in <em>our</em> +hearing, but evidently not in that of the spoilt boy, ‘growing and always hungry,’ who +could not wait to be served. We should prefer to such insensible flippancy the practice +of an old divine in New-England, who in asking a blessing upon his meals, was wont to +name each separate dish. Sitting down one day to a dinner, which consisted partly of +clams, bear-steak, etc., he was forced in a measure to forego his usual custom of furnishing +a ‘bill of particulars.’ ‘Bless to our use,’ said he, ‘these treasures hid in the sand; +bless this——’ But the bear’s-meat puzzled him, and he concluded with: ‘Oh! <span class="special_name">Lord</span>, +<em>thou only knowest what it is</em>!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A favorite</span> correspondent of this Magazine, who appears +in the pages of the present number for the first time in several months, accompanies +his excellent paper with a letter, from which we take these sentences: ‘Since you last +heard from me, I have experienced a severe domestic affliction in the loss of my father, +who died during the last summer. Day after day and night after night for two months I +sat by his bed-side, hoping in vain for his recovery, until life’s star was extinguished in the +darkness of the grave.’ Our cordial sympathies are with our correspondent; but sympathy +for affliction such as his can carry with it little of consolation to the bereaved:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">——‘<span class="first_word">A friend</span> is gone!</p> +<p>A <span class="special_name">father</span>, whose authority, in show</p> +<p>When most severe, and must’ring all its force,</p> +<p>Was but the graver countenance of love;</p> +<p>Whose favor, like the clouds of spring, might lower,</p> +<p>And utter now and then an awful voice,</p> +<p>But had a blessing in his darkest frown,</p> +<p>Threat’ning at once, and nourishing the plant.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Perchance our friend may now think with <span class="special_name">Cowper</span>, that ‘although he loved, yet not +<em>enough</em>, the gentle hand that reared him.’ ‘The chief thing that I have to reproach myself +with,’ writes one who laments a kindred dispensation of the <span class="special_name">Supreme</span>, ‘is a sort of inattention +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>90</span>to my father’s feelings, occasionally, arising merely from the disparity of years between +us, which I am sensible must at times have interfered with his enjoyments. I would +gladly recall now, if I could, many opportunities I suffered to pass, of being more in his company, +and more in the way of his advice and instruction.’ But he adds: ‘When I reflect on +these things, it appears to me one of the strongest natural arguments for the immortality of +the soul, and the renewal of our earthly relations in a world to come, that even where the +greatest possible attachment subsists between parents and their children, the mere disparity +of years inevitably prevents that complete association of feelings, and intimate fellowship of +heart and soul, which is the cement and prerogative of all other friendships: in a world to +come, but no where else, such attachments must receive their full completion.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">Professor +Gouraud</span>, well known among us for his devotion to the interests of art and science, +has perfected a <i>System of Remembrance</i>, which he designates by the term ‘<i>Mnemotechny</i>,’ +and which we venture to predict will prove of the greatest service to nearly every class of +society. No system of modern mnemonics bears any resemblance to, or comparison with it. +Such is the astonishing effect of the plan, that young masters and misses, after a brief study of +it, can with ease answer <em>any</em> question from score after score of close-printed pages, involving +every variety of events, and all kinds of information. We ‘speak but the things which we do +<em>know</em>,’ in this matter, for seeing is believing. As the scene of Prof. <span class="special_name">Gouraud’s</span> operations +is for the present the city, and as the daily journals have made his merits widely known to +the community, we forbear farther comment at this time upon the useful art which he has +brought to such wonderful perfection. New classes organize, we understand, at the Professor’s +residence, No. 46, Second-street, on the fourth instant. They will be filled at once, +and speedily followed by others. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">There</span> is an article in the last number of the +Edinburgh Review upon ‘<i>Theatres and the Drama</i>,’ which is replete with wisdom, and +evinces a thorough mastery of the theme. In alluding to the appeals which are now made +to the eye by elaborate scenery, machinery, etc., less than to the mind and imagination by +superior intellectual personation, the reviewer in effect remarks, that the first attempt at positive +reality is fatal to pleasurable illusion. Every person in the pit is aware that the +stage <em>is a stage</em>, ‘and all the men and women merely players.’ In ‘As you Like It,’ at +Drury-Lane, an attempt was made to imitate the notes of birds. ‘Suppose the imitation +had been so close as to deceive the audience into the belief that there were birds there singing; +would not the contrast with trees of painted canvass have been revolting? These +were not the conceptions of <span class="special_name">Shakspeare</span>, when he made his chorus say:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10">‘<span class="first_word">Can</span> this cockpit hold</p> +<p>The vasty fields of France? or may we cram</p> +<p>Within this wooden O the very casques</p> +<p>That did affright the air at Agincourt?</p> +<p>O pardon! since a crooked figure may</p> +<p>Attest, in little place, a million;</p> +<p>And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,</p> +<p>On your imaginary forces work:</p> +<p>Suppose within the girdle of these walls</p> +<p>Are now confined two mighty monarchies:</p> +<p>Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;</p> +<p>Into a thousand parts divide one man,</p> +<p>And make imaginary puisance.</p> +<p>Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them</p> +<p>Printing their proud hoofs in the receiving earth;</p> +<p>For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings—</p> +<p>Carry them here and there.’</p></div> +</div> +<p>Advice as necessary at the present day as then; for we may enlarge our stages, increase our +supernumeraries, and engage ‘real horses;’ but we can never make any one believe the +stage is other than the stage. The audience can realize for themselves. This trust in +the all-sufficiency of imagination is precisely that acted on by children in their daily sports, +where from the boundless wealth of the imagination, the rudest materials supply the place +of the costliest. Whoever watches boys ‘playing horse,’ making a pocket-handkerchief +dangling behind to represent the tail, and sees them stamping, snorting, prancing, and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>91</span>champing the imaginary bit, witnesses the alchymy of the imagination, an alchymy out-stripping +all the wonders and out-weighing all the treasures of the prosaic positive chemistry, +so longed for by the present generation. The child ‘supposes’ the handkerchief a tail, and +it becomes a tail. He has but to say to his companion: ‘This shall be a whip and this shall +be the harness,’ and the things are there; not as matters of literal fact, but of imaginative +truth. He plays for the enjoyment of the game and the exercise of his imagination; and +therefore the handkerchief serves every purpose. This is the procedure of nature. But the +modern parent, anxious to realize for the child, and to instil a love of accuracy into his +mind, gives him a superb horse-hair tail, bidding him at the same time be careful not to spoil +it. What is the result? The child’s attention is called from the game, to the consideration +of or delight in the tail, which, originally meant as a collateral aid, now takes the first place. +The boy no doubt is delighted with his horse-hair tail; but (if it be not altogether superfluous,) +it will soon destroy his game, so that the exercise, both of frame and imagination, +is lost; the end becomes subordinate to the means. This is precisely what takes place with +the drama. Observe also one important point: The tail is <em>real</em>; accuracy is attempted: +but though the tail be real, the horse is not; the horse is played by a boy, and only by a boy; it +is in this mimicry that the enjoyment consists. But how absurd to put a real tail on an unreal +horse! How revolting this mixture of imagination and fact! It is equalled only by that ludicrous +practice of placing the face of a <em>real</em> watch in the place of a church-clock in a landscape; +where one may not only see the time of day, but may also hear it <em>struck</em>, and that +amidst painted trees and houses! This effect, except to the most literal and prosaic minds, is +revolting and discordant. But this the modern drama is strenuously endeavoring to produce. +‘In opera, ballet, and spectacle, scenery and illustrations must be effective, because they +form elements of the piece. In the drama, where the source of entertainment is intellectual, +they are merely accessories, and should be used in such wise as to keep up the harmony of +effect, but never so as to distract attention from the drama to themselves.’ Here is a passage +which is not less applicable in America than in England: ‘A few years ago it was not uncommon +to see several performers of rival excellence supported by others of ability, all +playing in the same piece. It is now a rare thing for rivals to play together. A single good +actor, among a dozen bad, is deemed sufficient. Are we then to wonder that the regular +drama does not pay?’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">Our</span> readers will remember the order given by the Chinese +Emperor to a corps of Mandarins, who were to exterminate the ‘barbarian Englishers’ in +the harbor of Canton, by going down to the bank of the river in the night, and then and +there ‘dive straight on board those foreign ships, and put every soul of them to death!’ +Subsequently however the red-bristling foreigners managed to land, when, as it since turns +out, it became necessary to adopt more sanguinary measures. The Emperor called up one +of his ‘great generals,’ and gave him his dreadful orders: ‘You must dress your soldiers,’ +said he, ‘in a very frightful manner, painting their faces with the most horrid figures, and +depicting dragons and monsters on your banners: you must then rush upon the barbarians +with fearful outcries, and terrify them so that they will fall down flat on their faces; and +when they are once down,’ said the Imperial potentate, ‘<em>their breeches are so tight that they +can never get up again</em>!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="special_name">I give</span> you five minutes every day to look at the stars, but +don’t particularize; for some in those far-off places send down their light long after they +have been knocked out of existence, and you may be looking at a blank.’ So wrote ‘<span class="special_name">Julian</span>’ +in this department of our last number. Prof. <span class="special_name">Olmstead</span>, of Yale-College, in a recent lecture +before the ‘Mercantile Library Association,’ described the difficulty of ascertaining the +distance of the stars from each other and from our earth; yet, he remarked, it had been done. +The nearest star’s distance from us had been measured, and by the aid of light, by which it +could alone be accomplished. That distance, he said, was immense, requiring ten years +for light to traverse it! The planets, he had no doubt, were inhabited. Of what use was +the reflection of the sun’s rays upon them, if there were no eyes there to behold it? What +was the use of moons, which the planets certainly have? He spoke also of the fixed stars, +which seem by the aid of a telescope to be innumerable. What was their purpose?—for a +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>92</span>guide to mariners? No; for a very small portion of them could be seen by the unassisted +eye. They were suns like our suns, to worlds like our worlds! To the inhabitants of those +fixed stars our sun appears as a star, and the planetary system revolving around it, of +which the earth is one, are unseen by them, as are those of theirs by us! Great <span class="special_name">God</span>! +‘When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou +hast ordained; what is <em>man</em>, that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man, that thou +visitest him!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">Our</span> correspondent who writes of ‘<i>The Country</i>,’ in preceding +pages wields a facile pen. His allusion to the choice of <em>names</em> for a country-seat reminds +us of the pleasant satire of ‘<em>Thinks-I-to-myself</em>’ upon this theme: ‘We lived, you must +know,’ he writes, ‘in a <em>Hall</em>; not when I was born, however, nor till long afterward. My +sister happened to have a correspondent at school near London, who finding it essentially +necessary to the support of her dignity among her school-fellows, always directed her letters +so; for the parents of one she found, lived at something <span class="special_name">House</span>; and of another at What’s-its-name +<span class="special_name">Place</span>; and of another at Thingummy <em>Lodge</em>; of another at the <em>Grange</em>; of +another at the <em>Castle</em>; of another at the <em>Park</em>; Miss <span class="special_name">Blaze</span>, the daughter of a retired +tallow-chandler, whose father lived at Candlewick-Castle, was continually throwing out +hints that not to live at a ‘Castle,’ or a ‘Park,’ or a ‘Place,’ or a ‘House,’ or a ‘Lodge,’ +unequivocally bespoke a low origin!’ Is this folly altogether indigenous to England? Let +the high-sounding names of scores of painted pine palaces not a thousand miles from this +metropolis make answer. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="special_name">It</span> don’t weigh as much as I expected, and I always +<em>thought</em> it wouldn’t!’ We were reminded of this remark of a person who desired a certain +result, but was at the same time unwilling to relinquish his pride of opinion, by the note +of our Mississippi correspondent, to whose long communication we alluded in our last +number. We <em>have</em> ‘taken its measure,’ as we promised, and find it quite beyond our +compass. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="special_name">Our</span> friend the <em>Poetical Englishman</em> is somewhat severe upon the godly +inhabitants of ‘<span class="special_name">Botolph’s Town</span>;’ yet we see nothing in his epistle that is not justified +by recent occurrences in the ‘Literary Emporium.’ It is lamentable that Boston should be +robbed of a decent theatre by an epidemic of pseudo-sanctity. <span class="special_name">Macready</span> was compelled +to play a recent engagement at a second-rate house, down in the ‘Wapping’ end of the +town, whither all the beauty and fashion crowded nightly through the mud to see him. It +strikes us that the ‘<i>Purification Hymn</i>,’ alluded to by our correspondent, must have been +a choice production of some <span class="special_name">Mawworm</span> of the day. Its reasoning is highly pellucid, and +its dignity is past all question. ‘Mimic scenes, and mirth and joy,’ it would seem, ‘allure +souls’ to endless perdition! Now against the licentiousness and drunkenness of the theatre +too much cannot be said; but for ‘mimic scenes’ dragging men to ——. But <i>cui bono</i>? +‘Your dull ass will never mend his pace with beating.’ By the by, we are well pleased to +see our English friend’s preference for mind over matter, in the way of <em>dramatic</em> personations. +Yet England has little reason to boast. What says ‘the <span class="special_name">Viscount</span>’ to the Chevalier +(d’industrie) <span class="special_name">Pip</span>? ‘What’s the good of <span class="special_name">Shakspeare</span>, <span class="special_name">Pip</span>? I never read him. +What the devil is it all about? There’s a lot of feet in <span class="special_name">Shakspeare’s</span> verse, but there ain’t +any legs worth mentioning in <span class="special_name">Shakspeare’s</span> plays, are there, <span class="special_name">Pip</span>? Juliet, Desdemona, +Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of ’em, whatever their names are, might as well have +no legs at all, for any thing the audience know about it. I’ll tell you what it is; what the +people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? +No; if I wanted that, I’d go to church. What’s the legitimate drama, <span class="special_name">Pip</span>? Human +nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg-pieces, +<span class="special_name">Pip</span>, and I’ll stand by you, my buck!’ This is ‘the ticket’ in London, as well as in +‘<span class="special_name">Botolph</span> his town.’ The ‘legs have it’ there as well as here. Meanwhile the sometime +gallant Thespian is in a sad plight, from having little to do and little pay for it. Admirers +fall off, one after another, under such circumstances; and even the gentle sex forget their +old enthusiasm:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Oh! once again we met, but no bandit-chief was there;</p> +<p>His rouge was off, and gone that head of once luxuriant hair:</p> +<p>He lodges in a two-pair back, and at the tavern near</p> +<p>He cannot liquidate his ‘chalk’ nor wipe away his beer.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>93</span>I saw him sad and seedy, yet methinks I see him now,</p> +<p>In the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>And thus he goes on, following his ‘occupation’ in one sense, and gradually sinking +lower and lower; until at length:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i6">‘<span class="first_word">Alas</span>! poor rat!</p> +<p class="i6">He has no cravat;</p> +<p>A seedy coat, and a hole in that!</p> +<p>No sole to his shoe, no brim to his hat;</p> +<p>Not a change of linen, except his skin:</p> +<p class="i6">No gloves, no vest,</p> +<p class="i6">Either second or best;</p> +<p>And what is worse than all the rest,</p> +<p>No light heart, though his breeches are thin!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Unusable articles, the worth of Shakspeare, actors--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p><span class="first_word">Is</span> not the following illustration of ‘<i>The Affections</i>,’ by Rev. <span class="special_name">Geo. B. Cheever</span>, ‘beautiful +exceedingly?’ ‘On a bright day in summer, while the west wind breathes gently, +you stand before a forest of maples, or you are attracted by a beautiful tree in the open +field, that seems a dense clump of foliage. You cannot but notice how easily the wind +moves it, how quietly, how gracefully, how lovingly, the whole body of it. It is simply +because it is covered with foliage. The same wind rustling through its dry branches in +winter, would scarce bend a bough, or only to break it. But now, softly whispering +through ten thousand leaves, how gently the whole tree yields to the impression! So it is +with the affections, the feelings. They are the foliage of our being, moved by the spirit +of <span class="special_name">God</span>.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">The</span> annual <em>Festival of Saint Nicholas</em>, beloved of all good <span class="special_name">Knickerbockers</span>, +was celebrated on the sixth ultimo at the City Hotel, by a crowded assemblage +of the members of the Society, and their invited guests. The new President was invested +with the orange-badge and venerable cocked-hat of his ‘illustrious predecessor,’ and new +subordinate officers were installed into their several stations; after which ceremony a +sumptuous repast, served in the well-known style of Messrs. <span class="special_name">Jennings and Willard</span>, +was discussed with universal <i>goût</i>. For the toasts regular and volunteer, and speeches +voluntary and involuntary, we must refer the reader to the daily journals ‘of that period;’ +while we simply add, that from soup to Paäs eggs, <i>schnaaps</i>, and pipes, every thing passed +off with unwonted hilarity and spirit. May we live to see fifty kindred gatherings of the +votaries of our patron saint! <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="first_word">You</span> don’t like smokin’, ’taint likely?’ asked a lank +free-and-easy Yankee, as he entered a room where four or five young ladies were sewing, +puffing a dank ‘long-nine.’ ‘Well, <em>we do not</em>,’ was the immediate reply. ‘Umph!’ replied +the smoker, removing his cigar long enough to spit, ‘<em>a good many people don’t!</em>’—and +he kept on smoking. We know of <em>one</em> reader of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>, a thousand miles +from the hand that jots down this anecdote, who will enjoy it hugely; and indeed it is +mainly for him that we record it. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">This</span> is <em>Thanksgiving Evening</em> in the Empire +State; and as there is a fair-haired, hazle-eyed little boy pulling at our ‘sword-arm,’ (too +fatigued with writing to offer any resistance) suppose we read to you, while he sits ‘throned +on his father’s knee,’ this timely and admirable passage from the pen of <span class="special_name">Charles Hoover</span>, +Esq., of New-Jersey, a fine scholar, and a writer of as pure Saxon English as the best +among us:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>‘<span class="first_word">There</span> is much in the aspect of Divine Providence at the present time, both toward our own country +and the world, to awaken gratitude and thoughtful joy. An unexampled spectacle is presented in the +current history of the world. It is moving on almost without a ripple. The changes of time are +taking place as noiselessly as the ordinary changes of nature. The decay of old and injurious social +and political systems is going on like the crumbling of ruins in a desert, by the force of inherent tendency +rather than by external violence; and milder and more benignant systems are appearing, not +like those islands sprung by volcanic shocks above the bosom of the deep, but like the beauty of spring, +or the glory of summer, by a natural and imperceptible growth. Within the memory of many yet +living there was a very different state of things. Scarcely a month then passed without a shock, a +press and medley in human affairs that amazed and bewildered men, and kept anxiety on the stretch. +Such was the history of Europe. Every change was a concussion; every fear a storm; every revolution +a convulsion. Not less in motion is society now, but it is like the motion of the spheres, grand +and silent; and that silence is the emblem and the evidence of greatness and power in the present +movement of Providence in human affairs. The once apparently random and divergent lines of that +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page94" name="page94"></a>94</span>Providence now seem to be flowing to a common point, and terminating in one great result—the improvement +and happiness of our race. Abating much of what has been extravagantly vaunted about +the march of mind and the perfectibility of human society, it is still visibly true that the general condition +of the world is improved and improving. Vast accessions have been made to science; knowledge +has been diffused over a wider surface, than was ever before known; ignorance is felt to be a +calamity if not a crime; truths that were formerly contemplated only in the closet of the sage, have +become familiarized in the cottage and the common mind; the rights of men are better defined and +understood; the power of rulers is swayed within juster limits, and is every where abandoning its +old apparatus of racks and halters and dungeons as the means of governing immortal mind, and is +silently conceding to it its alienable prerogative of free thought.’</p> +</div> +</div><!--Saint Nicholas and Thanksgiving--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p><span class="first_word">We</span> have little to chronicle of <em>The Drama</em> proper this month. <em>Music</em>, vocal and instrumental, +has kept this branch of the fine arts somewhat in the back-ground. We have had +the pleasure to see Mr. <span class="special_name">Macready</span> once only at the Park, on which occasion he personated +the character of <span class="special_name">Melantius</span> in ‘<i>The Bridal</i>’ with transcendent power. We have seen +this fine actor in no part, if we except perhaps that of Werner, in which his genius shone +so conspicuous. He was admirably supported by the scarcely subordinate characters represented +by <span class="special_name">Wheatly</span>, <span class="special_name">Rider</span>, Miss <span class="special_name">Cushman</span>, and Mrs. <span class="special_name">H. Hunt</span>. Mr. <span class="special_name">Wheatly</span> has +evidently much of ‘the heavy business’ at the Park upon his broad shoulders, for he appears +in two or three pieces almost every night. On the occasion alluded to, no sooner had +the curtain risen after ‘The Bridal,’ than we found him making Stentorian love (‘in a +horn’) to the ‘Dumb Belle’ of the evening, in which he excited shouts of uproarious +laughter. At the <span class="special_name">Bowery Theatre</span>, as well as at the <span class="special_name">Chatham</span>, ‘<i>The Mysteries of Paris</i>’ +has run a most successful career. The <span class="special_name">Olympic</span> has been crowded nightly by the mingled +attractions of opera and travestie; while the <span class="special_name">Bowery Amphitheatre</span> and <span class="special_name">Rockwell’s</span> +Circus at <span class="special_name">Niblo’s</span>, have shared abundantly in the favor bestowed now-a-days upon popular +entertainments. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="first_word">Dress</span> always and <em>act</em> to please your partner for life, as you were +fain to do before the nuptial-knot was tied.’ This is an old maxim, and here is ‘a commentator +upon it.’ A newly-married lady is suddenly surprised by a visit from a newly-married +man, when she straightway begins to apologize: ‘She is horribly chagrined, and out +of countenance, to be caught in such a dishabille; she did not mind how her clothes were +huddled on, not expecting any company, there being nobody at home but her husband!’ +The husband meanwhile shakes the visitor’s hand, and says: ‘I am heartily glad to see +you, <span class="special_name">Jack</span>: I don’t know how it was, I was almost asleep; for as there was nobody at home +but my wife, I did not know what to do with myself!’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">The</span> beautiful lines by Mrs. <span class="special_name">M. +T. W. Chandler</span>, elsewhere in the present number, illustrate, or are illustrated by the following +passage from <span class="special_name">Warren Hasting’s</span> eloquent reflections upon the changes to which +the <span class="small_all_caps">SOUL</span> is destined hereafter: ‘When the hour is at hand which is to dissolve the mortal +tie, the soul parts without regret with those delights which it received from its sensual gratifications, +and dwells only, dwells with a fond affection, on the partner or pledges of its love; +or on friends from whom it seems to be cut off for ever; and if it looks, as it must look, to +futurity, these are the first objects of its wishes connected with it, and the first ingredients +in its conceptions of celestial felicity. For my own part (and on a subject like this, where +can we so properly appeal as to ourselves?) although my reason dictates to me the hope of a +future happiness, whatever may be the mode of it, yet my heart feels no interest in the prospect +when viewed as a scene of solitary, selfish enjoyment. It recoils with horror at the +thought of losing the remembrance of every past connexion, and even of those whom it +loved most dearly, and of being forgotten by them utterly and for ever. Is this too, it asks, +one of the delusions of life? No; for all its other passions expire before it; but this remains, +like hope, ‘nor leaves us when we die.’’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">The</span> ‘<i>Anglo-American</i>’ literary +journal has just issued to its subscribers one of the finest counterfeit presentments of +<span class="special_name">Washington</span> that we have ever seen. It is a print almost the size of a full-length cabinet portrait +in oil, engraved in a masterly manner by <span class="special_name">Halpin</span> after <span class="special_name">Gilbert Stuart’s</span> celebrated +picture. If this superior engraving is a sample of what the patrons of the ‘Anglo-American’ +are hereafter to expect from its publishers, it is easy to foresee that that spirited journal +has entered upon a long career of popularity. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="first_word">T.’s</span> ‘<i>Stanzas</i>’ await his order at the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page95" name="page95"></a>95</span>publication-office. They are far from lacking merit, but are in parts artificial and labored. +Lines eked out with accented letters, in which</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>——‘all the syllables that end in éd,</p> +<p>Like old dragoons, have cuts across the head,’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>always seem to us to come rather from the head than the heart. We shall expect, nevertheless, +to hear from our friend again, according to promise. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">We</span> ‘stop the press’ to announce +that Mr. <span class="special_name">Punch</span> has just dropped in from England, bringing the latest intelligence from ‘the +other side.’ He has lately visited several places on the continent, not so much to see them +as to be enabled to say, like other English travellers, that he <em>had been there</em>. ‘Mr. <span class="special_name">Punch</span>, +having arrived at Rouen late at night, left it very early the next morning, much impressed +with the institutions of the city, both civil and architectural, as well as its manners, customs, +and social life, which he is about to embody in a work called ‘<i>Six hours and a half at +Rouen</i>,’ to be brought out by a fashionable publisher.’ From the reports of one of the +learned societies, we derive the following important scientific information: ‘Mr. <span class="special_name">Sappy</span> read +a paper, proving the impossibility of being able to see into the middle of next week, from +known facts with regard to the equation of time. He stated that, supposing it possible for +a person to ascend in a balloon sufficiently high for his vision to embrace a distance of seven +hundred miles from east to west, he would then only see forty minutes ahead of him; that +is, he would see places where the day was forty minutes in advance of the day in which he +lived. Thus he might be said to see forty minutes into futurity. It has also been proved +that, in sailing round the world in one direction, a day’s reckoning is gained; so that the +sailor on his return finds himself to be ‘a man in advance of his age’ by one day. This one +day, however, is the farthest attainable limit; and it is therefore impossible to see into the +middle of next Week!’ ‘Mr. <span class="special_name">Tite</span>, proprietor of the ‘Metropolitan Bakedtatery’ brought forward +his new ‘Low Pressure Potatoe-Can,’ upon an improved principle. It was constructed +of tin, and warranted to sustain a pressure of twenty potatoes upon the square bottom. Mr. +<span class="special_name">Tite</span> explained that the steam had nothing to do with the warmth of the fruit, but was quite +independent of it.’ ‘Mr. <span class="special_name">Flit</span> brought forward his new and improved Street Telescope for +looking at the moon. It was most ingeniously constructed, being to the eye a fine instrument +of six feet long. Mr. <span class="special_name">Flit</span> explained, however, that the telescope itself was only an +eighteen-inch one, the case being manufactured to increase its importance, in which the +real glass was enclosed. The chief merit of this invention was, that the moon could be +seen equally well on cloudy nights, or when there was none at all, the case enclosing an +ingenious transparency of that body, behind which a small lamp was hung. Mr. <span class="special_name">Flit</span> +could always command a view of any of the celestial bodies by the same means.’ Here +are a few items of law from ‘<i>The Comic Blackstone</i>:’ ‘The statute of <span class="special_name">Edward</span> the Fourth, +prohibiting any but lords from wearing pikes on their shoes of more than two inches long, +was considered to savor of oppression; but those who were in the habit of receiving +from a lord more kicks than coppers, would consider that the law savored of benevolence.’ +‘Unlawfully detaining a man in any way is imprisonment; so that if you take your neighbor +by the button, and cause him to listen to a long story, you are guilty of imprisonment.’ +<span class="special_name">Punch’s</span> idea of ‘<em>Woman’s Mission</em>’ differs somewhat from other reformers of the times: +‘To replace the shirt-button of the father, the brother, the husband, which has come off in +putting on the vestment; to bid the variegated texture of the morning slipper or the waistcoat +grow upon the Berlin wool; to repair the breach that incautious haste in dressing has +created in the coat or the trowsers, which there is no time to send out to be mended; are the +special offices of woman; offices for which her digital mechanism has singularly fitted +her.’ Apropos of ‘<em>Missions</em>:’ we perceive that <span class="special_name">Dickens</span> understands this vague verbal +apology for eccentricity or humbugeousness, if we interpret aright his frail and tearful <span class="special_name">Moddle</span>; +‘who talked much about people’s ‘missions,’ upon which he seemed to have some private +information not generally attainable,’ and who, ‘being aware that a shepherd’s mission +was to pipe to his flock, and that a boatswain’s mission was to pipe all hands, and that +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96"></a>96</span>one man’s mission was to be a paid piper, and another man’s mission was to pay the piper, +had got it into his head that his own peculiar mission was to pipe his eye, which he did perpetually.’ +<span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A curious</span> volume has recently appeared in Paris, entitled ‘<i>Poésies Populaires +Latines antérieures au Douzième Siècle</i>;’ and as sequels to the work, are certain satires +upon the avarice and corruption of the papal government in the twelfth century, among +which is the following curious parody:</p> +<div class="quotation"> + +<p>‘<i>Here beginneth the Gospel according to Marks of silver.</i>—In that time the pope said to the Romans: +When the son of man cometh to the seat of our majesty, say ye first, Friend, what seekest +thou? But if he continue knocking, and give you nothing, cast him out into utter darkness. And it +came to pass that a certain poor clerk came to the court of our lord the pope, and cried out, saying, +Have pity on me at least you, O gate-keepers of the pope, for the hand of poverty hath touched me. +Verily I am needy and poor; therefore, I pray ye, relieve my calamity and my wretchedness. But +they, when they heard him, were very wroth, and said, Friend, thy poverty be with thee to perdition! +get behind me, Sathanas, for thou art not wise in the wisdom of money. Verily, verily I say unto +thee, thou shalt not enter into the joy of thy lord until thou hast given thy last farthing. And the +poor man departed, and sold his cloak and his coat and all that he had, and gave it to the cardinals and +to the gate-keepers; and they said, What is this among so many? And they cast him out before the +doors; and he went out, and wept bitterly, and might not be comforted. Then there came to the +court a certain rich clerk, great and fat and swollen, who in a riot had slain a man. He gave first to +the gate-keeper, secondly to the chamberlain, thirdly to the cardinals; but they thought among +themselves that they should have received more. And when our lord the pope heard that the cardinals +and ministers had received many gifts of the clerk, he became sick unto death. But the rich +man sent him a medicine of gold and silver, and immediately he was cured. Then our lord the pope +called to him the cardinals and ministers, and said to them, Brethren, see that no one seduce you with +empty words; for I give you an example, that as I myself receive, so receive ye.’</p> +</div> +<p>The corruptions of this era are equally well illustrated by a very amusing anecdote of +‘a handsome Italian friar, <i>teres atque rotundus</i>, about thirty, and extremely bold and eloquent;’ +doubtless one of that class so felicitously limned by <span class="special_name">Thomson</span>:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘A little round, fat, oily man of <span class="special_name">God</span></p> +<p>Was one I chiefly marked among the fry;</p> +<p>He had a roguish twinkle in his eye</p> +<p>And shone all glittering with ungodly dew,</p> +<p>If a tight damsel chanced to trippen by;</p> +<p>Which when observed he shrunk into his mew,</p> +<p>And straight would recollect his piety anew.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>One day at a remote confessional of the church he declared an unholy and forbidden +passion to a young and beautiful married lady, whom he had long ‘followed with his eyes,’ +and begged permission to visit her at her residence. Struck with surprise at this new +revelation of his character, she evaded reply, being secretly minded to inform her husband, +when she returned home, which she did, word for word. He told his wife to contrive to let +the friar come, alone and in secret, the next evening, which chanced to be that of Saturday, +and the night before the Sunday of Saint Lazarus, on which occasion the friar was to +preach. The appointment was made; the friar came, true to the late hour which had +been designated; was received at the door, and shown into the lady’s bed-room by a servant, +who informed him that she had desired him to request the good man to retire to rest, +and to say that ‘she would be with him straight.’ The friar prepared to comply with the +direction, and was about stepping into bed, when the door opened suddenly, and the lady +entered in great apparent trepidation, exclaiming: ‘My husband is knocking at the door! +For heaven’s sake slip into that chest,’ showing him a double one in the apartment, ‘and +lie there until I see what may be done! Meanwhile I will hide your clothes somewhere or +other, as well as I am able. Heaven knows I fear more for your holy person than I do for +my own life!’ The unfortunate wretch, seeing himself reduced to such a pass, did as the +worthy lady desired; while the husband, presently coming in, retired to rest with his wife, +who had first locked the friar safe in the chest. The poor prisoner uttered sundry involuntary +noises in the course of the night, and was in the direst terror at the inquiries which +they awakened on the part of the husband. Daylight at length came, and the church-bells +began to ring for prayers, which greatly annoyed the captive, who was to preach at the +cathedral. The husband having risen, ordered two servants to carry the chest to the church +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>97</span>and place it in the middle, saying they were ordered to do so by the preacher; and that unlocking +the chest without raising the lid, they should leave it there; all which the fellows +did very neatly. Every body stared, and wondered what all this could mean; some said one +thing and some another. At last the bell having ceased to ring, and no one appearing in +the pulpit, or any other part of the church, a young man rose and said: ‘Really, the good +friar makes us wait quite too long; pray let us see what he has ordered to be brought in +this chest.’ Having said this much, he before all the congregation lifted up the lid, and +looking in, beheld the friar in his shirt, pale, almost frightened to death, and certainly appearing +more dead than alive, and as if buried in the chest. Finding himself discovered, +however, he collected his mind as well as he could, and stood upright, to the great astonishment +of all present; and having taken his text from the Sunday of Lazarus, he thus addressed +his congregation: ‘My dear brethren: I am not at all astonished at your surprise +in seeing me brought before you in this chest, or rather at my ordering myself to be brought +thus: ye know that this is the way in which our holy church commemorates the wonderful +miracle our <span class="special_name">Lord</span> performed on the person of <span class="special_name">Lazarus</span>, in raising him from the dead who +had been buried four days. I was desirous in your favor to present myself to you as it were +in the form of <span class="special_name">Lazarus</span>, in order that seeing me in this chest, which is no other than an +emblem of the sepulchre wherein he had been buried, you might be moved more effectually +to the consideration of what perishable things we are; and that seeing me stripped of all +worldly decorations, thus in my shirt, you may be convinced of the vanity of the things +of this world, the which, if only duly considered, may tend greatly to the amending of +our lives. Will you believe that since yesterday night I have been a thousand times +dead, and revived as <span class="special_name">Lazarus</span> was; and considering my dreadful situation, remember (as +it were with the memory of a similar penance in your hearts) that we must all die, and +trust to <span class="special_name">Him</span> who can bestow upon us life eternal: but first ye must die to sin, to avarice, +to rapine, to lust, and all those sinful deeds to which our nature prompts us.’ In such language, +and in such manner, did the friar continue his sermon. The husband, astonished +at the extraordinary presence of mind which he displayed, laughed heartily at his success; +and in consideration of the adroitness of the culprit, did not attempt any farther revenge; +‘but,’ it is added, ‘he took very good care to shut his door in future against all such double-faced +hypocrites.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">Reader</span>, what are you thinking of at this moment? ‘Nothing.’ +Indeed! and so were we, and of how much a clever man once said upon the subject; observe: +‘Philosophers have declared they knew nothing, and it is common for us to talk about doing +nothing; for from ten to twenty we go to school to be taught what from twenty to thirty we +are very apt to forget; from thirty to forty we begin to settle; from forty to fifty, we think +away as fast as we can; from fifty to sixty, we are very careful in our accounts; and from +sixty to seventy, we cast up what all our thinking comes to; and then, what between our +losses and our gains, our enjoyments and our inquietudes, even with the addition of old age, +we can but strike a balance of ciphers.’ Happy are they who amidst the variations of nothing +have nothing to fear; if they have nothing to lose, they have nothing to lament; and if they +have done nothing to be ashamed of, they have every thing to hope for. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">Sententiousness</span>, +let us inform ‘S.’ of Cambridge, and antitheses, do not consist of short sentences +and inversion of words <em>merely</em>; and even the most felicitous examples in each case +often sacrifice the sound to the sense. Here is an instance which is unobjectionable: ‘I knew +the old miser well. He amassed a fortune by raising hemp; and if he had had his deserts, +would have died as he lived by it.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">Just</span> as the sheets of this department were +passing to the press, we received the announcement of a public exhibition of two collections +of pictures, which we have seen, and to which we cannot resist the impulse of directing +the public attention. At the rooms of the National Academy, corner of Broadway +and Leonard-street, may be seen Mr. <span class="special_name">Cole’s</span> allegorical pictures of ‘The Voyage of Life,’ +heretofore noticed at length in these pages; ‘<i>Mount Ætna, from Taormina, Sicily</i>,’ one of +the most noble paintings that ever came from this eminent artist’s pencil; ‘Angels ministering +to Christ in the Wilderness;’ ‘The Past and the Present;’ ‘A View of Ruined +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>98</span>Aqueducts in the Campagna di Roma,’ and other pictures; altogether, an exceedingly +fine collection. Indeed, the superb view of Ætna alone, with its vast and sublime accessories, +is of itself an exhibition worth twice the price of admission. At the rooms of the +<span class="special_name">Apollo Association</span>, nearly opposite the Hospital, in Broadway, Mr. <span class="special_name">Harvey’s</span> series of +<i>Forty Historic or Atmospheric American Landscape Scenes</i> are to be seen for a short time. +It needed not the high patronage of Queen <span class="special_name">Victoria</span>, the praises of English royalty and +nobility, nor the warm encomiums of <span class="special_name">Allston</span>, <span class="special_name">Sully</span>, <span class="special_name">Moore</span>, and others, to secure +attention to these graphic sketches from nature. They are their own best recommendation. +Trust our verdict, reader, and go and <em>see</em> if they are not. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="special_name">Terpsichore</span>’ is the title +of a very spirited satirical poem read at the annual dinner of the Phi Beta Kappa Society +of Cambridge University in August last, by <span class="special_name">Oliver Wendell Holmes</span>, and copied in +‘<i>Graham’s Magazine</i>’ for January. We subjoin a passage which although abundantly +poetical contains yet more truth than poetry. It ‘bases’ upon the <span class="special_name">Dickens</span> dinner:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">He</span> for whose sake the glittering show appears</p> +<p>Has sown the world with laughter and with tears,</p> +<p>And they whose welcome wets the bumper’s brim</p> +<p>Have wit and wisdom—for they all quote him.</p> +<p>So, many a tongue the evening hour prolongs</p> +<p>With spangled speeches, let alone the songs;</p> +<p>Statesmen grow merry, young attorneys laugh,</p> +<p>And weak teetotals warm to half-and-half,</p> +<p>And beardless Tullys, new to festive scenes,</p> +<p>Cut their first crop of youth’s precocious greens;</p> +<p>And wits stand ready for impromptu claps,</p> +<p>With loaded barrels and percussion-caps;</p> +<p>And Pathos, cantering through the minor keys,</p> +<p>Waves all her onions to the trembling breeze;</p> +<p>While the great Feasted views with silent glee</p> +<p>His scattered limbs in Yankee fricassee.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet is the scene where genial friendship plays</p> +<p>The pleasing game of interchanging praise;</p> +<p>Self-love, grimalkin of the human heart,</p> +<p>Is ever pliant to the master’s art;</p> +<p>Soothed with a word, she peacefully withdraws</p> +<p>And sheaths in velvet her obnoxious claws,</p> +<p>And thrills the hand that smooths her glossy fur</p> +<p>With the light tremor of her gentle pur.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But what sad music fills the quiet hall</p> +<p>If on her back a feline rival fall!</p> +<p>And oh! what noises shake the tranquil house,</p> +<p>If old <span class="special_name">Self-interest</span> cheats her of a mouse!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thou, O my country! hast thy foolish ways,</p> +<p>Too apt to pur at every stranger’s praise:</p> +<p>But if the stranger touch thy modes or laws,</p> +<p>Off goes the velvet and out come the claws!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And thou, Illustrious! but too poorly paid</p> +<p>In toasts from Pickwick for thy great crusade,</p> +<p>Though while the echoes labored with thy name</p> +<p>The public trap denied thy little game,</p> +<p>Let other lips our jealous laws revile—</p> +<p>The marble <span class="special_name">Talfourd</span> or the rude <span class="special_name">Carlyle</span>;</p> +<p>But on thy lids, that Heaven forbids to close</p> +<p>Where’er the light of kindly nature glows,</p> +<p>Let not the dollars that a churl denies</p> +<p>Weigh like the shillings on a dead man’s eyes!</p> +<p>Or, if thou wilt, be more discreetly blind,</p> +<p>Nor ask to see all wide extremes combined;</p> +<p>Not in our wastes the dainty blossoms smile</p> +<p>That crowd the gardens of thy scanty isle;</p> +<p>There white-cheek’d Luxury weaves a thousand charms,</p> +<p>Here sun-browned Labor swings his Cyclop arms;</p> +<p>Long are the furrows he must trace between</p> +<p>The ocean’s azure and the prairies’ green;</p> +<p>Full many a blank his destined realm displays,</p> +<p>Yet see the promise of his riper days:</p> +<p>Far through yon depths the panting engine moves,</p> +<p>His chariots ringing in their steel-shod groves,</p> +<p>And Erie’s naiad flings her diamond wave</p> +<p>O’er the wild sea-nymph in her distant cave:</p> +<p>While tasks like these employ his anxious hours,</p> +<p>What if his corn-fields are not edged with flowers?</p> +<p>Though bright as silver the meridian beams</p> +<p>Shine through the crystal of thine English streams,</p> +<p>Turbid and dark the mighty wave is whirled</p> +<p>That drains our Andes and divides a world.</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>Under the similitude of a <em>German-silver-spoon</em>, ‘used by dabblers in æsthetic tea,’ we have +the annexed palpable hit at the small-beer imitators of <span class="special_name">Carlyle</span>, and copyists after the external +garb of the German school, who have occasionally shown themselves up in the pages +of ‘The Dial,’ a work which formerly ‘indicated rather the place of the moon than the sun:’</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Small</span> as it is, its powers are passing strange;</p> +<p>For all who use it show a wondrous change,</p> +<p>And first, a fact to make the barbers stare,</p> +<p>It beats Macassar for the growth of hair:</p> +<p>See those small youngsters whose expansive ears</p> +<p>Maternal kindness grazed with frequent shears;</p> +<p>Each bristling crop a dangling mass becomes,</p> +<p>And all the spoonies turn to Absaloms!</p> +<p>Nor this alone its magic power displays—</p> +<p>It alters strangely all their works and ways;</p> +<p>With uncouth words they tire their tender lungs,</p> +<p>The same bald phrases on their hundred tongues;</p> +<p>‘Ever’ ‘The Ages’ in their page appear,</p> +<p>‘Alway’ the bedlamite is called a ‘Seer;’</p> +<p>On every leaf the ‘earnest’ sage may scan,</p> +<p>Portentious bore! their ‘many-sided’ man;</p> +<p>A weak eclectic, groping, vague and dim,</p> +<p>Whose every angle is a half-starved whim,</p> +<p>Blind as a mole and curious as a lynx,</p> +<p>Who rides a beetle which he calls a ‘Sphinx.’</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And O what questions asked in club-foot rhyme</p> +<p>Of Earth the tongueless and the deaf-mute Time!</p> +<p>Here babbling ‘Insight’ shouts in Nature’s ears</p> +<p>His last conundrum on the orbs and spheres;</p> +<p>There Self-inspection sucks its little thumb,</p> +<p>With ‘Whence am I?’ and ‘Wherefore did I come?’</p> +<p>Deluded infants! will they ever know</p> +<p>Some doubts must darken o’er the world below,</p> +<p>Though all the Platos of the nursery trail</p> +<p>Their ‘clouds of glory’ at the go-cart’s tail?</p> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>99</span>We should exceedingly like to hear Mr. <span class="special_name">A. Bronson Alcott’s</span> opinion as touching the <em>faithfulness</em> +of the foregoing. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">There</span> is a fearful lesson conveyed in the annexed communication +from a metropolitan physician, who assures us that it is in all respects an accurate +statement of an occurrence to which he was an eye-witness: ‘Duty impels me, Mr. +<span class="special_name">Editor</span>, to lay before you one of the little incidents which my situation as a medical man +has brought to my notice. There is no class of men who are led with keener perceptions +to investigate human nature than enlightened practising physicians. They have a hold +upon the affections and confidence of every class of society; and for this reason they +should feel it incumbent upon themselves to act the part of <em>moral</em> as well as <em>physical</em> agents. +For myself, I think it would be well if medical men were so far constituted missionaries, +as to make it a duty to point a moral whenever it would be likely to be well received. I +am aware that attempts of this sort with many persons would be vain or injudicious, and +sometimes nauseate perhaps, like the accompanying drugs; but eventually it might prove +salutary to the soul; and although cursed for good advice, is it not in the end a blessing? +But to my story: I was called a short time since to a youth about twenty years of age: +he had been only a few months in the city, and I had occasionally seen him, but had little +acquaintance with him, being much his senior. When I entered, one of his fits of raving, +occasioned by fever, was just coming on. I approached and took his hand: ‘What do you +want?’ said he; ‘you look so mild and yet so penetrating. I have not got any.’ ‘Any +<em>what</em>?’ said I. ‘Any money,’ he replied; ‘the drawer was locked, and I could not get +any without being seen; so go away!’ ‘I came to cure you, not to take your money,’ I +replied. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘did I not take some from you? Look! look! There they come! +sixpences, shillings! See! see! how they tumble from the wall! Look! there is a piece +of gold! See! look! there they keep coming! I never took all this!—at first I only took +enough to get a cigar with, now and then. See! the room is filling! I shall suffocate!’ +‘What does this mean, young man?’ said I; ‘be calm.’ ‘Did they not tell you to <em>come and +feel my pulse and see if there was not a sixpence in it</em>?’ ‘No, no; I came to make you better.’ +‘Better? <em>better</em>? <span class="small_all_caps">BETTER</span>? Here, hide these; don’t let my friends know of them; +they were stolen! I cannot look at them now. Ha! ha! ha!—I cannot!’ I was induced to +remain until the frenzy of the fever had passed off, and found the young man had intervals +of reason. He was now in deep despondency. I inquired his name. He had dropped it, +he said; he could not debase it. ‘Debase it?’ said I. ‘Yes!’ he answered, with a groan +like a howl. The next day the young man sent for me again. He appeared much altered; +said that he did not wish to live; that he had ‘<em>a gnawing at his soul</em>.’ I remarked that he +was very young to be tired of life; that if he had been guilty of any crime he should +desire to live to expiate it. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘the stain will always last!’ I told him, not +so; that if he heartily repented and turned to the right source for consolation, it would be +vouchsafed him. ‘I feel that I cannot live,’ he replied, ‘and my friends will be better satisfied +to know that I am repentant in my last moments, and that I am gone, than they +would be to think of me as a vagabond, let loose upon society: they will at least feel that +I shall ‘cease from troubling.’ I have not the excuse that many delinquents have pleaded, +early initiation into vice. My childhood was passed with pious relatives, who labored +to instil religious principles into my mind; but I ‘would none of their reproof.’ My friends +not being wealthy, I was left at a proper age to my own resources. I found a situation +where my talents were appreciated by my employer, and perhaps too highly estimated by +myself. I had a brother who was ten years my senior, whom I loved and esteemed—may +Heaven keep him in blessed ignorance of my fate!—but I thought less highly of his intellect +when I saw him excited by some sublime hymn, which angels might listen to, than I +did of my own, when I turned from the devotions of the Sabbath to join my idle companions. +In the situation I held, I might have gained respectability; but my besetting sin +betrayed me so often, that the kind indulgence of a good master could no longer conceal +my crimes. I now see that the sting inflicted by vice must and <em>will</em> remain! We may repent, +we may be forgiven; but the mind will not part with its bitter recollections!’ I was +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>100</span>here called away for a few moments, and when I returned, the unhappy young man was +in the land of spirits! I learned that he was engaged to a highly amiable young lady, who +relinquished him, and shortly afterward died of a broken heart. <em>Her</em> sad fate threw him +into a brain-fever, and as you perceive, decided <em>his</em> likewise. Incidents like these I am +aware have often been narrated; yet if the tragedy which I have depicted should be +blessed to the use of any young man abandoned to temptation and addicted to small crimes, +and lead him to reflection, it will be a gratification to feel that my feeble effort, with Heaven’s +help, has proved ‘a word in season.’’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">There</span> are inequalities of merit in the ‘<i>Dirge</i>’ +of ‘D. D.’ of Hartford, though the <em>spirit</em> of the verse is tender and touching. We annex +a few stanzas, in illustration of our encomium:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Thrust</span> him in his narrow bed,</p> +<p>Heap the cold earth on his head,</p> +<p>But be sure no tear ye shed—</p> +<p class="i6">Not a tear for him!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Bitter toil was his from birth,</p> +<p>Dearly bought his homely mirth,</p> +<p>While his master was of earth—</p> +<p class="i6">Now he’s of the sky.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Death knocked at his door at night,</p> +<p>With his crushing hand of might,</p> +<p>Woke him to that morning light</p> +<p class="i6">Which can know no noon!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When that sacred morning beam</p> +<p>Wakes his spirit, life shall seem</p> +<p>But a dreary changeful dream—</p> +<p class="i6">Soon o’er, and not too soon!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Patiently for few long years,</p> +<p>Struggling with earth’s giant fears,</p> +<p>With hands too busy to wipe tears,</p> +<p class="i6">Met he life’s long shock.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet not all blank and desolate</p> +<p>Was this poor man’s earthly state;</p> +<p>Hope, toil, content, can soften fate,</p> +<p class="i6">As the moss the rock.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>O! lost Brother! still and cold,</p> +<p>Sunk like rain into the mould,</p> +<p>Silently, unseen, untold—</p> +<p class="i6">Thou ’rt a <span class="special_name">God</span>-sown seed!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>It is a sad sight to look upon the corpse of a laborer, cut down in the midst of a toilsome +life; his hard, knotty hands clasped upon the still breast, and the strong limbs laid in +serene repose. And yet how happy the change! No longer does he ask leave to toil; no +longer is he at war with poverty, for death has made it a drawn battle. He ‘rests from +his labors’ where the rich and the poor meet together, and he hears no more the voice of +the oppressor. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">Perhaps</span> our readers will have observed that the <i>Sketches of East +Florida</i> are from no common pen. The description which has been given by the writer, of +the delicious climate in that sunny region, may to many ‘Northeners’ seem exaggerated; +but such is not the fact. A friend writing recently from St. Augustine, thus playfully +alludes to the effect which the climate produces upon a New-Yorker: ‘If a business-man +could be caught up from the whirl of Broadway, and dropped in a warm climate, say that +of St. Augustine, and left under a fig-tree to his own reflections, his first thought doubtless +would be for an omnibus ‘right up.’ ‘Rather queer!’ he would say; ‘a hot sun, sandy +street, and not a carriage to be seen! There’s a man out in his slippers, and a woman +with her head tied up in a handkerchief—may-be a night-cap; probably some old Dutch +settlers that went to-sleep with <span class="special_name">Rip Van Winkle</span>. Wild turkeys, as I live, all about the +market!—and oh, <span class="special_name">Lord</span>! there’s a little nigger with only a shirt on! Halloo there! you +little nigger! tell me the way to the Broadway coaches! No coaches? no omnibii? Well, +where’s your five-o’clock boats?—where’s your Harlaem rail-road? I want to go back +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>101</span>to town!’ Such would probably be his first go-off; and the next impulse would be to run, +shout, cry fire! or murder!—any thing to produce a sensation; but unless very soon about +it, he would find himself yielding to some strange influence hitherto unfelt; and it would be +amusing to notice how soon the fretting restless man of the forty-second latitude would be +tamed down in the thirteenth to the equanimity of a child asleep. The climate enters +within the man, and brings out one by one some hidden and better impulse, at the same +time laying a gentle hand upon his rougher humors; so that when he would shout, he hums, +and when he would laugh, he smiles only; and in undertaking to run, he is caught about +the waist; and goes floating smoothly around in the ground-swell motion of the Spanish-dance.’ +<span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">We</span> perceive that the <em>Copy-right Question</em> has been thus early brought +before the National Legislature. From the present aspect of things we may indulge a +well-grounded hope that authors who have worn themselves out in making other people +happy, will not hereafter be left to perish amidst age and infirmity, unrelieved by the fruit +of their labors. There is one argument exceedingly well illustrated in the recent address +of the ‘Copy-right Club.’ In allusion to the floods of trash which have for months inundated +the Atlantic cities and towns, the writer, addressing himself to American citizens, +observes: ‘In all other circumstances and questions save that of a literature, you have +taken the high ground of freedom and self-reliance. You have neither asked, nor loaned, +nor besought, but with your own hands have framed, what the occasion required. Whatever +stature you have grown to as a nation, it is due to that sole virtue; and by its exercise +may you only hope to hold your place. In almost any other shape than that of silent books +you would have spurned the foreign and held fast to the home-born; but stealing in quietly +at every opening, making themselves the seemingly inoffensive and unobtrusive lodgers in +every house, they have full possession of the country in all its parts; and another people +may promise themselves in the next generation of Americans, (as the question now goes,) +a restored dominion which their arms were not able to keep. The pamphlet will carry the +day where the soldier fell back.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">We</span> derive the annexed stanzas through a Boston correspondent. +He assures us that the work of art which they commemorate is most honorable +to the genius of the sculptor, who has been winning laurels ever since his removal to +the tasteful city:</p> +<h3 class="title">LINES</h3> +<h4 class="subtitle">WRITTEN ON COMPLETING A MARBLE BUST OF THE LATE WASHINGTON ALLSTON.</h4> +<h4 class="byline">BY M. A. BRACKETT.</h4> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Upward</span> unto the living light</p> +<p class="i2">Intensely thou dost gaze,</p> +<p>As if thy very soul wouldst seek</p> +<p class="i2">In that far distant maze</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Communion with those heavenly forms</p> +<p class="i2">That lifting to the sight</p> +<p>Their golden wings and snowy robes,</p> +<p class="i2">Float on a sea of light.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Anon far, far away they glide,</p> +<p class="i2">Shooting through realms of bliss,</p> +<p>Till from the spirit’s eye they fade</p> +<p class="i2">In heaven’s own bright abyss.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Such are the visions thou dost wake,</p> +<p class="i2">Such are the thoughts that rise</p> +<p>In him who ’neath thy upturned brow</p> +<p class="i2">Beholds thy spirit-eyes.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>There is no stain upon that brow;</p> +<p class="i2">Pure as thy holy life</p> +<p>Serene and calm, thy heavenly face—</p> +<p class="i2">Within, no wasting strife.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>How strangely have the swift hours flown</p> +<p class="i2">As o’er the shapeless pile</p> +<p>I poured the full strength of my soul,</p> +<p class="i2">Lost to all else the while!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When fell the last faint stroke which told</p> +<p class="i2">That thou and I must part,</p> +<p>That all of life that I could give</p> +<p class="i2">Was thine, how throbbed my heart!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet to this form that I have reared</p> +<p class="i2">Should aught of praise belong,</p> +<p>Not unto me the merit due,</p> +<p class="i2">But Him who made me strong:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Who with his ever fostering care</p> +<p class="i2">My wayward steps did guide,</p> +<p>Through paths of flowers, in beauty cloth’d,</p> +<p class="i2">Along life’s sunny tide.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Semblance of him, the great, the good,</p> +<p class="i2">Whose task on earth is done;</p> +<p>Of those that walked in beauty’s light</p> +<p class="i2">Thou wert the chosen one!</p> +</div> +</div> + + +</div><!--Drama and dirges--> +<div class="gossip_section"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>102</span><span class="first_word">We</span> should like to see in some appropriate journal a sketch of the <i>Progress of Mechanics +in the United States</i>. Without any question, the Americans are, in respect of that branch +of science, behind no nation or people on earth. And yet no longer ago than 1791, a +clock-maker from London, after public advertisement of his arrival from England for that +purpose, visited our scattered cities and towns to repair clocks! ‘Yankee ingenuity’ was +not then as now synonymous with the accomplishment of <em>any</em> thing that can either be fabricated +or ‘fixed’. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">We</span> have no remembrance of the communication referred to in a +note from a correspondent at Albany, in which we find the following sentences: ‘If received, +I hope it was not amenable to the censure in a late number of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span>, +of certain correspondence, for having been written ‘too carefully.’ Now I do flatter myself +upon so <em>writing</em>, that compositors can have no excuse for blunders, though I am well +aware that to be esteemed a Genious, one’s chirography should very nearly approach unintelligibility. +If this be true, the patience and good nature of an Editor must be severely +tried; but I incline to the opinion that a man of Genious need not model after <span class="special_name">Byron</span>’s facsimile,’ +and so forth. Our correspondent <em>does</em> write a good hand; so good indeed, that we +lament, as we gaze at it, that he does not know how to <em>spell</em>. A man may certainly be a +‘<em>Genious</em>’ without being able to write a clerkly hand; but a man who is <em>not</em> a ‘Genious,’ +ought at least to be able to spell the word. As to writing ‘too carefully,’ our censor has +mistaken the letter for the spirit of our remarks. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">The</span> lines ‘<i>To my Mother</i>’ are +replete with the poetry of <em>feeling</em>. Their literary execution however is marred by deficiencies, +which although slight, require amending. Our correspondent we are sure has the +true poetical vein; and we shall not despair of hearing from her again. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A very</span> +‘inquiring’ correspondent desires to know ‘whether there is any thing below a <i>quartette</i>, in +music?—a <i>pintette</i> or a <i>gillette</i>?’ He is also anxious, he says, to ‘ascertain whether +<span class="special_name">Puffer Hopkins</span> is any relation to the pious poet who was in partnership in the psalm +and hymn way with old Uncle <span class="special_name">Sternhold</span>, a great many years ago.’ Moreover, he considers +it ‘a little curious’ that a black hen should lay a white egg; and states that he ‘would +give something handsome to be certain whether or no <span class="special_name">Nebuchadnezzar’s</span> hands, when he +was out on grass, grew six-penny or ten-penny nails!’ His remaining queries are profane; +indeed, the last one goes somewhat too near the edge. <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> ‘<span class="special_name">Ever</span> anxious to please,’ +as the advertisements have it, we have placed the original department of the <span class="special_name">Knickerbocker</span> +in a larger type; and it seems to us that we may ask with some confidence +whether our readers ever saw a Magazine in a neater garniture than ‘this same?’ Only +have the consideration to <em>reciprocate</em> our endeavors to please you, good <span class="special_name">Public</span>, and you +‘shall see what you shall see.’ There are certain delinquents upon our books, to whom +we would venture to insinuate, in the most delicate manner conceivable, that ‘it is high +time somebody had a sight of somebody’s money.’ <span class="ed_table_break">•••</span> <span class="first_word">A new</span> style of frames for +drawings, engravings, paintings, looking-glasses, etc., has recently been brought to great +perfection, and into very general favor, by Mr. <span class="special_name">Weiser</span>, at No. 43 Centre-street, near Pearl. +They are composed externally of <em>glass-veneerings</em>, beautifully painted and shaded, so as to +resemble different-tinted woods, tortoise-shell, or indeed any other colors that may be desired. +These are painted on the inner side of the glass, which is so firmly cemented to +the wood-frames as to be little liable to injury from jarring or even falling. With a gilt +beading, they have a very beautiful appearance, by reason of the admirable lustre of the +glass, which gives to them a polish finer than that of the most susceptible woods. They +are, in short, exceedingly handsome, easily kept clean, always new and fresh, and what is +worthy of mention, much cheaper than wood or gilt.</p> +</div><!--Geneous and dunning--> +</div><!--Gossip with Readers and Correspondents--> +<div class="ed_table_item"> +<p>⁂ <span class="first_word">Will</span> our readers have the kindness to exhibit the <span class="special_name">Advertisement of our Twenty-third +Volume</span> to their friends? It will be found on the second and third pages of the cover of the present +number; and they can testify to the accuracy of its unexaggerated statements. Many articles in +prose and verse await examination or insertion, and a more particular reference hereafter. Notices +are in type of new publications from the presses of Messrs. <span class="special_name">Burgess and Stringer</span>, <span class="special_name">M. W. Dodd</span>, <span class="special_name">J. +Winchester</span>, the <span class="special_name">Langley’s</span>, <span class="special_name">D. Appleton and Company</span>, <span class="special_name">M. H. Newman, Wiley and Putnam</span>, and +of the ‘Columbian Magazine,’ which we are reluctantly compelled to defer to our February issue.</p> +</div><!--Coming soon...--> +</div><!--Editor's Table--> +<div id="footnotes"> +<h2 class="title">Footnotes</h2> +<ol class="fnlist"> +<li><p id="fn1"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm1">Return to text</a></span>Heures, prayers.</p></li> +<li><p id="fn2"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm2">Return to text</a></span>Float.</p></li> +<li><p id="fn3"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm3">Return to text</a></span><span class="first_word">This</span> allusion is to <span class="special_name">Byrant’s</span> lines ‘To the Fringed + Gentian,’ a poem so replete with truth and beauty, that we + cannot resist the inclination to quote it here.</p> + <p class="sign"><span class="author">Ed. Knickerbocker.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="first_word">Thou</span> blossom bright with autumn dew,</p> +<p>And coloured with the heaven’s own blue.</p> +<p>That openest, when the quiet light</p> +<p>Succeeds the keen and frosty night.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thou comest not when violets lean</p> +<p>O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,</p> +<p>Or columbines, in purple dressed,</p> +<p>Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thou waitest late, and com’st alone,</p> +<p>When woods are bare and birds are flown,</p> +<p>And frosts and shortening days portend</p> +<p>The aged year is near his end.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye</p> +<p>Look through its fringes to the sky,</p> +<p>Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall</p> +<p>A flower from its cerulean wall.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I would that thus, when I shall see</p> +<p>The hour of death draw near to me,</p> +<p>Hope, blossoming within my heart,</p> +<p>May look to heaven as I depart.</p> +</div> +</div> +</li> +<li><p id="fn4"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm4">Return to text</a></span>By the word ‘columnæ,’ Horace (though <span class="special_name">Bentley</span> knew it not) evidently meant the columns of +the Roman newspapers.</p></li> +<li><p id="fn5"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm5">Return to text</a></span>The name of Boston, in Lincolnshire, is said to be derived from <span class="special_name">St. Botolph</span>—quasi <span class="special_name">Botolph’s</span> +town.</p></li> +<li><p id="fn6"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm6">Return to text</a></span>At the late opening of the ‘Tremont Temple’ in Boston, the new proprietors chanted what they +called a ‘Purification Hymn,’ of which we give one stanza:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘Satan has here held empire long—</p> +<p class="i2">A blighting curse, a cruel reign;</p> +<p>By mimic scenes, and mirth and song</p> +<p class="i2">Alluring souls to endless pain!’</p> +</div> +</div> +</li> +<li><p id="fn7"><span class="returnFN"><a href="#fnm7">Return to text</a></span>The Norwich company of players, to which he belonged.</p> +</li> + +</ol> +</div><!--footnotes--> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly +Magazine, January 1844, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KNICKERBOCKER *** + +***** This file should be named 19383-h.htm or 19383-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/8/19383/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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