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diff --git a/29344-h/29344-h.htm b/29344-h/29344-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19b5de6 --- /dev/null +++ b/29344-h/29344-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7089 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg Canada eBook of "Title", + by Author. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em; } + + p.main {font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; text-indent: 0em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + hr.short {width: 25%;} + hr.long {width: 75%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + + body{margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif} + + .cen {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 95%;} + .right {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} + + .rfloat {position: absolute;right:18%; text-align: right; width: auto;} + + .blockquot {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 12%;font-size: 90%; } + .blockquot2 {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;font-size: 100%; } + + + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right; color: #A9A9A9} + + .totoc {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .figleft {float: left; width: auto; clear: left; margin-left: + 0; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-top: + -0.5em; margin-right: 0.2em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; width: auto; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: .25em;} + .tdc {text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .linenum {position: absolute; left: 5%; right: 91%; } + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 1em; clear: both;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {float:left; width: auto; text-align: left;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June 1848, 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: Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: July 7, 2009 [EBook #29344] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JUNE 1848 *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;"> +<img src="images/illus300.png" width="368" height="600" +alt="S H Walker" title="" /></div> +<h4>Yr affectionate Brother, S H Walker</h4> +<br /><br /> + +<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1> +<br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> XXXII. + PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1848. + No. 6.</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +<br /><br /> + +<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3><br /> +<table summary="TOC" width="80%"> +<tr> +<td><a href="#CAPTAIN_SAMUEL_WALKER"><b>CAPTAIN SAMUEL WALKER</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">301</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#LAMARTINE_TO_MADAME_JORELLE"><b>LAMARTINE TO MADAME JORELLE</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">303</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#PHANTOMS_ALL"><b>PHANTOMS ALL</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">304</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#HOMEWARD_BOUND"><b>HOMEWARD BOUND</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">308</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#POOR_PENN"><b>POOR PENN</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">309</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#A_SONG"><b>A SONG</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">311</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_ENCHANTED_ISLE"><b>THE ENCHANTED ISLE</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">311</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_CONTINENTS"><b>THE CONTINENTS</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">312</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#JEHOIAKIM_JOHNSON"><b>JEHOIAKIM JOHNSON</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">313</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#CORIOLANUS"><b>CORIOLANUS</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">319</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#LENNARD"><b>LENNARD</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">320</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_POLES_FAREWELL"><b>THE POLE'S FAREWELL</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">324</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_FORTUNES_OF_A_SOUTHERN_FAMILY"><b>THE FORTUNES OF A SOUTHERN FAMILY</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">325</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_REAL_AND_THE_IDEAL"><b>THE REAL AND THE IDEAL</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">341</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_HUMAN_VOICE"><b>THE HUMAN VOICE</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">341</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#VENICE_AS_IT_WAS_AND_AS_IT_IS"><b>VENICE AS IT WAS AND AS IT IS</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">342</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#SONG_THOU_REIGNST_SUPREME"><b>SONG.—THOU REIGN'ST SUPREME</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">342</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL"><b>THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">343</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#LINES_TO_mdash"><b>LINES TO ——</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">349</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_DOUBLE_TRANSFORMATION"><b>THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">350</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#CINCINNATI"><b>CINCINNATI</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">352</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#CLEOPATRA"><b>CLEOPATRA</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">353</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"><b>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS</b>.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">354</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h3><a name="CAPTAIN_SAMUEL_WALKER" id="CAPTAIN_SAMUEL_WALKER"></a>CAPTAIN SAMUEL WALKER.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY FAYETTE ROBINSON.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]</h5> + +<p>Time and opportunity make men—and high talent in any profession +or sphere of life is valueless unless called into action. This is +strikingly exemplified in the career of the person with whom we now +have to do.</p> + +<p>Samuel Walker was born in the county of Prince George, Maryland, in +the year 1815. His family, though respectable, had neither fortune nor +influence sufficient to advance his interests; and at an early age he +was thrown on the world, dependent for success only on his own +exertions. Educated to no profession or business, the chances of his +drawing a prize in the lottery of life seemed small indeed, yet it is +probable no man of his grade in the service has, since the +commencement of the Mexican war, attracted more attention. Of the +early career of Walker we know little except that in 1840 he was one +of the party of less than twenty men selected by Col. Harney, from the +strength of the 2d Dragoons, to penetrate the great Payhaokee or +everglades of Florida. The history of this expedition is peculiar.</p> + +<p>After the battle of Okeechobee the might of the Seminoles was broken, +and they took refuge in the chain of lakes and immense hamacs which +extend almost from Cape Florida to the Suwannee River. Divided into +small parties, they defied the pursuit of heavy columns, yet +frequently left their fastnesses to commit the most fearful +atrocities. During the winter of 1839 and 40 they had been peculiarly +bold, and had ventured even to attack, under the guns of Fort +Micanopy, a party of mounted infantry which was escorting the young +and beautiful wife of an officer of the 7th Infantry to a neighboring +post. This party, with the exception of two or three persons, was +destroyed. It became evident that no operations could lead to a good +result unless the Indians were pursued to their own retreats, and +treated as they had themselves conducted the war. Col. Harney, who was +in command of one of the departments of Florida, immediately organized +an expedition for the purpose of entering the great everglade south +of the Lake Okeechobee, in which the Seminoles were supposed to be in +much strength. The country in which he was about to act seemed to be +the realization of the poetic chaos. It was overgrown with trees of +immense size, of kinds almost unknown in other portions of the +peninsula, and grass of great highth and strength rose two or three +feet above the surface of the water, which not unfrequently had a +depth of several feet. Notwithstanding, however, that this was the +general character of the country there were often <i>portages</i>, or shoal +and dry places, over which it was necessary to carry their boats by +main force. In this kind of country the Indians had the manifest +advantage, being acquainted with sinuous pathways, which, it is said, +enabled them to thread all the intricacies of the hamac almost without +wetting the moccason. The party of Col. Harney, however, were picked +men, inured to all the hardships of Indian warfare, and after several +days of hide and seek, surprised a party of Indians, among whom was a +chief of distinction. As this identical party had more than once +surrendered and broken truce, Colonel Harney ordered all the men to be +hung summarily, and took the women with him to the nearest post as +prisoners. So important was this service that the names of all the +party were mentioned in general orders, and the enlisted men advanced +in grade. The effect on the Indians was great; large parties came in +and surrendered, and they remained almost quiet until their last +attempt was crushed by Gen. Worth in the brilliant affair of +Pilaklakaha, April 17, 1842.</p> + +<p>Previous to this time, young Walker had been discharged from the +service, by reason of the expiration of his enlistment, and with some +funds he had amassed while in the army, proceeded at once to Texas, +then embroiled with the abrasions of the great Camanche race and the +minor tribes strewn along her northern frontier. He was one of the +party<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> of the famous Jack Hays, when in 1844 that leader +defeated, with fifteen men armed with Colt's pistols, then novelties +in the West, a large force of Indians. In this encounter Walker was +wounded by a lance, and left by his adversary pinned to the ground. +After remaining in this position for a long time, he was rescued by +his companions when the fight was over.</p> + +<p>The disastrous expedition commenced under the command of Gen. +Somerville, and terminated at Mier by the surrender of the whole party +to Don Pedro de Ampudia, since become a person of most unenviable +notoriety, is well known. One of the most conspicuous members of this +foray, for it scarcely deserves another name, was Walker. He +distinguished himself during the long siege the Texans maintained in +the house they had seized, until forced for want of provisions and +ammunition to surrender. With the rest he was marched to the castle of +Perote, suffering every indignity which Mexican cruelty and ingenuity +could invent. On this sad march, at Salado, Walker performed perhaps +the most brilliant exploit of his life. Wearied out by cruelty, the +Texans resolved to escape, and on this occasion Walker was the leader. +The prisoners were placed in a strong stone building, at the door of +which two sentinels were placed, while their escort bivoucked in front +of the building. Walker, at a concerted signal, threw open the door, +seized and disarmed one of the sentinels, while a gallant fellow named +Cameron, a Highlander, was equally successful with the other. The +unarmed prisoners immediately rushed through the gateway and seized +the arms of the Mexican guard. No scheme was ever more daringly +planned or more boldly executed. Within the course of a moment the two +hundred and fourteen Texans had changed places with the numerous +Mexican guard. Outside of a court-yard, in which the guard had +bivoucked, was a strong cavalry force, which the Texans charged with +the bayonet and routed, and immediately resumed their march back to +the Rio Grande.</p> + +<p>They deserved success and liberty, but ignorant of the country, soon +became lost in the mountains, were overpowered and taken back to +Salado. They found Santa Anna there, and the Mexican President +decimated the party.</p> + +<p>The Texans in their escape and conflicts had lost five men, and Santa +Anna demanded the decimation of the rest. A bowl was brought, and a +bean for every man was placed in it, every tenth bean being black. The +bowl was covered, and the whole party were then ordered in succession +to take out one bean. The twenty-one individuals who had chanced on +the black beans were immediately shot. This was the famous <i>Caravanza</i> +lottery, the mere mention of which is sufficient to make the bosom of +every Texan boil with indignation, and which is the origin of the +intense hatred borne by all the people of that state to Santa Anna. +This worthy has during the whole war carefully avoided the Texan +Rangers, and had he come in contact with them, they would doubtless +have exacted a fearful retribution.</p> + +<p>Walker with the survivors of the party were taken to Perote, whence +he was lucky enough to escape, and returned to Texas, into the service +of which he was at once received.</p> + +<p>When the Mexican war began Walker was the captain of a company of +Texan Rangers stationed on the Rio Grande, and immediately offered his +services to General Taylor, who accepted them, and stationed him +between Point Isabel and the cantonment for the purpose of keeping +open the communication. On the 28th of April he discovered that the +Mexican troops were in motion, and at once, with his small command of +twenty-five men, set out to report the fact to the general. On his way +he encountered the Mexican column, and it is not improbable that with +his small party he was in contact with one wing of the force which +subsequently fought at Palo Alto. The Texans were pursued to Point +Isabel, on which place they fell back, having lost several men, but +killed more of the enemy than their own force numbered.</p> + +<p>In spite of the intervening force of the enemy, Walker determined to +reach General Taylor on that night, and accompanied but by six of his +men set out. After charging through a large body of Mexican lancers, +he reached Gen. Taylor on the morning of the 30th.</p> + +<p>On the 1st of May Gen. Taylor broke up his camp, and what followed is +well known. On the 3d Walker was again employed in the perilous +service of ascertaining the condition of Fort Brown, which was then +being bombarded by all the batteries of the city of Matamoras. His +reconnoisance was one of the boldest feats performed during the war, +and though May, who had command of a hundred horse for the purpose of +covering him, presuming he must have been captured returned to Gen. +Taylor, Walker again returned on the 4th, having accomplished his duty +alone.</p> + +<p>At Palo Alto and La Resaca Walker again distinguished himself, and was +mentioned by Gen. Taylor in the dispatch with the highest terms of +commendation. For his distinguished services, on the organization of +the Mounted Rifles, he was appointed a captain of cavalry in the +regular service.</p> + +<p>After sharing in all the perils of the war, Walker devoted himself to +the pursuit of the Guerilleros, who infested the road from Vera Cruz +to the capital, and uniformly maintained his high reputation. In the +affair of La Hoya, Sept. 20, 1847, he acted independently, and was +perfectly successful.</p> + +<p>In the expedition of Gen. Lane, which terminated so gallantly at +Huamantla, Walker served for the last time. The prize he had proposed +to himself was great, being nothing less than the capture of Santa +Anna. Walker on this occasion commanded the whole cavalry force, and +led the advance. His charge into the town, from the covering of +Magues, is described by old soldiers who saw it as having been +terrific. Passing completely through the town, he pursued the enemy's +retreating artillery. After the success was sure, Walker returned, and +was treacherously shot from a house on which a white flag was hanging. +Within thirty minutes he died,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> after a brilliant victory, in +gaining which he had been an important actor. With a force of one +hundred and ninety-five men he had beaten and routed five hundred +picked lancers, and given the tone to the events of the day.</p> + +<p>No man was more regretted than Capt. Walker, who had enjoyed the +confidence of every officer with whom he had served. Gen. Scott and +Gen. Taylor both highly estimated his good qualities, and reposed the +greatest trust in him.</p> + +<p>When the news of his death reached the United States, the people were +every where loud in their regrets, and he will be remembered as one of +the heroes of the Mexican war.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker had risen by his own exertions. Brought up in a good +school, "the Light Dragoons of the U. S.," his knowledge of tactics, +acquired in Florida, was most useful to his first service as an +officer in the army of the Texan Republic. He is spoken of as having +possessed every requisite for a cavalry officer—a quick +perception, a keen eye, a strong arm, perfect control of his horse, +thorough knowledge of military combination, and the rarer and more +valuable faculty of winning the confidence of his men. Had he not been +cut off so untimely in his chosen career, he could not but have become +a distinguished general.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker died at the age of 33, in sight almost of the famous +dungeon of Perote, where he had long been a prisoner. There was +something like retribution in the fact that more than one other Texan, +who, like himself, had been confined there, contributed to raise above +its battlements the colors of the United States.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LAMARTINE_TO_MADAME_JORELLE" id="LAMARTINE_TO_MADAME_JORELLE"></a>LAMARTINE TO MADAME JORELLE.</h2> + +<h5>FROM THE FRENCH.</h5> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY VIRGINIA.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What! offer thee the tribute of my numbers?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou daughter of the East! whose infancy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warring desert winds rocked to its slumbers—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost thou demand incense of Poesy?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Flower of Aleppo! whom the Bulbul choosing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would wander from his worshiped rose of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er thy fair chalice her remembrance losing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To languish 'mid thy leaves his moonlight lay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bear odors to the balm pure sweets exhaling?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hang on the orange bough a riper load?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lend fires to Syria's East at dawn unveiling?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pave with new stars<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> the Night's all-glittering road?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No verses here!—Verse would despair of raising<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aught save an image dark and faint of thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gently in yon basin's mirror gazing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold thyself! Embodied Poesy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When through the kiosque's grated ogive straying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sea-breeze mingles with the Moka's fume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where softly o'er thy form the moonbeams playing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glance on thy couch, rich from Palmyra's loom—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When on the jasmine tube thy lip half closes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Veiled with its golden threads in bright array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While ruffling at thy breath, fragrant with roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Murmur the drops within the Narquité—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When as winged perfumes rise into thy brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In light caressing clouds around thee wreathing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All love's and youth's lost visions throng again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An atmosphere of dreams thy listeners breathing—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When in thy tale the Arab steed forth starting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yields foaming to thy curb of infancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that triumphant glance obliquely darting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Equals the summer-lightning of his eye—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When thy fair arm, of loveliest symmetry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Supports the fairer brow in thought reclining,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gleams with diamond fires thy poniard nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In quick reflection of the torch's shining—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Naught is there in the murmured words of feeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Naught in the Poet's ever dreaming brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught in pure sighs from purest bosoms stealing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Naught redolent of Poesy as thou!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With me the age has flown when Love, life's flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perfumes the heart—my warmest accents falter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauty o'er my soul has lost her power—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cold is the light I kindle on her altar!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The harp is this chilled bosom's only queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But how would homage from its depths have burst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gushing minstrelsy at bright sixteen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If <i>then</i> these eyes had rested on thee first!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How many stanzas had thy lover given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To one sweet vaporous wreath that lately graced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy meditative lip, or how had striven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To stay that form by unseen artist traced!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That shadow's vague enchanting outline cast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On yonder wall, to arrest with poet's finger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy beauty's mystic image fading fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As round thy form fond moonbeams cease to linger!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHANTOMS_ALL" id="PHANTOMS_ALL"></a>PHANTOMS ALL.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> + +<h5>A PHANTASY.</h5> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It was with a feeling of regret, such as stirs one's heart at parting +with a dear friend, that I turned the last page of Irving's most +delightful visit to Abbotsford, which he has given us in language so +beautiful from its simplicity, so graphic in its details, and so +heart-deep in its sincerity, that with him we ourselves seem to be +partakers also of the hospitality and kindness of the immortal Scott.</p> + +<p>"Every night," says Irving, "I retired with my mind filled with +delightful recollections of the day, and every morning I arose with +the certainty of new enjoyment."</p> + +<p>And so vividly has he painted for the imagination of his happy readers +those scenes of delight, those hours of social interchange of two +great minds, that we are admitted as it were into free communion with +them. On the banks of the silvery Tweed we stroll delighted, or pause +to view the "gray waving hills," made so dear to all the lovers of +Scott and Burns, through the enchantment which romance and poetry have +thrown around them. We listen for the tinkling chime of the fairy +bells as we pass through the glen of Thomas the Rhymer, almost +expecting to see by our side, as we muse on the banks of the goblin +stream, the queen of the fairies on her "dapple gray pony." Again, +through the cloisters of Melrose Abbey we wander silently and in awe, +almost wishing that honest John Boyer would leave us awhile unmolested +even by the praises of his master the "<i>shirra</i>," whom he considers +"not a bit proud," notwithstanding he has such "<i>an awfu' knowledge o' +history!</i>" Or it may be we recline amid the purple heather and listen +to the deep tones of the great magician himself, as he delights our +ear with some quaint tradition of the olden time, while Maida, grave +and dignified as becomes the rank he holds, crouches beside his +master, disdaining to share the sports of Hamlet, Hector, "both +mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound" frolicking so wantonly on the bonny +green knowe before us!</p> + +<p>But at length the hour of parting comes. We feel the hearty grasp, and +hear the farewell words with which Scott takes leave of his American +friend, and as with them our delusion wrought by the magic pen of +Irving vanishes, we would fain slay the enchantment—too bright +to pass away unlamented!</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The pen of a ready writer, whereunto shall +it be likened?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let the calm child of genius, whose name shall never die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that the transcript of his mind hath made his thoughts immortal—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let these, let all, with no faint praise, with no light gratitude, confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The blessings poured upon the earth from the pen of a readywriter</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Closing the volume which had so enchained my senses, my mind, from +dwelling upon the presence of Scott himself, as introduced through +the unformal courtesy of our beloved Irving, naturally turned to the +varied and wonderful productions of that master mind, and to the many +characters thereby created, seeming to hold a sacred place in our +thoughts and affections, as friends whom we had once known and loved!</p> + +<p>I was suddenly aroused from my ruminations by a light tap on the +shoulder. Judge of my astonishment when Meg Merrillies stood before +me, clad in the same wild gipsy garb in which she had warned the Laird +of Ellangowan on Ellangowan's height! In her shriveled hand it would +seem she held the very sapling which for the last time she had plucked +from the bonny woods which had so long waved above her bit shealing, +until driven thence by the timorous and weak-minded laird. With this +she again touched me, and in a half inviting, half commanding tone +said:</p> + +<p>"Gang wi' me, leddy, gang wi' me, and I will show ye a bonny company, +amang whilk ye'll soon speer those ye're thinking o'."</p> + +<p>I confess it was not without some trepidation I arose to follow my +strange conductor, who, seizing my hand, rather dragged than led me +through several long dark passages, until suddenly emerging from one +still more gloomy than the others, my eyes were almost blinded with +the glare of light and splendor that flashed upon them.</p> + +<p>"Gang in amang them a', my leddy," cried Meg, letting go my hand and +waving me toward the entrance, "and gin ye suld see bonny Harry +Bertram, tell him there is ane he kens o' will meet him the night down +by the cairn when the clock strikes the hour o' twal."</p> + +<p>Obeying her mandate, I now found myself in a lofty and spacious +saloon. From the ceiling, which was of azure sprinkled with golden +stars, were suspended the most magnificent chandeliers, brilliant with +a thousand waxen tapers. Gorgeous and life-like tapestry adorned the +walls—massive mirrors reflected on every side the blaze of +elegance, while the furniture, patterning the fashions of the +different ages from the times of the Crusades to that of Elizabeth, +was of the most choice and beautiful materials.</p> + +<p>But of this I took little note—other and "more attractive metal" +met my eye, for around me were kings and princes—peer and +peasant—lords and ladies—turbaned infidel and helmeted +knight—the wild roving gipsy and the wandering troubadour. In +short, I found myself in the <i>world</i> of the immortal master of +Abbotsford, and surrounded by those to whose enchanting company I had +oft been indebted for dispelling many a weary hour of sickness and +gloom—friends whom at my bidding I could at any<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> moment summon to my +presence—friends never weary of well-doing—friends never +weighing down the heart by their unkindness, or chilling by their +neglect. My heart throbbed with a delight before unknown; and I +eagerly looked about me, recognizing on every side those dear familiar +ones with whom, for so many years, I had been linked in love and +friendship.</p> + +<p>The first group on whom my eyes rested were our dear friends from +Tully-Veolan accompanied by the McIvors.</p> + +<p>The beautiful, high-souled Flora was leaning on the arm of the good +old Baron Bradwardine, while the gentle Rose shrunk almost timidly +from the support of the noble but ill-fated Fergus. They were both +lovely—Flora and Rose; but while the former dazzled by her +beauty and her wit, the latter, in unpretending sweetness, stole at +once into our hearts. But not so thought Waverly. With "ear polite" he +listened to the somewhat tedious colloquy of the old baron, yet his +eloquent eyes, his heart speaking through them, were fixed upon the +noble countenance of Flora McIvor.</p> + +<p>"Come, good folks," cried a merry voice—and the bright, happy +face of Julia Mannering was before me—"I am sent by my honored +father, the colonel, to break up this charmed circle; and he humbly +requests to be put under the spell himself, through the enchanting +voice of Miss McIvor—one little Highland air, my dear Flora, is +all he asks—but see, with sombre Melancholy leaning on his arm, +he comes to enforce his own request."</p> + +<p>And the gallant Colonel Mannering, supporting the fragile form of Lucy +Bertram, clad in deep mourning robes, now approached, and after +gracefully saluting the circle, solicited from Miss McIvor a song. +Waverly eagerly brought the harp of Flora from a small recess, and as +he placed it before her, whispered something in a low tone, which for +a moment crimsoned the brow of the maiden, then coldly bowing to him, +she drew the instrument toward her, and warbled a wild and spirited +Highland air, her eyes flashing, and her bosom heaving with the +exciting theme she had chosen.</p> + +<p>"Pro-di-gious!" exclaimed a voice I thought I knew; and, sure enough, +I found the dear old Dominie Sampson close at my elbow—his +large, gray eyes rolling in ecstasy—his mouth open, and grasping +in his hands a huge folio, while Davie Gellatly, with cap and bells, +stood mincing and grimacing behind him—now rolling up the whites +of his eyes—now pulling the skirts of the unconscious +pedagogue—and finally, surmounting the wig of the Dominie with +his own fool's cap, he clapped his hands, gayly crying, "O, braw, braw +Davie!"</p> + +<p>Julia Mannering now touched the harp to a lively air, when suddenly +her voice faltered, the eloquent blood mantled her cheek, and her +little fingers trembled as they swept the harp-strings.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ha!" thought I, "there must be a cause for all this—Brown +must be near!" and in a moment that handsome young soldier had joined +the group. Remembering the commands of Meg Merrillies, I was striving +to catch his eye, that I might do her bidding, when the gipsy herself +suddenly strode into the circle and fixing her eyes upon Brown, or +rather Bertram, she waved her long skinny arm, exclaiming,</p> + +<p>"Tarry not here, Harry Bertram, of Ellangowan; there's a dark deed +this night to be done amid the caverns of Derncleugh, and then</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dark shall be light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wrong made right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Bertram's right, and Bertram's might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall meet on Ellangowan Height."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I now passed on and found myself in the vicinity of Old Mortality and +Monkbarns, who were deeply engaged in some antiquarian +debate—too much so to notice the shrewd smile and cunning leer +which the old Bluegown, Edie Ochiltree, now and then cast upon them.</p> + +<p>"Hear til him," he whispered to Sir Arthur Wardour—"hear til +him; the poor mon's gone clean gyte with his saxpennies and his old +penny bodies! odd, but it gars me laugh whiles!"</p> + +<p>Both Sir Arthur and his lovely daughter, Isabel, smiled at the +earnestness of the old man, and slipping some money into his hand, the +latter bade him come up to the castle in the morning.</p> + +<p>At this moment radiant in <i>spirituelle</i> beauty, glorious Die Vernon, +like another Grace Greenwood, swept past me, followed by Rashleigh, +and half a score of the Osbaldistons. She was, indeed, a lovely +creature. The dark-green riding-dress she wore fitting so perfectly +her light, elegant figure, served but to enhance the brilliancy of her +complexion, blooming with health and exercise. Her long black hair, +free from the little hat which hung carelessly upon her arm, fell +around her in beautiful profusion, and even the golden-tipped +riding-whip she held so gracefully in her little hand, seemed as a +wand to draw her worshipers around her.</p> + +<p>Turning suddenly and finding herself so closely followed by Rashleigh, +her beautiful eyes flashed disdainfully, and linking her arm within +that of Clara Mowbray, who, with the gay party from St. Ronan's Well, +were just entering the saloon, she waved her hand to her cousin, +forbidding his nearer approach, and, with the step of a deer, she was +gone.</p> + +<p>An oath whistled through the teeth of Rashleigh, and his dark features +contracted into a terrible frown.</p> + +<p>"Hout, mon—dinna be fashed! Bide a bit—bide a bit! as my +father, the deacon—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Bailie, are you there?" cried Rashleigh, impatiently; "why I +thought you were hanging from the trees around the cave of your robber +kinsman, Rob."</p> + +<p>Ere the worthy Nicol Jarvie could reply to this uncourteous address, +the smiling Mr. Winterblossom approached, and in the name of the +goddess, Lady Penelope Penfeather, commanded the presence of the +angered Rashleigh at the shrine of her beauty. This changed the +current of his thoughts, and with all that grace of manner and +eloquence of lip and eye, which no one knew better how to assume, he +followed to the little group of which the Lady Penelope and her rival, +Lady Binks, formed the attraction. But what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>ever may have been +the gallant things he was saying, they were soon ended in the bustle +consequent upon the sudden rushing in of the brave Captain McTurk, +followed by the enraged Meg Dods, with no less a weapon in her hand +than a broom-stick, with which she was striving to belabor the +shoulders of the unhappy McTurk.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hegh</i>, sirs!" she cried, brandishing it above her head, "I'll gar ye +to know ye're not coming flisking to an honest woman's house setting +folks by the lugs. Keep to your ain whillying hottle here, ye +ne'er-do-weel, or I'll mak' windle-strae o' your banes—and what +for no?"</p> + +<p>Happily for the gallant captain, Old Touchwood here interposed, and by +dint of coaxing and threats of joining himself to the gay company at +the Spring, the irascible Meg was finally marched off.</p> + +<p>A deep sigh near me caused me to look around, and there, as pure and +as lovely as the water-lily drooping from its fragile stem, sat poor +Lucy Ashton. And like that beautiful flower, the lily of the wave, +seemed the love of that unhappy maid:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"Quivering to the blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through every nerve—yet rooted deep and fast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midst life's dark sea."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Her eyes were cast down, and her rich veil of golden tresses sweeping +around her. At a little distance, with folded arms and bent brows, +stood the Laird of Ravenswood, yet unable to approach the +broken-hearted girl, as her proud, unfeeling mother, the stately Lady +Ashton, kept close guard over her; and it made me shudder to behold, +also, the old hag, Ailsie Gourley, crouching down by her bonny +mistress, and stroking the lily-white hand which hung so listless at +her side, mumbling the while what seemed to me must be some +incantation to the Evil One.</p> + +<p>"Wae's me—wae's me!" exclaimed that prince of serving-men, Caleb +Balderstone, at this moment presenting himself before his master; "and +is your honor, then, not ganging hame when Mysie the puir old body's +in the dead thraw! <i>Hech, sirs</i>, but its awfu'! Ane of the big sacks +o' siller—a' gowd, ye maun ken, which them gawky chields and my +ain sell were lifting to your honor's chaumer, cam down on her head! +<i>Eh</i>! but it gars me greet—ah! wull-a-wins, we maun a' dee!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, she is a bonny thing, but ye ken she is a wee bit daft, puir +lassie!" cried Madge Wildfire, smirking and bowing, to catch the eye +of Jeanie Deans, who, leaning on the arm of her betrothed, Reuben +Butler, stood gazing with tearful eyes upon that wreck of hope and +love exhibited in the person of the ill-fated Lucy of Lammermoor.</p> + +<p>Bless that sweet, meek face of Jeanie Deans! Many a +lovelier—many a fairer were in that assemblage, yet not one more +winning or truthful. The honest, pure heart shone from those mild blue +eyes; one might know <i>she</i> could make any sacrifice for those she +loved, and that guided and guarded by her own innocence and steadfast +truth, neither crowns nor sceptres could daunt her from her noble +purpose.</p> + +<p>And there, too, was Effie. Not Effie, the Lily of St. Leonards, such +as she was when gayly tending her little flock on St. Leonard's +Craigs—not Effie, the poor, wretched criminal of the +Tolbooth—but Effie, the rich and beautiful Lady Staunton, +receiving with all the ease and elegance of a high-born dame the +homage of the nobles surrounding her, of whom none shone more +conspicuous than his grace the Duke of Argyle, on whose arm she was +leaning.</p> + +<p>With the step and bearing of a queen a noble lady now approached, and +as, unattended by knight or dame, she moved gracefully through the +brilliant crowd, every eye was turned on her with admiration.</p> + +<p>Need I say it was Rebecca, the Jewess.</p> + +<p>A rich turban of yellow silk, looped at the side by an aigrette of +diamonds, and confining a beautiful ostrich plume, was folded over her +polished brow, from which her long, raven tresses floated in beautiful +curls around her superb neck and shoulders. A simarre of crimson silk, +studded with jewels, and gathered to her slender waist by a +magnificent girdle of fine gold, reached below the hips, where it was +met by a flowing robe of silver tissue bordered with pearls. In +queenly dignity she was about to pass from the saloon, when the noble +Richard of the Lion Heart stepped hastily forward, and respectfully +saluted her. He still wore his sable armor, and with his visor thrown +back, had for some time been negligently reclining against one of the +lofty pillars, a careless spectator of the scene around him. The +lovely Jewess paused, and with graceful ease replied to the address of +the monarch; but at that moment the voice of Ivanhoe, speaking to +Rowena, fell on her ear—and with a hurried reverence to Cœur de +Lion, she glided from the apartment.</p> + +<p>"No, Ivanhoe," thought I, "thou hast not done wisely—beautiful +as is the fair Rowena, to whom thy troth stands plighted—thou +shouldst have won the peerless Rebecca for thy bride."</p> + +<p>I was aroused from the revery into which I had unconsciously fallen by +a hoarse voice at my elbow repeating a <i>Pater Noster</i>, and turning +around, I beheld the jovial Friar of Copmanhurst, one hand grasping a +huge oaken cudgel, the other swiftly running over his rosary.</p> + +<p>Mary of Avenel next appeared, and (or it may have been fancy) near her +floated the airy vision of the White Lady.</p> + +<p>There was Sir Piercie Shafton, too, and the miller's black-eyed +daughter. The voice of the knight was low and apparently his words +were tender; for poor Mysie Happer, with cheeks like a fresh-blown +rose, and sparkling eyes, drank in with her whole soul the honeyed +accents of the Euphoist.</p> + +<p>"Certes, O my discretion," said he, "thou shalt arise from thy +never-to-be-lamented-sufficiently-lowliness; thou shalt leave the +homely occupations of that rude boor unto whom it beseemeth thee to +give the appellation of father, and shalt attain to +the-all-to-be-desired greatness of my love, even as the resplendent +sun condescends to shine down upon the earth-crawling beetle."</p> + +<p>I now approached a deep embrasure elevated one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> step above the +level of the apartment, over which magnificent hangings of crimson and +gold swept to the floor. Not for a moment could I doubt who the +splendid being might be occupying the centre of the little group on +which my eyes now rested enraptured.</p> + +<p>The most lovely, the most unfortunate Mary of Scotland was before me, +and, as if spell-bound, I could not withdraw my gaze. How did all the +portraits my fancy had drawn fade in comparison with the actual +beauty, the indescribable loveliness of this peerless woman. How was +it possible to give to fancy any thing so exquisitely graceful and +beautiful as the breathing form before me. Ask me not to depict the +color of her eyes; ask me not to paint that wealth of splendid +hair—that complexion no artist's skill could match—that +mouth so eloquent in its repose—those lips—those teeth. As +well attempt to <i>paint the strain</i> of delicious music which reaches +our ears at midnight, stealing over the moonlit wave; or to <i>color the +fragrance</i> of the new-blown rose, or of the lily of the vale, when +first plucked from its humble bed. For even thus did the unrivaled +charms of Mary of Scotland blend themselves indescribably with our +enraptured senses.</p> + +<p>On a low stool at the feet of Mary sat Catharine Seyton, whose fair, +round arm seemed as a snow-wreath resting amid the rich folds of her +royal mistress' black velvet robe. Yet not so deeply absorbed was she +in devotion to her lady as to prevent her now and then casting a +mischievous glance on Roland Græme, who, with the Douglas, were +also in attendance upon their unhappy queen. Drawn up on one side was +the stately figure of the Lady of Lochleven, with a scowl on her face, +and a bitter look of hate fastened on the unfortunate Mary.</p> + +<p>With regret I at length moved away from this enchanting presence, my +sympathies to be soon again awakened for the gentle Amy Robsart, +Countess of Leicester.</p> + +<p>She was reclining on a sofa of sea-green velvet, seeded with pearls, +bearing in its centre the cypher of herself and lord, surmounted by a +coronet. At her feet knelt the Earl of Leicester with all the outward +semblance of a god. One little hand rested confidingly in his, the +other nestled amid the dark locks clustering over his high and +polished brow. Ah! little did she dream of guile in her noble lord! +How could she, when with such looks of love he gazed upon +her—with such words of love delighted her trembling heart.</p> + +<p>The fawning villain, Varney, stood at a little distance behind the +unconscious Amy, even then, as it seemed to me, plotting her +destruction with the old arch hypocrite, Foster, with whom he was +holding low and earnest conversation. Tressilian—the brave, good +Tressilian—as if sworn to protect the lovely lady, leaned on his +sword at her right hand, his fine eyes bent with a look of mingled +admiration and pity on her ingenuous countenance.</p> + +<p>"The queen! the queen!—room for the queen!" echoed around. +Hastily rising to his feet, and imprinting a slight kiss on her fair +brow, the earl left his lovely bride, and was the next moment by the +side of the haughty Elizabeth—England's maiden Queen.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then, earl, why didst thou leave the beds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where roses and where lilies vie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seek a prim-rose, whose pale shades<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must sicken when those gauds are by?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But Leicester (or I much am wrong)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is not beauty lures thy vows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather ambition's gilded crown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The village death-bell smote my ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They winked aside, and seemed to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Countess, prepare—thy end is near!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thus sore and sad that lady grieved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let fall many a bitter tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And ere the dawn of day appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many a piercing scream was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many a cry of mortal fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An aerial voice was heard to call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice the raven flapped his wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around the towers of Cumnor Hall."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was pleasant to turn from a scene of such confiding love on one +part, and base hypocrisy on the other, to look upon the honest +countenance of Magnus Troil, who, with his daughters on each +arm—the stately, dark-eyed Minna, and the no less lovely +Brenda—were now approaching me. Behind followed Norna of the +Fitful-head, in earnest conversation with the Pirate Cleveland. As I +looked upon her tall, majestic person, her countenance, so stern and +wild, rendered more so, perhaps, by the singular head-dress she had +assumed, and her long hair streaming over her face and shoulders, I +could no longer wonder at the power she had obtained over the minds of +the ignorant peasantry and fishermen of Jarlshof.</p> + +<p>"Whist! whist! Triptolemus!" quoth Mistress Barbara Yelloway, pulling +the sleeve of the Factor, "dinna be getting ower near the hellicat +witch—wha kens but she may be asking for the horn o' siller, +man."</p> + +<p>This speech had the desired effect; and the trembling Triptolemus +hastily placed the bold front of Baby between him and the object of +dread.</p> + +<p>Here, too, was Mareshal Dalgetty—and nothing but the respect due +to so much beauty as was here assembled, I felt sure, could have +prevented the appearance of his brave charger, Gustavus, also upon the +scene. He was accompanied by Ranald of the Mist.</p> + +<p>With her little harp poised lightly on her arm, sweet Annot Lyle +tripped by the side of the moody Allan, striving by her lively sallies +to break the thrall of the dark fit which was about to seize upon him.</p> + +<p>Fair Alice Lee, and the brave old knight, Sir Harry, did not escape my +notice—nor Master Wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>rake, or the gay monarch, Charles, +still under the disguise of Louis Kerneguy; and whose shuffling, +awkward gait, and bushy red head, caused no small mirth in the +assembly, as wondering to see one of so ungainly an appearance in such +close attendance upon the lovely Alice.</p> + +<p>"Old Noll" had grouped around him in one corner the +"Devil-scaring-lank-legs," the "Praise-God-barebones," and the +"smell-sin-long-noses" of the day; but not finding any thing very +attractive in that godly company, I passed on to where Isabella of +Croye and the gallant Quentin Durward were holding earnest +converse—not aware, unfortunately, that the snaky eye of the +Bohemian was watching all their movements.</p> + +<p>I quickly stepped aside as I saw the miser, Trapbois, eagerly +advancing toward the Lady of Croye, his eyes gloating over the rich +jewels which adorned her person, and his long, skinny fingers seeming +ready to tear the coveted gems from her fair neck and arms. Indeed, +but for the presence of his stern daughter, Martha, I doubted whether +he would not at least make the attempt.</p> + +<p>"Father, come home! this is no place for you—come home!" she +said, in deep, slow tones.</p> + +<p>"Nay, daughter, I would but offer to serve these rich nobles for a +small con-sider-ation; let me go, Martha—let me go, I say!" as +placing her powerful arm within his, she drew him reluctantly toward +the door.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a flourish of warlike music swelled through the lofty +apartment—peal on peal reverberated around—and while I +listened with awe to notes so grand and solemn, the music as suddenly +changed its character. Now only the dulcet tones of the harp were +heard, sweet as the soft summer shower when the tinkling rain-drops +merrily pelt the flowers—strains so sweetly harmonious as seemed +too heavenly for mortal touch. And as fainter and fainter, yet still +more sweet, the ravishing melody breathed around, one by one the +company glided out silently and mournfully—the tapestried walls +gradually assumed the appearance of my own little parlor—the +rich and tasteful decorations vanished—<i>and where was I?</i> Seated +in my own comfortable rocking-chair, reclining in the same attitude as +when so suddenly summoned forth by the gipsy carline. Truly,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. Than are dreamt +of in your philosophy."</p></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOMEWARD_BOUND" id="HOMEWARD_BOUND"></a>HOMEWARD BOUND.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For weary years my feet had wandered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On many a fair but distant shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Lima's crumbling walls I'd pondered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gazed upon the Andes hoar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ocean's wild and restless billow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That rears its crested head on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For years had been my couch and pillow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until its sameness pained my eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The playmates of my joyous childhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With whom I laughed the hours away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wandered through the tangled wildwood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till close of sultry summer day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My aged, gray, and feeble mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom most I longed to see again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sisters, and my only brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were o'er the wild and faithless main.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At length the lagging days were numbered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bound me to a foreign shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glorious hopes that long had slumbered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again their gilded plumage wore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond voices in my ear were singing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The songs I loved in boyhood's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in my hammoc slowly swinging<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I mused the still night-hours away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sylvan scenes then came before me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bright green fields I loved so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere <span class="smcap">Sorrow</span> threw his shadow o'er me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The streamlet, mountain, wood and dell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lonely grave-yard, sad and dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which in the night I passed with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, with their sleepless vigils weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The white stones watch above the dead;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were spread like pictured chart around me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Fancy turned my gazing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till slumber with his fetters bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dimmed each star in memory's sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then came bright dreams—but all were routed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When morning lit the ocean blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, awaking, gayly shouted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"My last, last night in famed <span class="smcap">Peru</span>!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Farewell <span class="smcap">Peru</span>! thy shores are fading,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As swift we plough the furrowed main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clouds with drooping wings are shading<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The towering Andes, wood and plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing breeze, thus idly singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sweeter, dearer voice hath found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hope within my heart is springing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our white-winged bark is <span class="smcap">Homeward Bound</span>!"<br /></span> +</div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas night—at length my feet were nearing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The home from which they long had strayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No star was in the sky appearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My boyhood's scenes were wrapped in shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I paused beside the grave-yard dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And entered through its creaking gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find if yet my mother, weary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of this cold world, had shared the fate<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of those who in their graves were sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But could not find her grass-grown bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though many a stranger stone was keeping<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its patient watch above the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But <span class="smcap">hers</span> was not among them gleaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I turned with joy away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For many a night had I been dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That there she pale and faded lay!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="POOR_PENN" id="POOR_PENN"></a>POOR PENN—.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> + +<h4>A REAL REMINISCENCE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY OLIVER BUCKLEY.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest;—most excellent humor."</p> +</div> +<br /> + +<p>Some years ago, ere yet I had reaped the harvest of "oats" somewhat +wildly sown, I resided in one of our principal western cities, and, +like most juveniles within sight of the threshold of their majority, +harbored a decided predilection for the stage. Not a coach and four, +as is sometimes understood by that expression, but that still more +lumbering vehicle, the theatre, which hurries down the rough road of +life a load of passengers quite as promiscuous and impatient. The odor +of the summer-fields gave me less delight than that which exhaled from +the foot-lights; and the wild forest-scenes were less enchanting than +those transitory views which honest John Leslie nightly presented to +the audience, too often "few" if not "fit." There is something, too, +in the off-hand, taking-luck-as-it-comes sort of life among actors, +which to me was especially attractive; and I was not long in making +the acquaintance of many. But the memory of one among the number +lingers with me still, with more mingled feelings of pain and pleasure +than that of any other. Poor Penn—, I will not write his name in +full, lest, should he be living, it might meet his eye and give his +good-natured heart a moment's discomfort. To him more than any other +my nature warmed, as did his to me, until we were cemented in +friendship. What pleasant rambles of summer-afternoons, after +rehearsal; what delightful nights when the play was done, what songs, +recitations and professional anecdotes were ours, no one but ourselves +can know. The character he most loved to play was Crack, in the +"Turnpike Gate." Poor Penn—! I can see him yet—"Some +gentleman has left his beer—another one will drink it!" How +admirably he made that point! But that is gone by, and he may ere this +have made his last point and final exit. After six months of the +closest intimacy, I suddenly missed my hitherto daily companion, and +all inquiries at his boarding-house and the theatre proved fruitless. +For days I frequented our old haunts, but in vain; he had vanished, +leaving no trace to tell of the course he had taken. I seemed +altogether forsaken—utterly lost—and felt as if I looked +like a pump without a handle—a cart with but one wheel—a +shovel without the tongs—or the second volume of a novel, which, +because somebody has carried off the first, is of no interest to any +one. At last a week went by, and I sauntered down to the ferry, and +stepping aboard the boat suffered myself to be conveyed to the +opposite shore. On the bank stood the United States barracks, and +gathered about were groups of soldiers, looking as listless and +unwarlike as if they had just joined the "peace-league." But their +present quiet was only like that of a summer sea, which would bear +unharmed the slightest shallop that ever maiden put from shore, but +when battling tempests rise can hurl whole navies into wreck. Suddenly +catching a glimpse of a figure at a distance which reminded me of my +friend, I eagerly addressed one of the soldiers, and pointing out the +object of my curiosity, inquired who he was.</p> + +<p>"That's our sergeant," replied the man.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I ejaculated in my disappointment, feeling assured that a week +would not have raised Penn— to that honor, and I sat down on the +green bank and watched the steamboats as they passed up and down +between me and the city. And as I gazed, many a sad reflection and +strange conjecture passed and re-passed along the silent current of my +mind. How alone I felt! Even the groups of soldiers standing about +were but as so many stacks of muskets. My eyes wandered listlessly +from object to object, and rested at last on a pair of boots at my +side, such as had been moving about me for the last half hour, and +they, that is my eyes, not the boots, naturally, but slowly, followed +up the military stripe on the side of the pantaloons, then took a +squirrel leap to the Uncle Sam buttons on the breast of the coat, and +passed leisurely from one to another upward, until they lit at last +full in the owner's face! That quizzical look—that Roman nose! +There was no mistaking Penn—, Sergeant Penn—, of the +United States Army! My surprise may easily be imagined. However, a few +minutes explained all.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! for poor humanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its weakness and its vanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its sorrow and insanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Alas!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>My friend in an evil hour had been led astray—had imbibed one +"cobbler" too many for his leather; and like most men in similar +circumstances, grew profoundly patriotic, and in a glorious burst of +enthusiasm, enlisted! His fine figure, with a dash of the theatrical +air, promoted him at once to the dignity of sergeant; and never did +soldier wear his honors "thrust upon him" with a better grace than did +Poor Penn—. Whether in his sober moments he regretted the rash +act, I do not know; he was too proud to acknowledge it if he did. +Taking me by the arm, he conducted the way to the barracks, and with +an air of indescribable importance, exhibited and explained the whole +internal arrangements. On the first floor, which was paved with brick, +there was an immense fire-place, built in the very centre of the great +room, and steaming and bubbling over the fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> hung a big kettle, +capable of holding at least thirty gallons. Over it, or rather beside +it, stood the soldier-cook, stirring the contents, which was +bean-soup, with an iron ladle. In the room above were long rows of +bunks, stacks of muskets, with other warlike implements and equipage. +A number of men were lounging on the berths, some reading, some +boasting, and others telling long yarns. There was one stout, +moon-faced gentleman laying on his broad back "spouting" Shakspeare. +This individual, to whom I was introduced, turned out to be Sergeant +Smith, another son of Thespis, who had left the boards for a more +permanent engagement, not with the enemy, for those were days of +peace, but with that stern old manager, Uncle Sam. Sergeant Smith was, +perhaps, the most important person in his own estimation, on the +banks, not even excepting the captain. There can be no doubt but that +the stage suffered a great loss when he left it, for, indeed, he told +us so himself. In a little while the call sounded, the roll was +called, and all hands turned in to dinner. Penn— had provided me +a seat by his side; and, for the first time in my life, I sat down to +soldier fare. There was a square block of bread at the side of each +pewter plate, a tin cup of cold water, and very soon a ladle-full of +the steaming bean-soup was dealt round to each. It was a plain but a +substantial dinner. Poor Penn—, as he helped me to an extra +ladle of soup, observed, with the most solemn face imaginable, that +the man who hadn't dined with soldiers "didn't know beans;" an +expression more apt than elegant. During the space of three months I +made weekly visits to the barracks, and was gratified to find that my +friend Penn—, in spite of his formidable rival, Sergeant Smith, +was fast rising in the confidence of the commanding officer and the +estimation of the men. Smith, too, was judicious enough to hide any +jealousy he might have felt, and like a true soldier, imitated his +superior, and treated Penn— with marked distinction.</p> + +<p>Such having been the state of affairs for so long a time, my surprise +and indignation may easily be imagined, when upon calling, as usual, +to see my friend, Sergeant Smith, with a most pompous air, informed me +that he was not acquainted with the person for whom I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Not acquainted with Penn—?" cried I, with the most unbounded +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," proudly replied the imperturbable sergeant, assuming the +strictest military attitude, looking like a very stiff figure-head, +seeming as if it would crack his eyelids to wink.</p> + +<p>"Not acq—"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," cried he, with great determination, before I could finish +the word. "Do you suppose an officer of the United States army, an +unimpeached soldier, capable of being acquainted with a <i>deserter?</i>"</p> + +<p>"A <i>deserter</i>!" echoed I; "Penn— a deserter!" and the truth +flashed across my brain, writing that terrible word in letters of +fire, as did the hand on the walls of Belshazzar. The next moment, by +permission of the guard, who knew me, I passed down into the long +damp basement of the barracks, where the offenders were imprisoned. At +the farther end, among a number of fellow-culprits, my eager eye soon +discovered the object of its search. He was sitting with folded arms, +perched on a carpenter's bench, and with the most wo-begone +countenance imaginable, whistling a favorite air, and beating time +against the side of the bench with his long, pendulous legs. I can +hear the tune yet, "Nix my Dolly;" and who that has ever seen "Jack +Shepherd" has forgotten it?</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" cried I, "Penn—, how is this?"</p> + +<p>He looked at me a moment with surprise, and after exclaiming, "How are +you, my boy?" gave the bench a salutary kick, and whistled more +vigorously than ever "Nix my Dolly;" and having gone through the +stave, he turned to me and exclaimed,</p> + +<p>"Look you, my boy, be chaste as snow, you shall not escape +calumny—and to this complexion you may come at last." Again he +took sight at the blank stone wall, whistled, and beat time.</p> + +<p>"But, come," said I, "how did you get here?"</p> + +<p>"Get here?" echoed he, "the easiest way in the world! Sergeant +Penn— crossed the river on a three hours' leave of +absence—took a glass too many—stayed over the time, and +his friend, Sergeant Smith, feeling anxious for Penn—'s welfare, +went after him and had him arrested as a deserter—and here he +is! 'Nix my Dolly,'" etc. etc.; and he settled again into his musical +reverie.</p> + +<p>"Well, what will be the upshot of it?" said I.</p> + +<p>"The <i>down-shot</i> of me, maybe!"—Nix my Doll—"at least, I +shall be shipped off with these fine fellows to the west; and if the +court-martial happen to sit on my case after dinner, I may get off +with <i>merely</i> having my head shaved, and being drummed out!" Poor +Penn—, at the thought of this, kicked the bench furiously, and +whistled with all the vigor he could muster.</p> + +<p>"When do you go?" asked I, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Next Sunday," he replied, and added, "Look here, my boy, let me bid +you good-by now, for the last time"—and he pressed my hand +warmly—"for the last time, I say, for it would unman me to see +you on that day, and Penn— would fain be himself, proud and +unshaken even in his disgrace. There—there—go, my dear +boy, let this be the last visit of your life to the barracks. God +bless you!" and after giving his hand a hearty grasp, I turned +hurriedly away, to hide my feeling. In passing the door I gave a hasty +glance back, and saw Penn— sitting as before, his arms folded, +his heels beating the bench, but so slowly, that their strokes seemed +like the dying vibrations of a pendulum; and the whistle was so low +that it was scarcely audible. With a heavy heart I passed away, much +preferring to acknowledge the acquaintance of a "deserter" like Poor +Penn— than to continue that of the unimpeachable Sergeant Smith. +Another week brought around the day of my friend's departure, and I +found it impossible to resist the temptation to take a farewell look +at my old companion. Accordingly I crossed the river, and taking my +station behind a large tree<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> on the bank of the river, so that I +could see Penn— without letting him see me, I awaited with +melancholy patience the moment when the deserters should be led out. +The steamboat was puffing and groaning at the wharf, and in a few +moments the heavy door of the guard-room swung open; there was a +sudden clanking of irons, and soon I saw prisoner after prisoner +emerge, dragging long heavy chains, which were attached to their +ankles. I counted them as they came out—counted a +dozen—but yet no Penn—; counted +eighteen—nineteen—but the twentieth, and last, proved to +be him. No language can describe the solemn majesty with which he +brought up the rear of that dishonored line. No chain clanked as he +stepped to tell of his disgrace; and the spectators, instead of +suspecting him as being a culprit, may easily have imagined him to be +one of the sergeants who had the rest in charge. This, to me, was a +matter of much surprise, and turning to an old soldier at my side, I +inquired,</p> + +<p>"What does this mean, isn't Penn— one of them?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he is," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"But why doesn't he wear a chain like the rest?"</p> + +<p>"Wear a chain," said the soldier, "you don't know Penn—, +Sergeant Penn— that was. He wear a chain! Why, bless your heart, +he carries as heavy a chain as any of them, but he's got it twisted +around his leg, under his pantaloons, clear above his knee! He's too +proud to drag it—he'd die first!"</p> + +<p>Poor Penn—! I could have embraced him for that touch of pride; +and felt assured that whatever the penalty might be which he was +doomed to suffer, that he had "a heart for any fate!" What that fate +was I have had no means of knowing, for I have never since heard of +poor Penn—.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_SONG" id="A_SONG"></a>A SONG.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bring me the juice of the honey fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The large translucent, amber-hued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rare grapes of southern isles, to suit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The luxury that fills my mood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And bring me only such as grew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where rarest maidens tent the bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only fed by rain and dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which first had bathed a bank of flowers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They must have hung on spicy trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In airs of far enchanted vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all night heard the ecstasies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of noble-throated nightingales:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So that the virtues which belong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To flowers may therein tasted be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that which hath been thrilled with song<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May give a thrill of song to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For I would wake that string for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which hath too long in silence hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweeter than all else should be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song which in thy praise is sung.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_ENCHANTED_ISLE" id="THE_ENCHANTED_ISLE"></a>THE ENCHANTED ISLE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far in the ocean of the Night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There lyeth an Enchanted Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a veil of mellow light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That blesseth like affection's smile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It tingeth with a rosy hue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All objects in that country fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like summer twilight, when the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is trembling in the fragrant air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there is music evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That seemeth sleeping on the breeze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like sound of sweet bells from the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lingering along the summer seas.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there are rivers, bowers, and groves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fountains fringed with blossomed weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all sweet birds that sing their loves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid stately flowers or tasseled reeds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All that is beautiful of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that is valued, all that's dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that is pure of mortal birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lives in immortal beauty here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All tender buds that ever grew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For us on Hope's ephemeral tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All loves, all joys, that e'er we knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bloom in that country gloriously.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no parting there, no change,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No death, no fading, no decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hand is cold, no voice is strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No eye is dark—or turned away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To us, who daily toil and weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How welcome is Night's starry smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the fairy barge of Sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We visit the Enchanted Isle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All holy hearts that worship Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though bleak their daily pathway seems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find treasure and immortal youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that fair isle of happy dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, if the soul have dwelt with sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It landeth on that isle no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though it would give its life to win<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One glimpse but of the pleasant shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their joys, which have been thrown away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or stained with guilt, can bloom no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the night their vessels stray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where pale shades weep, and surges roar.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CONTINENTS" id="THE_CONTINENTS"></a>THE CONTINENTS.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had a vision in that solemn hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Last of the year sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose wave sweeps downward, with its dying power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rippling the shores of Time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the lone margin of that hoary sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My spirit stood alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching the gleams of phantom History<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which through the darkness shone:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, when the bell of midnight, ghostly hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tolled for the dead year's doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the spirits of Earth's ancient lands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stand up amid the gloom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crownéd deities, whose reign began<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the forgotten Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first the glad world gave to sovereign Man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her empires green and vast!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">First queenly <span class="smcap">Asia</span>, from the fallen thrones<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of twice three thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came with the wo a grieving goddess owns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who longs for mortal tears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dust of ruin to her mantle clung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dimmed her crown of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the majestic sorrows of her tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Tyre to Indus rolled:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mourn with me, sisters, in my realm of wo,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose only glory streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From its lost childhood, like the artic glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sunless Winter dreams!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the red desert moulders Babylon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the wild serpent's hiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoes in Petra's palaces of stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waste Persepolis!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gone are the deities who ruled enshrined<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Elephanta's caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Brahma's wailings fill the odorous wind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That stirs Amboyna's waves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient gods amid their temples fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shapes of some near doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembling and waving on the Future's wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More fearful make my gloom!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from her seat, amid the palms embowered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shade the Lion-land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swart <span class="smcap">Africa</span> in dusky aspect towered—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fetters on her hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Backward she saw, from out her drear eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mighty Theban years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the deep anguish of her mournful lips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Interpreted her tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wo for my children, whom your gyves have bound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through centuries of toil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bitter wailings of whose bondage sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From many a stranger-soil!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave me but free, though the eternal sand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be all my kingdom now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the rude splendors of barbaric land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mock my crownless brow!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a sound, like sudden trumpets blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A ringing, as of arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When <span class="smcap">Europe</span> rose, a stately Amazon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stern in her mailéd charms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She brooded long beneath the weary bars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That chafed her soul of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a seer, who reads the awful stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her words prophetic came:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I hear new sounds along the ancient shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose dull old monotone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tides, that broke on many a system hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wailed through the ages lone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see a gleaming, like the crimson morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath a stormy sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warning throes, my bosom long has borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proclaim the struggle nigh!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The spirit of a hundred races mounts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To glorious life in one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New prophet-wands unseal the hidden founts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leap to meet the sun!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thunder-voices, answering Freedom's prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In far-off echoes fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As some loud trumpet, startling all the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peals down an Alpine vale!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O radiant-browed, the latest born of Time!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How waned thy sisters old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the splendors of thine eye sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mien, erect and bold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure, as the winds of thine own forests are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy brow beamed lofty cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Day's bright oriflamme, the Morning Star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flashed on thy lifted spear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I bear no weight," so rang thy jubilant tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Of memories weird and vast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No crushing heritage of iron thrones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bequeathed by some dead Past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mighty hopes, that learned to tower and soar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From my own hills of snow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose prophecies in wave and woodland roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the free tempests blow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Like spectral lamps, that burn before a tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ancient lights expire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wave a torch, that floods the lessening gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With everlasting fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned with my constellated stars, I stand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside the foaming sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the Future, with a victor's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Claim empire for the Free!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="JEHOIAKIM_JOHNSON" id="JEHOIAKIM_JOHNSON"></a>JEHOIAKIM JOHNSON.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> + +<h5>A SKETCH.</h5> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MARY SPENCER PEASE.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>What unlucky star it was that presided over the destiny of my cousin +Jehoiakim Johnson I am not astrologer enough to divine. Certain only +am I that it could have been neither Saturn, Mercury, Mars, nor Venus; +for he was far from being either wise, witty, warlike, or beautiful.</p> + +<p>Cowper says every one falls "just in the niche he was ordained to +fill." Cowper was mistaken in one instance, for Cousin Jehoiakim had +no niche to fall into, but went wandering about the world, (our +world,) without any thing apparently to do, or any where apparently to +stay: And just the moment you wished him safe in Botany Bay, just that +very moment was he standing before you with his—but never mind a +description of his face and person. <i>All</i> cannot be handsome; folks +unfortunately do not make themselves—and precisely the moment +you became indifferent as to his presence, or if—a <i>very</i> rare +thing—you wished it, that very instant he was no where to be +found.</p> + +<p>"Our world" was situated in good old New England, around and about +Boston; and we, "our folks," were of the better class of farmers, and +lived within a day's ride of the city.</p> + +<p>Never in my life have I been happier than in that free, green country, +with the broad, bright sky above me, and the clear, heaven-wide air +around me; and bird and beast frolicking in freedom and gladness near +and about me. I loved them all, and all their various noises, even to +the unearthly scream of our bright, proud peacock. I shut my eyes and +see them still; the world of gay-plumaged birds, with their sweet, +wild songs, the little white-faced lambs, the wee, <i>roly-poly</i> pigs, +the verdant ducks, the soft, yellow goslins, and the dignified old +cows stalking about. Well do I remember each of their kind old faces. +There was the spotted heifer, with an up-turned nose, and eyes with +corners pointing toward the stars. If ever a cow is admitted into +heaven for goodness, it will surely be Daisy. Then there was the black +Alderny, and the—but leaving beef <i>revenons à nos +moutons</i>—Cousin Jehoiakim. Still the place of all others to +enjoy life, life unconstrained by city forms, life free, free as +heaven's wind, is on a New England farm. My heart bounds within me as +I look back at the dear old homestead. Just there it lies in the bend +of the time-worn road that winds its interminable length through dark +elms—the gothic ivy-clad elms—and through black giant +pines, and the bright-leaved, sugar-giving maple, and golden fields, +hedged in by ragged fences, formed of the roots and stumps of +leviathan trees.</p> + +<p>You see that picket-gate? open it, and a path bordered on each side by +currant bushes, and gooseberry bushes, and the tall cyranga, and the +purple lilac, will lead you through an arbor of fine Isabella's and +Catawba's to the dear old homestead, now in possession of Brother Dick +and little Fanny, his better half.</p> + +<p>I could describe every nook of that darling old house, and every thing +surrounding it, from its old-fashioned chimneys—wherein the +domestic swallows have sung their little ones to sleep each successive +summer, time out of mind—to the unseemly nail that projected its +Judas-point from one of the crosspieces of that same little gate, and +which always contrived to give a triangular tear to my flying robes +every time they fluttered through that dear little gate. Just imagine +the happy moments I spent under the great old willow by the well, +darning those same triangular rents. Still has all this nothing to do +with Cousin Jehoiakim Johnson. You have probably seen folks that were +often in your way; now, he was never any where else. Always in the +way, and always ungraceful. He was not ungraceful for lack of desire +to please: bless his kind, officious heart! Oh, no! Was there a cup of +coffee to be handed, and were there a half dozen waiters ready to hand +it, he was sure to thrust forth at least ten huge digits, and if he +chanced to get it in his grasp, wo to the coffee! and wo to the +snow-white damask table-cloth! or worse, wo to one's "best +Sunday-go-to-meetin'" silk dress. Nature uses strange materials in +concocting some of her children—most uncouth was the fabric of +which she constructed Jehoiakim Johnson.</p> + +<p>Poor fellow! he is dead now—peace to his soul. Do you know I +fancy it lies hid in the breast of my dog Jehu—the most +ungainly, the best-natured creature alive. My baby rides his back, and +pulls his ears. I never heard him growl. Oh! he is a jewel of a dog.</p> + +<p>Poor Cousin Jehoiakim! Among his other <i>plaisanteries</i> he came near +losing for me a noble husband. Patience, and I will relate how it came +to pass.</p> + +<p>Sister Anna and myself—that sister of mine, by the way, was a +complete witch; all dimples and fun, with blue eyes that darted here +and there, dancing in her head for very gladness; with a mouth on +which the bright red rose sat like a queen on her throne. Her words I +can liken to nothing but to so many little silver bells, ringing out +into the clear air in joy and sweetness. And never have I heard +those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> musical bells jingle one harsh or unharmonious sound. She +is married now—poor thing—and the mother of three "little +curly-headed, good-for-nothing, mischief-making monkeys."</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding her exceeding loveliness, Cousin Jehoiakim preferred +me, and actually offered me his great broad hand, as you shall see. +She was a perfect Hebe, while my style of beauty was more of +the—though to confess the "righty-dighty" truth, as little folks +say, my beauty was of that order which took the keenest of eyes to +discover. There were a pair, however, dark, and full of soul, that +dwelt with as much delight on me as though I were Venus herself.</p> + +<p>Oh! those were dear, darling eyes, and were in the possession of the +best, yes, the very best specimen of Nature's modeling that New +England contained; Nature wrought him from the finest of her clay, +after her divinest image, and his parents named him Edgar Elliott.</p> + +<p>Sister Anna and myself had been making our usual Christmas visit to +Aunt Charity, or Aunt "Charty," as we used to call her, in good old +Yankee language. Aunt Charity dwelt in Boston; and was the wife of a +very excellent man, in very excellent circumstances; and the mother of +seven dear, excellent boys, of whom Cousin Jehoiakim Johnson was <i>not</i> +one.</p> + +<p>How delightfully flew our days on this particular Christmas visit. I +felt myself in a new world. A world of brighter flowers, and brighter +sunshine; for, although I was eighteen, never until then had I been +any thing but a wild, thoughtless, giddy child. And then?—the +truth is a new star had burst upon my horoscope, bright and beautiful, +that so bewildered my eyes to look upon, I was forced to awake my +heart from its long sleep, to supply the place of eyes. Steadfast it +gazed into that bright star's heaven-lighted depths, until I +recognized it as my guiding star—my Destiny!</p> + +<p>Oh, Love! thou angel! thou devil! thou blissful madness, thou wise +folly! Thou that comest clad in rainbow garments, with words more full +of hope than was the first arch that spanned high heaven, stouter +hearts than mine have been compelled to own thee master. Prouder +hearts than mine have listened to the witcheries of thy satin-smooth +tongue until they forgot their pride. More ice-cold ones than mine +have been consumed in the immortal fire thou buildest—the heart +thine altar, Love, thou monarch of the universe!</p> + +<p>Every thing has an end—a consolation oftentimes—rhapsody, +as well as love, and so had that happy Christmas-time, when we were so +merry, when I first saw that master-piece of nature—my +Destiny—Edgar Elliott.</p> + +<p>Anna and myself had been home but three weeks—three dreary years +of weeks, Anna said—when we received a letter containing the +joyful intelligence that Edgar Elliott, his aristocratic sister Jane, +his unaristocratic sister little Fanny, and Herbert Allen—a +young lieutenant, by the way, and, by the way, the red-hot flame of my +harem-scarem sister—would all four honor Dough-nut Hall, the +name we had playfully given our old homestead, with a speedy and long +visit.</p> + +<p>Joy and hope danced in our hearts when, clear and sunny, the promised +day at length had come, the snow five and a half feet deep—the +greatest depth of snow within the memory of the "oldest +inhabitant"—the mercury full ten degrees below zero. I had just +changed my dress for the fifth time, and sister Anna was offering me +this consolation, "I must say, Clara, that that is the most unbecoming +dress you have, you look like a perfect scare-crow," when the sound of +sleigh-bells coming up the avenue, sent my heart up in my throat, and +myself quicker than lightning down to the "hall-door," there to +welcome—not my darling Edgar and his proud, beautiful sister, +and Anna's Adonis lieutenant, and Brother Dick's pretty little +Fanny—no, none of these, oh, no! who but my long-visaged, +good-for-nothing cousin Jehoiakim Johnson.</p> + +<p>"Fiddle-de-dee!" exclaimed a voice at my elbow; and my disappointed +sister skipped, with chattering teeth, back into the house.</p> + +<p>The stage drove off, after depositing cousin Jehoiakim and a +Noah's-ark of a trunk.</p> + +<p>"Wall, Cousin Clarry!" exclaimed he, springing toward me with one of +his own peculiar bear-like bounds. "How du you du? I guess you didn't +expect me this time, no how."</p> + +<p>"I can't say that I did," said I; "but do come in, this air is enough +to freeze one."</p> + +<p>"Wall, here I am again," said he, rubbing his great hands together +before the blazing hickory. "But if that <i>wasn't</i> a tarnel cold drive; +and if this isn't a nation good fire, then I don't know. But how are +uncle and aunt, and Cousin Anna, and Dick, and little Harry?"</p> + +<p>"All quite well. Where have you been since you left here, cousin?"</p> + +<p>"Why I went right to Cousin Hezekiah's; but I did not stay there quite +two months, because little Prudence caught the brain fever, and I was +obliged to keep so still that it was very unpleasant. I went from +there to Cousin Ebenezer's. Wall, I stayed to Cousin Eb's four months +or so; then I went to stay a couple of months with Cousin Pildash and +Axy, (Achsa.) So this morning I came from Uncle Abimelech's. I only +stayed there a few weeks, because—But, Cousin Clarry, du look! +if there isn't a sleigh-load of folks coming."</p> + +<p>I <i>did</i> look, and saw coming through the great open gate, and up the +avenue, a sleigh, all covered with gold and brown, glittering in the +sun's setting rays. I saw the long, white manes of the ponies, and the +heavy plumes of my beautiful friend, Jane, streaming far in the wind; +and then I saw little Fanny's bright, happy face, and the fierce +moustache of Anna's lieutenant; and then I saw a pair of dark, earnest +eyes, full of devotion, gazing into mine as though at the shrine of +their soul's ideal. Never shall I forget the look they wore, so +inexpressibly full of affection was it.</p> + +<p>What a pity stars should set. What a pity that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> eyes, once +overflowing with the light of wildest, truest love, should grow cold +and dim. A pity, too, that love cannot always be love—that it +should find its grave so often in hate, or indifference, or in sober +friendship. Still that it does not always, let us bless Love, and +think that the fault lies in us, and not in Love, that we are grown so +like the clay of which our bodies are made, that Love, the spirit, +cannot find an abiding-place within us; and, as years come over us, we +are content more and more to harden our hearts, and bask, like +butterflies, in the external sunshine of this beautiful world, until +the world within—the world of thought and feeling—is a +weary one, gladdened only with a few flowers of transcendent sweetness +and brightness—rewards of merit from this work-day, +lesson-learning earth.</p> + +<p>Meantime were those warm eyes looking love upon me; and meantime, from +out a world of buffalo-robes and furs, were our merry friends +emerging; and then a fervent pressure of a soft, warm hand sent the +bright blood burning to my very temples. Then came numerous other +shakes of the hand, and question sounded upon question, and laugh +pealed upon laugh; a gayer, merrier, madder party never met together. +Sister Anna, and Brother Dick's little love of a Fanny, were a host of +mirth in themselves. The accession of so many merry faces seemed to +act on the uncouth spirits of my Cousin Jehoiakim like so much +exhilarating gas; for scarcely were we housed, when he suddenly caught +me up in his windmill arms, and twirling me around as though I had +been a feather, exclaimed, "Bless us! Cousin Clarry, I have scarcely +had a chance to say how du you du, and to tell you how glad I am to be +here once more. Arn't you tickled to death to see me?"</p> + +<p>Indignant and breathless, I sprang from him, saying, "Really, Cousin +Jehoiakim, I should be much more delighted to see you if you would be +kind enough to manifest a less rude way of expressing your joy."</p> + +<p>"Oh! beg pardon, Cousin Clarry. I forgot you had grown up into a young +woman; another word for touch-me-not—ha! ha! ha! I guess you are +all dressed up, tu; you look like a daisy, anyhow."</p> + +<p>With that he threw himself back in a perfect roar of ha! ha's! and he! +he's! My eyes glanced around to see the effect produced on my friends +by my <i>gauche</i> cousin. The great blue eyes of the aristocratic Jane +opened themselves wider and more wide, while the merry black ones of +little Fanny seemed to enjoy the sport. The lieutenant's moustache +curled itself a little more decidedly, as he surveyed Jehoiakim +Johnson; looking upon him, probably, as on some savage monster. I +thought I perceived a darker shade in Edgar's eyes. It soon passed +over, and we all became quiet and chatty. The twilight deepened around +us, meantime, and the shadows formed by the blazing hearth grew more +and more opaque, and more and more fitful, lengthening themselves over +carpet, chairs, and sofas, to the very farthest corner of the room, +darting all manner of fantastic forms upon Sister Anna and her +handsome lieutenant, as they sat over by the window, in earnest +conversation. Yes, Sister Anna, for once wert thou earnest. Upon our +group on the sofa, before the hearth, fell also those strange +fire-light shadows. Sweet little Fanny! how like a little fairy didst +thou look in that flickering fire-light; thy graceful form, half +reclining, thrown carelessly on the sofa; thy long, curling hair +flowing in dark clouds over thy snow-white dress, and nearly hiding +thy happy, child-like face, and bright eyes, that glanced out on +Brother Dick, who, entranced, was devoutly bending over thee, gazing +on thy sunny face—what he could see of it. Sweet little Fanny! +And thy proud, beautiful sister, Jane—sitting beside me, and +near thee; well did that gleaming light reveal her noble outline of +face and form contrasting so finely with thine. Nor did those wayward +shadows spare our dear mother, but daguerreotyped all manner of +merry-andrews on her sober satin dress, as she sat over on a lounge, +quietly talking with my dear, sweet Edgar, who employed his leisure +moments in throwing sundry loving glances over at me. Nor did these +weird shadows spare our Cousin Jehoiakim Johnson in the great +old-fashioned arm-chair, where he had flung himself, seemingly wrapped +in meditation most profound. They frolicked over his broad, square +shoulders like the Liliputs upon Gulliver, dancing all sorts of +fantastic dances, pulling at his ears, and tweaking his substantial +nose, when a snore of most immense magnitude broke on our quiet ears. +Then another and another, each louder than the last. Ah! Cousin +Jehoiakim, most profound was thy meditation.</p> + +<p>Now I am not going to weary your patience by telling you how just then +our "help" entered, one bearing a tray-full of tall sperm candles, +another an immense waiter, crowned with the thick-gilt, untarnished +china, that had been handed down in our family by four successive +generations—we had begged our dear mother to let the tea, the +tea only, be handed around as it was done in Boston; she in an evil +hour consenting. Nor how Cousin Jehoiakim, aroused from his meditation +by the glare of light, starting up, cast his eyes upon Mercy, the +stout serving maiden, and bearer of that same precious +porcelain—for which my dear mother's reverence was as great, +every whit, as that of Charles Lamb's for old China; and how the next +moment the waiter was in the hands of my six feet seven and a-half +cousin, with "Du let me help you, young woman!" and how the next +instant the six feet seven and a-half formed a horizontal line with +the floor, instead of a perpendicular one; and how the glittering +fragments of gold and white glistened from under every chair, and from +the hearth, and out from among the ashes, like unto so many evil eyes +glaring upon him for his stupidity and carelessness; and how little +Fanny unwound from one foot of the prostrate six feet seven and a-half +several yards of snow-white muslin—the innocent cause of the +disaster; and how, light as a bird, she sprung, merrily laughing, from +the room, with the fluttering fragments of her cobweb dress gathered +in an impromptu drapery around her graceful little form.</p> + +<p>No; I will not fatigue you with the history of that unlucky adventure; +nor how, but a short time after, when we had taken tea from less +costly China, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> had fallen into a witty, merry uttering of +each other's thoughts, we were interrupted by screams the +most—but never mind what kind, seeing I have said you shall not +be fatigued with a description of what was nothing but an immense +kettle of boiling lard flowing quietly and river-like over the long +length of the before so spotless kitchen floor, with many a cluster of +dough-nut islands interspersed, by way of relieving the said river of +monotony. Our dear mother was famed for miles around for the profusion +and superiority of her dough-nuts, hence our +soubriquet—"Dough-nut Hall." And, seeing that Mercy was only +scalded half to death, the guilty culprit, who insisted that the +kettle was "too heavy for a woman to lift," escaping unhurt, that is +bodily—his remorse of conscience being truly pitiable. No; none +of all this, with long, ugly sentences, shall you have; no, nor a +detail of his many daily, hourly, and almost momently, misadventures; +how once, when we were sitting in Miss Elliott's room, in he bolted +with, "Bless my soul! what a lot of industrious women-folk! 'How doth +the busy bee;'" that new and elegant little poem was, word for word, +recited. Little Fanny he found making a bead purse for Brother Dick, +and examining her box with every conceivable shade of bead duly +assorted, and separated from each other by innumerable partitions. No +matter what he said about them, only the beads were spilled, and the +purse could not be finished; and then were Miss Jane's delicate +brushes passed through his wondering red hair before a saving hand +could arrest them; then was Miss Jane's beautiful inlaid dressing-box +broken irreparably; and then—but I will tell you what I will +relate you—all about our sleigh-ride and country ball. Yes! that +you must know; not because it is worth telling, but because I should +like you to hear it—all about how I nearly lost my darling. But +to commence.</p> + +<p>Rumors were afloat of this said ball, the countriest kind of a country +ball, to take place in Squire Brown's barn, the largest, best built +barn for miles around. Our city friends entered into the spirit +exactly, and determined on going. "Cousin Jehoiakim? Oh, he need know +nothing about it," said Sister Anna; "or we can easily deceive him as +to the day, without telling him very much of a lie." Ah! Sister Anna. +The important day arrived. In one great bandbox reposed various +satins, laces, and ribbons too numerous to mention; the owners thereof +were standing cloaked, hooded, and muffed, ready to start. The +distance was ten miles. We had cast lots for the sleighs, and had +agreed on exclusiveness, though not exactly the exclusiveness that +Sister Anna wickedly proposed, viz., that each brother should take his +respective sisters in due decorum. The new "cutter" of my brother's +was drawn by himself; and he had already started with his little Fanny +by his side. The proud, beautiful Jane—I really believe I had +forgotten to mention that, while Cousin Jehoiakim was upsetting +chairs, and spilling pitchers of water, and breaking glasses, and +treading on people's toes, and the cat's tail, a distant cousin of +ours arrived—rather a guess cousin than Cousin Jehoiakim; tall +as the last named, to be sure, but bearing about the same resemblance +to him as a vigorous, graceful young willow does to an overgrown +mullen stalk. This new cousin—by cognomen Clarence +Spencer—the family name our own, by the way—proud and +beautiful as the haughty Jane herself—had seen fit to fall most +gracefully in love with her. These two, therefore, were just started +on their way to the ball, in Clarence's own incomparable turn-out. +Lieutenant Allen had drawn the Elliott's beautiful gold and brown +sleigh. He was holding the impatient ponies, and Sister Anna was +arranging the cushions when Cousin Jehoiakim hove in sight. Sister +Anna sprung like a doe to the front seat, threw the heavy +buffalo-robes about, making them and the great bandbox fill up the +back seat, and seating herself by the lieutenant—all this +quicker than lightning—and giving the ponies a touch of the +whip, on they dashed to the imminent peril of their necks as well as +her own. A saucy toss of the head was all she vouchsafed me. All, +then, were on their way save Edgar and myself, who were expecting a +quiet, loving talk in the comfortable old-fashioned "pung," with a gig +top, that papa used in his frequent drives to Boston.</p> + +<p>"Wall, now, Cousin Clarry, I reckon you thought I didn't snuff what +was going on."</p> + +<p>Poor fellow! he looked <i>so</i> good-natured, truly my heart smote me.</p> + +<p>"There is another cutter in the barn, cousin," replied I, "and you can +take your pick of the horses."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Cousin Clarry, but there ain't no occasion of +calling any more of the poor dumb critters out into the cold. I guess +you can make room for me; I will ride on top until we catch up to some +of the two-seated sleighs."</p> + +<p>Time was too precious to waste in words, and as Cousin Jehoiakim good +naturedly persisted that he should be very comfortable on the top, on +the top he seated himself. I saw that Edgar did not like the +arrangement, but he was too polite, or too proud to interfere. "Let us +overtake the others," said he. A bright smile passed over his face. I +saw he meditated some mischief. I knew it could not be very +mischievous mischief, for a kinder, nobler heart never beat more +warmly in any human breast. Forward dashed the horses, throwing the +white, sparkling snow before and around them into the bright sunshine. +Faster and faster sped the spirited horses, until we passed, +first—yes, it was no illusion, his lips were actually pressing +her little rosy mouth. Then, Lieutenant Allen, you are not the first +man that has done the like; it is a way they all have, ever since Adam +gave Mother Eve her first love-kiss. What man would not part with some +years of his life for the privilege of pressing to his own a pretty +little soft mouth?</p> + +<p>Ah, Sister Anna! the question was actually popped; and on that +memorable day of the ball, thy giddy heart was actually caged. We came +so noiselessly and swift through the soft snow that we actually took +thee by surprise. Thy blushes were beautiful; but on we sped, and our +next tableaux presented Cousin Clarence gazing most intensely and +earnestly into the great deep-blue eyes of the beautiful Jane<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> Elliott, as though he were pouring +forth a question from his soul to hers. Her delicate hand lay in his, +and her stately, graceful head inclined gently toward him. They were +so earnestly occupied, he in talking, and she in listening, that they +did not see us until we had passed them; and after we passed them we +were not long in overtaking Dick and his little Fanny. Bless the +lovers! Her curly-headed little head started, quick as lightning, from +its warm resting place, though not so quick but that my practiced eye +saw it take leave of Brother Dick's manly shoulder. Her fun-loving +spirit could not resist the ludicrous appearance of Cousin Jehoiakim, +perched upon the top of our pung like some immense bird of prey. +Brother Dick joined in her pealing, merry laughter, and the old woods +rang again. The stump of a tree grew at the road-side, near an immense +snow-bank. Edgar, as though he had been on the look-out for such a +fine opportunity, speedily and dexterously ran one runner of our pung +over the stump, and over went the pung. By a skillful movement he +righted it instantly. The friendly side preserved me from the snow; +but Cousin Jehoiakim—alas! for gravity on a gig-top. In this +deep bank of snow, his heels high in air, stood my inverted cousin. As +soon as I could speak from convulsive laughter, I implored Edgar to go +back to my cousin's assistance.</p> + +<p>"As you please," said he. Now you must know that I was the only one +that treated Cousin Jehoiakim kindly. Sister Anna and Brother Dick +made a complete butt of him; the rest did not treat him at all, except +to an occasional shrug of the shoulder from Anna's lieutenant, or a +gay laugh from little Fanny. And, forsooth, because I was civil to +him, and talked to him, and excused his awkwardness, why Edgar saw +fit, in his wisdom, to be jealous of him. Was there ever any thing +more absurd? Yes, since time out of mind have men, the wisest and the +best of them, been just so absurd; and unto all eternity will they, +the wisest and best of them, be just so absurd again.</p> + +<p>By the time we had reached again the spot, the others had come up, and +were engaged in disentombing the imbedded unfortunate.</p> + +<p>"That was a cold bed, any how," said he, shaking himself from head to +foot like a huge Newfoundland dog, and smiling upon us with his +imperturbable good-nature; "but why, in the name of all that is good, +did you not help a feller out sooner? If it had been feathers instead +of snow, I should surely have been suffocated."</p> + +<p>"Thank your stars for your safe deliverance," said the laughing Fanny.</p> + +<p>"What were you thinking of, cousin?" said Anna, in a choking voice.</p> + +<p>"I could think of nothing but the ten commandments; and I wondered +what sinful iniquity my grandfather had been guilty of, that I should +be visited in such an awful manner for his transgressions. But where +on earth is my hat? I have looked in the hole, and all about for it."</p> + +<p>"Look on your neck, Hoiky; you are wearing it for a stock," said my +brother.</p> + +<p>"By gracious! so I am."</p> + +<p>I brushed the snow from his shoulders and hair, and assisted his long +neck from its cumbrous stock, and pinning on the crown-piece, the hat +was quite wearable again.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Johnson will ride much more comfortably in one of the +double-seated sleighs," said Edgar.</p> + +<p>"Most certainly, Mr. Elliott," replied Cousin Jehoiakim, "you know I +begged you to let me out the first sleigh we met. I reckon you <i>did</i> +let me out to some purpose at last. By jimminy! but that was a cool +dip. Wall, Cousin Anny, what do you say to my riding along with you, +though I had a leetle rather sit alongside of Clarry, yet if you've no +objections I havn't none."</p> + +<p>So now was my turn to pay back my sister by as provoking a toss of the +head as she gave me. Our ride the rest of the way was pleasant. +Edgar's eyes grew warm and loving. Among the other interesting things +we talked of, Edgar poured into my greedy ears the wonders and beauty +of the almost new doctrine of the transcendentalists. He described the +home he was going to give me, and called me his little wife, and +said—but dear me, I am not going to tell you all he said. His +passionate words and the love in his soul-full eyes lay deep in my +heart as we stopped before Squire Brown's.</p> + +<p>Then came the dressing, and then it was we found that Cousin Jehoiakim +had contrived to crush the great bandbox on the seat beside him. The +beautiful lace dress Miss Elliott was to have worn over a satin was +torn and spoiled, also Anna's and my wreaths, also things too numerous +to mention. When we told of the disaster, Brother Dick said that Anna +and I looked much prettier in our own uncovered hair than with an +artificial flower-garden upon our heads—that the elegant white +satin of Miss Jane needed no lace to make it more +beautiful—adding, in an undertone, that he would give more to +see a woman dressed in the simple white muslin his little Fanny wore +than for all the laces and satins that could be bought.</p> + +<p>When we entered the ball-room we found Cousin Jehoiakim already +dancing with a red-haired young lady, in a blue gauze dress. Seeing +us, and wishing to astonish us, he attempted a quadruple pigeon-wing, +which unfortunately entangled his great feet in the blue gauze dress, +and ended in his own subversion and the dismemberment of the thin +gauze. The young lady was obliged to retire for the night, while +Cousin Jehoiakim slowly picked himself up. He was so much abashed I +had to console him by asking him to dance with me. I really pitied the +poor fellow, he could get no one but me to dance with him, still he +tried so hard to make himself agreeable, and was so determinedly +good-natured that it was not his fault that he could not be a second +Apollo.</p> + +<p>I was Edgar's partner for a reel.</p> + +<p>"You seem to take very great interest in the well-doing of that odious +cousin of yours," said he.</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! why should I not?" replied I.</p> + +<p>"Because he is awkward and disagreeable," said he, half laughing at +his own reason.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is as the Lord made him," replied I, in a tone of affected +humility.</p> + +<p>"But the Lord did not make you to dance with him and lavish so much +attention upon him; you will oblige me very much, Clara, by not +dancing any more with him and making yourself so ridiculous."</p> + +<p>Now there was not very much in those words to take offence at, and I +should, like a submissive woman that was about to be a wife, have +promised obedience, but, unfortunately, being a daughter of Eve I +inherited somewhat of her pride and vanity. In a different tone of +voice Edgar might have said even those words without offending either +pride or vanity, but his voice was cold, and his eyes were colder, and +I, driving my heart away from my lips and eyes, replied—"I trust +Mr. Elliott does not flatter himself he has <i>yet</i> the entire control +of my actions."</p> + +<p>"Just as you please."</p> + +<p>The reel was finished, and he was off. I repented as soon as the words +passed my lips—the first angry words I had spoken to him. But +then, thought I, sitting down on a bench by myself, why is he so +foolishly provoking and unreasonably jealous of my poor cousin. He to +be so unkind, he who had ever been the noblest and most loving of +sons, the kindest and truest of brothers. For a moment my heart +misgave me at the thought of becoming his for life, it was only a +moment. I saw through the dim vista of years a vision of peace and +love.</p> + +<p>Cousin Jehoiakim came and sat down beside me. "Ah! Cousin Clarry," +said he, abruptly taking my hand and holding it, "you are good and +kind to me, how happy I shall be when you are my own little wife, when +the time comes to give you my hand as I already have my heart."</p> + +<p>Cousin Jehoiakim sentimental! I looked up—Edgar's cold blue eyes +were fastened upon me. I hastily drew my hand from my cousin, and +sprung toward the glooming Edgar.</p> + +<p>"Is it not near time to go, dear Edgar?" exclaimed I, grasping his +hand in my own.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Johnson can see you home. I have engaged to go with a friend of +mine back to Boston."</p> + +<p>"Edgar!"—but he was gone.</p> + +<p>You may depend I did <i>not</i> ride home with <i>Mr. Johnson</i>, but begged a +seat with my sister, leaving my cousin the "pung" with the gig-top all +to himself. Whether he encountered any more stumps or pit-falls I +cannot say. He and the pung came safely home, as did the rest of us.</p> + +<p>"Mother," exclaimed I, "I do wish you would contrive some means to get +rid of my odious Cousin Jehoiakim, he is the torment of my life."</p> + +<p>"Mamma," chimed in Anna, while a smile twinkled in the corner of her +eye, "Cousin Jehoiakim has ruined my beautiful French wreath, and has +broken my Chinese pagoda, and my exquisite Chinese mandarins, and +soiled my Book of Beauty, and has broken my new set of chess-men that +Uncle Eb. brought from the East Indies, and has—dear mother, can +you not think of some means of sending him to Uncle Abiram's, or to +Halifax?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," said Brother Dick, with a laugh, "Hoiky has been here +mischiefizing long enough; do invent some means of packing him off. We +have been victimized long enough. He has broken every fishing-rod I +have, and has lost my hooks, and he has lamed my beautiful pony +Cæsar, and ruined my gun, and yesterday, in shooting game, he +shot my dog Neptune, that I have been offered fifty dollars for, and +would not have taken one hundred."</p> + +<p>"Wife," said our dear papa, coming into the room, "it is of no use, I +can be patient no longer, you <i>must</i> devise some method of letting +Nephew Jehoiakim understand we do not wish his presence any longer. +Poor fellow! I would not for the world be unkind to him. I will give +him an annual stipend that will support him liberally during his life, +willingly, gladly, but I cannot have him here any longer. He is +utterly incorrigible."</p> + +<p>"What has he done now?" asked our dear mamma.</p> + +<p>"He left the bars down that led into my largest, best field of wheat, +and half the cattle in the country have been devouring it. They have +ruined at least a couple of hundred dollars worth. The money is not +what I care so much for, but it was the best wheat-field for miles +around, and I had a pride in having it yield more than any field of my +neighbors. I have borne with him day after day, hoping he might do +better. Poor fellow! he is sorry enough always for his mistakes. The +other day he left the garden-gate open, and the cows got in and eat +all my cabbages and other vegetables; then he leaves the barn-door +open, and the hogs go in and the calves come out."</p> + +<p>"We will see," said our dear mamma.</p> + +<p>The next morning at the breakfast-table said our dear mother—</p> + +<p>"You will have a delightful day to ride in, dear nephew."</p> + +<p>Cousin Jehoiakim opened wide his eyes, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Richard, my son, I hope you did not forget to tell Mr. Grimes to let +the stage stop here this morning. It will be very inconvenient for +your cousin to be obliged to stay another day. I packed your trunk +this morning early, dear nephew, just after you left your room, +knowing how you disliked the trouble."</p> + +<p>Still wider opened my cousin's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Harry, my son," said mamma to my little brother, "those cakes and +dough-nuts are for your cousin to take with him for his lunch."</p> + +<p>"Mayn't I have a piece of pie then?"</p> + +<p>"Go and get what you want of Mercy, my dear. I put some runs of yarn +in your trunk, dear nephew, you may give them with my love to sister +Abigal, and tell her the wool is from white Kitty. She will remember +the sheep. Give my love to brother Abiram with this letter."</p> + +<p>Still wider opened Cousin Jehoiakim's eyes.</p> + +<p>"You will find also in your trunk a dozen and a half of new linen +shirts that I have taken the liberty of putting there instead of your +old ones."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear aunt, you are very kind. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> really am very sorry +to leave you all. I have enjoyed myself very much here; but Aunt +Abigail will feel hurt if I do not pay her a visit. I shall come again +as soon as I can, so do not cry your eyes out, Cousin Clarry."</p> + +<p>The stage came and Cousin Jehoiakim went.</p> + +<p>And the way I lured back my flown bird would make quite an interesting +sentimental little story of itself. Bless his bright eyes! they are +shining on me now, full of mischief at this sketch I am giving you, +beloved reader. But <i>didn't</i> we have a nice wedding time? There was +Anna and her brave lieutenant, Brother Dick and his bright little +Fanny, the beautiful, majestic Jane, and my beautiful, majestic Cousin +Clarence, and my darling, good Edgar, and, dear reader, your very +humble servant.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CORIOLANUS" id="CORIOLANUS"></a>CORIOLANUS.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY HENRY B. HIRST.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How many legends have been told or sung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since Rome—the nursling of the wolf—arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lean, gaunt and grim, and lapped the bubbling blood<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of fallen and dying foes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How many lyrics, which, like trumpets heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At dawn, when, clad in steel, the long array<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of marshaled armies glittering in the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Stretch, like the skies, away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But none so golden, chivalric and holy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As that of thine, Coriolanus—none<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the imperial purple of old days<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But pale before its sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True, thou wast proud, and deemed the people base,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prone to idolatry of those who sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their April smiles—who fawned to win their votes,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Nor dreamed them dearly bought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou, who hadst stood where death reigned like a king,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First in Corioli—thy wounds in front—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preferring neigh of steed and clash of arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The battle's deadly brunt,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To silken ease, and mirth, and song, and dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And festal follies in Etruscan halls—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bacchantic revels, when the sun went down,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beyond the city walls,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Couldst well gaze on the mass with eagle eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Demanding as a right their voice, and blush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bare thy scars, while thy patrician scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Made cheek and forehead flush.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The base cabals—the hate which drove thee forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A wanderer, ennobled thee: thy fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked lightning on the curs that dared abuse,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But lacked the power to shame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Prouder thy spirit in that trying hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than theirs who stung thee: well might'st thou go forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Undaunted, for thy fame was not of Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But, rather, of the earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet it was hard to leave thy wife and babe—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Virgilia and thy little one—hard to break<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bonds that held thee to them: Rome grew dear—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Most dear for their sweet sake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But as their forms waxed dim, thy festering heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Looked from thine eyes; thy swelling nostrils told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The inward struggle, and thy heaving chest<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A human ocean rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kneeling upon the ground, thy sinister arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adjuring heaven, thy soul broke forth in tones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thunder; but thy agony in that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Pale Rome repaid with groans.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Coldly, with stately step and placid brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lull—the herald of the approaching storm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou went'st thy way toward Antium—trod its streets<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Without the thought of harm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Humble was thy approach, but thou went'st forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Mars of the time—thy snorting steed arrayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glistering with gold, while at thy heels<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A thousand clarions brayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rome from her seven hills looked down with fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appalled and breathless, while her people stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like men awoke from sleep, amazed, aghast—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With agues in their blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like an avenging angel with the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of wrath unsheathed, careering toward thy home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through flame and blood, thou rod'st: thy coming shook<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The hundred gates of Rome.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She, who abused, beseeched thee, but in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Humbled herself before thee; yet thy hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was unappeased; and, like one stricken dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Rome gazed upon her fate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when Volumnia came—thy mother—she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bore thee 'neath her heart, and, at her side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one who, in thy softer hours, with love<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy trembling lip called bride,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leading thy child—thy boy—the old hours came<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like south wind over thee; thy icy soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dissolved in tears; thy hard—thy iron heart<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Acknowledged love's control,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Rome was saved—Rome, who had wronged, was free!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">—Thou lost!—O, never from the depths of Time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came sweeter record of the power of love<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Than this, in my poor rhyme.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never was story fuller of the strength<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love o'er hate: undimmed by age, it breathes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A perfume, and a crown around thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Coriolanus, wreathes!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LENNARD" id="LENNARD"></a>LENNARD.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> + +<h4>A TALE OF MARION'S MEN.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">—"Mightier far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of magic potent over sun or star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is Love, though oft to agony distrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Night o'er the Santee! up the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale moon went with misty eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the west a brooding cloud—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Departed day's wind-lifted shroud—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waved slowly in the depths of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While now and then a world looked through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broken edge, as from above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steals down a seraph's glance of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through sorrow's cloud and mortal air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On breaking hearts or tearful prayer.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the recess of the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That on the river's margin stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Encamped beneath the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of solemn pine and cypress tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tulip soaring high and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A patriot band had made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their pillows of the moss and leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which the moaning south-wind grieves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When day forsakes the glade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all save one slept hushed as night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the starry Infinite—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That one a boy in years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose daring arm and flashing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When death and danger hovered nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Belied the trembling fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrinking dread that seemed to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From quivering lip and pallid cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At sight of war's array;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first the fearful strife to bide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever at his captain's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was Lennard in the fray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet strange to tell, though oft beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That captain's form he dared to bide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cannon's fiery blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand no human blood had shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath his steel no foe had bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When in the battle cast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So said his comrades tried and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who marveled that a heart so bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should beat in pitying breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now beside the smouldering fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He marked its flickering flames expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watched his leader's rest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That leader—in the civil strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then waged for Liberty and Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No braver spirit stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between his country and the chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mistaken tyranny would fain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have cast o'er lake and wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though in manhood's early morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young Huon led through strife and scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A trusty troop and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who left their homes his lot to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Freedom sworn to live and dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or die—at Fate's decree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the covert solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dark morass and thicket rude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guerilla warfare waged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Tory band, unwary foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And struck full many a dauntless blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While hate and conflict raged.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One hour from midnight and the sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wrapped the stalwart frame so deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was woke by guard and sign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forest sounded with the tramp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rushing steeds, until the camp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was reached by foremost line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the brigade of fearless men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who rode through wood, and brake, and fen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As speeds the red deer to his glen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No gorgeous suit of war array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No uniform of red or gray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that rude band were seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ploughman's dress, but coarse and plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marred by toil with many a stain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Betrayed no gilded sheen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their only badge the white cockade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dagger's point or glittering blade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was worn with martial pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sabre hilt and rifle true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oftimes of dark, ensanguined hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were ever at the side.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hailed their comrades in the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blazing fires illumed the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waged with jest and smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As toward the lurid torches' light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rode up their chief the while.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No pert gallant or Conrad he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gay plume waving haughtily;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor donned he aught his troopers o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that the leathern cap he wore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In front a silver crescent bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inscribed with "Death or Liberty."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of stature low, the piercing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forehead broad, and full, and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lined with lofty thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were all that marked from his compeers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man who through long, gloomy years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tireless vigor wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nerved by defeat for loftier aim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To build his country's Hope and Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And win for her a seat divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath bright Freedom's hallowed shrine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And few, though rashly brave, would dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To start the Swamp Fox<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> from his lair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in his fastness wild and dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cope with the rebel Marion.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon Huon by the river's tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought out his brave commander's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listened with respectful air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To learn what new emprise to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What lurking foe to shun or brave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short was their conference and grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere Huon bade a trooper call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His page, young Lennard, to his aid;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And passing 'neath the cedar tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And giant oaks' far spreading shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy with graceful step and light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood quickly in his captain's sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Marion thus, in kindly tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoke with a frankness all his own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'T is said, my boy, thy heart is brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy courage sure, and caution grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This night, then, we will task thy power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek, ere the closing of the hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The village inn that stands below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embowered within the coppice glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And learn the bearings of the foe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their force in camp, and field, and shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere the silver moon again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Carolina's hills shall wane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet us beside the deep lagoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond, that knows no scorching noon."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Anon, far down the silent wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Undaunted by its solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sped Lennard on his way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until beneath a blasted pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the forest gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tall, and bald, and hoary white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed through the dusky veil of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As through Life's mist on human sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gleams vital truth divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused, and from a whistle clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew notes that thrilled the valley near.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the rebel camp, meanwhile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No slumbers winning smiles beguile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From care to dreams away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The troop who view with fearless heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coming strife and battle's mart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus with blithesome song, though rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake the echoes of the wood:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Though dark the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And fierce the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">We fear no living foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The swamp our home,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The sky our dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Our bed the turf below;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">We hail the strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And prize not life,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Unblessed by Freedom's smile;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And Age and Youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To patriot Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Pledge hopefully the while.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Our Country's name<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Must sink in shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Or sound in triumph free;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Then, brothers, on!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">For Marion,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Our homes and liberty.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'T was morning—from the golden sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night fled before day's burning eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As flies the minister of sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From souls that kneel to God, to win<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Courage to meet the tempter's wile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strength upon the strife to smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce had the cloudless sun betrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flowers that bloomed in meadows low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere toward a thickly shaded glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An armed horseman traveled slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And paused beside a gushing spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose gentle murmurs thrilled the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thrills an angel's unseen wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The distant blue when mounting there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark trees hung above its wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tapestry of green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And arching o'er the waters, gave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A softness to the sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mellow light that darted through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dewy leaves of richest hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While round the huge trunks many a vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had bade its graceful tendrils twine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blossoming grape and jessamine pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loading with sweets the summer gale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not long with hasty step he trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The narrow path and flowery sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere gently o'er the sere leaves' bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maiden passed with faltering tread.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! light was the step of the blooming girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glossy the hue of the raven curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joyous the glance of the dark eye's play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the pride of the village was Morna Grey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ruthless war to her dwelling came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her brothers slept on the field of fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her father's blood on his hearth was shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the desolate orphan in anguish fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the cottage of one who her childhood nursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who soothed the spirit that grief had cursed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now in the depths of that speaking eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There slumbered a sadness still and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But veiled with a clear and mellow light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the softened glow of a moonlit night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rose on her cheek that came and went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the hues of the West when day is spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Told how the chords of the heart below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quivered and shrunk at the breath of wo.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But why did a presage of coming ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a fiercer pang her bosom thrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale her cheek to a deadlier hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she sought the spring where the jessamine grew?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She had come to meet for a moment there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere he sought the field in the strife to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One who her father had blessed in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she pledged her faith with faltering breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Huon with joyous smile and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcomed the presence of Morna Grey.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the words they spoke were short and few—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soldier must be to his duty true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere a half hour had hastened by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She watched his steed as it hurried nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the verdant plain to the cedars tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where his men were waiting their leader's call.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she dashed the drops that dimmed her sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the dark-fringed lids where they trembled bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rustling was heard in the brushwood near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a crone, whose wild and fantastic gear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betrayed the erring of mind within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood in her presence with mocking grin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Said I not sorrows in dark array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowded the future of Morna Grey?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why from the cheek do the roses fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is the light of the flashing eye?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where has the rounded lips, ruby red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone, since we parted beside the dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white owl entered the casement high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the brow of the dying I saw it fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Presager of death! I hailed its wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She scorned the omen but felt the sting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bitter grief, when another day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bore her angel Mother from earth away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I warned her, when on the coming blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the phantom-like shades flit past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She smiled on my words as idle play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wept when her sire, in the midnight fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felled to the dust by the Tory's blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Died in the home where his bones are laid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the cold drops stood on the forehead fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the curdling blood on the thin, gray hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the dead in silence forgotten sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is weaving on earth a vision deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joyous hopes that must fade and die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the bow that smiles when the tempests fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain the strength of her youth is shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a path where she trembles and fears to tread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain—in vain would the fragile form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave the hot breath of the cannon's storm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bullet speeds on its mission free—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A broken heart and a grave I see."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Though dark my way, I fear it not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed, woman, to thy sheltered cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest thou, with no protector nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should catch some hostile wanderer's eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My trust is in that mighty Power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who rules the battle's wildest hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woman's love is like the flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bloometh not in sunny bower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the dark and solemn night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has gathered round with storm and blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfolds its petals bright and rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sheds its fragrance on the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if it dare and peril all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Asks only to preserve or fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bleeding land requires his arm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God will protect the brave from harm."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Behold!" and Morna turned to gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the huge tree, dark and lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The withered finger of the crone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked out, and glancing in the rays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of morn, beheld a serpent coil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its glossy length, with easy toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the brown trunk, till close it hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the wild bird's nest and young;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While round and round, with scream of dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frighted bird in anguish fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vainly sought to drive the foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his dark aim again below.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moments there are when Reason's control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yieldeth to Fancy in heart and soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the spirit views with prescient eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The common light and shaded sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An omen finds in the falling leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And symbols in all things of joy or grief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this was one, for on that failing strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Morna cast her dearest hope in life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must she behold with power as vain to shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's only blessing from her presence torn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was there a fiercer pang for her revealed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that short conflict than she yet had known?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her dark eyes grew more wildly bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gleamed with an intenser light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As closer drew the venomed fang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrill the lone bird's accents rang.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, hark! a shot—a rustling fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approaching steps—a sportman's call—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The parent bird is in the dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the path that homeward led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fleeting step fair Morna fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And breathed a prayer of thanks and trust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sweet to live, more blest to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For those that strong affections tie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has fettered to the clinging heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With links not Death can wholly part.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The day wore on, and down the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun had rolled in his unrest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gorgeous clouds of gold and red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflected back the splendor fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twilight—pensive nun, to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence drew her veil of gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last bright gleam was waxing pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And low night winds began their wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When near a ruined house, that stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a grove of tulip wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young Lennard paused and gazed awhile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clouded brow and saddened smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On trampled flowers, and shrubs, and vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Torn from the pillar it would twine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With verdant bloom, and casting round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its scarlet blossoms on the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A waste of weeds the garden lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grass grew in the carriage way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold desolation, like a pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had spread its mantle over all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not the creeping touch of Time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had wrecked that dwelling in its prime.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fierce and unrelenting wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of human war had crossed that path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left its trace on all things near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save the blue sky above our sphere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anon, with hurried step and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He crossed the ruined balcony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passing by the fallen door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood on the dark hall's oaken floor.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighting the pine-torch that he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched its lurid beams explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gloomy precincts, and passed on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As one who knew each winding well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To a low room that lay beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echoed to the south wind's knell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the threshold crushed and lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By rude marauder's hand o'erthrown,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The holy volume lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised it from its station there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smoothed the crumpled leaves with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then sadly turned away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gaze upon a portrait near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose thoughtful eyes, so calm and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chastened look and lofty mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forehead noble and serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Told of a spirit touched by time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to soften and sublime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woman's earnest faith and love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surmounting earth to soar above.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With quivering lip the boy gazed long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheeded and unmarked a throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might there have met, so fixed his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Memory's unfolding scroll.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew not that the hours crept by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sullen grew the deepening night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he met his mother's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As erst in joyous days and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the accents clear and mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hushed in death, breathe o'er her child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fervent blessing and a prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again his father's silver hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed on his sight, although the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had closed him in its rayless gloom.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His leathern cap aside was flung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his brow the dark locks hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wild confusion, as he stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid that haunted solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raising the blazing torch to throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the pictured face its glow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him a careless eye might see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A semblance of that face in life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more of fire and energy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To brave the storm and strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more of earthly hope to claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And less of Heaven—yet still the same.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But suddenly the mystic spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bound him to the Past was rent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vivid lightning, forked and red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed through the broken casement, blent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the loud thunder's awful roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prolonged and echoing o'er and o'er.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warring of the world without<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Offended not the struggling heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused from the apathy of thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sought the casement with a start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched the raging storm sweep by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With kindling cheek and flashing eye.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On! on! it came with fiery breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instinct with rage and winged with death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As downward swept, ere Time begun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His swift and varied race to run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through realms chaotic and sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With wing of light and forehead pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal in remorse and crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrilling the Infinite with wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The apostate troops from lands of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To darkness, shame and withering blight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On! on! it came, and in its path<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall trees bent beneath its wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell with hollow, crashing sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Torn and uprooted, to the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still nearer grew the lightning flash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heavier broke the thunder crash;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as, with almost blinded gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched Lennard the electric blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw through rain and densest night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thin, pale line of waving light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed to a lofty oak, whose head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunk powerless to its parent bed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hours passed on—the storm had spent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fury to its madness lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wild and sullen clouds on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In broken masses swept the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Lennard left the ruined hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, bounding o'er the garden wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked swiftly o'er the lonely plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till 'neath the blasted pine again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused, and blew the whistle low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon from a clump of firs below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An aged servant slowly led<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A saddled steed: the pale moon shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its fitful gleam as Lennard sprung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light to his seat, then fearless flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridle loose, and spurring, soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew up beside a deep lagoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose stagnant waters 'neath the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmered through bush and hanging vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cypress bald and ragged pine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concealed within the spectral gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wide morass and forest tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His comrades there he found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By many a devious winding led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the pale fire-flies' torches shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fitful gleam around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused at length where Huon stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid his faithful band, though rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus his errand told:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where bends the Santee in the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has Tarleton's troop encamped again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With careless movement bold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One half his men will march to-night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To join the troop on Charleston height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The guard will be both dull and light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few short hours, with speed and care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must lead us to the station there."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His mission o'er, with thoughtful look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy sought out a shaded nook,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Apart from all—yet near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The opening where the men had laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their rations on the mossy glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside the swamp-marsh drear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent was he, reserved and shy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seldom raising cap or eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not many days since first his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had joined him to that patriot band;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet none more truly did fulfill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The duties of his arm required,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though slight withal, and often still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the loud signal-gun was fired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The herald of the coming fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cheek would pale like flowers at night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the autumn's chilling blight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knew his residence or name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save that of Lennard, which he told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morn when to the camp he came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And begged that he might be enrolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Huon's corps, to serve with those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bled to heal their country's woes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of late his arm had bolder grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the rout and skirmish thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stronger, too, and Huon loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slender boy who at his side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood nobly when o'er War's red tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fiery death-shot moved.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas midnight, as with silent tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one who bears the coffined dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His valiant troopers Marion led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through long and dark defile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on they marched till morning light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With streaks of crimson touched the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, unannounced by trumpet-clang,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fell on the slumb'ring foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift to his post each warrior sprang,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above, around, below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon in close and eager strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As o'er the tomb meet Death and Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hostile forces stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sabre flashed in day's bright eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whizzing shot, death-winged, swept by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The turf grew red with blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the charge was hottest made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where boldest fell the flashing blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was Huon foremost there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever near his daring hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The youngest, gentlest of his band,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood Lennard on that day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce raged the conflict o'er the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until, o'erpowered, the vanquished fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet ere they left the fray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One aimed the bloody lance he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Huon's heart—a moment more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Lennard fell, his life-blood o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The green turf welling fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blade that sought his leader's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His hand aside had cast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift to his aid his comrades prest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The death-hue on his forehead lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Huon flung both sword and lance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With quivering lip away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And met in Lennard's dying glance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smile of Morna Grey.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beside the Santee's murmuring wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They made the early dead a grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes on its borders green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The passing traveler has seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spot where pale wild roses blow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lofty oaks and firs below—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turf is verdant with the spray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sleeps the dust of Morna Grey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Huon?—Still his daring arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was lifted in his country's aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though life had lost its sunniest charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er the future hung a shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And time would fail me now to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all the deeds his valor wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How, when Fort Moultrie's color fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He mounted 'mid the flames and shot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merlon height, and fixed on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The starry banner 'mid the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor how he died—the nobly slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bearing from the battle-plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flag intrusted to his care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But deeds like these were common then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As life, and light, and air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave deeds that shall forever round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our nation's annals cling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance some louder harp shall sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some bolder spirit sing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me—the first pale star on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herald's the night with beaming eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down the west has rolled the sun—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My song is o'er—my task is done.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<h4>NOTE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>During the Revolution, a young girl plighted to an officer of Marion's +corps, followed him without being discovered to the camp, where, +dressed in male attire, and unknown to him, she enrolled in the +service. A few days after, during a fierce conflict that occurred, she +stood by his side in the thickest of the fight, and in turning away a +lance aimed at his heart received it in her own, and fell bleeding at +his feet. She was buried on the banks of the Santee. He was afterward +distinguished in the service at Fort Moultrie, and at Savannah, where +he received his death-wound in carrying off the flag which was +intrusted to him.</p></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_POLES_FAREWELL" id="THE_POLES_FAREWELL"></a>THE POLE'S FAREWELL.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY WM. H. C. HOSMER.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Warsaw, farewell! Alone that word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fame's dark eclipse recalls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of wail alone is heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within her ruined walls—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pavement rings beneath the tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bondsmen by their master led.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hope kindles on my native shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more her beacon fires—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Northern Bear is trampling o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dust of fallen sires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And signal ever to destroy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath been his growl of savage joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! for one hour of glory gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An arm of might to hurl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Czar, in thunder, from his throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Freedom's flag unfurl;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then welcome, like a bride, the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbranded by the name of slave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our snowy Eagle<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> screams no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Defiance high and loud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wing is broken that could soar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through battle's smoky cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wounded by a coward's spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His perch is now lost Poland's bier.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once happy was the hall of Home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now Desolation's lair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood stains its hearth, and I must roam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pilgrim of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving, when heart and brain grow cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My weary bones in foreign mould.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FORTUNES_OF_A_SOUTHERN_FAMILY" id="THE_FORTUNES_OF_A_SOUTHERN_FAMILY"></a>THE FORTUNES OF A SOUTHERN FAMILY.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> + +<h4>A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h4>PART I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! it is pleasant for the good to die—to feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their last wild pulses throbbing, while the seal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of death is placed upon the tragic brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul in quiet looks within itself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sees the heavens faintly pictured there."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Now, would that I could wield as magic a pencil as did Benjamin West, +that mighty paint-king, how quickly would glow upon canvas one of the +most beautiful and magnificent landscapes that ever entranced the eye +of a scenery-loving traveler—a landscape upon which you might +gaze enraptured every day for years, as I have done, and yet never +tire nor grow less fond of beholding it. I would paint for your +especial gratification, a living, a breathing picture of my old +homestead, endeared by so many joy-fraught hours, and the surrounding +scenery, through which I roved until I knew its every nook and corner +as well as my dog-leaved spelling-book, by the venerable Dilworth. +But, as it is, dear reader, I must be content to offer you a rude +"<i>pen and ink sketch</i>," excavated from the ruins of my childhood +recollections of as exquisitely beautiful and picturesque a spot as +ever riveted the human gaze.</p> + +<p>Imagine, for a moment, that we are standing upon a ledge of moss-grown +rocks, projecting from a red hill-side, and whose verge beetles over a +foaming river, which swirls and rages amongst the uplifting crags, +flashing with diamonds in its rush and impetuosity, and then, placid +and almost waveless, creeping on through the gnarled old forest with a +faint murmur, seeming like a huge serpent of silver asleep in the +gushing sunshine.</p> + +<p>We are leaning against a rugged mass of the gray ledge—your head +is resting upon your right hand, and you are gazing intently down at +the circle and whirl of the romping waters. Only a few yards above, a +cool spring gushes up, quick and bright, dimpling and laughing in the +arrowy sunshine, then flashing and foaming over the dark rocks, and +twisting in and out among the bare roots of the majestic oak that +cools us with its shadows, falls in a golden shower to the mossy basin +at your feet, and leaping over the steep precipice, mingles in foam +with the seething river below. We are turned toward the west, and as +you raise your eyes to a level with the horizon, one of the most +stupendous views of the Blue Mountains that ever caused man to stop in +breathless awe, now presents itself to your astonished gaze. Mountain +towers behind mountain, and peak behind peak in wild sublimity, like +giant waves heaved along the blue sky, almost seeming as if they were +the ramparts of the world. Their sloping sides are dark with forests, +save here and there, where the axe has penetrated their recesses, and +blocked out spaces which, having been touched with the magic of the +plough, now smile with fertility. And yonder, a little to your right, +lifting his narrow pinnance above all the rest, stands time-honored +Currahee, with his red cap on—for thus we are accustomed to +designate the barren soil which crowns his lofty summit.</p> + +<p>Now, for a moment, permit me to call your attention farther up the +river. Did you ever see a more entrancing and exquisitely beautiful +cascade, steeped as it is in the softness, and glowing with the +brightness of a cloudless spring morning? See how the wreathes of foam +come bounding along, like a pack of ravenous wolves chasing each +other, and stop suddenly in their mad career, for an instant +equipoising upon the very brink, as if they had shrunk back and feared +to take the awful leap, then, pushed on by the rush of the waters +behind, descend like a shower of diamonds, and come whirling and +dashing through the narrow gorge at our feet. And is not that deep +basin at the base of the falls glorious? What an angry aspect its +surface puts on, plunging and surging like a mass of living snow, +while the flashing sunlight is perpetually endeavoring to paint a +rainbow in the ever-mounting spray, and yet never quite succeeds. And +those massive rocks, too, piling themselves up so quaintly on either +side of the falls, just where they take the final plunge—are +they not magnificent? How verdant and mossy, and superb in their +ruggedness! Oh! if we were only upon one of those ledges—that +one that seems ready to bow itself into the foaming torrent; if we +only stood there, by that wide-spreading, gnarled old oak, twisting +its dark roots in and out amongst the deep crevices like a knot of +huge serpents, what a glorious prospect would burst upon your sight! +There are <i>so</i> many entrancing scenes about my birth-place, but, among +them all, none as magnificent as the one you behold from that mossy +ledge. But the bridge—did you look at the old bridge? See where +it stands festooned with shadows. That is a dear spot to me, for with +it are associated some of the most treasured recollections of my +boyhood. One end of this time-worn fabric opens into a sandy lane, +with broad, green margins on both sides next the zig-zag fences, where +I have so often gathered a bunch of flowers for my instructress, as I +passed through it on my way to the school-house; the other is +embowered by a clump of oak and beech trees, which, together with a +few hemlocks and chestnuts, out-skirt a superb grove of evergreens, in +the midst of which towers the little white cottage of Farmer Daniels. +There was always a dream-like stillness about the old bridge that +pleased me; and I have spent whole hours in peeping through the +crevices of those time-worn and trampled planks, at the dark, deep +waters creeping and dimpling be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>neath the massive and sodden +arches with a low gurgle, receiving a sheet of silver sheen as they +stole away into the rich sunshine; and, in gazing over the rude +balustrade where the gaudy butterflies flitted around, or rested by +the river's brink, opening and shutting their unruffled fans; or in +flinging pebbles into the placid waters, and then watching the +widening circles as they swept down with the current. But there is yet +another thing about the old bridge for which I have cherished +memories; that venerable buttonwood tree, gnarled and twisted into the +quaintest and most comical deformity, that looms up from that high +bank at the end of the lane. That bough which projects so far over the +rippling surface, making a horizontal bend, like that of a man's arm, +and then shooting up several yards at an obtuse angle, terminating in +a mass of luxuriant foliage, was my favorite seat, when fishing, +through many a long summer.</p> + +<p>Now, look still farther down the river. Follow the grass-fringed banks +in their graceful curve around yonder dark, gray promontory, until +your eye rests upon a long ridge of snowy foam, where a stream of +considerable magnitude mingles its waters with those of the river. +Glancing a little way up this stream, a huge old mill presents itself +to view, blackened with exposure, and grown picturesque by the lapse +of years. Here and there the green moss adorns its roof, and slumbers +along the walls with a quaint richness, especially where the heavy +water-wheel, revolving in a sea of foam, keeps it shadowy and moist. A +short distance above stands the pond—a broad, beautiful expanse +of water, glittering like a sheet of untarnished silver; and, in a +shady nook, close by the dam, where the large weeping-willow sways its +long, drooping branches to and fro wearily, floats a little boat, +endeared by many a fond remembrance.</p> + +<p>Turn once more, and mark how the river, increased in size by the +addition of the mill-stream, having swept around Castle-Hill, (so +named from its rugged front and frowning aspect,) comes resplendently +into view again, glowing like a sheet of burnished white, in strange +and singular contrast with the many and dense shadows which always +fringe its banks like heaps of black drapery. See where it takes a +sudden bend, flowing back toward the falls, and then curving +gracefully to the west, dividing against a jutting rock, and sweeping +around it and the adjacent woodland, forming an island about a mile in +circumference. That large white building, which crowns the summit of +that gentle declivity on the nearest side of the island, with a neat +porch in front, half embowered by vines and fruit trees—that is +my birth-place. There never was a spot at once so tranquil and +picturesque as that where stands my dear old homestead. Is it not a +beautiful mansion-house? How sequestered and deliciously cool? The +slope down to the river's brink is covered with a wilderness of +shrubbery; while to the right of the garden-fence spreads a +magnificent grove of white pines, once making a famous play-ground for +us children. Down yonder, in that old field waving with long grass, +beyond the grove, is a patch of splendid blackberry bushes; and near +that old ivy-bound oak on the bank, leaning so gracefully over the +placid waters, as if to greet his image reflected in its vast mirror, +is a fine place to hunt summer grapes. At the building, that little +right-hand window with a shutter, around which are trailed pea-vines +and purple morning-glories, and just above the roof of the porch, +opens into a small chamber—my sleeping-room. At night you can +behold a most magnificent prospect from that little window. It looks +directly down upon the river, which, when there is a full moon and +cloudless sky, seems like one broad belt of molten silver, weaving its +way in and out among the gnarled old trees, at intervals, sparkling +through openings in the thrifty foliage with exceeding beauty; and +again, entangled in the black shadows flung upon it by the beetling +crags above. Then all is so silent, too, save the snowy water-fall +sending up its eternal anthem to the skies, yet coming to your ears +with such a pleasant sound that you never tire in listening. Sometimes +the sky is full of golden stars, and then the scene is so +beautiful—oh! so very beautiful! Many a time have I stolen from +my bed, far away in the night, while all the rest were in deep repose, +to gaze upon the soft moonlight flashing over the meadows until they +looked like acres of green velvet, and gathering upon the dark foliage +until it almost seemed as if it were sprinkled with umber dust, or to +gaze at the deep blue cerulean, studded with innumerable burning orbs.</p> + +<p>There is another object to which I must direct your particular +attention, since it assumes an important place in the relation of my +story. Trace the road from where it leaves the east end of the bridge +with an abrupt curve, sweeping around that magnificent grove of +evergreens, passes the old mill, and turning to the east again for a +short distance, threads its way along a grassy lane, and you arrive +before a neat, commodious frame building, prettily white-washed in +front, and hedged in by a rustic fence, with a little gate opening +next the road. This was the dwelling of our schoolmistress, the +remembrance of whom will ever be an oasis upon the deserts of +memory—for to her I owe some of the most pleasurable moments of +my boyhood existence. A more Christian-like spirit, a soul fraught +with greater or intenser sympathies, and a mind less selfish in its +manifestations, or imbued with more genial influences than hers, never +existed within the compass of human being. As a teacher, she was firm, +yet mild; as a neighbor, kind and obliging—in a word, her whole +demeanor was such that the heart unconsciously awakened to +affectionate regard. The dwelling of our schoolmistress was originally +built, at her request, by a benevolent farmer, with the understanding +between them that some future day should witness a transfer of +ownership, and contains but three apartments—a large room, +which, in the words of the old song, serves for "parlor, for kitchen, +and hall," and two small chambers, but all as neat as hands can make +them. Its white front, and massive stone chimnies, were completely +embowered by a clump of superb maples, whose heavy branches twining +their dark foliage, form a delightful arbor over the very entrance, +from the first bursting forth of the tiny buds into perfect life and +beauty, until autumn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> comes with its garment of mourning, and the +sere and yellow leaves slowly forsake the limbs which have been their +birth-place. A thicket of damask and white roses, lilac trees, and +clusters of pale-blue clematis, with a wealth of other flowers, +luxuriate beneath, where they receive just enough of the warm and rich +sunshine that flashed through the woven shades upon them in the +morning, and of the scented dew-drops which the wind shakes from the +leaves above at nightfall, to make them the most beautiful flower-plot +in all the neighborhood. At the back, a low shed, extending the whole +length of the house, one corner projecting further than the rest, and +covering a cool spring that gushes up, quick and bright, with a sweet +impetuosity, and goes dancing merrily across the green meadow, bright +and glorious in the sunlight, but sullen in the shade. The scenery +around, too, is magnificent. Here spreads a vast and unbroken forest, +whose mighty solitudes once echoed to the whar-whoop of the savage, +and looked upon his horrid rites beneath a midnight moon, or scowling +sky; and, in the dim distance loom the granite-based mountains, like +giant pillars to the vault of heaven, from whose tempest-beaten +summits fifty centuries have looked down, unnoted and unknown.</p> + +<p>Our schoolmistress was a widow, the Widow White, as she was usually +designated. A woman of middle-age at the commencement of my story, she +had devoted many years to securing a decent competence for her +declining years, and for her only child such an education as would +prepare him for an honorable station in society. Early wedded to a +young clergyman of promising expectations, she was left a widow +shortly after the birth of a son, and only a few days after her +husband had assumed his duties as pastor of the little flock amidst +which she had scarcely taken her abode. Thus left alone at the very +period when most she needed a protector, she began her course with the +unfaltering energy which ever characterized her undertakings. Yielding +to conscientious scruples, she refused the assistance kindly offered +by the surrounding community, and having chosen a vocation, +assiduously applied herself to the accomplishment of her cherished +purpose. Ere long, she had heaped together an amount of money +sufficiently large to purchase the comfortable homestead I have +pointed out.</p> + +<p>There it is that the opening scene of my story commences. The sun was +setting leisurely behind the western mountains in a mass of lurid +clouds, and drowsy twilight had already begun to blur the fine scenery +in the east, when Widow White sat down to her evening repast. A fire +of hickory reflected a ruddy glare upon the hearth, before which +reclined innocent pussy, with eyes half-closed, gazing intently at the +flames as they crept slowly around the logs, and uniting, darted +suddenly up the wide-mouthed chimney. The pine floor and splint chairs +were scoured with scrupulous exactness; a small, oblong looking-glass, +crowned with shrubs of evergreen, rested upon the high mantle-piece; +the two windows were adorned with curtains of coarse, but milk-white +linen, and, in one corner, stood a quaint bedstead of curled maple, +covered with a counterpane of old-fashioned dimity, which lay upon it +like a sheet of snow. In the centre of the room was placed a small +table, covered with a cloth of freshly ironed linen, which fairly +rivaled the ermine in whiteness, upon which sat a garniture of glossy +porcelain. A plate of venison and nut-brown sausages, surrounded by +pearly and yellow eggs, sent up its savory odors to tempt the palate, +while a pitcher of rye-coffee, on which the heavy cream was mounting +like a foam, stood at its side; and, near by, a loaf of warm +wheat-bread, a saucer of wild-honey, and another of golden +butter—these constituting the wholesome repast of which Widow +White was partaking.</p> + +<p>"Heaven be praised for a comfortable house and bountiful meal!" she +piously ejaculated, rising from her seat with the expression of +gratitude warm from her heart. "If we always have as good, we shall +never have cause to complain."</p> + +<p>Although no apparent attention was paid them, these words were +evidently intended for her son, a tall, premature-looking youth, +between the ages of fourteen and fifteen, who had entered the room +only a few moments before, and now stood leaning against the +mantle-piece, beating the devil's tatoo upon the wall, and, from time +to time, whistling snatches of a popular air. His strongly marked +features, though handsome, were bold and repulsive, the upper lip +curling with half a sneer—but it was merely the soul imaged in +the countenance, for, lad as he was, the spirit had quaffed many a +deep draught of sinfulness, while mildew and iciness had crept down +and sullied the purity of his heart, whose stern monitor-angel, +conscience, still vainly strove to awaken rich melody from the chords +which had once vibrated to its slightest touch.</p> + +<p>"David," again spoke Widow White in a subdued tone of voice, raising +her eyes to the face of her son, "for the last few days I have been +thinking deeply of the past—thinking what a mighty change +fourteen short, rapid years have wrought in every thing around me. You +were a babe in the cradle then, and the grave of your father was fresh +in the lonely church-yard. The sky of my life was black with the +storms of adversity, and I was very unhappy, for it almost seemed as +if the day which had departed from it never would dawn again. But +amidst all this gloominess and desolation, one star beamed with a +constant and steady radiance, and that star was yourself. I loved you +as my life, and many, many a time, as I rocked you to repose, have I +pictured out a bright and glorious future for you, while my mind +thrilled with the pleasure of its own creations. But a blight has come +upon it all. I loved you <i>too</i> well—too well for either mine or +your own good. Yielding to the fondness of a mother's love, I indulged +almost your every wish, until now, turbulent and self-willed, you +spurn my best and holiest affections as a mockery, and I find, almost +too late, that I have greatly erred. I speak this in no spirit of +unkindness, David. I feel it to be my duty as a Christian—my +duty as a mother, to talk with you as I am now doing. God knows bow +fearful was the struggle within my mind before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> I could bring +myself to the determination I have. But I am resolved now; the scales +have fallen from my eyes, and I can plainly see both your danger and +my own. You are trembling upon the very brink of destruction, and I +would ever feel as if there were a curse upon my soul, were I to see +it all, and yet not endeavor to save you. I have come to an unshaken +determination. There must be a reformation."</p> + +<p>"Another sermon, I suppose. It is bad enough to hear one every Sunday, +but one every day is intolerable <i>and</i> insufferable," insolently broke +in the lad, and he kicked the cat across the room, and began to +whistle snatches of a lively air.</p> + +<p>The widow turned with a deep sigh to the window, while a gleam of +sharp agony shot across her face, and then seeming not to heed the +interruption, she continued:</p> + +<p>"Yesterday I was in the village, and saw Mr. Warwick, the saddler. I +have made arrangements with him for your becoming an apprentice to the +trade, and to-morrow you are to go there. It is the best thing I can +do for you, David, and the fullness of a mother's heart alone prompted +it. If you conduct yourself properly, you may still become an +honorable man, and occupy an honorable station in society; but if you +persist in your vicious habits, God only knows where you will end." +Here she paused for a moment, and then added: "To-night I am going +away for some hours. Mrs. Williams is very sick, perhaps dying, and +has sent for me. I may not return until quite late, but, in the +morning before you go, we can talk this subject over fully."</p> + +<p>There was such an earnestness and depth of feeling in his mother's +remarks, that David White felt but little inclined to reply the second +time, but the dark thoughts and evil feelings rankled deeply in his +heart, though no tongue gave them utterance.</p> + +<p>Widow White gazed intently into the fire for several minutes after she +had ceased speaking, and then taking her bonnet from the bed, advanced +to the door, but stopped a moment on its threshold, and turning to her +son, said, "Should you become drowsy before I return, carefully cover +up the fire ere retiring to bed." She closed it after her, and David +was alone.</p> + +<p>He stood still until the last echo of his mother's footsteps died away +in the distance, and then crept stealthily to the front window, where, +seeing her passing the gate into the lane, he broke out into a low +laugh, and returned again to the fire-place.</p> + +<p>"So, I must be a saddler, must I? Ahem! Well! it takes two to play at +that, so we'll see who makes high, low, Jack, and the game this deal. +Hurst was about right when he said things would come to a compass +afore long. Guess they have, but who cares? I reckon I know which side +my bread is buttered!"</p> + +<p>Here David White again crossed over to the window, and looked out. His +mother was far away in the lane, and just turning the last pannel of +the garden fence, where the road branched off, and led by the old +mill. Withdrawing from the window, he took a small hand-saw file, and +a rudely fashioned key from his pocket, passed over to the bed, and +lifting the foot-valance, drew out a large and strong oaken chest; +then glancing hurriedly around the room to be sure that no one was +present, he applied the key to the lock. It did not quite fit, but, +after carefully filing and applying it for some time, the bolt turned +in its socket, and the chest stood open before him. In rummaging the +till, he at length discovered the object of his search, a purse of +silver coin, the accumulated gains of months, and placed there by his +mother only a few days previous. This was not her usual depository for +money, but, in the present instance, it had been laid aside until the +absent minister of the village should return, into whose hands she was +accustomed to deliver her spare funds for safe keeping. Laying the +purse by his side, he locked the chest, and having arranged every +thing as nearly as possible as he found it, retired through an +opposite door into his chamber.</p> + +<p>"Twenty dollars and a shilling, I think they said," muttered he to +himself. "A good round sum for one evening's work. I wonder if I +hadn't better take mother's fashion, and praise Heaven for it?"</p> + +<p>Having entered his chamber, he sat down to count his newly-acquired +treasure, and finding the amount as large as he expected, carefully +deposited it, with the exception of a few dollars, in a leathern belt +around his person. Then assuming his shot-pouch, and flinging his +rifle to his shoulder, he stooped down, and taking a small bundle, +wrapped in a silk handkerchief, from his trunk, retired from the +house, slamming the door violently after him, and walked rapidly on, +until he reached the summit of an eminence near the old moss-grown +mill, which was the last place from which he could see the home he was +leaving, perhaps forever. Here he stopped for a few moments, leaned +his rifle and bundle against a large, long-limbed, butter-nut, and sat +down upon a decaying log at its foot, to gaze, for the last time, upon +the old mansion which had been his home from earliest remembrance.</p> + +<p>It has been said that there are times when the stoniest hearts are +softened; when the sternest natures are made mild, and when the most +abandoned are like little children. That moment had now come for David +White. It was strange, passing strange. He had committed crime upon +crime, yet scarcely felt a moment's remorse; for years he had acted +toward his mother as if his whole soul were naught but selfishness; +but when he came to leave that mother, that old homestead, and all the +bright and beautiful objects around it, a softness breathed over his +iron-nature, and the fount of tears sent up its gushing libations. I +have often thought that such feelings must be akin to those +mysterious, indefinable, and gloomy forebodings—those dim and +indescribable fears and shrinkings within self, that sometimes come +over our spirits like a creeping, icy thrill—in the midst of a +giddy round of pleasure, or, as we stand by the grave's brink to see +our friends entombed, and yet which no earthly or human cause is able +to explain.</p> + +<p>He was beholding everything for the last time, and he looked around +him as the dying man upon his nearest friends, when he feels the cold +hand of death<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> pressed heavily upon his brow, and the silver +chords of his spirit's harp gathering to their utmost tension, and +snapping, one by one, like reeds before the blast. There was the home +which had sheltered him in his helplessness, glowing in a shower of +soft moonlight, and seeming more beautiful than he ever saw it before. +There the only true love this wide world of cold and bitter +heartlessness can know, beamed on his infant eyes; and there he had +spent the only happy moments in all his boyhood existence. In that +little room he had first learned to pray, and there, first forgotten +the duty. There his mother had watched over him night after night, +when he had a burning fever, and the grave had half-opened its +terrible portals for his entrance. And now he was going to abandon +that mother who had loved and cherished him so fondly—leave her +all alone, a joyless, childless widow, and for what cause? He choked +down the emotion that rose to his mind, and turned hurriedly in +another direction. Not more than twenty paces from him, a stream went +dancing and bubbling across the road like a track of liquid +silver—the stream that was fed by the cool spring at home; and +he remembered how he had gazed in transport, many years agone, at the +bright-hued insects floating in the meek, golden-colored sunshine, now +sinking their velvet feet into the moist sand upon the water's brink, +and sipping tiny draughts; or, resting upon the edges of the blue and +crimson flowers that looked up like gems from the verdant grass, +opening and shutting their unruffled fans, woven of gold and sunlight. +He turned away from the scene sick at heart, but still another object +presented itself to view, awakening old memories. A little farther on +yonder in the green meadow, through which murmured the mill-stream, +and by the drooping-willow whose long branches rippled in the current, +was a deep place, in the midst of which loomed up a dark-gray rock, +like a lone sentinel to the rapid waters, and the scene made his heart +bound again. There he had angled for trout for many a summer, and +looked down delighted into the music-breathing waters, watching the +silver and mottled fishes as they went trooping swiftly past, like +guests to a fairy wedding. The tears gushed into his eyes as old +recollections came thronging to his mind, and he faltered in his +determination. He turned, and took one step toward home, but vicious +impulses triumphed, and the rainbow that had begun to arch his heart +faded in darkness. He disappeared down the slope toward the old +bridge, and David White was ruined forever.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Widow White had almost reached her destination. A few steps +farther on rose a little white-washed cottage, with sloping roof, and +two large china-trees embowering it in front. As she arrived at the +small trellis-work gate, a light met her eye, faintly twinkling +through the dark foliage of an intervening bough, and reflecting a +ruddy glare upon the side-walk that lay entombed in shadow. She opened +the gate, followed the narrow foot-path leading to the front door, and +found herself in a dark entry, with a few rays of light shimmering +through the key-hole of a door immediately before her. As she put her +hand to the latch, a stifled sob broke upon her ear, and noiselessly +opening the door, she glided into the apartment. It was indeed the +chamber of death. On a little table by the fire-place, amidst a number +of glasses and vials, burned a solitary candle over a long and +lengthening wick, shedding a dim radiance throughout the room. By the +side of an old-fashioned bedstead, hung with snow-white valance, knelt +the old gray-headed minister, and his low voice, broken and +thrillingly solemn, went up in earnest prayer for a departing soul. +Upon the bed itself, propped up with pillows, lay the invalid. Three +days ago the flush of health had mantled her cheek, and brightened in +her eye, and now, how ghastly and changed she was! The sunken and +mist-covered eye; the pallid cheek; the hueless lips, and painful +breath, too truly testified that the dark angel Azrael was watching by +the couch-side. At the head of the bed sat the daughter, a little girl +apparently five years of age, with her head bent upon her knees, and +her hands clasped beneath her face, weeping bitterly. The supplicating +accents of the gray-haired minister ceased, and he arose from his +kneeling posture, his eyes streaming with tears, and clasping in both +of his the thin white hand that rested upon the snowy counterpane, +leaned gently over, and placed his lips close to the ear of the dying +woman.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Williams," said he kindly, "we all feel that you are +rapidly sinking; do you die happy? Do you feel that there is a Jesus +in heaven, through whose mediation you will be saved?"</p> + +<p>There was a rustling of the bed-clothes, a faint murmur, and the +sufferer languidly turned her eyes upon the speaker. A dimness was in +those sunken orbs; a clamminess upon her wan brow, and her breast +heaved wildly beneath the linen that lay in snowy waves across it. But +she did not appear to have heard the inquiry of the minister.</p> + +<p>"The Widow White—has she not come yet? It is getting +late—quite late," feebly spoke the sufferer.</p> + +<p>Until then Widow White had stood unnoticed in the dark shadow, +unwilling to interrupt; but, hearing this inquiry, she glided to the +bedside.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Williams, I have come," and she laid her hand upon the dewy +brow of her she had named, and tenderly smoothed back the long hair +that lay loosely upon it.</p> + +<p>A gleam of satisfaction shot across the wan countenance of the +sufferer as these words fell upon her ear. A light, almost +preternatural, stole to her eyes, until they sparkled as the diamond, +and she lifted her head upon her hand, and strove to speak. But the +effort was too great for her debilitated condition—a weakness +came over her, and she sunk back exhausted to her pillow. Ere long, +however, she recovered sufficient strength to speak, and turning +toward Widow White, clasped her hand affectionately.</p> + +<p>"I feel that my life is fast ebbing away," she began in a subdued and +thrilling voice. "A few short hours will pass by, and this body will +be a soulless mass. But I do not fear to die; for me, death has no +terror, nor the grave a victory. I am standing upon its very +brink,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> and look down into its blackness without an emotion save +that of pleasure. This is a vain and heartless world! I have found it +so, again and again, and the grave is the only place where I can find +rest from its temptations and persecutions, and I feel glad that the +time is almost here, when rest, both for body and soul, will be +attained. But there is one thing that troubles me. My husband slumbers +beneath the heavy sod in the village grave-yard; I am standing upon +the very brink of eternity; I have no relatives living on this side of +the Atlantic, and when I am gone, what is to become of my poor +friendless, motherless child? I know there is One above who has +promised to take care of the orphan, but still, it would give me a +pleasure to know, that when my mouldering body reposes in 'that bourne +whence no traveler returns,' that the light of a pleasant home would +shed its radiance on her girlish years. I fear to trust her to the +world. I fear its buffetings—I fear its bitterness—I fear +its selfishness!—I have keenly felt them all, and they bowed my +strength of spirit almost to the dust!—they sullied my purity of +purpose, and my love of God! Three years ago I took up my abode in +this community. Life was in its spring-time of joyousness. Pleasure +opened her thousand portals, and nature breathed in beauty. Then a +stern blight came upon it all! The gloom of death shadowed my +dwelling, and soon the cold and rigid form of my beloved partner was +carried out, and laid in the narrow bier where the 'dust returns to +dust as it was.' The feeling of desolation entered my heart; I +sorrowed in tears, and life almost became a weariness. Then you, Widow +White, came to me in my distress, like a ministering angel; advised +me, prayed with me, and led me on, until a light broke in upon my +soul, and a new life spread out its million paths to happiness. From +that moment I loved you as my own mother in heaven. And now I have a +request to make—the request of a dying woman—will you +grant it?" and she grasped the arm of the listener with a wild +eagerness, and looked into her eyes, as if she saw down into the very +soul, and read her every thought.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Williams," began Widow White in reply, in a tone of voice +thrillingly solemn, her eyes dimmed with tears, and her whole frame +trembling with emotion, "Mrs. Williams, you know how endeared you are +to me—that I love you as if you were my own daughter, and that +if I could comply with any thing that would give you pleasure in a +dying moment, I would most willingly do so."</p> + +<p>"Thank God!—thank God!" exclaimed she fervently, clasping her +hands as if in prayer. "I have prayed for this, again and again, and +now it has come to pass—when the grave closes over my mouldering +remains, my child will have a home and a mother still! Widow White, +cherish her as your own. Educate her for heaven, and if we mortals, +after death, are sent as ministering angels to the living, then will I +be your guardian spirit. Our kind minister, into whose hands I have +committed them, will inform you of my little worldly concerns after I +am gone, for my strength is fast failing me, and I feel that I have +little time left for words. Mary, dear, come to my bedside. A little +nearer for I am quite weak and exhausted. I am dying, Mary. I am going +far away—away to heaven. In a short time, my body will be cold +and motionless, and then I cannot hear you, or speak to you any more. +Then you will have no mother; she will be dead. In a few days I will +be laid in the cold and dark ground, and you will never see me again +in this world. When I am dead, this lady will be your mother. She will +take care of you, and be kind to you, just as I am; and you must obey +her, and try not to be naughty. If bad feelings come into your mind, +think of your dead mother, and how she talked to you and advised you +when she was dying. If you do what is right, God will love you, and +bless you, and take care of you, and when death comes, you will go to +live with Jesus, where there is nothing but happiness; but if you are +wicked, God will hate you, and when you die, you will go down to hell, +where all the bad people dwell, and where there is nothing but misery +and anguish. Now kiss me, for I am too weak to talk to you any +longer," and the dying woman drew the child to herself, and imprinted +a lingering, burning kiss upon her forehead.</p> + +<p>She sunk back exhausted to the pillow, and her breath came in painful +gasps from her parted lips, while her hands moved about spasmodically +on the white counterpane—the excitement of the last hour had +been too much for her weakened condition. She lay thus for several +moments, and then suddenly started from her recumbent position, and +sat upright in the bed. A glorious lustre broke through the mist that +whelmed her eyes, and a faint color sprung to her pallid cheek. She +clasped her daughter in her arms with an hysterical sob; looked wildly +into her face; pressed a burning, quivering kiss upon her forehead, +and then her lips gave forth fragments of speech, broken, but +beautiful. But this did not last long; a weakness came over her almost +preternatural strength; she loosened the embrace that circled her +child; the color fled her cheek, the brightness her eye; the +death-rattle rung out shrilly upon the air, and she fell back +motionless to the bed. They looked upon her countenance—a single +glance was sufficient—it was cold, calm, passionless—the +seal of the grave was upon it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The gloom of death had shadowed that cottage for two days, and now it +was desolate indeed. The stealthy tread of those who came to gaze upon +the dead and prepare its burial, no longer broke the solemn hush that +brooded over the dwelling. The departed was in truth the +departed—they had borne her over the threshold of her home, and +laid her remains in the narrow house where all must one day +repose—a plain head-board alone marking the grave in which +slumbered what was once Eliza Williams. Like others, she had died +sincerely mourned by many—like others, futurity would leave no +memorial to tell that she had ever existed. Decay, and rude hands, and +careless feet, after the lapse of years, would mar her last +resting-place, as many in the grave-yard had already<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> been marred, but the form below +could never know nor feel the injury—she slept, and would sleep, +as sleep the dead, until the trump of Gabriel awakens and clothes the +dry bones in the habiliments of another world.</p> + +<p>And now they were alone—the mother and her adopted daughter, +making preparations for a final departure from that desolate old +homestead. The ashes lay cold upon the hearth-stone, and a gloomy +loneliness reigned throughout the whole building, flinging a pall over +the feelings of Widow White. A chill crept over her as the large gray +cat came purring to her side, and rubbed his soft coat against her +ankle; and tears sprung to her eyes when she saw the countenance of +the little child wearing such a sad and mournful expression, and she +vowed in her heart that no blight should come over her youthful +prospects, if it were in her power to prevent it.</p> + +<p>Ere long, the necessary preparations were completed, and the two bade +a final adieu to the lonely dwelling, and passed slowly along the road +toward the mansion of Widow White.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>PART II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Parent! who with speechless feeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er thy cradled treasure bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found each year new charms revealing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet thy wealth of love unspent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou seen that blossom blighted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By a drear, untimely frost?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All thy labor unrequited?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every glorious promise lost!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Time, at whose touch the monument of a thousand ages crumbles to dust; +at whose embrace empires totter to ruin, and at whose breath cities +rise and sink like bursting bubbles in a pool, rolled on his car of +wonderful mutations.</p> + +<p>Ten years—ten short, rapid years had lapsed away into the +infinitude of the past, and mighty changes had marked their progress. +The wave of population, like the ocean at its flood, had gradually +advanced over the land, and many new habitations sent up their curling +smoke within sight of the old homestead of Widow White. The +mansion-house itself had changed but little, though one of the tall +maples had been cut away from the massive stone chimney at the south +end of the building, and the moss had crept over the sloping roof in +spots, giving a quaint richness of appearance to the time-honored +shingles. The huge old mill below the dam had grown a little more +picturesque with the lapse of years; but it was fast going to decay, +for its owner was long since dead, and there being some still pending +lawsuit between the heirs concerning this piece of property, no +repairs had been made, or even any attention paid to its mouldering +condition; and for several twelvemonths it had ceased to send up its +daily medley of pleasant sounds. The old wooden bridge that spanned +the river where it swept across the mouth of the valley, seemed as it +ever did, save that rude hands had leveled the magnificent clump of +trees that had embowered one end, and enveloped it, during half the +day, in a mass of dense shadows, which always slept about this old +fabric, and darkened the waters like heaps of black drapery. The +scenery around was still as magnificent and entrancing as ever, +though, immediately surrounding the dwelling of Widow White, it had +undergone a very material change. The adjacent hills that gradually +sloped down to the river's brink, were still dark with forests, though +here and there the settler's axe had penetrated their sun-hidden +recesses, and blocked out spaces, in the midst of which arose many a +comfortable farm-house. But, at the time of which I speak, +stern-browed winter had breathed over the scene, and the gnarled oak +forest stood out like an army of skeletons against the stormy sky.</p> + +<p>But ten years had not thus glided away without leaving their stern +impress upon Widow White. She had become thinner and paler; many white +hairs had crept in amongst the auburn that once adorned her head; and +her hazel eye had assumed a milder, more subdued expression. The +sudden departure of her self-willed son, and the manner of it, had +caused her many a heart-pang; yet for months after it occurred she +entertained serious hopes of his becoming repentant and returning; and +this, for a time, had served to buoy up her depressed spirits; but +when years had gone by, and no intelligence reached her concerning +him, hope fell to the ground, and her ardent expectancy settled down +into a stern grief. Mary, the adopted daughter, stood upon the +threshold of woman-hood, in all the flush and spring-time of life and +enjoyment. Widow White seemed to love her as if she were her own +child, and watched over her with the tenderest care and solicitude. At +this period Mary was near sixteen years of age, and rather striking in +her appearance, though by no means what would be strictly termed +beautiful. Indeed, the contour of her features, as a whole, was rather +commonplace than otherwise; but a soul beamed out through her flashing +black eye, and lit up her countenance with a sweetness, a loveliness, +which was strange, and sometimes startling, from the brilliancy of its +expression. A ruddy glow, like the blush of a summer sunset, dwelt in +either cheek, and a slight contraction at both corners of the mouth +gave her face a half-mirthful look; but her forehead, full in the +upper and lateral portions, seemed almost too severely intellectual +for the other features. She possessed a wealth of luxuriant black +hair, which she had a quaint method of coiling around her head in a +single massive braid, singularly contrasting with the alabaster +whiteness of the delicate temples upon which it rested. She was very +happy at the home she occupied, which was often enlivened by the +joyous snatches of music that broke from her ruby lips as from a bird; +but she had but a faint, a dream-like remembrance of the scenes +connected with her early childhood.</p> + +<p>It was a cold afternoon in December—cold even for that ice-clad +month. Dark, gloomy, stern-browed winter had spread his varied +desolations around. The first snow of the season had fallen during the +night previous, and lay upon the ground to the depth of several +inches, in some places, drifted into the ravines, leaving the +declivities almost entirely uncovered, and at others, overspreading +the soil with an unruffled sheet of stainless white. The winds had +awakened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> from their August slumbers, and blustered and shrieked +dismally through the leafless forests, then sweeping out among the +houses, sought entrance, but finding none, flung themselves +despairingly against the doors, and mocked at the clattering windows, +which every now and then threatened to burst from their casements; +anon, swept moaning around the corners, now muttering, and now +whispering at the crevices, then passing up toward the eaves, died +away in sobbings and wailings. Even the dark blue cerulean wore a +chilly aspect; and the huge masses of heavy, leaden-colored clouds +that piled themselves up so quaintly over by the lofty-peaked, +snow-capt mountains, drifted wildly before every impulse of the +ice-winged lord of the storm.</p> + +<p>Late on this afternoon a solitary traveler on horseback might have +been seen winding slowly along the serpentine road that led over the +hill above the falls. This traveler was David White. At his heart, +were the same fierce and turbulent passions—the same dark +thoughts and bad feelings—the same willful and perverse nature +that dwelt there, when I left him, ten years ago, forsaking home and +happiness; time had only served to deepen the impressions, and crime +almost entirely to blot out the few remaining influences of a +religious education, while the vicious impulses strengthened. But, in +person, he was greatly changed. From the stripling he had become the +man. A half sneer was on his countenance as in boyhood; and the same +restless, wicked eye lighted up his features with an evil fire. It was +a face that told the wily hypocrite—the man who could assume any +character he chose—now, high-minded and honorable, and again, +crime-seeking and fiendish, just as circumstances required. The cheeks +were thin and sunken, and the deep pallor which had stolen away the +rosy tints of health, plainly showed a course of continual +dissipation. In person, he was somewhat above the standard height, and +slender in his make, though his frame exhibited great powers of +endurance, and no common share of muscular strength.</p> + +<p>He wound slowly down the hill, stopped for a moment to gaze at the +falls, adorned with huge, long icicles, and a shore of frozen foam; +then moved on again, passed leisurely along the curving lane, and +paused once more at the old bridge, to look up and down the river; +after which he advanced a short distance into the magnificent grove of +evergreens which skirted the road, and fastening his horse securely to +one of the strongest pine saplings, bent his steps toward the home of +his childhood. By this time the last flashing gleams of sunset were +dying away in the west, and dark-hued twilight began to shroud the +east in a mist-like dimness.</p> + +<p>David White had been a wanderer in foreign lands. More than once had +he stood amidst a field of the ghastly dead and shrieking wounded, +when the tide of a great battle raged fiercest and strongest, his +foothold bathed in the life-blood of his comrades. Such scenes ever +tend to pervert the kinder tendencies of our nature, and to render the +mind adamantine in its manifestations; nor were his less susceptible +to these influences than others. When first he entered the ranks of +the army, and joined in the death-dealing battle, he saw the daily +commission of crimes which made his soul shrink even to contemplate; +but, by degrees, he learned to look upon them merely as the amusements +of a passing hour, and finally, to lend a ready hand to their +accomplishment. Then his heart grew still colder and more feelingless. +He thirsted for excitement, lawful or unlawful. He longed for the +bloody onset to come; the deafening roar of the cannon was a music in +his ears, and the murderous combat brought a restlessness that pleased +him. But human nature is strange—passing strange. At intervals +he was mild and gentle. Standing upon the battlefield, when night had +drawn her silvery curtain over the ghastly and hideous spectacle, when +the booming shot and frightful discord—the shriek, the groan, +the shout, and ceaseless rush of angered men were passed away, he had +looked round upon the cold and bloody scene, and wept—his +sternness softened, and he became as other men. He brought water to +the wounded and dying soldier; staunched the flowing blood; pillowed +his head upon his knee, and as the body shuddered in the last fierce +agony, and the enfranchised spirit went trembling up to God, tears +fell like jewels on the pallid face of the dying, and thoughts, of +which the good might have been proud, flashed through his mind. Who, +at such moments, would recognize David White, the bold, dark, +dangerous man? But thus it is; mirthful feelings will sometimes +obtrude when the heavy clod is falling upon the coffin of a friend, +and the grave closing over him forever; thoughts of the last agony, +the bourne of death, and the curtained futurity, will sometimes come +like a pall over our minds, when the dance is at its flush, and +pleasure in its spring-time; and moments will sometimes roll round +when a softness breathes upon the hearts of hardened men.</p> + +<p>David White was again amongst the scenes of his boyhood; but he looked +upon them merely as the passing traveler—with an idle curiosity. +Change had been more busy than he expected, yet nothing around him +served to awaken emotion. Not even when he stood upon the little +eminence, and on almost the very spot where he had stood ten years +agone, to bid a final adieu to home, and then to pass on to ruin, did +he seem to remember, save by a faint and sickly smile, half-sneering +in its expression. Yet, had he seen it when environed by other +circumstances, perhaps his heart might have been touched—but now +it was feelingless.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the old homestead, he knocked loudly at the door—but +no one answering the call, he lifted the latch and entered the +apartment. A large hickory fire was blazing on the hearth, casting a +ruddy glare upon the floor, and radiating a pleasant heat throughout +the room. Upon a worsted hearth-rug reclined a large gray cat, which +he thought the very same he had kicked across the room on the evening +of his departure, and which started up at his approach, and took +refuge beneath the bed. Finding that no one was conscious of his +presence, he flung off his dark overcoat, and laying it on a little +pine table by the window, drew a large rocking-chair from its nook in +the corner,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> and seating himself by the hearth, began very +complacently to contemplate the ornaments upon the mantle-piece. But +soon growing tired of this employment, he left his seat and crossed +over to some pictures that hung against the opposite wall. At this +moment a door opened to his left, and turning, he beheld Mary entering +the apartment, her cheeks rosier than ever with recent exercise.</p> + +<p>"Good evening to you, my pretty lass," he observed in his blandest +tones, and slightly bowing as she drew back in surprise at his sudden +appearance. "A widow was once the occupant of this dwelling—the +Widow White she was usually called; is she still living, and a +resident here? and if so, will you be so kind as to inform her of my +presence."</p> + +<p>Mary replied briefly in the affirmative, and hastened out to call her +mother from an out-house, a new building which had lately been erected +to subserve the two-fold purpose of kitchen and dairy, where they both +had been busily engaged at the time of his arrival, while he sauntered +familiarly to his seat by the fire, and commenced drumming a tune upon +the head-board of the mantle-piece. In a few moments the widow made +her appearance, and politely requested her guest to be seated.</p> + +<p>He flung himself carelessly into the chair he had occupied, and +slightly turning in his seat, fixed his dark eyes on her face, and +remarked, "You seem to be quite comfortably situated, Mistress White; +this pleasant fire and comfortable apartment contrast finely with the +cold and dreariness without doors."</p> + +<p>"Yes, thanks to Providence! things have gone especially well with me +for many years, indeed, much more so perhaps than I really deserve. +Though this world often requires much care and toil from us frail +mortals, it also yields many blessings for which to be thankful."</p> + +<p>"That is true," replied he; and then breaking off suddenly from the +topic of conversation, remarked, "But I perceive, Mistress White, that +you do not recognize your quondam friend. I hope you do not suffer +prosperity to dampen your recollection of old times."</p> + +<p>The widow stopped her knitting for a few moments, leaned slightly +forward, and scrutinized the features of the stranger; then recovering +her former position, answered, "I have a faint, a dream-like +recollection of your countenance. It seems that I have seen it before, +yet I cannot distinctly remember where."</p> + +<p>"Look again!" exclaimed he, divesting himself of a pair of false +whiskers, and again bending his dark eyes searchingly upon her face. +"Now do you know me?"</p> + +<p>She gazed but an instant, a deathly pallor sprung to her cheeks, and +extending her arms as if to embrace, she tottered toward him, +exclaiming, "It is!—I cannot be mistaken!—it is my long +lost son, David White! Oh, David! David!" and she fell upon his neck, +and twined her arms around him, sobbing aloud in her ecstasy of +enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"Tut-tut, mother—what's the use of carrying on so? To be sure I +am your son, in flesh and blood, and just the same as ever, only +changed a little for the better. But where's the use in crying? I +reckon I am not going to die, that you should take on after this +fashion."</p> + +<p>Here he rudely shook off her embrace, and reseated himself, while a +sharp pang, such as she had not known since the years of his boyhood +and unfeeling transgressions, struck deeply into her heart as his +light mocking tones smote upon her ear, and sinking into a chair, she +gave vent to her feelings in a gush of tears.</p> + +<p>Who, at that moment, to have looked upon the dark countenance of David +White, and to have witnessed his heartless and unmanly actions, would +have recognized the cradle-joy of his mother's early +widow-hood—the babe that smiled so sweetly upon the +beholder—the little prattler for whom she had pictured out such +a bright and glorious future. She had loved him—still loved him +with all the devotedness and dewy freshness of life's morning hours; +she had cherished and watched over him with the tenderest care and +most affectionate solicitude, and now, when the fountains of +deep-toned feeling and sympathetic emotion should have sent up their +gushing libations, and she should have been reaping the rich benefits +of her manifold attentions, the son, so fondly cherished, and so +dearly loved, turns, like the frozen serpent that the shepherd warmed +in his own bosom, to sting his benefactor.</p> + +<p>But if we look back to this man's infancy, it will be found that much +of this harvest was unconsciously sown by the mother. Domestic +education exerts a great power in forming the manners and regulating +the conduct which is to guide the future man; and as the system of +Widow White had been injudicious, though she discovered her error at +the last, it was too late for reform—her son was ruined, and an +ingratitude engendered which would tinge the whole stream of her +future life with bitterness. The mother is almost always the arbiter +of her child's destiny; and if she misguide the bark of his life so +that it finally anchors in a gulf of base and stormy passions, can it +be wondered that his sympathies should be blunted, and the +manifestations of his mind vile and ignoble?</p> + +<p>"There, now! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," again spoke the +son, first breaking the silence which had existed for several minutes, +and the mother looked up half smilingly through her tears as these +gentle words came to her ear, they were so unlike the mocking tones +with which he had sought to evade her welcome. The kind manner of +their utterance went to her heart, and the best affections of her +nature gushed to meet them.</p> + +<p>"You look worn and tired with your journey, David—would you not +be the better of some supper? something warm might refresh you," and +she took a step toward the door in execution of her kind purpose.</p> + +<p>"No, no—my time is precious, and I have none to waste in eating. +I must be back to the Bend before nine, and there is famous little +moon left to light the way."</p> + +<p>"So soon! Why not remain with us to-night, and then return in a more +comfortable manner in the morning? You surely have no imperative +necessity to visit the Bend on such a blustering night as this. +The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> north, too, is black with a gathering storm. You had better +stay."</p> + +<p>"I can't. It is impossible. I have a very urgent necessity to return, +and quickly told, too—money; I must have money, and in no small +amount either. It is absolutely necessary that I have twenty-five +dollars, and that I have it now. I am in debt, and the debt must be +paid—paid to-night. It has been a long time since I asked you +for money, but I reckon you have enough of the mother about you to let +me have that sum."</p> + +<p>"In debt, David! to whom?"</p> + +<p>"To the boat for my passage. But it is getting late, and I have no +time to ask or answer questions; so, once for all, will you let me +have it or not?"</p> + +<p>The mother was deeply imposed upon, but never, even for an instant, +did the thought flash across her mind that his statements were false, +and only used for the purpose of extortion. Obtaining the specified +amount, she placed it in his hands with a gush of tears, for her +feelings were greatly hurt at his harsh words.</p> + +<p>He received the money, bade her farewell in blander tones than his +previous conversation, and hastened from the dwelling. When he arrived +at the spot where was fastened his horse, his mind was fired to a high +degree of excitement by the dark thoughts rankling within. His face +was pale with anger; his heavy brows worked and knit themselves over +eyes that flashed like fire, and he was muttering slowly to himself in +broken expressions, while his fingers played unconsciously about the +handle of the bowie-knife which slightly protruded from beneath his +vest. Having taken a sudden turn in the undergrowth, he unexpectedly +stood immediately before the horse, which, seeing him indistinctly, +became affirighted, and ran back with an impetuosity that almost tore +up the sapling by its roots.</p> + +<p>"So, so," he muttered between his clenched teeth, as composedly as his +anger would permit. "Easy, Oliver, easy!" and advancing, he tenderly +patted him on the neck, while the restive animal, recognizing his +voice, greeted him with a low neigh.</p> + +<p>Detaching the bridle from the mass of twigs that entangled it, he +carefully led the way out into the road, and brushing off the snow +which had collected upon the saddle, leaped to his seat, still +agitated with the deep passion he was in vain endeavoring to control.</p> + +<p>"On!" burst from his lips in a hoarse whisper, which seemed like a low +shout suppressed by a strong will. "On!" and he struck the spurs +fiercely into the sides of his steed, and dashed swiftly across the +old bridge, the clattering hoofs ringing out upon the still night with +a strange distinctness.</p> + +<p>At first, the moon looked down brightly from the starry sky, shedding +around a shower of flashing beams, which rested upon the sheeted snow +until it became dazzling in its whiteness. Soon, however, the heavy +masses of clouds in the northeast, that drove wildly before every +ice-winged impulse of the storm-king, overwhelmed and shrouded the +silver disc from sight, and gave forth the tempest they had so long +threatened. Still, now and then, as the wrathful clouds would separate +for a moment, a faint lustre would dart forth, sprinkling, as with +the purple glories of the orient morn, the torn and ragged opening, +and illuminating the landscape with a quaint beauty—half light +and half shadow—then all would become dark again. But soon, even +this ceased, and the heavens were hung with black. Still his horse +plunged on amid sheets of driving and whirling snow, never stopping +his speed for an instant.</p> + +<p>Ere long the impetuous rider drew up before a dark, weather-beaten, +dilapidated building, at the north end of the village, and dismounted. +The old chestnut by the fence creaked dismally as the winds swept +fiercely up from the valley below, and through one of the swaying +boughs came a faintly twinkling light, which seemed forcing itself +through the folds of a window-curtain. Knocking loudly at the front +door, it was presently opened, and giving some hasty directions +concerning his horse, he hurried through a dark, narrow entry, and +guiding his way up a creaking staircase by the aid of a balustrade +which ran along either side, at length stood before a small door, +through whose key-hole issued a narrow stream of light, slightly +illuminating the thick gloom around him. Here he paused for a short +time to recuperate his exhausted energies, and to subdue the passion +that still somewhat agitated him. Then pushing open the door, he +entered the apartment.</p> + +<p>It was a gaming-room. Six or eight small tables stood about on the +floor, at each of which, where the forgotten candles burned dimly over +the long and lengthening wicks, sat several men—some, with faces +brightly haggard, gloating over their unhallowed gains—others, +dark, sullen, silent, fierce, gazing furtively at their piles of lost +money. Here rattled the dice-box, and yonder fell the dirty +cards—all were busily engaged—all were motionless, save +their hands and eyes—all were hushed, save when they uttered +solitary words to tell their bets.</p> + +<p>David White had almost reached the centre of this room before any one +was cognizant of his presence; then, several looked up with a nod of +recognition, and once more bent themselves, pale, watchful, though +weary, to the duties of the game. The emotion which had so recently +agitated him was passed away, and his countenance wore the same +expression which most frequently lurked over it. Crossing over to a +table at the farthest end of the apartment from the door, he addressed +a few words to its occupants; assumed a vacant chair by its side, and +joined in the play. For hours he sat grasping the cards with trembling +avidity, winning and losing, apparently unmindful of either. But this +was merely the gilded outwardness—within, rankled fierce +passions, like the lightning in the summer-evening cloud. The night +glided on; its dank air grew fresher; the fire burned low on the +hearth-stone; the raging storm was hushed to stillness, and three was +sounding from the antique clock that adorned the mantle-piece. Save +two men the room was deserted. One by one the rest had stolen away, +until these two were its only occupants. The last stake of David White +was in the pool; the cards had been dealed, and the game was about to +be played which was to determine the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> ownership of the large pile +of silver that lay in the middle of the table. He had lost, won, and +lost again—doubled his bets—trebled them, until all had +been swept away—money, horse, and even his Bowie-knife. Then he +had contrived to borrow—won again, and now the last stake +trembled in the scales. The game was played—once more he was +penniless. He sat still for several minutes, his eyes gazing on +vacancy, and when he arose he seemed like a strange man, his face was +so changed with the workings of evil passions.</p> + +<p>"There! now you have it all, and I am ruined! Do you hear?" exclaimed +the frenzied man, his lips quivering with emotion as his voice became +elevated with excitement. "And who is the dastardly craven that made +me so? Who was it found me pure, and innocent, and stainless as the +babe unborn, and lured me from happiness to scenes of madness and +debauchery—of crime and wretchedness? Say! who was it did all +this? Who was it first placed the cards in my hands, and trained my +youthful mind to the cheateries of the gaming-table? And who, when I +became older, taught me to revel in human gore, and to delight in +carnage and distress, making me the heartless villain that I am? Who +was it did all this, I say? Was it not you, Wilson Hurst—was it +not you that did it?" and the frantic man struck the table a +tremendous blow with his clenched fist as this last question trembled +on his white lips, while he glared fiercely upon the listener.</p> + +<p>His mind had now worked itself up to the highest pitch of excitement; +his countenance wore a deathly pallor; his heavy brows lowered +fearfully above eyes that flashed like fire; his nostrils were widely +distended, and, as the air breathed through it seemed to choke him; +his teeth chattered with rage, while the white foam oozed between, +gathering in a thick froth about the parted lips, and with an +exclamation that almost froze the blood to hear, he flung himself upon +his companion. But his adversary had foreseen the whole, and was fully +prepared to meet this sudden attack. Taking advantage of his cat-like +eagerness, he threw him to the floor, overpowered, and finally, +exhausted with struggling, thrust him out the street door, and shut it +in his face.</p> + +<p>Left to himself, he gradually became calm and collected, and then +other and gentler thoughts grew busy. He stood there in the still +moonlight, the cool breezes of morning fanning his feverish brow, from +which distilled great drops of moisture in the anguish of his spirit.</p> + +<p>"What a change! what a change!" exclaimed he wildly, smiting his +breast with his hands. He was thinking of childhood, of those hours of +innocence forever gone, and he buried his face in his hands, and +sobbed aloud. The strong man was bowed—yes! he who, undaunted, +had stood amidst the angered rush of battle; he who, fearless, had +seen his comrades falling around him like trees before the hurricane; +he who, unappalled, had heard the shrieks of the wounded and dying, +wept at the recollection of childhood. What a scene for God and the +angels to look down upon!</p> + +<p>David White sedulously strove to renew the acquaintanceships of his +boyhood, but amongst none, either of those who remembered him, or +others to whom he was a perfect stranger, did he contrive to make a +friend. His company, however, was not avoided, for his conversation +abounded with strange and interesting adventures in various foreign +lands, often instructive; but there were too many demands for the +possessor of an able body, and too extensive a prevalence of sound +morality, for him to find a spirit any way congenial to his own in the +vicinity of his home. He therefore took up his residence at the Bend, +which was a kind of stopping-place for boats passing up and down the +river, and where congregated all grades of society. His pursuits were +now undisguisedly those of a gambler—and still further, though +unknown—those of a smuggler. His mother received frequent, +though indirect communications concerning her son's course of conduct +at the neighboring village—indeed, few days passed in which she +did not incidentally obtain such intelligence. He appeared +occasionally at the old homestead, but his stay was seldom prolonged +beyond a few hours. His conduct cost his mother many a heart-pang, but +the day when she could influence his mind had long since gone by, and +she entertained no hope of a reformation—indeed, such an +occurrence would have appeared almost a miracle in the eyes of those +acquainted with his character and mode of action. Thus months lapsed +away into the infinitude of the past; summer came round, and soon an +eventful and crime-stained night rolled into its place.</p> + +<p>The moon waxed high in her career. Midnight was gathering slowly over +the earth; that hallowed and mysterious hour, the isthmus between two +days. But the deep-toned thunder was muttering at intervals in the +sky, and the torn clouds swept on in massy columns, dark and aspiring, +growing blacker and blacker as they rolled up the great heavens, and +portending a terrible convulsion of the elements. The night was far +advanced, and in all respects suited to the purpose of David White. +Twelve o'clock was already striking, when he issued from a private +door of the time-worn building, where had occurred the gambling scene +on the stormy night of the winter before. Since then, the two men had +made friends; fortune had changed, rechanged, and changed again; and +now, almost penniless, he had resolved on a bold stroke, by which to +replenish his purse, and furnish means whereby to indulge his +consuming and all absorbing love of gaming. After entering the street, +he glanced cautiously around, and then advancing to the iron-gray +charger that was tied with a stout bridle to the horse-shoe at the +doorpost, adjusted the accoutrements, leaped to the saddle, and rode +hurriedly along the road leading to the old homestead.</p> + +<p>Meantime the aspect of the heavens had materially changed. The black, +opaque mass of vapors had extended its dark and jagged front a third +of the way around the horizon, piling its frowning steeps high up +toward the zenith. Here and there overhead, the sky was blotted with +isolated black clouds, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> were fast increasing in size and +joining into one. The thunder, which had been occasionally muttering +on high, now rattled incessantly, and the forked lightning rushed down +in sheets of lurid flame. Ere long, the huge mass of sweeping clouds +had reached the zenith, and were rolling darkly onward toward the +opposite horizon. Directly the wild uproar died nearly altogether +away, and intense darkness shrouded the skies and earth in its folds. +The air grew heavy, and seemed to be forcibly pressed toward the +ground. This was that strange pause in the strife of the elements, +apparently as if the combatants were gathering all their strength for +the fearful contest that was to follow. But this pause was only +momentary, and soon was at an end. Then a distant, sullen, bellowing +murmur came surging up from the depths of the forest, followed by the +sorrowful moaning of the trees along the road-side. David White grew +pale, and could almost hear the beating of his own heart as he bent +forward in the saddle, and listened to the approaching rush and roar +of the lashed winds. He had not expected such a wild fierceness in the +storm, but now he had gone too far to recede; he was in the very midst +of the forest, and the danger was the same either way, so he spurred +on the plunging animal beneath him with a desperate energy. At that +instant a blinding flash shot down from a cloud almost directly +overhead, drank up the thick darkness, and wrapped the air in sheets +of lurid flame, while the tall trees stood out like a spectral throng +in its supernatural glare. Before a clock could tick, the report +followed with a roar, deafening and tremendous, rattling and echoing +along the sky like the simultaneous discharge of a thousand deeply +freighted cannon. Terrified at the unearthly glare and stunning +thunder-bolt, the horse plunged aside with a fierce impetuosity, that +would have flung the rider to the earth had he not clung to the mane +with his utmost strength; and even for minutes after "the jaws of +darkness" had devoured up the scene, and the fearful report had died +away in the distance, his eyes still ached with the intense light, and +his ears rung with the deafening bolt that had followed.</p> + +<p>Now came the arrowy flight and form of the hurricane itself. It +crushed the tall and sturdy trees to the ground as if they had been a +forest of reeds. On it came, darker, fiercer, and more impetuous, as +if under the influence of some angry fiend enjoying a triumph. The +shrieking of the lashed winds; the crashing thunder; the noise of the +giant monarchs of the forest upheaving from their deep-set +foundations, and toppling to the ground; the rush and howling of the +tempest—all mingled in one swelling uproar, and deafened the +very heavens. Now the whole malignity and embodied power of the +hurricane was upon them. The shivering horse sprang forward into the +shelter of a huge rock that frowned upon the road like some stern +sentinel guarding the passage, and David White leaped from the saddle, +and crouched in terror against the dark mass that towered above and +afforded protection.</p> + +<p>On it came, winding its tortuous pathway from right to left and from +left to right, crushing and twisting the Titans of the woods from +their trunks in its awful rush of destruction. The wheeling clouds and +tumultuous atmosphere were lashed through and through with the fiery +lightning, and masses of loose leaves, and branches, with all their +wealth of mangled foliage—saplings twisted up by the roots, and +bunches of shrubs tossed themselves impetuously into the air, flung +into the wildest and most rapid agitation—now rushing together +as if consolidating into masses—now scattered abroad in the +deepest confusion, while a stubborn oak, disdaining to bend, was +dashed headlong across the road, where the horse and his rider had +stood only a few moments previous, and hurling the soil to their very +feet.</p> + +<p>Rush after rush of the trooping winds went by—each succeeding +onset wilder and more impetuous than the last, until at length the +sullen distant roar—and then the low, surging murmurs announced +that the greatest danger had overblown, and that the hurricane was +winding its tortuous pathway through the forests many miles away to +the right.</p> + +<p>Gradually the devastations of the awful skies became mellowed down; +the wheeling clouds began to dispart, and a gush of heavy drops came +pattering from above. Moaning pitifully, the prostrate and bowed trees +and undergrowth lifted their mangled boughs from the compressed state +into which they had been forced—those which had survived the +tempest, seemingly with a painful effort, regaining their upright and +natural position.</p> + +<p>Soon the heavy and dank air grew fresher; the wrathful clouds +separated, and the moon once more gleamed forth in resplendent beauty +and brightness. By degrees the gloom retired from the face of the +heavens, the stars looked down gloriously from their sapphire thrones, +and a silvery gush played amidst the swaying foliage, where the +rain-drops glistened on their leaflet platforms like so many diamonds. +Then the lucid milky-way, whose loveliness flushes the firmament, bent +itself across the concave above, one broad flame of pure transparent +white, as if some burning orb had fled along the sky with so swift a +flight, that, for a moment, it had left its lustre in the vault of +heaven. Gradually all was lulled into stillness, and nature became as +one great solitude.</p> + +<p>Awe-stricken and bewildered, David White remounted his quivering +steed, and slowly wound his way along the ruin-covered road. One by +one the appearances which told a near approach to his destination came +into view; and finally he stood before the home of his childhood, +which was now to be the scene of a great and heinous crime. Carefully +hitching his horse in the dark shadows of some ancient oaks at the +head of the lane, he softly opened the gate, and glided round the +house until he stood at a little window which looked out from his +mother's chamber, and next the old stone chimney. For the night, she +was absent at a distant neighbor's, which circumstance, together with +that of her having withdrawn a large amount of funds from the +possession of the village minister, had induced the present +visit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> But when he saw the shutter open, a thing wholly +unexpected, it flashed through his mind that he was watched—that +this was an allurement to ensnare him; so he shrunk back into the +dense shadows of the maples, and glanced hurriedly around him. +Satisfied with his investigation, he ventured to the window, and +peered cautiously into the chamber, but seeing nothing to excite his +fears, gently raised the sash, and leaped into the apartment. The moon +shone so brightly that he had no occasion to strike a light, but its +silver disc was fast verging toward the horizon, and warned him to +haste, else be left to return in darkness. Fumbling in his +coat-pocket, he at length produced a large bunch of keys, and stooping +down, applied one to the heavy oaken chest beneath the window-sill. +Fortunately it suited the lock; the bolt turned without difficulty, +and he lifted the massive lid, which he upheld with one hand, while he +rummaged the till with the other. At this moment a slight rustling +reached his ears from the furthest corner of the apartment from the +window.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce is that?" exclaimed he, starling up from his kneeling +posture, and turning anxiously in the direction whence the disturbance +had proceeded, at the same time thoughtlessly relinquishing his grasp +of the lid, which fell with a heavy crash upon the arm still resting +beneath.</p> + +<p>"Furies!" shouted he, writhing in agony, and releasing the bruised +member from its painful position.</p> + +<p>At these words a faint scream of terror issued from the bed which +stood only a few feet distant. Mary White had been awakened by his +outcry, and starting up in alarm, beheld a man standing by the window, +which occasioned the involuntary exclamation that had just burst from +her lips. She had sat up until quite late, every moment expecting the +young lady who was to have been her companion for the night; and then +the convulsions of the tempest had kept her wakeful, and prevented her +retiring. The tedium of the hours becoming irksome, she had sauntered +into her mother's chamber, and opened the window to gaze out upon the +lulling war of the elements; but growing wearied of this employment, +and a drowsiness stealing over her, she had flung herself upon the +bed, and almost immediately sunk into a refreshing slumber, from which +the late disturbances in the apartment had just awakened her. The +first impulse that entered her mind was to gain the door and escape, +but her nature was one on which fear acts as a sudden paralysis. All +power of volition deserted her; and she stood motionless as carved +marble, with her eyes glaring, and her finger pointed toward the spot +where was the object of her terrors.</p> + +<p>"Who's there? stand back!" burst from his lips in nervous agitation as +the shriek rung out upon the air, and turning round, he rushed to the +bedside, but started back; and there was the confusion of cowardice in +his manner as he exclaimed, "You here, Mary! what in the world brought +you into this room at such a time of night as this?"</p> + +<p>"David White!" exclaimed she, shrinking back, when the moonlight fell +upon his features, and she recognized the intruder.</p> + +<p>"No one else, my pretty lass," replied the vile man, becoming +emboldened by the time and situation; and with a graceful bend of his +fine form, he threw his arm around her waist, and attempted to press +his lips to her cheek; but fear gave her an almost preternatural +strength, and she thrust him forcibly from her.</p> + +<p>"What! are you determined to fight shy?" said he, with a dark sneer, +again advancing toward her.</p> + +<p>"Off! off!—do you dare to lay that vile hand on me again?" and +as he caught her arm, she struck him forcibly in the face with her +clenched fist, and releasing his grasp, darted toward the door with +the swiftness of the deer.</p> + +<p>He sprung after her with arms outstretched, and his eyes on fire with +fierce rage. His hand clutched the folds of her dress as she reached +the door, and he jerked her toward himself with a violence that was +almost stunning.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" shouted he, inebriate with passion, as her pallid face turned to +his, "is this your game? Take that, then!" and he plunged a glittering +knife deeply into her bosom.</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands convulsively, turned her eyes heavenward, and +with a single groan, the utterance of the last mortal agony swelling +in her soul, sunk, pale and quivering, slowly to the floor. Then a +deep stillness reigned around, broken only by the gurgling sound of +the blood as it gushed from the deep wound near her heart, and +gathered in a dark, clotted pool by her side.</p> + +<p>"'Twas quickly done!" muttered he, in stifled tones of still unsubdued +ferocity. "Let this finish it well!" and he made a random stab, which +was followed by a spasmodic movement of the body; and drawing the +blade from its fleshy sheath, he composedly wiped off the warm blood +against the bed-clothes, and thrust it back into his bosom with a low, +savage laugh.</p> + +<p>He then crossed over to the chest, and cursing his carelessness, +abstracted the money from its careful hiding-place, and quitted the +scene of his exploit with hurried steps, passing out the front way, +and flinging the door wide open as he departed. Within an hour and a +half more he was at home. There all was silent and dreary, but he had +no observation to fear. Striking a light, he carefully washed the +blood from his hands, and disarraying himself of the cast-off clothing +which he had assumed for the occasion, thrust them into the fire, and +watched until the whole was entirely consumed. Having thus guarded +against direct evidence, he made some artful dispositions of negative +disproof, that he might be provided with full armor against all +suspicions; and then retiring to his homely bed with a feelingless +heart, and unmurmuring conscience, he slept soon and deeply.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>PART III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alas! for earthly joy, and hope, and love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus stricken down, e'en in their holiest hour!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What deep, heart-wringing anguish must they prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who live to weep the blasted tree or flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, wo! deep wo to earthly love's fond trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all it once has worshiped lies in dust!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Time glided on—days dawned and waned—weeks came and +went—soon months were numbered with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> the ruins of the past, +and when the old year, with sober meekness, took up his bright +inheritance of luscious fruits, a pomp and pageant filled the splendid +scene. The yellow maize and golden sheaves stood up in the fields, and +the fading meadow, like a crushed flower, gave out a dying fragrance +to the fresh, cool winds, that, sporting playfully amongst the +tree-tops, swept downward from their high communion, and stooped to +dally with its sweet decay. Then the apple-boughs were heavily laden +with crimson fruit, peeping like roses from their garniture of woven +foliage; the purple grape-clusters dotted the creeping vine, half +transparent in their tempting lusciousness; the red cherries seemed, +in the distance, like the burning brilliancy of a summer sunset +struggling through the branches and tangled leaves that intervened; +and the downy peach peered provokingly from amongst the sheltering +green, where, all the summer long, it had stolen the first blush of +saffron-vested Aurora, when seraph hands unbar the gates of morning, +and the last ray of golden light that paused at the flame-wrought +portals of expiring day to look reluctant back. Another change came +over the face of nature, and delicate-footed spring seemed to have +come again with her lap full of leaves and blossoms. The trees cast +aside their long-worn garniture of green, and flaunted proudly in +gorgeous robes of gold and crimson. The blushing rose once more sought +the thorny stem that had slept so long desolate; and the +changeful-hued touch-me-not looked up smilingly from the pallid grass, +where nestled thousands of purple violets peeping out timidly from +their shady nooks; and the waning year smiled—smiled as smiles +the dying man, when the life-blood quickens in his veins, for almost +the last time to linger on the cheek and lip, brighten in the eye, and +give a joyous swell to the heart that lies in ruins. The gorgeous +pageant went by, and the trees put on their robes of +mourning—anon, tossed their huge branches to the sky, leafless +and desolate, save where the ivy, creeping gracefully up the twisted +trunk, or the sacred mistletoe, luxuriant on the dying bough, wore a +fadeless green amidst the desolations that surrounded them. The clear, +unsullied sky assumed a deeper, peculiar blue; the night reigned with +a clearer, intenser brilliancy, and the thronging stars beamed with an +almost unnatural brightness; the cold, hurrying winds awoke from their +sluggishness, and took their way over hill and meadow with a dismal +tone, like the midnight howl that comes to the ear of the dying with +hideous tales of the noisome grave; and the fleecy mass of trooping +clouds, driving wildly before every ice-winged impulse of the wintry +storm, seemed like sheets of floating snow dotting the vast cerulean. +Still another change—the earth was clad in a robe of spotless +ermine, and the gray dawn opened her pale eye on iciness and +desolation; men hurried to and fro as nature were a plague, and they +its victims; the sparkling, tripping, garrulous brooks, whose sweet +voices had so long gone up like a spirit's on the air, now sped their +way with a faint and death-like gurgle; the laurel, pine, and cedar, +disdaining to be poor pensioners on the bounties of a gushing +sunshine, or, with a cringing obsequiousness, to yield conformity to +the golden mutations of a passing hour, expanded their foliage of +living green, unchanged amidst the bleakest ruins of winter, while the +stern-browed year, old, wrinkled, and hoary, drew nearer and nearer +his death-time. Ere long spring came. As the grim darkness flees +before the many-tinted dawn, until at last she stands blushing upon +the eastern horizon in perfect beauty, so fled the stern winter before +the radiant footsteps of this flower-goddess. At her approach the +wooing south-winds swept downward from their sky-built thrones, and +stooping to the hill-tops, laid their soft fingers on the expanding +buds, stealing a fragrance, and whispering their heaven-taught melody +amongst the gnarled old branches; then crept stealthily into the +valleys below, and drinking in their rich gush of pleasant sounds, +glided back exulting to their high communion. The merry-voiced waters, +freed from their icy fetters, and sparkling like a sheet of silver +sheen, went dancing and leaping on—on with a winged impetuosity +to their ocean home. Anon, the yellow violets shook off their winter +slumbers, and opened their smiling cups to the arrowy sunshine; then +came a wealth of painted flowers, and soon the life-breathing spring +had attained its zenith. A thousand glad voices rose and swelled amid +the forest's leaf-wrought canopy; its breezes were awake with spicy +odors, and the bird warbled as life were new, and this creation's +morn. In the orchards, the peach-trees were glorious with pink +blossoms, sprinkling the tall, waving grass with rosy flakes at every +gush of the wooing zephyr, which, laden with sweetness, swept sighing +across the meadows.</p> + +<p>Anon, a spring sunset came on. The lurid disc of the sun wheeled +slowly down to the western horizon. Pile on pile of clouds, heaped up +in gorgeous magnificence, varying from red to purple, and from purple +to gold, gathered fantastically in the sky—now like a molten +ocean with uplifting rocks, and then like toppling steeps whose +summits reached the stars. Gradually the day went down behind the +everlasting hills, and the brilliant hues insensibly died away through +all the variations of the many-tinted rainbow, until only a faint +golden mellowness suffused the western sky, slowly fading into a deep +azure as it approached the zenith. At length twilight, twin sister to +the cold, gray dawn, shrouded the heavens in misty dimness. Universal +silence seemed to pervade the whole face of nature. The voice of the +feathered songsters was hushed in the grove, and the breeze, which all +day long had refreshed the deep woods with its joyous ministrations, +lulled into stillness, as if its kind office were now completed. Then +the brighter stars came out, one by one, and assumed their sapphire +thrones in the vaulted cerulean, and the round, bright front of the +full moon floated over the eastern mountains, whose dark umbrage +glowed with the silver glories of the thronging night—the night +whose morrow had but its dawn for David White, the condemned felon. +Ten long, weary months had come and passed away with their pomp and +mutation, finding and leaving him within a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> prison's walls; and +now, the lapse of a few short, rapid hours would behold a tenement in +ruins, and a soul set free. Another day-break, and he would know the +untried and unimaginable realities of a shoreless eternity, from whose +everlasting portals men have so often shrunk back appalled. Oh, what a +bewildering rush of thoughts crowded upon his mind. He stood by the +prison-window, through whose iron bars came trooping the silent +moonbeams, lighting up his countenance, ghastly and contracted with +anguish, then flashing along the darkness, rested upon the floor in +mellow radiance. At the farthermost verge of the western horizon, just +where the gray outlines of the mountains stood forth like shadows +against the deep blue of the sky, huge masses of clouds piled +themselves up into strange and fantastic forms, indistinct and dark, +from whose bright centre, ever and anon, leaped the fierce lightning, +like the tongues of a thousand adders forked in flame, and boomed the +loud thunder as the din of a far-off battle. While he gazed, old +memories thronged from the past; the fount of tears sent up its +gushing libations, and he buried his face in his hands, and strove to +pray. Oh, how sorrow, and suffering, and solitude, and the certainty +of a near death bow the strong spirit! It may have become darkened by +fierce and unruly passions; grown callous and crime-stained amidst the +roll of years, and almost destitute of a single virtuous impulse, yet, +for a time, under such circumstances, a softness will gather about the +heart; a thousand little harps, untuned before, quiver with a rich +gush of melody, and the angel in our nature spring up and assert its +influence. But no one, in whom the mind has not been crushed or +debilitated by the decay of the body, has stood upon time's furthest +brink in perfect consciousness, as David White did at that moment, +without thinking with an aching intenseness on the dread hour when +life must end; and as he leaned his head against the iron bars of the +narrow lattice, the balmy breeze laying its cool hands upon his +feverish brow, and the soft moonlight playing upon his wan features +like the kiss of a tender bride, his soul was wrought with a stern +agony, and his frame with a shudder—for dark thoughts and sad +images of death and eternity came thronging—for no <span class="smcap">Jesus</span> was +there to light the breathless darkness of the grave—no <span class="smcap">Hope</span> +stood by to point exultant to a sinless heaven!—for him, +futurity was a dark and impenetrable gulf, without a wanderer or a +voice.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he started. An overpowering, yet unutterable awe crept over +him—a fearful but undefined sensation—a presentiment that +something terrible was about to happen. He strove to shake it off, but +could not—like an icy thrill it ran, slow and curdling, through +his veins. A low rustling, as of silken drapery, struck upon his ear. +He turned to know the cause, and leaned eagerly forward. A shriek, +wild and agonizing, burst from his pallid lips; his hair stood +upright, and his arms fell nerveless to his side—his blood ebbed +back upon the heart, returned with tenfold violence throughout his +system, seemed to thicken, and then stagnate; his pulses bounded, +staggered and ceased; cold moisture bathed his wan forehead, and his +whole frame appeared stiffening with the death-chill. A few feet +distant, by a window the very counterpart of the one near which he +stood, loomed forth a shape—a substance, yet it cast no +shadow—the moonlight shone through it, resting on the floor like +slightly tarnished silver. He looked on speechless and motionless; his +whole soul concentrated into an intense and aching gaze. At first, it +floated before his fixed and dilating vision, indistinct and +mist-like; but, as he gazed, it assumed the outline of a human +form—then the features of Mary White, the foster-sister whom he +had murdered. The apparition grew still plainer. The ghastly +countenance; the fallen lip; the sightless eye, dull and open with a +vacant stare; the deep, solemn, mysterious repose which ever +accompanies the aspect of death; the deep wound near the heart, from +which gushed life's crimson torrent, falling at her feet without a +sound—each—all, for one short, passing, fearful, agonizing +moment, trembled into terrible distinctness. Then she lifted an arm +reeking with blood, and pointing through the window at a new-made +gibbet and its dangling rope, smiled a faint and sickly smile, and +vanished as a dying spark. The trance passed from his spirit, and +nature recommenced her operations like the clanking of a vast +machinery. Yet his eye, as if it could not recover from its vision of +terror, remained glaring upon the spot where the spectre had been; and +it was not until several minutes had elapsed that the sharp agony +which had contracted his features died away. He sprung forward with a +wild cry, but the echo alone replied. No voice but his own awoke the +awful stillness, pulseless it reigned around him. The stars glittered +as brightly, the moon shone as gloriously, and, as he held his breath, +the faint and confused murmur of the distant water-fall, and the +caroling of the night-wind in the gnarled old forest, almost seeming +to be a part of the silence, came up through the window to his ear as +distinctly and steadily as ever—every thing belied the scene he +had just witnessed. Was it a dream? He grasped his arm until it pained +him—he was awake—there was no change—all appeared as +it had been. He attempted to shake the iron bars of the +lattice—they were firm in their sockets. He groped his way to +the other side of the room, passed his hands along the +walls—nothing but darkness was there. He stood where first he +had stood when he beheld the apparition—the unearthly visitant +was there no longer. He bent forward, and strained an aching +gaze—in vain; nothing underwent a change. Then he felt that he +had seen the dead—the murdered. His mind recoiled upon itself, +and the very marrow in his bones crept at the thought. He flung +himself upon his pallet, and for the hundredth time strove to sleep. +Black despair had eaten down into his very heart's core, and remorse, +like an old vulture, gnawed at his vitals; yet for a few brief, +agonizing moments he slept, but only as the fiends of hell might be +supposed to sleep. A dream, a series of change and torture, +bewildering and terrible, came, like a blight, over his spirit.</p> + +<p>Now he felt the cold hand of death upon his brow, and his whole body +seemed to be encompassed in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> mass of ice. His blood waxed thick +in its courses; his heart staggered, fluttered, gave one agonizing +throb, and for a moment ceased to pulsate; cold dews gathered on his +brow, and a stinging sensation pervaded his whole system; his eyelids +trembled, and the balls rolled, gave out a dying lustre, glazed, grew +fixed and sightless in their sockets—then came the last +convulsive and impotent contest with the King of Terrors—the +groan, the gasping breath, the half-uttered words upon the quivering +lip—the death-rattle, the soulless face, and the pulseless +silence. He recovered. Above him was a sky of livid flame, upon whose +high zenith dread darkness sat enthroned. Around him spread a +shoreless ocean of molten fire. No wave agitated its placid +bosom—no sound—no wind breathed over its fearful +stillness. A lone rock, cold, barren, and dismal, yet like an oasis in +a desert, lifted its gray summit from the sluggish surface. Upon this +he stood, rigid and motionless, like a marble statue on its pedestal; +and, ever and ever, around and above him, rushed to and fro shadowy +forms, upon whose countenances was engraven unutterable anguish. +Suddenly, over the vast and dreary profound, went the low, deep, +muffled tolling of a bell, bursting on the red air like the knell of +hope, peace, and mercy, lost forever to another soul. As it ceased, +the boundless sea of ebbless and unextinguishable flame, that glowed +with a lurid but intolerable light at his feet, began to uplift in one +mighty and unbroken mass. Slowly—slowly it rose +up—up—up, until the liquid fire was frothing, and the sky +and ocean seemed to blend—then flowed back, returned, and closed +hissing around him. A groan, deep, intense, and fearful, bubbled up in +a gush of blood, and echoed in the distance like fiendish laughter. +Higher and higher rose the living flames. They were about to close +over him—his head sunk upon his bosom, and a voice—the +voice of her whom he had murdered, shrieked in his ear—"<span class="smcap">The +Ocean of Remorse!</span>"</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A change came o'er the spirit of his dream."</p></div> + +<p>He stood upon the narrow verge of an awful precipice. Night, black, +rayless night, enshrouded the yawning gulf below, save that, ever and +anon, hideous and fleshless forms—skeletons wrought in lurid and +undying flame—strode to and fro within the thick panoply of +gloom; while, at intervals, howls of despair came up from its midst, +like howls from the lips of the damned in hell. With a thrill of +horror, he turned hurriedly from the scene, and cast his despairing +eyes heavenward. In the centre of a massive cloud, burning with the +brilliancy of a summer sunset, appeared a vast city, with domes and +palaces of pearl and ruby, and whose gates were gates of burnished +gold. As he gazed, they were flung open on silent hinges, and a host, +clothed in spotless white, entered their portals, welcomed with +swelling anthems and seraphic songs. Then the toppling precipice began +to reel and stagger beneath his feet—a fierce bright flame burst +from amidst the night below, more brilliant than the sun's intensest +ray. It drank up the darkness, and filled the gulf with liquid fire. +It flashed through his eye-balls like a glance of lightning. He felt +his foothold totter on the eve of its awful rush of destruction, and +turned to flee, but started aside with a wild cry. The same voice was +in his ear, and it shrieked in exulting tones—"<span class="smcap">The Murderer's +Doom!</span>"</p> + +<p>But where was the mother during these fearful and agonizing moments! +Had <i>she</i> forgotten the son that once nestled on her bosom? Had <i>she</i> +forsaken the child she bore, now that the dark hour of adversity had +come? Ah! no. It is not a mother's nature to forget or to forsake! +Though crime and infamy enshroud his name; though base heartlessness +and vile ingratitude shut-to the portals of his soul; though he fling +off the hoarded wealth of her affections as the oak the clinging ivy +when the storm comes, yet the mother will love—must +love—it is the thirst of her immortal nature. No, no! Widow +White had not forgotten, neither had she forsaken her son. Villain as +he was, and stained with the blood of her foster-child, her heart +warmed toward him—the mother was the mother still! Though +absent, her mind was racked with agony—stern agony. For hours +had she paced up and down her dim-lit chamber, her hands folded across +her breast, and her eyes fixed upon the floor—thought and +feeling were busy. To the casual observer her features exhibited +scarcely an evidence of internal emotion; but the arched lip, +bloodless with pressure, and the swollen veins upon her high forehead +betokened how severe was the struggle going on within. There are some +persons who can stand by the bedside of a dying relative, and, with an +almost unruffled countenance, behold him stiffened in the cold arms of +death—who can look upon the corpse for the last time, follow it +to the grave, and see it laid beneath the heavy sod with so little +apparent concern, that the beholder considers him heartless; but draw +aside the curtain which separates the inner from the outer being, and +the features of the spirit are seen to be distorted with anguish. To +this class of individuals belonged Widow White. Oh, how she felt as +she trod to and fro within that dim-lit room! Her son—her only +son, in the endearing playfulness of whose infantile smiles she had so +often exulted; upon whose boyish accents she had so frequently hung +with transport, and for whom she had pictured out such a bright and +glorious future, was a condemned felon, and the morrow would open its +great eye upon him for the last time. The lapse of another +day!—and that son, so cherished, and so fondly loved, would fill +a murderer's grave, and she would look upon his face no more. She knew +that it was appointed for all to "pass through the dark valley of the +shadow of death," but what a horrible, detestable, and ignominious +death was his! Could it be true? Was he—her son, in the prime of +manhood and enjoyment—the life-blood coursing freely and +strongly throughout his system—unshattered by disease—to +die—to be a sport for the winds—to +hang—ay—ay—to hang!—to be cut down—to be +thrust into the coffin, blackened, distorted, and hideous, the rope +still around his neck—to be laid in the ground with infamy +around his name—to rot—to be a banquet for the worms? +Horror of horrors! She would not believe it! Surely it was a +dream!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus that agony-fraught night lapsed away, and the morning, which, +from the birth of creation, has never failed, dawned once +more—dawned as it ever dawns, bright, glorious, and magnificent, +bearing the impress of a mighty God. That morning witnessed a +terrible—a horrible scene. Another human being took his exit +from the transitory splendors of this decaying world, and entered upon +the untried and unimaginable realities of a futurity, whose secrets +none can ever know until the silver chord is loosened, and the golden +bowl is broken. Upon what state of existence David White entered when +eternity closed its everlasting portals, and the enfranchised spirit +went up to the Eternal Judge, it is not for me to say. God is just, +and whatever was apportioned, it was good and right. Let it suffice to +know, that, be his doom what it may, it is irrevocable—sealed +forever.</p> + +<p>From that eventful day, Widow White became thinner and paler, and the +expression of her countenance was that of a strong heart in ruins, and +with its energies prostrated. Three weeks went by, and she, too, was +gone. They carried her out from the desolate homestead, and laid her +cold remains beneath the grassy sod, where neither the war of the +elements, nor of human passions could ever disturb her more. Since +then many years have lapsed away into the dim and shadowy past, and +now, a sunken grave alone marks the last resting-place of Widow +White—the victim of a broken heart, and of her own injudicious +education of a son in his infancy and boyhood.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_REAL_AND_THE_IDEAL" id="THE_REAL_AND_THE_IDEAL"></a>THE REAL AND THE IDEAL.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MARION H. RAND.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas, the romances! the beautiful fancies!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We fling round our thoughts of a poet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can we believe that the web which we weave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has no solid basis below it?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Youth, beauty and grace—a soul-speaking face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And eyes full of genius and fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The softest dark hair, with a curl here and there;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All this, without fail, we require.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A warm feeling heart, affectation or art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unknown to its deepest recesses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brow fair and high, where her thoughts open lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him who admiringly gazes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But let this bright thought, this idol, be brought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To nearer and closer inspection—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! 'tis a dream! 'tis a straying sunbeam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of far more than human perfection.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then turn for awhile from the heavenly smile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That haunts thy fond fancy, young dreamer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn from the ideal to gaze on the real,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And see if she be what you deem her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She is young, it is true, her eyes dark and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sadly deficient in lustre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While often is seen in one hand a pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the other a mop or a duster.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her hair, of a shade inclining to red,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is tied up and carefully braided;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the forehead below (not as white the snow)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By no drooping ringlet is shaded.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her little hands write, but they're not always white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With marks of good usage they're speckled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the face, once so fair, has been kissed by the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until 'tis considerably freckled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She has her full part of a true woman's art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her share of a woman's warm feeling!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knows what to hide, with a true woman's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the world would but scorn the revealing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This earth is no place fancy beauties to trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or seek for perfection uncertain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then why mourn our fate, when sooner or late,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reality peeps through the curtain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But if we <i>must</i> cling to the form lingering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cherished within us so dearly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We must gaze from afar, as upon some bright star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never approach it more nearly.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_HUMAN_VOICE" id="THE_HUMAN_VOICE"></a>THE HUMAN VOICE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We all love the music of sky, earth and sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chirp of the cricket—the hum of the bee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind-harp that swings from the bough of the tree—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The reed of the rude shepherd boy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All love the bird-carols when day has begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When rock-fountains gush into song as they run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hills clap their hands in their joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All love the invisible lutes of the air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chords that vibrate to the hands of the fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose minstrelsy brightens the midnight of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And steals to the heart like a dove:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But even in melody there is a choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though we in all her sweet numbers rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's none thrills the soul like the tones of the voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When breathed by the beings we love.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VENICE_AS_IT_WAS_AND_AS_IT_IS" id="VENICE_AS_IT_WAS_AND_AS_IT_IS"></a>VENICE AS IT WAS, AND AS IT IS.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> + +<h5>[WRITTEN IN 1826.]</h5> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY PROFESSOR GOODRICH, YALE COLLEGE.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bright glancing in the sun's last rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Fairy City rose to view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed to "swim in air"—a blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of parting glory round she threw.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Midst silent halls and mouldering towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trophies fallen from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awe-struck, I saw a few brief hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grave of Venice' ruined pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light from her native surge she sprung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Venus of the Adrian wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the admiring nations flung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The <i>spell</i> of "<span class="smcap">Beautiful</span> and <span class="smcap">Brave</span>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her Winged Lion's terror shook<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Sultan's throne:—o'er prostrate piles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Breaker of Chains," she proudly spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her mandate to a hundred isles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Astonished Europe saw that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her blind old chieftain guide her wars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>twice</i>, in one brief season, pour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her fury on Byzantium's towers!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saw when in Mark's proud porch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abased in dust the eastern crown was laid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when, with frantic pride, she placed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her foot on Barbarosa's head!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gone, like a dream! wealth, pomp and power!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Learning's toils, so nobly urged!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doomed 'neath a tyrant's lash to cower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She gnaws the chain <i>she</i> once had forged.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And still that tyrant bids to stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In mockery of her former state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those emblems of her wide command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The three tall Masts where glory sate:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And high upreared on column proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And glancing to the wide-spread sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Winged Lion stands, aloud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tell a nation's infamy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, how unlike the day, when round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those Masts and 'neath that Lion's wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting thousands thronged the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spoke the fate of distant kings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When brightly in the morning beam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her galleys, ranged in stern array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impatient stood, till <span class="smcap">Pontiffs</span> came<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bless the parting warrior's way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They go beneath the drum's long roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cymbal's clang, the trumpet's breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Beauty's glances fire the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Honor smooths the road to death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tread <i>now</i> that court! The unbended sail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flaps idly in the passing wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dark below, each dull canal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is stagnant as its <i>owner's</i> mind!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet here, how many a burning soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has poured at moonlit eve the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While conscious Beauty, panting, stole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear the strain <i>her</i> praise prolong!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark to that shout! Her nobles come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In many a galley ranged, and gay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With waving flag and nodding plume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To grace fair Venice' bridal day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See! on the foremost prow, a <i>king</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In form—eye—soul!—again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The exulting Doge has <i>cast the ring</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That weds him to the Adrian Main!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark <i>now</i> that wretch with downcast eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And abject mien, once free, once brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is the <i>People's Doge</i>! and he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is now an Austrian tyrant's slave.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she, the Beautiful One, lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fallen to earth; while by her side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moulder her towers and palaces,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>The grave of</i> <span class="smcap">Venice'</span> <i>ruined pride</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SONG_THOU_REIGNST_SUPREME" id="SONG_THOU_REIGNST_SUPREME"></a>SONG.—THOU REIGN'ST SUPREME.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou reign'st supreme, love, in my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er every secret thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst not find the smallest part<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where thou abidest not.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All blest emotions, every sense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are consecrate to thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would that affection so intense,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But filled thy heart for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou reign'st supreme, love, eyes that burn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the soul's restless fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their liquid glances on me turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet no fond thoughts inspire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en in that hour for thee I long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a wild bird set free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! would that love so true and strong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But filled thy heart for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou reign'st supreme, love, while I live<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine shall be every breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be thou near me to receive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My last fond sighs in death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus to expire were joy, were bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May such my portion be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! would that love as deep as this,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But filled thy heart for me! C. E. T.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL" id="THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL"></a>THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> + +<h4>A SKETCH OF EVERYDAY LIFE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For naught its power to <span class="smcap">Strength</span> can teach<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like <span class="smcap">Emulation</span>—and <span class="smcap">Endeavor</span>. <span class="smcap">Schiller</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h5>(<i>Concluded from page</i> 292.)</h5> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<h5>THE RETURN—THE LOSS.</h5> + + +<p>How vexatious is delay of any kind when one's mind is prepared for a +journey, "made up to go," as a good aunt used to say. Mary grew +anxious and almost impatient as April passed and found her still an +inhabitant of the city of looms and spindles. The more so, that spring +was the favorite season, and she longed to watch its coming in the +haunts of her childhood; and in the busy, bustling atmosphere by which +she was surrounded, none gave heed to the steps of "the light-footed +maiden," save that our heroine's companions availed themselves of the +balmier air to dress more gayly. In our larger cities the ladies are +the only spring blossoms. It is they who tell us by bright tints and +fabrics, that the time has come when nature puts on her gay +appareling; yet it is in vain that they imitate the lilies of the +field, there is a grace, a delicacy in those frail blossoms, that art +never can rival.</p> + +<p>Mary had so longed for the winter to pass, she had even counted the +days that must intervene before she could hope to see her mother, and +all the dear ones at home. The little gifts she had prepared for them +were looked over again and again; and each time some trifle had been +added until she almost began to fear she was growing extravagant. But +she worked cheerfully, and most industriously, through the pleasant +days, and when evening came, she would dream, in the solitude of her +little room, of the meeting so soon to arrive.</p> + +<p>"A letter for you, Mary—from home, I imagine," said her gay +friend, Lizzie Ellis, bursting into her room one bright May morning. +"I called at the post-office for myself and found this, only. It's too +bad the people at home don't think enough of their sister to write +once a month; but I'm not sorry that your friends are more punctual. +There's good news for you, I hope, or you'll be more mopish than +ever."</p> + +<p>"Mary's lip quivered as she looked up. The instant the sheet was +unfolded in her hand, she saw that it bore no common message. There +was but a few lines written in a hurried, nervous manner; and as her +eye glanced hastily over the page, she found that she was not +mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Poor little Sue is very ill," said she, in reply to her friend's +anxious queries; "mother has written for me to come directly, or I may +never see her again" —her tone grew indistinct as she ceased to +speak; and leaning her face upon Lizzie's shoulder, a burst of tears +and choking sobs relieved her. Poor Sue—and poor Mary! It would +not have been so hard could she have watched by her sister's bedside +and aided to soothe the pain and the fear of the dear little one who +had from the time of her birth been Mary's especial care.</p> + +<p>Delay had before been vexatious, but it was now agony. The few hours +that elapsed before she was on the way, were as weeks to Mary's +impatient spirit; and then the miles seemed <i>so</i> endless, the dreary +road most solitary. The night was passed in sleepless tossing, and the +afternoon of the second day found her scarcely able to control her +restless agitation. She was then rapidly nearing home. Every thing had +a familiar aspect; the farm-houses—the huge rocks that lifted +their hoary heads by the road-side—the dark, deep +woods—the village church—were in turn recognized. Then +came the long ascent of the hill, which alone hid her home from view. +Even that was at last accomplished, and she caught a glimpse of the +dear old homestead, its rambling dark-brown walls, half-hidden by the +clump of broad-leaved maples that clustered about it. Could it be +reality, that she was once more so near all whom she loved? There was +no deception; it was not the delusive phantom of a passing dream; her +brother's glad greeting was too earnest; her mother's sobbed blessing +too tender. After the hopes and plans of many weeks, even months, such +was her "welcome home."</p> + +<p>"You are in time to see your sister once more," said Mrs. Gordon, as +she released Mary from a fond embrace; and a feeble voice from the +adjoining room, a whisper, rather than a call, came softly to her +ears.</p> + +<p>"Dear Susie—my poor darling!" were all the spoken words, as she +clasped the little sufferer in her arms. The child made no sound, not +even a murmur of delight escaped her wan lips. She folded her thin, +pale hands about her sister's neck, and gently laying her head upon +the bosom which had so often pillowed it, lay with her large spiritual +eyes fixed upon those regarding her so tenderly, as if she feared a +motion might cause the loved vision to vanish. Fast flowing tears fell +silently upon her face, but she heeded them not; then came fierce +pain, that distorted every feature, but still no moan, no sound.</p> + +<p>"Speak to me, Susie, will you not!" whispered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> Mary, awed by the +fixed, intense gaze of those mournful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come, sister, to see me once more before I go," was +the murmured reply. "I knew God would let me meet you here, before he +takes me to be an angel in heaven. I am ready now, for I said good-by +to mother and Jamie, and all, long ago. I only waited for you, dear +Mary. Kiss me, won't you—kiss me again, and call mother—I +feel very strangely."</p> + +<p>Her mother bent over her, but she was not recognized; her father took +one of those emaciated hands within his own, but it was cold, and gave +back no pressure. Awe fell upon every heart in that hushed and +stricken group; there was no struggle with the dark angel, for the +silver chord was gently loosened. The calm gaze of those radiant eyes +grew fixed, unchangeable—a faint flutter, and the heart's quick +pulsations forever ceased—wings had been given that balmy eve to +a pure and guileless spirit.</p> + +<p>Mary calmly laid the little form back upon the pillow. Her mother's +hand closed the already drooping lids; a sweet smile stole gently +round the mouth, and its radiance dwelt upon the marble forehead.</p> + +<p>"It is well with the child," said the bereaved parent—and her +husband bending beside the bed of death, prayed fervently, while the +sobs of his remaining children fell upon his ears, that they might be +also ready.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, how can I bear this! how can you be so calm and +resigned!" said Mary, as her mother sat down beside her in the +twilight, and spoke of the sorrowful illness of their faded flower. "I +had planned so much for Susie; I thought as much of her as of myself, +and here are the books, and all these things that I thought would make +her so happy; she did not even see them. Why was she taken away, so +good, so loving as she always was?"</p> + +<p>"And would you wish her back again, my child; has she not more cause +to mourn for us, than we for her? Think—she has passed through +the greatest suffering that mortal may know; she has entered upon a +world the glory of which it 'hath not entered into the heart of man to +conceive of;' and would you recall her to this scene of trial and +temptation? Rather pray, dear Mary, that we may meet her again in her +bright and glorious home. I, her mother, though mourning for my own +loneliness and bereavement, thank God that my child is at rest."</p> + +<p>"If I could only feel as you do, mother; but I cannot. Poor Susie!" +and Mary's tears burst forth afresh.</p> + +<p>She begged to be allowed to watch through the night beside the form of +the lost one, even though she knew the spirit had departed. But her +mother would not allow this—some young friends whom Mary could +not greet that night, though she loved them very dearly, claimed the +sad duty. And again, after a year of new and strange life, she found +herself reposing in her own quiet room, with sighing trees, the voice +of the brook, and the low cry of the solitary whippo-wil, to lull her +to sweet sleep.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was Sabbath morning, calm and holy. The bell of the little village +church tolled sadly and reverentially, as the funeral train wound +through the shaded lane. All the young people for miles around had +gathered in the church-yard; and as the coffin was borne beneath the +trees that waved over its entrance, they joined in the procession. It +passed toward the place of worship, and for the last time the form of +their little friend entered the sacred walls.</p> + +<p>The simple coffin was placed in the broad central aisle, the choir +sung a sweet yet mournful dirge; then the voice of music and of +weeping was hushed, for the man of God communed, with faltering voice, +with the Father in heaven, who had seen fit in his mercy to take this +lamb to his bosom; and when the prayer was ended, and an earnest and +impressive address was made to those who had been bereaved, and those +who sympathized with them, the friends and playmates of the little one +clustered about the coffin to take a farewell glance of those lifeless +yet beautiful features.</p> + +<p>The pure folds of the snowy shroud were gathered about the throat, and +upon it were crossed the slender hands, in which rested a fading sprig +of white violets, placed there by some friend, as a fit emblem of the +sleeper. Her sunny curls were smoothly bound back beneath the cap, and +its border of transparent lace, threw a slight shadow upon the +deeply-fringed lids that were never more to be stirred. Oh! the +exceeding beauty and holiness of that childish face, in its perfect +repose! None shuddered as they gazed; the horror of death had +departed; but tears came to the eyes of many, as they bent down to +kiss that pure forehead for the last time.</p> + +<p>Aye, "the last time!" for the lid was closed as the congregation +passed, one by one, once more into the church-yard, shutting out the +light of day from that still, pale face forever. The mother gazed no +more upon her child—brother and sister must henceforth dwell +upon her loveliness but in memory—the father wept—and +man's tears are scalding drops of agony.</p> + +<p>Many lingered until the simple rites were ended, and then turned away +under the shade of sombre pines, to think of the loneliness that must +dwell in the hearts of those from whom such a treasure had been taken; +and they, as they turned to a home that seemed almost desolate, tried +in vain to subdue the bitterness of their anguish. <i>They had seen her +grave</i>—and who that has stood beside the little mound of earth +that covers the form of some one loved and lost—has forgotten +the crushing agony that comes with the first full realization that all +is over—that hope—prayer—lamentation—is of no +avail, for the "grave giveth not up its dead until such a time as the +mortal shall put on immortality."</p> + +<p>The dark hearse, with its nodding plumes, bears the rich man from his +door, to a grave whose proud monument shall commemorate his life, be +its deeds good or evil. Perhaps an almost endless train of costly +equipages follow; and there are congregated many who seem to weep, but +I question if in all that splendor there lingers half the love, or +half the regret which was felt for the little one whose mournful<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> burial we have recorded; or if the +grave, with its richly wrought pile of sculptured marble, be as often +visited, and wept over, as was the low, grassy mound marked only by a +clambering rose-tree, whose pure petals, as they floated from their +stems, were symbols of the life and death of the village favorite.</p> + +<p>It was many days before the household of Deacon Gordon regained any +thing like serenity; but the business of life must go on, come what +may, and in the petty detail of domestic cares, the keenness of grief +is worn away, and a mournful pleasure mingles with memories of the +past. It was in this case as in all others; gradually it became less +painful to see everywhere around traces of the child and the sister; +they could talk of her with calmness, and recall the many pleasant +little traits of character which she had even at so early an age +exhibited. The robin that she had fed daily, came still at her +brother's call to peck daintily at the grain which he threw toward it. +The pet kitten gamboled upon the sunny porch, or peered with curious +face over the deep well, as if studying her own reflection, +unconscious that the one who had so loved to watch her ceaseless play +was gone forever. Even Mary could smile at its saucy ways; and though +the memory of her sister was ever present, she could converse without +shedding tears, of her gentleness and truth, thanking God she had been +taken from evil to come.</p> + +<p>Then she felt doubly attached to her mother. She was now the only +daughter; and though Mrs. Gordon seemed perfectly resigned, and even +cheerful, she knew that many lonely and solitary hours would come when +Mary was once more away. And James had so much to tell, for he, <i>too</i>, +was home for a few days of the spring vacation, the rest being passed +in the poor student's usual employment—school teaching. They +would wander away in the pleasant afternoon to the depths of the cool +green wood, and sit with the shadows playing about them, and the wind +whispering mystic prophecies as it wandered by, recalling for each +other the incidents of the past year, and speculating with the +hopefulness of eager youth, on the dim and unknown future.</p> + +<p>A new friend sometimes joined them in their woodland walks. The young +pastor of the village church, who had sorrowed with them at their +sister's death, and who, having made Mary's acquaintance in a time of +deep affliction, felt more drawn toward her than if he had known her +happy and cheerful for many years. Somehow they became less and less +restrained in his presence, and at last James confided to him his +hopes and prospects. Mary was not by when the disclosure was made, or +she would have blushed at her brother's enthusiastic praise of the +unwavering self-denial which had led her away from home and friends, +and made her youth a season "of toil and endeavor;" and she might have +wondered why tears came to the eyes of their friend while he listened; +and why he so earnestly besought James to improve to the utmost the +advantages thus put before him. Allan Loring was alone in the world, +and almost a stranger to the people of his charge, for he had been +scarce a twelvemonth among them. Of a proud and somewhat haughty +family, and prejudiced by education, he had in early youth looked upon +labor of the hands as a kind of degradation; but the meek and humble +faith which he taught, and which had chastened his spirit, made him +now fully appreciate the loving and faithful heart, which Mary in +every act exhibited, and he looked upon her with renewed interest when +next they met.</p> + +<p>Again the time drew near when Mary was to leave her home. A month had +passed of mingled shadow and sunshine within those dear walls. It was +hard to part with her mother, who seemed to cling more fondly than +ever to her noble-minded daughter; her father and Stephen, each in +their blunt, honest way, expressed their sorrow that the time of her +departure was so near at hand; but still Mary did not waver in her +determination, though a word from her mother would have changed the +whole color of her plans. That mother saw that for her children's sake +it was best that they should part again for a season—and she +stifled the wish to have them remain by her side. So Mary went forth +into the world once more with a stronger and bolder spirit, to brave +alike the sneers and the temptations which might there beset her +pathway; with the blessings of her parents, the thanks of an idolized +brother, and "a conscience void of offence," she could but be calmly +happy, even though surrounded by circumstances which often jarred upon +her pure and delicate nature, and which would have crushed one less +conscious of future peace and present rectitude.</p> + +<p>Beside, Mr. Loring had seemed, she knew not why, to take a deep +interest in all her movements. He had begged permission, at parting, +to write to her occasionally; and his letters, full of friendly advice +and inquiry, became a great and increasing source of pleasure. There +was nothing in them that a kind brother might not have addressed to a +young and gentle sister; and Mary's replies were dictated in the same +spirit of candor and esteem. So gradually her simple and child-like +character was unfolded to her new friend, who encouraged all that was +noble, and strove to check each lighter and vainer feeling which +sprung up in her heart. At times she wondered why one so wise and so +good should seem interested in her welfare; but gradually she ceased +to wonder why he wrote, so that his letters did not fail to reach her. +Still noisy and fatiguing labor claimed her daily care; but in the +long quiet evenings she found time for study and reflection; thus +becoming, even in that rude school, "a perfect woman, nobly planned."</p> +<br /> + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<h5>THE REWARD.</h5> + +<p>Are you fond of <i>tableaux</i>, dear readers? If so, let me finish my +simple recital by placing before you two scenes in the life of our +little heroine—something after the fashion of dissolving views.</p> + +<p>Four years had passed since first we looked in upon that quiet country +home. Four years of cheerful toil—of mingled +trial—despondency and hope to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> those who then gathered +around that blazing hearth. One, as we have seen, had been taken to a +higher mansion—others had gone forth into the world, strong only +in noble hearts, firm in the path of rectitude. We have witnessed the +commencement of the struggle, followed in part its progress—and +now let us look to its end. No, not the end—for life is ever a +struggle—there may be a cessation of care for a season, but till +the weary journey be accomplished, who shall say that all danger is +passed.</p> + +<p>It was the annual examination at one of our largest New England female +schools. The pretty seminary-building gleamed through the clustering +trees that lovingly encircled it, and its snowy pillars and +porticoes—vine-wreathed by fairy-fingers—gave it an air of +lightness and grace which village architecture rarely shows. Now the +shaded path which led to its entrance was thronged, as group after +group pressed upward. Carriages, from the simple "Rockaway" to +equipages glittering with richly plated harness, and drawn by fiery, +impatient steeds, stood thickly around. It was the festival-day of the +village, and each cottage was filled to overflowing—for +strangers from all parts of the Union were come to witness the <i>debut</i> +of the sister, the daughter, or the friend.</p> + +<p>Many were the bright eyes that scarcely closed in sleep the night +preceding this eventful anniversary. There was so much to +hope—so much to fear. "If I <i>should</i> fail," was repeated again +and again; and their hearts throbbed wildly as the signal-bell was +heard, which called them to pass the dread ordeal. Such a display of +beauty—genuine, unadorned beauty—rarely greets the eye of +man. More than a hundred young girls, from timid fifteen to more +assured one-and-twenty, robed in pure white, with tresses untortured +by the prevailing mode, decorated only by wreaths of delicate wild +flowers, or the rich coral berry of the ground-ivy, shaded by its own +dark-green leaves. A simple sash bound each rounded form, and a knot +of the same fastened the spotless dress about the throat. Then +excitement flushed the cheeks which the mountain air had already +tinged with the glow of health, and made bright eyes still brighter as +they rested on familiar faces.</p> + +<p>The exercises of the day went on, and yet those who listened and those +who spoke did not weary. The young students had won all honor to +themselves and their teachers; and as the shadows lengthened in the +grove around them, but one class remained to be approved or censured.</p> + +<p>"Now sister—there!" exclaimed a manly-looking Virginian, as the +graduates came forward to the platform. "Who is that young lady at +their head. I have tried all day to find some one that knew her, but +she seems a stranger to all."</p> + +<p>"With her hair in one plain braid, and large, full eyes? Oh, that is +Miss Gordon; she has the valedictory, though why, I'm sure I don't +know, for she has been in school but about a year, and Jenny Dowling, +my room-mate, has gone through the whole course. Miss Gordon entered +two years in advance. She was a factory girl, brother—just think +of <i>that</i>; and worked in Lowell three or four years. Miss Harrison +wished me to room with her this term—but not I; there is too +much Howard spirit in me to associate with one no better than a +servant-girl. Some of them seem to like her though; and as for the +teachers, they are quite carried away with her. Miss Harrison had the +impertinence to say to me only last week, that I would do well to take +pattern by her. Not in dress, I hope—" and the young girl's lip +curled, as she contrasted her own richly embroidered robe with the +simple muslin which Mary Gordon wore.</p> + +<p>Clayton Howard had not attended to half that his sister said, for with +low and earnest voice Mary had commenced reading the farewell address +which she, as head of her class, had been chosen to prepare in its +behalf; and his eyes were riveted on the timid but graceful girl. We +have never spoken of our heroine's personal attractions, choosing +first to display if possible, the beauty of heart and character which +her humble life exhibited. The young Southerner thought, as he eagerly +listened, that the flattered and richly attired belle of the +fashionable watering-place he had just left, was not half as worthy of +the homage which she received, as was this lowly maiden. If beauty +consists in regularity of features, Mary would have little in the eye +of those who dwell upon outline alone; but there was a high +intelligence beaming from her full, dark eyes, a sweet smile ever +playing about the small exquisitely formed mouth, and a mass of soft, +rich hair, smoothly braided back, added not a little to perfect the +contour of her queenly head.</p> + +<p>Her voice grew tremulous with deep feeling as she proceeded, her eyes +were shaded by gathering tears, and when, in behalf of those who were +about to leave this sheltered nook, she bade farewell to the +companions whose love and sympathy had made their school days +pleasant; the teachers who had been their friends as well as guides; +scarce one in that crowded hall deemed it weakness to weep with those +now parting. Never more could those cherished friends meet again; they +were going forth, each on a separate mission, and though in after +years, greetings might pass between them, the heart would be utterly +changed. The unreserved confidence, the warm affection of girlhood +passes forever away, when rude contact with the world has chilled +trust and child-like faith. And they knew this, though it was <i>felt</i> +more fully in after years.</p> + +<p>But tears were dried, as the enthusiasm which lighted the face of the +reader—as her topic turned to their future life—was +communicated to those who listened. She spoke to her classmates of the +duties which devolved on them as women; of the strength which they +should gather in life's sunshine, for the storm and the trial which +<i>would</i> come. That their part in life was to shed a hallowed but +<i>unseen</i> influence over its strife and discord—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Sitting by the fireside of the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Feeding it flames."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"In that stillness which best becomes a woman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calm and holy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And when she ceased, and the gathered crowd turned slowly from the +threshold, many hearts—beating in proud and manly +bosoms—felt stronger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> and purer for the words they had that +hour listened to, from one who, young as she was, had learned to +think, and to act, with a sound judgment, and bold independence in the +cause of truth, which shamed them in their vacillation.</p> + +<p>Young Howard was leaning behind a vine-wreathed pillar, to watch the +one in whom he had that day become strangely interested. His heart +beat fast as she approached his hiding-place, and then sunk within +him, as he noted the warm blush which stole over her face, as two +gentlemen, whom he had not before noticed, came to greet her.</p> + +<p>"Dear sister," said one, kissing her burning cheek, "have I not reason +to be proud of you."</p> + +<p>The other, older by ten years than the first speaker, grasped the hand +which she timidly extended to him, and whispered, "I, too, am proud of +my future wife."</p> + +<p>Howard did not hear the words, but the look which accompanied that +warm pressure of the hand did not escape him. It destroyed at once +hopes, which he had not dreamed before were fast rising in his breast, +and he turned almost sadly away from that happy group to join his +sister.</p> + +<p>"See," said the young girl, as she took his arm, "there is Mr. Loring, +one of the finest-looking men I know of, and belongs to as proud +family as any in Boston, yet he is going to throw himself away on Mary +Gordon. To be sure he is only a poor country clergyman, but he might +do better if he chose, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Her brother thought <i>that</i> was hardly possible, though he did not say +so; neither did he add—lest he should vex his foolishly +aristocratic sister—that but for Mr. Loring the chances were +that she would be called upon, so far as his inclinations were +concerned, to receive Miss Gordon not as a room-mate, but as a sister, +before the year was ended.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> + +<h5>THE BRIDE AND THE WIFE.</h5> + +<p>A stranger would have asked the reason of the commotion in the +village, though every one of its inhabitants, from highest to lowest, +knew that it was the morning of their pastor's bridal. None, not even +the oldest and gravest of the community, wondered—or shook their +heads in disapprobation of the choice. They had known Mary Gordon from +her earliest childhood—they saw her now an earnest and +thoughtful woman, with a heart to plan kind and charitable deeds, and +a hand that did not pause in their execution. They knew, moreover, +that for two years she had refused to take new vows upon herself +because she felt that her mother needed her care; but now that health +once more reigned in the good deacon's dwelling, she was this day to +become a wife, and leave her father's roof, for a new home and more +extended duty.</p> + +<p>Again we look upon the village church, but it is no mournful +procession that passes up its shaded aisles. There are white-robed +maidens thronging around, and men with sun-burned faces. Children, +too, scarce large enough to grasp the flowers which they tear from the +shrubs that climb to the very windows of the sanctuary; and through +the crowd comes the bridal train. Mary Gordon, leaning upon the arm of +her betrothed, is more beautiful than ever, for a quiet dignity is now +added to the grace that ever marked her footsteps; and he, in the +pride of his manhood, looks with pride and tenderness upon her.</p> + +<p>The deacon is there, with his heavy, good-natured face, lighted by an +expression of profound content; and his wife is by his side, looking +less calm and placid than usual, though she is very happy. It may be +that she fears for her daughter's future welfare, though that can +scarcely be when the dearest wish of her heart is about to be +fulfilled; or, perhaps, as her eye wanders from the gay group around +her, it rests upon a little grassy mound not far away, and she is +thinking of one who would have been the fairest and the best beloved +of all.</p> + +<p>Stephen seemed to feel a little out of place, as he stood there with a +gay, laughter-loving maiden clinging to his arm; but the happiest of +all, if we may judge from the exterior, was James; arrived but the +night before, after an absence of nearly two years. He had just been +admitted to the bar, and Mr. Hall, who was present at the examination, +said it was rare to meet with a young man of so much promise, and +knowing his untiring industry, he had little doubt of his success in +after life. So James—now a manly-looking fellow of +three-and-twenty—was, after the bride, the observed of all +observers; and not a few of the bride's white-robed attendants put on +their most witching smile when he addressed them.</p> + +<p>Despite of all the sunshine and festivity at a bridal, there is to me +more of solemnity, almost sadness, in the scene than in any other we +are called upon to witness, save that more mournful rite, when dust is +returned to dust. There is a young and often thoughtless maiden, +taking upon herself vows which but few understand, in the depth of +their import, vows lasting as life, and on the full performance of +them depends, in a great measure, the joy or misery of her future +years. Then, too, in her trust and innocence, she does not dream that +change can come, that the loved one will ever be less considerate, +less tender, than at the present hour. True, she has been told that it +may be so—but the thought is not harbored for an instant. "He +never could speak coldly or unkindly to me," she murmurs, as eyes +beaming with deep affection meet her own. Then, too, the proud man +that stands beside her, may be but taking that gentle flower to his +bosom, to cast it aside when its perfume may have become less +grateful—leaving it crushed and faded; or, worse still—and +still more improbable, though it is sometimes so—there may be +poison lurking in the seemingly pure blossom, that will sting and +embitter his future life. Oh, that woman should ever prove false to +the vow of her girlhood!</p> + +<p>All these thoughts, I say, and many more scarcely less sorrowful, come +to my mind when I look upon a bridal; and tears will start, unbidden +it is true, when the faces of those around are radiant with<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> smiles. But perhaps few have +learned with me the truthful lesson of the poet—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Things that are made to fade, and fade away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How could I call up such a train of sombre thought when speaking of +Mary Gordon's marriage? None doubted her husband's truth, her own deep +devotion, as they crowded around when the simple rite was ended to +congratulate them, and breathe a fervent wish that their joy might +increase as the years of their life rolled onward. They went forth +from that quiet church with new and strange feelings springing up, and +as Mary looked upon the throng who still reiterated their friendly +wishes, she felt an inward consciousness that God had blessed and +sustained her through those years of trial and probation.</p> + +<p>"Who <i>would have thought</i> that the deacon's Mary would ever have grown +up such a fine woman?" said Aunty Gould, as she wiped her spectacles +upon the corner of her new gingham apron. "The deacon himself ain't +got much sperit in him, and as for <i>Miss Gordon</i>, I don't believe she +ever whipped one of them children in her life. She always let 'em have +their own way a great deal too much to suit me. Jest think of her +letting Mary go off to Lowell, in the midst of that city of iniquity, +and stay three or four years, jest because James must be college +larned. As if it warn't as respectable to stay to home and be a +farmer, as his father and his grandfather was before him. I haven't +much 'pinion of <i>him</i>, but Stephen Gordon is going to make the man. +Steddy and industrious a'most as the deacon himself."</p> + +<p>So we see the differences of opinion which exist in the narrowest +community; for Mrs. Hall, as she turned toward her own bright home, +said to her husband that Mary Gordon was a pattern to the young girls +now growing up in the village. But for her honest independence and +hardihood in braving the opinion of the world, her family might have +been living without education, and without refinement. Now she had won +for herself the love of a noble heart—could see her brother +successful through her efforts, and knew that their parents were happy +in feeling that they were so. "She has been the sun of that +household," replied her husband, "and I doubt not will ever be the +happiness of her own."</p> + +<p>They were sitting alone—the newly made husband and wife—on +the eve of their marriage-day. They were in their home, which was +henceforth to be the scene of all their love and labors. The last kind +friend had gone, and for the first time that day they could feel the +calm, unclouded serenity which the end of a long and often wearisome +toil had brought.</p> + +<p>The moonlight trembled through the shaded casement, and surrounded as +with a halo the sweet, serious face that looked out upon the night; +and far around, even to the rugged mountains that rose as sentinels +over the green valley, earth and air were bathed in that pure and +tender radiance. The flowering shrubs that twined about the little +porch seemed to give forth a more delicious perfume than when scorched +by the sun's warm kiss. The neighboring orchards almost bending +beneath the clusters of buds and blossoms that covered the green +boughs, waved gently in the light breeze that showered the sunny +petals as it passed upon the freshly springing grass beneath. The low +cry of the whippo-wil came now and then from a far-off wood; save +that, and the rustle of the vines clinging about the casement, no +sound broke the sabbath-like repose. The church—scarce a stone's +throw from the little parsonage—stood boldly relieved by the +dark trees which rose beside it; and not far away—not too far +for them to see by day the loved forms of its inmates—they could +distinguish the sloping roofs and brown walls of Mary's early home.</p> + +<p>The young bride turned from the scene without, and when she looked up +into her husband's face he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"Are you not happy, my Mary?" said he, as he drew her more closely to +his bosom.</p> + +<p>"Happy! oh, only too happy!" was the murmured response, as he kissed +the tears away. "I was but thinking of my past life; how strange it +seems that I should have been so prompted, so guided through all. +Then, stranger than the rest that you should love one so humble, so +ignorant as myself. I may tell you now—now that I am your own +true wife, how your love has been the happiness of many years. Ere I +dared to hope that your letters breathed more than a friendly +interest—and believe me I would not indulge the thought for an +instant until you had given me the right so to do—though the +wish would for an instant flit across my mind—I knew that one +less wise, less noble than yourself would never gain the deep +affection of my heart. I almost felt that I could live through life +without dearer ties, if so you would always watch my path with +interest, awarding, as then, praise and blame.</p> + +<p>"But, strange as it may seem, you did love me through all, deeply, +devotedly. Oh, what is there in me to deserve such affection! and when +I read those blessed words—'I love you, <i>Mary</i>, have loved you +from an early period of our correspondence,' it seemed as if my heart +were breaking with the excess of wild happiness which rushed like a +flood upon it. How could you love me? what was there in me to create +such an emotion?"</p> + +<p>Allan Loring thought that the wife was far more beautiful than the +maiden, as she stood encircled by his arms, gazing with deep +earnestness, as if she would read his very soul.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you all there is in you to love and admire," said he, +tenderly, "and, indeed, my little wife would blush too deeply at a +recital of her own merits and graces. But this I now recall, that the +first emotion of deep interest which I felt for you, arose as I +listened to your brother's recital of your wonderful self-denial, and +persevering effort for his sake. I saw, young as you were, the germ of +a high and noble nature, best developed, believe me, in the rough and +untoward circumstances by which you were surrounded. I wrote to you at +first, thinking, perhaps, to aid you in the struggle for knowledge and +truth; and as your mind and heart were laid open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> before me, how +could I help loving the guileless sincerity which every act exhibited.</p> + +<p>I knew that the good sister, the affectionate child, could but make a +true and gentle wife. So I thought myself fortunate, beyond my own +hopes even, when I found you could grant me the only boon I asked, a +deep and steadfast affection."</p> + +<p>What heart is there that would not have been satisfied with such +praise; and who, witnessing the calm spirit of content which animated +both the husband and the wife, could have prophesied evil as the +result of such a union.</p> + +<p>We might follow our heroine still farther—might show her to you +as the companion and assistant in her husband's labors of love, as he +fulfilled the high mission to which he had been appointed—as the +mother, training her little ones to usefulness and honor. But we will +leave her now, assured that whatever storms may cloud the unshadowed +morn of her wedded life—and all know that in this existence no +home, however lofty or lowly, is exempt from suffering and +trial—she bore a talisman to pass through all +unscathed—strength, gained by patient endurance, and the +knowledge of duties rightly performed.</p> + +<p>It may be, dear lady—you who are now glancing idly over these +pages—that you are surrounded by every luxury wealth can +command. You are lounging, perhaps, upon a softly cushioned divan, +with tiny, slippered feet half buried in the glowing carpet. There are +brilliants blazing upon the delicate hand which shields your face from +the warm sunlight, and as you glance around, a costly mirror reveals +at full length your graceful and yielding form.</p> + +<p>"I have no interest in such as these," you say, as the simple +narrative is ended.</p> + +<p>I pray, in truth, that you may never learn the harsh lessons of +adversity; but remember, as you enjoy the elegancies of a luxurious +home, that change comes to all when least expected. And if misfortune +should not spare even one so young and so beautiful; if poverty or +desolation overshadow the household, it may be your part to sustain +and to strengthen, not only by words, but by deeds. Well rewarded +should I feel, if words from this pen could aid in removing one pang, +could give a tithe of the strength of mind and heart such a lesson +would call forth. God shield you, dear lady; but if the storm come, +<i>remember that honest labor elevates rather than degrades</i>; and those +whose opinions are of value will not hesitate to confirm the truth of +the moral.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LINES_TO_mdash" id="LINES_TO_mdash"></a>LINES TO ——.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY W. HORRY STILWELL.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A sister's love I did not ask from thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though that were much—oh, more than earth hath given;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None live to bear that gentle name for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though one may lisp it now, perchance, in Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not even, for I never felt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The quiet yearnings of such love as this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou should'st have known a deeper feeling dwelt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the rapt glow of that impassioned kiss!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I had no wish a <i>brother's</i> love to share"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I did not read thy features dreamingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And peer into thine eye's deep azure, there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Searching <i>another's</i> depths, in revery!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did not press, all passionless, thy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or idly dally with thy taper finger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or coldly gaze, for I could not withstand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The high and holy hope which bade me linger!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was not thinking of <i>another</i> then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In thy sweet face her features imaging,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracing each thought-print o'er them—watching when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope's earnest breathings to my lips might spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor this—nor fame—though her ascending star<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might shed its glory in a halo o'er me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No thought like this, that moment, rose to mar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The vision that in beauty stood before me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But it was marr'd, for even then the feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came o'er me, that thou never couldst be mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the cloud of sadness, gently stealing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a dim shadow o'er that brow of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I read my destiny. Oh! life can bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No darker doom—no wo that may inherit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So much of bitterness—no rack to ring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With deeper agony, my fainting spirit.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To dwell, in thought, upon one image still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till it becomes a portion of our being,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath fix'd its features in the eye, until<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It hath become a part of sight—thus seeing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even in tree, and rock, and rill, and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A form of borrow'd beauty, and a spell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit of unspeakable heart—power—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To move the waters in our soul's deep well!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till every thought, that like a wavelet, breaks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the surface of life's charmed pool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling instinctively, unbidden, takes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Form, hue, direction, from that magic rule!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is it but the yearning of the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toward one allied to it by heavenly birth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeking to unite, blend, melt the whole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into one miracle of love on earth!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such have my feelings been—thy soul to mine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came robed in radiance of such heavenly hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit clasped it as a thing divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And while I dreamed they into oneness grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I suddenly awaked, to know that vision<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had not appeared to any one but me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why did I learn, waked from that dream elysian,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sister's love was all I shared with thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DOUBLE_TRANSFORMATION" id="THE_DOUBLE_TRANSFORMATION"></a>THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY JAMES K. PAULDING, AUTHOR OF THE "DUTCHMAN'S FIRESIDE," ETC.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + + +<p>There was no inhabitant of all the East more favored by nature and by +fortune than Adakar, son of Benhadad, of the famous city of Damascus, +which Musselmen call the Paradise of the earth. He was young, rich, +and beautiful; and being early left without parents, had run the race +of sensual pleasures by the time his beard was grown. He became sated +with enjoyment, and now passed much of his time in a spacious garden +which belonged to him, through which the little river Barady, which +flows from Mount Hermon, meandered among beds of flowers, and groves +of oranges, pomegranates, and citrons, whose mingled odors perfumed +the surrounding air.</p> + +<p>Here he would recline on a sofa in listless apathy, or peevish +discontent, sometimes half dozing, and, at others, inwardly +complaining of the lot of man, which seemed to have ordained that the +possession of that wealth which it is said can purchase all which is +necessary to human enjoyment, should yet be incapable of conferring +happiness. He became the victim of spleen and disappointment; and as +he watched the butterflies flitting gayly about among the groves and +beds of many-colored flowers, sipping their sweets, without labor or +satiety, he often wished that he was like them gifted with wings to +cut the trackless regions of the air, and freed from all the miseries +of disappointed hope, inflamed imagination, and memory, which too +often brings with it nothing but the sting of remorse. By degrees he +rendered himself still more miserable by envying the happiness of +these gilded epicures, and it became the dearest wish of his heart to +become a butterfly, that he might pass his life among the flowers, and +banquet on their sweets like them.</p> + +<p>One day as he sat buried in these contemplations, his attention was +attracted by a butterfly more beautiful than any he had ever seen +before. Its body was of imperial purple, glossy and soft as velvet; +its eyes shone like the diamonds of Golconda; its wings were of the +color of the deep blue skies of Damascus, sprinkled with glittering +stars; its motions were swift and graceful beyond all others, and it +seemed to revel in the bliss of the dewy roses and honeysuckles, with +a zest which made Adakar only repine the more, that he had lost the +capacity of enjoyment by abusing the bounties of fortune.</p> + +<p>"Allah!" exclaimed he, "if I were only that butterfly!" At that moment +the luxurious vagrant, in the midst of its careless sports, and +voluptuous banquet, became entangled in a web woven by a great black +spider, which sat with eager impatience waiting until it had wound +itself into the toils by its fruitless exertions, that he might seize +and devour his prey. The heart of Adakar melted with pity; starting up +from the spot where he was reclining, he gently seized the little +glittering captive and rescued it from the fangs of the spider, which +at the same instant disappeared among the foliage of the orange trees.</p> + +<p>Adakar sat down with the butterfly in his hand, and was contemplating +its beautiful colors with increasing envy as well as admiration, when +he thought he heard a low silvery whisper come from he knew not +whither. He gazed around wistfully, but could see no tiny thing but +the little captive in his hand, and was about setting it free, when +another whisper, more distinct met his ear. "Adakar," it seemed to +say, "thou hast saved me from the jaws of a devouring monster. I am a +fairy transformed for a time by the malice of a wicked enchanter, and +fairies are never ungrateful. Ask what thou wilt and it shall be +granted. Wealth thou hast already more than enough. Thou art in the +enjoyment of youth, beauty and a distinguished name, for thou art +descended from the Prophet, and wearest the green turban. Dost thou +wish to be any thing more? If so thou hast only to ask and it shall be +given thee."</p> + +<p>"Make me a butterfly like thee!" exclaimed Adakar with eager +impetuosity; and at one and the same moment the butterfly disappeared, +while he became transformed into its likeness.</p> + +<p>At first his astonishment rendered him incapable of estimating the +immediate consequences of the change, and he remained on the spot +where it was accomplished, until seeing the great black spider +cautiously emerging from his retreat and coming toward him, he spread +his glittering wings, and mounting over the tops of the minarets of +Damascus, at length settled down among the flowery meadows that +environ the city. Here, for a time, he was delighted with his change +of being, and eagerly enjoyed the freedom of thus roaming at will, and +sipping the flowery banquet. But while he was thus solacing himself, a +little boy, who had approached unseen, suddenly covered him with his +cap, and he became a prisoner. The boy was however greatly puzzled to +secure his prey, and while slipping his hand under the cap, raised it +sufficiently to permit Adakar to escape.</p> + +<p>From this time Adakar encountered unceasing perils from wanton boys, +who sought the meadows to sport or gather flowers, and soon learned +that his safety depended on perpetual watchfulness. If he lighted on a +flower he felt his heart beating least some secret enemy was near, and +the honeyed dew, sweet as it was, became embittered by the +apprehension of being caught at the banquet. In short, he lived in +continual terror, and soon learned from experience that a life of fear +is one of unceasing misery. Every living thing that approached was an +object of dismay, and at length Adakar, who, though trans<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>formed in appearance, was not +divested of the consciousness of his identity, resolved to leave the +haunts of men, for the purpose of seeking refuge in some unfrequented +solitude, where he might repose in peace, enjoy his freedom and his +flowers, and spread his gilded wings without the great drawback of +perpetual apprehension.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, he once more mounted high into the air, and spreading his +silken wings directed his course toward Mount Horeb, at the foot of +which lies the city of Damascus, in whose deep recesses he sought to +escape from the dangers that beset him in the neighborhood of man. +Here he sported among the flowers that nodded over the precipices +which border the little river Barady, as it plunges its way through +the gorges of the mountain.</p> + +<p>"Here," thought he, "I shall surely be safe, since the foot of man can +never reach these inaccessible cliffs." Scarcely, however, had the +thought passed over his mind, when hearing a whistling noise in the +air, he cast his eyes fearfully upward and perceived a bird darting +toward him with such inconceivable swiftness, that he had scarcely +time to shelter himself from its talons by crouching into a hole in +the rock, where he remained throbbing with fear, not daring to look +out to see whether his enemy was still on the watch.</p> + +<p>"There is no safety for me here," exclaimed Adakar, who at length +gathered sufficient courage to look out from his retreat, and seeing +the bird had disappeared, once more flitted away. He visited the +recesses of the forest, the cultivated plains, and the solitudes of +the desert, but wherever he went he found enemies watching to make him +their prey, and his life was only one long series of that persecution +which strength ever wages against unresisting weakness. "What," +thought he, "is the use of my wings, since they only enable me to +encounter new dangers, and to what purpose do I sip the dews of the +opening flowers, when death is every moment staring me in the face, +and enemies beset me on every side? O, that I were a man again; I +would willingly resign the unbounded freedom I enjoy, for that slavery +which is accompanied by security."</p> + +<p>Thus he continued to become every day more discontented with his lot, +until by degrees the autumn came, and the flowers withered and died. +The frosts, too, began to shed their hoary lustre over the green +fields that gradually changed their hue to that of melancholy brown, +and Adakar became pinched with both hunger and cold. The brilliant +colors of his body and wings faded, as if in sympathy with the waning +beauties of nature; his strength and activity yielded to the approach +of expiring weakness; he had provided neither food nor shelter against +the coming winter; and once more death stared him in the face with an +aspect more dreary and terrible than it had ever presented before. The +bare earth afforded no shelter, and the withered fields no food. "O," +thought he, as he felt himself dying, "O, that the fairy would once +more change me into a man!"</p> + +<p>He had scarcely uttered these words when he found himself transformed +according to his wish, and the fairy butterfly once more in his place.</p> + +<p>"Adakar," said she, in her whispering, silvery voice, "thou hast first +played the butterfly as a man, and now as an insect. In both +situations thou didst pursue the same course. As a man thou livedst +only for the present moment, regardless of the consequences of +reveling in perpetual sweets, without looking to the period when the +frosts of age would chill thy imagination, and the ice of winter +freeze up thy capacity for those enjoyments of sense which constituted +thy sole happiness, if happiness it may be called. As a butterfly thou +didst sport through the spring-time and summer without for a moment +thinking of providing food and refuge against the wintry barrenness +and wintry cold. Thou hast learned that the beings which live in air, +sport among gardens, groves, and flowers, and traverse the climes of +the earth at will, are not necessarily happier than man, since they +live in perpetual fear. Be wiser in future. Be content with thy lot, +assured that the only way to be happy in this and every other state of +existence, is to use the blessings bestowed on us by a beneficent +Providence with sober moderation, and share them among others with a +chastened liberality. Thou hast been a benefactor to me, and I have +repaid the obligation by enabling thee thus to learn wisdom from +bitter experience. The lesson has been dearly bought, but is fully +worth the price. Go, and be thankful that thou wast created a man +instead of a butterfly."</p> + +<p>The fairy disappeared, and Adakar took his way toward Damascus, where +his appearance caused great surprise, most especially to a hump-backed +cousin, who had taken possession of his estate, after having convinced +the bashaw of Damascus, by twelve purses of gold, that he was +certainly dead. Adakar was obliged to appeal to the bashaw for the +restoration of his property, but failed to establish his identity. He +could only account for his absence by relating his transformation into +a butterfly, of which the bashaw, being blinded to the truth by the +glitter of gold, would not believe one word. He decreed the estate to +the cousin, and consoled the other for his loss by inflicting the +bastinado. Adakar passed several years as a water-carrier, until the +benevolent fairy, finding that he had completed the circle of his +experience by drinking at both extremes of the fountain, wrought a +second transformation, by which Adakar became changed into the +likeness of his cousin, and the latter into that of Adakar, who thus +regained his estate at the expense of his beauty. He became a wise as +well as a good man; and devoting himself to the study of philosophy, +wrote a famous treatise, in which he clearly demonstrated that men +were at least as well off in this world as butterflies.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CINCINNATI" id="CINCINNATI"></a>CINCINNATI.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY FAYETTE ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES," ETC.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>When Columbus discovered the new world, he was in search of a western +route to Cathay and India, whence he expected to bring back, if not +treasures of gold and gems, intelligence of the wonderful land Marco +Polo had described. It was not until long after the discovery of the +continents of North and South America, that it was ascertained that a +new region, broad as the Atlantic, lay between the ocean and the +Indian Sea, as the Pacific was then called. So deep-rooted was this +belief that the French colonists in Canada, long after they had begun +to be formidable to their English and Hollandish neighbors, in spite +of many disappointments, followed the tracery of the Ohio and +Mississippi in the full confidence that this mighty current could end +only in the Western Sea. They could not realize that nature in America +had always acted on a grander scale than they were used to, and would +have laughed, if told that not far above the mouth of the Ohio was +another great artery which, by its tributaries, watered one valley, +the superfices of which was larger than all Europe.</p> + +<p>They, with their limited views, were the discoverers to Europe of the +<i>Ohio</i>, which, in the language of the tribe that dwelt on the bank +from which the white man first beheld it, signified <i>Beautiful Water</i>. +This the French translated into their own language, and by the term of +<i>La Belle River</i> it was long known in the histories of the Jesuit and +Franciscan missions, which, until the land the Ohio watered became the +property of the second North American race, were its only chronicles. +Not until a later day did it become known to the English colonists, +and then so slightly, that even in the reign of Charles II. authority +was given to the English governor of Virginia, Sir William Berkeley, +to create an hereditary order of knighthood, with high privileges and +brilliant insignia, eligibility to which depended on the aspirant +having crossed the Alleghany Ridge, and added something to the stock +of intelligence of the region beyond, the title to all of which had +been conferred by royal patent on the colony at Jamestown.</p> + +<p>Possessed of Canada, with strongly defended positions at Fort Duquesne +(Pittsburg) and Fort Chartres, near the confluence of the Ohio and +Mississippi, with the even then important city of New Orleans, the +wily statesmen of the reign of Louis XIV. conceived the plan of +enclosing the English colonies in a network of fortifications, and +ultimately of controlling the continent. So cherished was this policy +that treaties made in Europe between the crowns of France and England +never extended their influence to America, and for almost a century +continued a series of contests, during which Montcalm, de Levi, Wolf +and Braddock distinguished themselves and died. The result is well +known, Canada became English, the northern point <i>d'appui</i> of the +system was lost, and the Ohio was no longer under their control. This +prologue to the beautiful engraving of Cincinnati is given because, +though Pittsburg and Louisville are important cities, Cincinnati is +the undoubted queen of the river.</p> + +<p>It was not, however, until the war of the Revolution that serious +attention was generally directed to the Ohio, for the brilliant +expedition of Clarke against Kaskaskia (which is almost unknown, +though in difficulty and daring it far exceeded Arnold's against +Quebec,) was purely military. Immediately on the termination of the +war, emigrants began to hurry to the Ohio, and by one of the hardiest +of these, Cincinnati was commenced in 1789. By the gradual influx of +population into the west Cincinnati throve, and soon became the chief +city of the region.</p> + +<p>For a long while Cincinnati was merely the depot of the Indians and +fur trade, the most valuable of the products of which required to be +transported across the mountains and through forests to the seaboard. +At that time Cincinnati presented a strange appearance; the houses +were of logs, and here and there through the broad streets its +founders so providentially prepared, were seen the hunter, in his +leathern jerkin, the Indian warrior in full paint, and the husbandman +returning home from his labors. Almost from the establishment of the +northwest territory Cincinnati had been the home of the governor; and +it was the residence of St. Clair, long the only delegate in congress +of the whole northwest—a wilderness then, but now teeming with +three million of men, and sending to Washington thirty-four +representatives.</p> + +<p>Cincinnati was the <i>point de depart</i> of many of the expeditions +against the Indians between the revolution and the war of 1812. When +that war broke out it acquired new importance. Military men replaced +the hunter and Indian, and every arrival brought a reinforcement of +troops. From it Taylor and Croghan marched with Gen. Harrison +northward, and to it the victorious army returned from the Thames. +When peace returned, a new activity was infused into Cincinnati; the +vast disbursements made by the government had attracted thither many +adventurers. Then commenced the era of bateau navigation, and the +advent of a peculiar race of men, of whom now no trace remains. Rude +boats were built and freighted with produce, which descended the river +to New Orleans, where the cargo was disposed of, and the boat itself +broken up and sold. The crew, after a season of dissipation, returned +homeward by land, through the country inhabited by the Chactas and +Chickasas, and the yet wilder region infested by thieves and pirates. +It was no uncommon thing for the boatmen never to return. Exposure +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>to danger made them reckless; and they were often seen floating +down the bosom of the stream, with the violin sounding merrily, but +with their rifles loaded, and resting against the gunwales, ready to +be used whenever an emergency arose. All the west even now rings with +traditions of the daring of this race; and the traveler on the waters +of the west often has pointed out to him the scene of their bloody +contests and quarrels.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus423.png" width="600" height="470" +alt="VIEW OF CINCINNATI OHIO" title="" /></div> +<h4>VIEW OF CINCINNATI OHIO.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The era of steam began, and this state of things passed away. The +mighty discovery of Fulton created yet more activity in the west; and +a current of trade, second in importance to none on the continent, +except, perhaps, those of New York and Philadelphia, sprung from it. +As the States of Kentucky and Ohio began to fill up, the farmers and +planters crowded to Cincinnati with their produce, and the character +of the population changed. The day of the voyageur was gone, and lines +of steamboats crowded its wharf. The peculiar character of the country +around it, teeming with the sustenance for animals and grazing, made +it the centre of a peculiar business which, unpoetical as it may seem, +doubled every year, until in 1847 it amounted to more than the value +of the cotton crop of the whole Atlantic frontier.</p> + +<p>Other branches of industry also grew up. Ship-yards lined the banks of +the river, and more than one stately vessel has first floated on the +bosom of the Ohio, in front of Cincinnati, been freighted at its +wharves, and sailed thence to the ocean, never again to return to the +port of its construction.</p> + +<p>Long before the reign of merchant princes began, stately churches, +colleges, and commodious dwellings had arisen, and replaced the hut of +the early settlers, so that Cincinnati, with the exception of +Philadelphia, is become the most regular and beautiful city of the +Union. The scene of the accumulation of large fortunes, cultivation +has followed in their train, so that it is difficult for one who first +visits it from the east to realize that he is seven hundred miles from +the seaboard.</p> + +<p>Fulton had by his discovery overcome the difficulties of +communication, and opened a market for its immense products; but yet +another discovery was to contribute to its prosperity. By means of the +magnetic telegraph communication between the seaboard of the Atlantic +and the lakes is more easy than between New York and Brooklyn, and +with the whole west Cincinnati has acquired new importance. It can not +but continue to advance and acquire yet more influence than now it +has.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CLEOPATRA" id="CLEOPATRA"></a>CLEOPATRA.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enchantress queen! whose empire of the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sovereign sway o'er sea and land extended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose peerless, haunting charms, and syren art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Won from the imperial Cæsar conquests splendid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rome sent her thousands forth, and foreign powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poured in thy woman's hand an empire's treasures;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was <i>Fate</i> beside thee in those gorgeous hours<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When monarchs knelt, slaves to thy merest pleasures?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When but a gesture of thy royal hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was to the proud Triumvirs a command.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, bright Egyptian Queen! thy day is past<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the young Cæsar—lo! the spell is broken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy all-radiant beauty o'er him cast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eye is cold—wo! for thy grief unspoken!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thy proud features wear a mask, which tells<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How true thou art to thy commanding nature:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more, in all thy wild bewildering spells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou standest robed and crowned, imperial creature:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy royal barge is on the sunny sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! sceptered queen—goest thou victoriously?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But hark! a trumpet's thrilling call "to arms!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the soft sounds of lute and lyre ringeth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubt not thy matchless sovereignty of charms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But haste—the victor of Philippi bringeth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His shielded warriors and lords renowned—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With spear and princely crest they come to meet thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed for triumph, and with laurels crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How will their stern and haughty leader treat thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He comes to conquer—lo! on bended knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spell-bound Roman pleads, and yields to thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once more the world is thine. Exultingly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy beautiful and stately head is lifted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lives but in thy smile—proud Antony—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crowned of empire—he, the grandly gifted.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spoils of nations at thy feet are laid—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wealth of kingdoms for thy favor scattered:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! Syren of the Nile! thy love has made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The royal Roman's ruin! crowns were shattered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kingdoms lost. Fame, honor, glory, power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were playthings given to grace thy triumph-hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Another change!—the last for thee, doomed queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now calmly on thine ivory couch reclining—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The impassioned glow hath left thy marble mien—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And from thine night-black eyes hath past the shining.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But <i>still</i> a queen! that brow, so icy cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its diadem of starry jewels beareth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robed in the royal purple, and the gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No conqueror's chain that form imperial beareth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grace <i>Death's</i> triumph was but left for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daughter of Afric, by the asp set free!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS" id="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>An Universal History of the Most Remarkable Events of All Nations, +from the Earliest Period to the Present Time, forming a Complete +History of the World. Vol.</i> 1. <i>Ancient History. William H. Graham: +New York.</i></p></div> + +<p>This is one of the most useful works now issuing from the American +press. Its publication has been commenced in this country somewhat in +advance of the London and Leipsic editions, which have been previously +advertised; thus securing an immediate circulation in the three great +reading nations of the world. The entire work will embrace about +twenty numbers, appearing at intervals of a month. The first four of +these, two numbers of which are before us, are devoted to Ancient +History, extending to the Fall of the Roman Empire.</p> + +<p>No province of literature has been so modified by the vast increase of +books as the writing of History. While the republican idea, which has +struck such deep root into the world's politics, seems to tend toward +an equalization of human intellect, it has, perhaps, made the deeps of +thought shallower, and weakened the concentration and devotion of mind +which marked the scholars of former centuries. The fields of +knowledge, once but a small manor, have broadened into a kingdom; and, +grasping at total possession, men prefer the shortest and easiest ways +of obtaining it. Works of the imagination, and fictions, illustrative +of life and society, which are now multiplied to an indefinite extent, +unfit the common mind for those grave and serious studies which were +once almost the only road to literary distinction.</p> + +<p>The consequence of this is, that books are written with a view to +their being <i>read</i>; and where the subject is addressed to the +understanding alone, polished and classic language, or more frequently +an assumed peculiarity of style, is used to hold the ear captive, and +through it the intellect. The modern writers of history especially, +seize upon scenes and situations which involve strong dramatic effect, +endeavoring, as it were, to reproduce the past, by painting its events +with the most vivid colors of description. They do not give the +polished, stately <i>bas-reliefs</i> of the old historians, but glowing +<i>pictures</i>, perhaps less distinct in their outlines, but conveying a +stronger impression of real life. The works of Prescott, (who has +maintained, however, a happy medium between these styles,) Michelet, +Lamartine, and Carlyle, furnish striking examples of this.</p> + +<p>The present work fills a blank which has long existed among historical +works—that of a Universal History, which, embracing the +prominent events of all ages, placed before the reader in a clear and +comprehensive arrangement, shall yet be so simple and brief as to +command the perusal of the great laboring classes, who would shrink +from the study of Rollin or Rotteck, as a task too serious to be +undertaken. The abridgment of Schlosser's "Weltgeschichte," which we +believe has never been translated, contains these qualifications in an +eminent degree; yet its high philosophical tone is rather adapted to +the scholar than the general reader. Gibbon's great work, from its +magnificence of language, long retained a place in popular favor, and +will always be read by the diligent historical student, but of late +years it has ceased to be in common use. Our knowledge of ancient +history has been wonderfully extended by the study of the modern +Asiatic languages, and the restoration of tongues, which had been +forgotten for centuries, and the Roman Empire, which once included in +its history that of the greater part of the ancient world, is almost +equaled in interest and importance by the records of Egypt, India, +and China. What is wanted, therefore, is a concise abstract, which +shall embody the labor of all former histories and the discoveries of +modern research.</p> + +<p>The author of this work, judging from that portion of it already +published, is equal to this task. He comes to it prepared by twenty +years of study, and a familiar acquaintance with all the necessary +authorities, not only those to whom we look for the solid record of +fact, but those who have gone beneath the surface of events, and +tracked the source of political convulsions by a thousand pulses back +to the hidden heart of some great principle. This Philosophy of +History, which has become almost a distinct branch of literature, +gives vitality to the narrative, by leading us to causes which may +still exist; thus connecting our interest in the Present with the fate +of the Past. In this country, where every man is more or less a +political philosopher, a history possessing merit of this character, +is likely to become exceedingly popular.</p> + +<p>The utility of the present work to the general reader is greatly +increased by the geographical and statistical accounts of the +countries, which are given in connection with their history. In fact, +some knowledge of their physical character, climate, and productions +is necessary to a comprehensive idea of the people who sprung up and +flourished upon them. These descriptions would become still more +valuable if they were accompanied with maps; and we would suggest that +this defect be remedied, if possible, in the succeeding numbers.</p> + +<p>The author has chosen the epistolary form, as combining ease of style +with a certain familiar license of language, and therefore better +adapted for popular instruction. Commencing at the traditionary period +from which we date the origin of man, he describes the gradual +formation of society, and marks out the first broad divisions of the +race from which sprung the great empires of Egypt and the East. The +geographical account of these countries is extended and complete, +embracing also a graphic view of their modern condition. We notice +that in common with several distinguished German historians, the +author gives to the Hindoos the distinction of being the earliest race +of men. "Above all the historical records of other nations," says he, +"the Hindoos have brought forth the best evidence of the highest +antiquity, and the earliest civilization. Therefore the supposition of +those may be correct, who presume that man's first abode was somewhere +in the neighborhood of the Himalaya mountains, which are the most +stupendous on the globe."</p> + +<p>The two remaining numbers devoted to Ancient History, will bring us +down to A. D. 476. The author dedicates his work to M. A. Thiers, as +the "orator, statesman, historian, and friend of liberty."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Lectures on Shakspeare. By H. N. Hudson. New York: +Baker & Scribner</i>. 2 <i>vols</i>. 12<i>mo</i>.</p></div> + +<p>We suppose that few of our readers are unacquainted with Mr. Hudson, +the lecturer on Shakspeare, and the writer of various brilliant and +powerful articles in the American Review. The lectures which compose +the present volume have been delivered, at various times, in the +principal cities of the Union, and have everywhere been welcomed as +productions of the highest merit in one of the most difficult +departments of critical art. The author has delayed the publication +until the present time, in order that they might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> be subjected to +repeated revision, and every opinion they contain cautiously scanned. +Many of the lectures have been re-written a dozen times; and probably +few books of the size ever published in the country, have been the +slow product of so much toil of analysis and research. Almost every +sentence gives evidence of being shaped in the "forge and +working-house of thought." All questions which rise naturally in the +progress of the work are sturdily met and answered, however great may +be their demand on the intellect or the time of the author. Every +thing considered, subtilty, depth, force, brilliancy, comprehension, +we know of no work of criticism ever produced in the United States +which equals the present, either in refinement and profundity of +thought, or splendor and intensity of expression. Indeed, none of our +critics have devoted so much time as Mr. Hudson to one subject, or +been content to confine themselves so rigidly to the central sun of +our English literary system. We doubt, also, if there be any work on +Shakspeare, produced on the other side of the Atlantic, which is so +complete as the present in all which relates to Shakspeare's mind and +characters. It not only comprehends the highest results of Shaksperian +criticism, but it is a step forward.</p> + +<p>This may to some appear extravagant praise, but for its justice we +confidentially appeal to the record. The plays which have most +severely tried the sagacity of Shakspeare's critics, are Hamlet, +Macbeth, Lear, and Othello. We do not hesitate to say that Mr. +Hudson's analysis and representation of these are the most thorough, +accurate, and comprehensive which exist at present either in English +or German. Compare him or these tragedies with Goethe, with Schlegel, +with Coleridge, with Hazlitt, with Ulrici, and it will be found that +he excels them all in completeness. It is needless to add that he is +able to excel them only by coming after them; and that it is by +diligently digesting all the positive results of Shaksperian criticism +that he has been enabled to advance the science. He has grasped the +principles which Schlegel and Coleridge established, and applied them +to the discovery of new truths. By the most patient and toilsome +analysis he has fully brought out many things which they simply +hinted, and distinctly set forth conclusions which lay dormant in +their premises. And in the analysis of individual character, meaning +by that the resolving each Shaksperian personage into its original +elements, and indicating the degree of general truth it covers, our +countryman has hardly a rival. Few even of Shakspeare's diligent +readers are aware of the vast stores of thought and knowledge implied +in Shakspeare's characters, because the fact is so commonly stated in +general terms. Mr. Hudson proves that the characters are classes +intensely individualized, by showing how large is the number of +persons each character represents, or of whom it is the ideal. He thus +indicates the extent of Shakspeare's range over the whole field of +humanity, and the degree of his success in <i>classifying</i> mankind. No +one, therefore, can read Mr. Hudson's interpretative criticisms +without new wonder at the amazing reach and depth of Shakspeare's +genius.</p> + +<p>It would be impossible in the space to which we are necessarily +confined, to do justice to Mr. Hudson's powers of analysis and +representation, as exercised through the wide variety of the +Shaksperian drama. The volumes swarm with strong and striking thoughts +on so many suggested topics, that it is difficult to fix upon any +particular excellence for especial praise. The first quality which +will strike the reader will be the author's opulence of expression and +profusion of wit. Analogies with him are as cheap as commonplaces are +to other men. He has no hesitation in announcing his analysis in a +witticism, and condensing a principle into an epigram. His page often +blazes and burns with wit. South, Congreve, and Sheridan are hardly +richer in the precious article. In Mr. Hudson, also, the quality has +an individual character, and is the racier from its genuineness and +from its root in his intellectual constitution. This wit is, perhaps, +the leading characteristic of his style, though his diction varies +sufficiently with the varying demands of his subjects, and often +glides from the tingling concussion of antithesis into the softest +music, or rises from sarcastic brevity and stinging emphasis into rich +and sonorous amplification. The analysis of Iago, and the analysis of +the Weird Sisters, indicate, perhaps, the extremes of his manner. +Throughout the volumes, whether the subject be comic or tragic, +humorous or sublime, there is never any lack of verbal felicities. +These seem to grow spontaneously in the soil of his mind; and there is +no American writer whose style is more wholly free from worn and +wasted images, phrases, and forms of expression. He is neither +mediocre in thought nor expression.</p> + +<p>We cannot resist the temptation to give a few of Mr. Hudson's +sentences, illustrative of his manner of stinging the minds of his +readers and enforcing their attention. Speaking of Sir Thomas Lucy, on +whose manor Shakspeare is said to have poached, Hudson remarks: "This +Warwickshire esquire, once so rich and mighty, is now known only as +the block over which the Warwickshire peasant stumbled into +immortality." Referring to those purists who regard words more than +things in their strictures on licentiousness, he calls them persons +"whose morality seems to be all in their ears." Speaking of Hume, "an +exquisite voluptuary among political and metaphysical abstractions," +he puts him in a class of men who "study art as they study nature, +only in the process of dissection—a process which, of course, +scares away the very life which makes her nature; so that they get, +after all, but a <i>sort of post-mortem knowledge of her</i>." Again, he +observes—"Pope, for example, was the prince of versifiers, and +Hume the prince of logicians: with the one versification strangled +itself in a tub of honey; with the other logic broke its neck in +trying to fly in a vacuum. It is by no means strange, therefore, that +the thousand-eyed philosophy of Shakspeare should have seemed a +perfect monster to the one-eyed logic of Hume." Perhaps the finest +answer to the charge that Shakspeare was an unregulated genius, full +of great absurdities and great beauties, is contained in Hudson's +ironical statement of it: "He has sometimes been represented as a sort +of inspired and infallible idiot, who practiced a species of poetical +magic without knowing what he did or why he did it; who achieved the +greatest wonders of art, not by rational insight and design, but by a +series of lucky accidents and <i>lapsus naturæ</i>; who, in short, +went through life stumbling upon divinities, and blundering into +miracles."</p> + +<p>By the publication of these lectures Mr. Hudson takes his place among +the first thinkers and writers of the country. He has that in his +writings which will make him popular, and that which will make him +permanent. It is unnecessary to say that a book so strongly marked by +individuality as his is calculated to provoke criticism. It contains +many things which will be severely assailed by those whose opinions on +certain theories of government and society are in exact opposition to +those of the author. Some positions, critical and political, which he +confidently states as settled, are still open to discussion. But take +the work as a whole, as an embodiment of mental power, and there are +few men in the country on whom it would not confer honor. It needs but +a very small prophetic faculty to predict for a work so fascinating +and instructive a circulation commensurate with its merits.<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Military Heroes of the Revolution. With a Narrative of the War of +Independence. By Charles J. Peterson. Philadelphia: Wm. H. Leary.</i> 487 +<i>pp. octavo</i>.</p></div> + +<p>This is one of the most elegant books which has ever been issued from +the American press. The type is large and clear, and the paper is of +the finest quality. It is embellished with nearly two hundred +engravings, consisting of portraits of all the chief actors of the +Revolution, spirited representations of almost every engagement, with +numerous views of noted places. This, together with the picturesque +style in which the book is written, gives a peculiar charm, and leaves +on the mind of the reader impressions more vivid and lasting than any +other work which we have seen on the same subject.</p> + +<p>The design of the work is to furnish brief analytical portraits of +those military heroes who, either from their superior ability or +superior good fortune, played the most prominent part in the war of +independence. The volume contains thirty-three biographies. Of these +Washington's, Putnam's, Arnold's, Moultrie's, Warren's, Marion's, +Hamilton's, and Burr's, are, in our opinion, the most spirited. The +biography of Washington affords a keen analysis of that great hero's +character, and conclusively proves, we think, that he was not only a +great patriot, but a great general. This is a somewhat new view of his +character, the fashion having been to exalt his undoubted goodness at +the expense of his skill, the result of positive ignorance of his +character during the war of independence. Those were no weak +achievements which Napoleon acknowledged to have been the examples +which first fired him with the spirit and plan of his own victories! +And our author justly remarks, that "if four generals in succession, +beside several entire armies, failed to conquer America, it was not on +account of want of talent or means on the part of the enemy, but +because the genius of Washington proved too gigantic for any or all of +his competitors."</p> + +<p>The most of these biographies are, as it were, the frames to battle +pictures: thus, in the history of Putnam, we have a graphic +description of the contest on Bunker Hill; in that of Moultrie, of the +defence of Fort Sullivan; and in that of Washington, of the battle of +Trenton. The actions from the skirmish at Lexington to the surrender +of Cornwallis, are all admirably and graphically told in a style +animated without being florid, and chaste without being stiff. The +straight forward honesty of the diction, leaves the mind of the reader +to be carried on with the simple but intense spirit of the action, as +if he were a spectator rather than reader. The description of the +battle of Trenton is the most complete ever published.</p> + +<p>The author, in his preface, says he does not claim exemption from +errors, that no one can who writes on a subject so obscure in many +respects as that of the Revolution. We think his decisions, however, +are generally unimpeachable. Wherever we have been able of testing +them, we have found them accurate; and this induces us to believe that +in other cases he is correct. But we should like to have seen his +evidence of the second battle of Assunpink, for Hull, in his diary, +mentions nothing of it. We think, too, that Arnold was not personally +present at Stillwater, though Burgoyne was of opinion that he was, for +he complimented him for his behaviour on that occasion. We notice some +misprints in the volume, a thing almost unavoidable in a book of this +size; one or two are glaring ones—but these can be corrected in +a second edition.</p> + +<p>The narrative of the war, in all its relations, is well told. It gives +a comprehensive picture of the rise and progress of the contest, and +abounds with much new matter, showing a thorough knowledge of the +great history of that period. We notice many anecdotes which we have +never before seen in print.</p> + +<p>The public has long needed a good popular history of the Revolution; +for Batta's, and others of that stamp, are too long; and, beside, much +new light has been lately thrown on that portion of our annals. We +have such a book here, and it is for this reason that we hail it with +peculiar pleasure.</p> + +<p>We cannot close this notice without quoting the following somewhat +remarkable passage from Mr. Peterson's preliminary chapter, which was +evidently written long before the late events in Europe—more +than two years ago, according to the preface.</p> + +<p>"It is evident," he says, "that the old world is worn out. There are +cycles in empires as well as dynasties; and Europe, after nearly two +thousand years, seems to have finished another term of civilization. +The most polite nation in the eastern hemisphere is now where the +Roman empire was just before it verged to a decline—the same +system of government—the same extremes of wealth and +poverty—the same delusive prosperity characterizing both. +<i>Europe stands on the crust of a decayed volcano, which at any time +may fall in.</i> The social fabric in the old world is in its dotage." +Part of this prediction has already been verified, and we wait with +impatient expectation for the fulfillment of the rest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Old Hicks, the Guide; or Adventures in the Camanche Country in Search +of a Gold Mine. By Charles W. Webber. New York: Harper & +Brothers</i>. 2 <i>parts</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Here is a book "to stir a fever in the blood of age"—full of +wild adventure, and running over with life. It seems to have been +composed on horseback. The sentences trot, gallop, leap, toss the +mane, and give all other evidences of strength and activity in the +race of expression. The author fairly gives the reins to his thoughts +and fancies, and they sweep along the dizziest edges of rhetoric with +a jubilant hip! hip! hurrah! We have rarely known so much daring +rewarded with so much success. The critic is expecting every moment to +see the author break his neck by a sudden descent from the sublime to +the ridiculous, but is continually disappointed. The vigor of old +Kentucky bounds in the veins and "lives along the heart" of this most +stalwart and defiant Kentuckian. He charges critical batteries with +the force of Harney's dragoons. We accordingly surrender at +discretion. Captain Scott need but to point his rifle, and the coon +comes down at once.</p> + +<p>Seriously, Mr. Webber's book is one of the most captivating of its +kind ever produced in the United States. It shows the scholar and the +practiced writer amid all its rampant energy, and many passages are +full of eloquence. The scenery and events are of that kind most +calculated to fasten on the popular imagination. The author has a +singular faculty of condensing narration and description, and bringing +the scene and deed right before the eye, without any of the tedious +minutiæ in which most descriptive writers indulge. Consequently +his observations are flashed upon the mind of the reader rather than +conveyed to it, piece by piece. If Mr. Webber would soften a little +the ravenousness of his style, and treat his subjects with a little +more regard to artistic propriety, he might produce a work of fiction +of very great merit, both as regards plot and characterization. The +present volume indicates a vitality of mind, to which creation is but +an appropriate exercise. It evinces more genius than Typee or Omoo.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Cookery in America. Illustrated by Martin the Younger. Wm. H. Graham, +New York</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Fair and funny. It is time that the <i>lex talionis</i> should be applied +to those who have so often made themselves merry at our expense.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h4>FOOTNOTES:</h4> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> +The road of heaven, star-paved. <span class="smcap">Paradise Lost</span></p></div> +<br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> +<i>Swamp Fox</i> was the cognomen bestowed on Marion by the British.</p></div> +<br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> +The Ensign of Poland is a White Eagle.</p></div> +<br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> +I have here used the license, in order to carry out the +contrast, of supposing that the Office of Doge, like most of +the institutions of Venice, is preserved by the Austrian +government; though I believe it has been abolished.</p></div> +<br /> +</div> +<br /><br /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note: Graham's magazine Issue #6</p> + +<p>Several characteristic spellings and instances of punctuation were +left as in the original, as representing the usage of the times—while +a number of obvious printer's errors and omissions were corrected +silently.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June +1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JUNE 1848 *** + +***** This file should be named 29344-h.htm or 29344-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/3/4/29344/ + +Produced by David T. 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