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+Project Gutenberg's Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 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 XXXIII No. 1 July 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+ Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: August 20, 2009 [EBook #29741]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GRAHAM'S
+
+AMERICAN MONTHLY
+
+MAGAZINE
+
+Of Literature and Art.
+
+EMBELLISHED WITH
+
+MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.
+
+WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING,
+HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.
+
+MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, MRS.
+EMMA C. EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY,
+MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.
+
+PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.
+
+G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.
+
+VOLUME XXXIII.
+
+PHILADELPHIA:
+SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.
+
+1848.
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+OF THE
+
+THIRTY-THIRD VOLUME.
+
+JUNE, 1848, TO JANUARY, 1849.
+
+
+
+A Night on the Ice. By Solitaire, 18
+
+Aunt Mable's Love Story. By Susan Pindar, 107
+
+Angila Mervale. By F. E. F., 121
+
+A Written Leaf of Memory. By Fanny Lee, 137
+
+An Indian-Summer Ramble. By A. B. Street, 147
+
+A Leaf in the Life of Ledyard Lincoln. By Mary Spencer Pease, 197
+
+A Pic-Nic in Olden Time. By G. G. Foster, 229
+
+A Dream Within a Dream. By C. A. Washburn, 233
+
+A Scene on the Susquehanna. By Joseph R. Chandler, 275
+
+A Legend of Clare. By J. Gerahty M'teague, 278
+
+A Day or Two in the Olden Time. By A New Contributor, 287
+
+De Lamartine. By Francis J. Grund, 25
+
+Edith Maurice. By T. S. Arthur, 284
+
+Fiel a la Muerte, or True Loves Devotion. By Henry W. Herbert, 4, 84, 153
+
+Going to Heaven. By T. S. Arthur, 13
+
+Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost, 291
+
+Gems from Late Readings, 295
+
+Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost, 357
+
+Gems from Late Readings, 364
+
+My Aunt Polly. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 34
+
+Mexican Jealousy. By Ecolier, 172
+
+Mary Dunbar. By the Author of "The Three Calls", 268
+
+Mildred Ward. By Caroline H. Butler, 301
+
+Mrs. Tiptop. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 325
+
+Overboard in the Gulf. By C. J. Peterson, 337
+
+Rising in the World, By F. E. F., 41
+
+Reflections on Some of the Events of the Year 1848.
+ By Joseph R. Chandler, 318
+
+Rochester's Return. By Joseph A. Nunes, 341
+
+Sam Needy. By Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro, 204
+
+Scouting Near Vera Cruz. By Ecolier, 211
+
+The Fane-Builder. By Emma C. Embury, 38
+
+The Sagamore of Saco. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith, 47
+
+The Late Maria Brooks. By R. W. Griswold, 61
+
+The Cruise of the Raker. By Henry A. Clark, 69, 129, 188, 257
+
+The Maid of Bogota. By W. Gilmore Simms, 75
+
+The Departure. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 93
+
+The Man Who Was Never Humbugged. By A Limner, 112
+
+The Christmas Garland. By Emma Wood, 163
+
+The Unmarried Belle. By Enna Duval, 181
+
+The Humbling of a Fairy. By G. G. Foster, 214
+
+The Will. By Miss E. A. Dupuy, 220
+
+The Bride of Fate. By W. Gilmore Simms, 241
+
+The Knights of the Ringlet. By Giftie, 253
+
+The Sailor's Life-Tale. By Sybil Sutherland, 311
+
+The Exhausted Topic. By Caroline C----, 330
+
+The Early Called. By Mrs. Frances B. M. Brotherson, 347
+
+The Lady of Fernheath. By Mary Spencer Pease, 349
+
+
+POETRY.
+
+
+A New England Legend. By Caroline F. Orne, 126
+
+A Farewell to a Happy Day. By Frances S. Osgood, 203
+
+A Night Thought. By T. Buchanan Read, 219
+
+A Voice for Poland. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 228
+
+An Evening Song. By Prof. Wm. Campbell, 235
+
+A Requiem in the North. By J. B. Taylor, 256
+
+A Vision. By E. Curtiss Hine, 267
+
+A Lay. By Grace Greenwood, 310
+
+Angels on Earth. By Blanche Bennairde, 324
+
+Brutus in His Tent. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 115
+
+Death. By Thomas Dunn English, 3
+
+Dream-Music. By Frances S. Osgood, 39
+
+Description of a Visit to Niagara. By Professor James Moffat, 106
+
+Dreams. By E. O. H, 196
+
+Death. By George S. Burleigh, 256
+
+Erin Waking. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 360
+
+Gold. By R. H. Stoddart, 3
+
+Gautama's Song of Rest By J. B. Taylor, 361
+
+Heads of the Poets. By W. Gilmore Simms, 170
+
+Hope On--Hope Ever. By E. Curtiss Hine, 171
+
+I Want to Go Home. By Richard Coe, Jr., 213
+
+Korner's Sister. By Elizabeth J. Eames, 111
+
+Life. By A. J. Requier, 294
+
+Love Thy Mother, Little One. By Richard Coe, Jr., 346
+
+Lines to a Sketch of J. Bayard Taylor, in His Alpine
+ Costume. By Geo. W. Dewey, 360
+
+My Bird. By Mrs. Jane C. Campbell, 252
+
+My Love. By J. Ives Pease, 294
+
+My Native Isle. By Mary G. Horsford, 340
+
+My Father's Grave. By S. D. Anderson, 361
+
+Ornithologoi. By J. M. Legare, 1
+
+Ode to the Moon. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 251
+
+One of the "Southern Tier of Counties." By Alfred B. Street, 329
+
+Passed Away. By W. Wallace Shaw, 234
+
+Pedro and Inez. By Elizabeth J. Eames, 277
+
+Sir Humphrey Gilbert. By Henry W. Longfellow, 33
+
+Study. By Henry S. Hagert, 37
+
+Summer. By E. Curtiss Hine, U.S.N., 105
+
+Sonnet. By Caroline F. Orne, 106
+
+Song of Sleep. By G. G. Foster, 128
+
+Sunshine and Rain. By George S. Burleigh, 162
+
+Supplication. By Fayette Robinson, 267
+
+Stanzas. By S. S. Hornor, 286
+
+Sonnet. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith, 340
+
+The Land of the West. By T. Buchanan Read, 12
+
+To Lydia. By G. G. Foster, 17
+
+The Thanksgiving of the Sorrowful. By Mrs. Joseph C. Neal, 24
+
+The Night. By M. E. T., 33
+
+The Bob-o-link. By George S. Burleigh, 33
+
+Twilight. By H. D. G., 46
+
+The Sachem's Hill. By Alfred B. Street, 52
+
+The Hall of Independence. By G. W. Dewey, 53
+
+To an Isle of the Sea. By Mrs. J. W. Mercur, 56
+
+To Arabella. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 56
+
+The Soul's Dream. By George H. Boker, 74
+
+To the Eagle. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 83
+
+The Block-House. By Alfred B. Street, 92
+
+To Erato. By Thomas Buchanan Read, 110
+
+The Laborer's Companions. By George S. Burleigh, 110
+
+The Enchanted Knight. By J. B. Taylor, 111
+
+The Sisters. By G. G. Foster, 114
+
+To Violet. By Jerome A. Maby, 115
+
+The Prayer of the Dying Girl. By Samuel D. Patterson, 136
+
+The Spanish Princess to the Moorish Knight. By Grace Greenwood, 146
+
+The Light of our Home. By Thomas Buchanan Read, 146
+
+The Lost Pet. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney, 152
+
+The Poet's Heart. By Charles E. Trail, 161
+
+The Return to Scenes of Childhood. By Gretta, 162
+
+To Guadalupe. By Mayne Reid, 174
+
+The Faded Rose. By G. G. Foster, 174
+
+The Child's Appeal. By Mary G. Horsford, 175
+
+The Old Farm-House. By Mary L. Lawson, 175
+
+Temper Life's Extremes. By G. S. Burleigh, 187
+
+The Deformed Artist. By Mrs. E. N. Horsford, 202
+
+The Angel of the Soul. By J. Bayard Taylor, 210
+
+The Bard. By S. Anna Lewis, 219
+
+To Her Who Can Understand It. By Mayne Reid, 228
+
+To the Violet. By H. T. Tuckerman, 232
+
+They May Tell of a Clime. By C. E. Trail, 232
+
+The Battle of Life. By Anne C. Lynch, 266
+
+The Prophet's Rebuke. By Mrs. Juliet H. L. Campbell, 274
+
+The Mourners. By Rev. T. L. Harris, 317
+
+The Gardener. By George S. Burleigh, 328
+
+The Record of December. By H. Morford, 335
+
+The Christian Hero's Epitaph. By B., 348
+
+The City of Mexico. By M. E. Thropp, 356
+
+To a Rose-Bud. By Y. S., 359
+
+Visit to Greenwood Cemetery. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney, 53
+
+Zenobia. By L. Mason, 185
+
+
+REVIEWS.
+
+
+Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst, 57
+
+Memoir of William Ellery Channing, 58
+
+Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire, 58
+
+Romance of the History of Louisiana. By Charles Gayarre, 59
+
+The Life of Oliver Cromwell. By J. T. Headley, 118
+
+A Supplement to the Plays of Shakspeare. By Wm. Gilmore Simms, 119
+
+Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. By Alphonse de Lamartine, 119
+
+Hawkstone: A Tale of and for England in 184- 178
+
+The Planetary and Stellar Worlds, 178
+
+Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings, 179
+
+Calaynos. A Tragedy. By George H. Boker, 238
+
+Literary Sketches and Letters, 238
+
+Vanity Fair. By W. M. Thackerway, 297
+
+Life, Letters and Literary Remains of Keats, 297
+
+Principles of Political Economy. By John Stuart Mill, 367
+
+
+MUSIC.
+
+
+The Last of the Bourbons. A French Patriotic
+Song. Written by Alexandre Pantoléon.
+Music by J. C. N. G. 54
+
+"Think Not that I Love Thee." A Ballad.
+Music by J. L. Milner, 116
+
+"'Tis Home where the Heart is." Words by
+Miss L. M. Brown. Music by Karl W. Petersilie, 176
+
+The Ocean-Buried. Composed by Miss Agnes H. Jones, 236
+
+Voices from the Spirit-Land. Words
+by John S. Adams. Music by Valentine Dister, 362
+
+
+ENGRAVINGS.
+
+
+Ornithologoi, engraved by W. E. Tucker.
+
+Lamartine, engraved by Sartain.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+The Departure, engraved by Ellis.
+
+The Portrait of Mrs. Brooks, engraved by Parker.
+
+The Sisters, engraved by Thompson.
+
+Angila Mervale, engraved by J. Addison.
+
+The Lost Pet, engraved by Ellis.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+A Pic-Nic in Olden Time, engraved by Tucker.
+
+The Unmarried Belle, engraved by A. B. Ross.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+Edith Maurice, engraved by J. Addison.
+
+Supplication, engraved by Ellis.
+
+Mildred Ward, engraved by A. B. Ross.
+
+Overboard in the Gulf, engraved by J. D. Gross.
+
+Portrait of J. B. Taylor, engraved by G. Jackman.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+
+
+[Illustration: ORNITHOLOGOI
+
+ "Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,
+ Dost see the far hills disappear
+ In autumn smoke, and all the air
+ Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
+ Are yellow harvests rich in bread
+ For winter use."]
+
+
+
+
+GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
+
+VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1848. NO. 1.
+
+
+ORNITHOLOGOI.[1]
+
+BY J. M. LEGARE.
+
+[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]
+
+ Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,
+ Dost see the far hills disappear
+ In Autumn smoke, and all the air
+ Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
+ Are yellow harvests, rich in bread
+ For winter use; while over-head
+ The jays to one another call,
+ And through the stilly woods there fall,
+ Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er
+ The squirrel, perched in upper air,
+ From tree-top barks at thee his fear;
+ His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,
+ Do spy at thee around the tree;
+ Then, prompted by a sudden whim,
+ Down leaping on the quivering limb,
+ Gains the smooth hickory, from whence
+ He nimbly scours along the fence
+ To secret haunts.
+
+ But oftener,
+ When Mother Earth begins to stir,
+ And like a Hadji who hath been
+ To Mecca, wears a caftan green;
+ When jasmines and azalias fill
+ The air with sweets, and down the hill
+ Turbid no more descends the rill;
+ The wonder of thy hazel eyes,
+ Soft opening on the misty skies--
+ Dost smile within thyself to see
+ Things uncontained in, seemingly,
+ The open book upon thy knee,
+ And through the quiet woodlands hear
+ Sounds full of mystery to ear
+ Of grosser mould--the myriad cries
+ That from the teeming world arise;
+ Which we, self-confidently wise,
+ Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn
+ From thy weak babyhood to learn
+ Arcana of creation; turn
+ Thy eyes on things intangible
+ To mortals; when the earth was still.
+ Hear dreamy voices on the hill,
+
+[Footnote 1: Bird-voices.]
+
+ In wavy woods, that sent a thrill
+ Of joyousness through thy young veins.
+ Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains
+ All that thou lovest, man disdains
+ A sympathy in joys and pains
+ With dwellers in the long, green lanes,
+ With wings that shady groves explore,
+ With watchers at the torrent's roar,
+ And waders by the reedy shore;
+ For thou, through purity of mind,
+ Dost hear, and art no longer blind.
+
+ CROAK! croak!--who croaketh over-head
+ So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,
+ Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?
+ Croak! croak!--a raven's curse on him,
+ The giver of this shattered limb!
+ Albeit young, (a hundred years,
+ When next the forest leaved appears,)
+ Will Duskywing behold this breast
+ Shot-riddled, or divide my nest
+ With wearer of so tattered vest?
+ I see myself, with wing awry,
+ Approaching. Duskywing will spy
+ My altered mien, and shun my eye.
+ With laughter bursting, through the wood
+ The birds will scream--she's quite too good
+ For thee. And yonder meddling jay,
+ I hear him chatter all the day,
+ "He's crippled--send the thief away!"
+ At every hop--"don't let him stay."
+ I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;
+ For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing
+ Another song!
+
+ Is't not enough
+ The carrion festering we snuff,
+ And gathering down upon the breeze,
+ Release the valley from disease;
+ If longing for more fresh a meal,
+ Around the tender flock we wheel,
+ A marksman doth some bush conceal.
+ This very morn, I heard an ewe
+ Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,
+ With lazy wing slow circling round,
+ Until I spied unto the ground
+ A lamb by tangled briars bound.
+ The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,
+ Bleat to her young--so loudly cried,
+ She heard it not when it replied.
+ Ho, ho!--a feast! I 'gan to croak,
+ Alighting straightway on an oak;
+ Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant
+ The little trembler lie and pant.
+ Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;
+ Down its white nostril bubbled red
+ A gush of blood; ere life had fled,
+ My beak was buried in its eyes,
+ Turned tearfully upon the skies--
+ Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.
+
+ No longer couldst thou sit and hear
+ This demon prate in upper air--
+ Deeds horrible to maiden ear.
+ Begone, thou spokest. Over-head
+ The startled fiend his pinion spread,
+ And croaking maledictions, fled.
+
+ But, hark! who at some secret door
+ Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore?
+ Thou seest how around the tree,
+ With scarlet head for hammer, he
+ Probes where the haunts of insects be.
+ The worm in labyrinthian hole
+ Begins his sluggard length to roll;
+ But crafty Rufus spies the prey,
+ And with his mallet beats away
+ The loose bark, crumbling to decay;
+ Then chirping loud, with wing elate,
+ He bears the morsel to his mate.
+ His mate, she sitteth on her nest,
+ In sober feather plumage dressed;
+ A matron underneath whose breast
+ Three little tender heads appear.
+ With bills distent from ear to ear,
+ Each clamors for the bigger share;
+ And whilst they clamor, climb--and, lo!
+ Upon the margin, to and fro,
+ Unsteady poised, one wavers slow.
+ Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek,
+ Too late; for venturesome, yet weak,
+ His frail legs falter under him;
+ He falls--but from a lower limb
+ A moment dangles, thence again
+ Launched out upon the air, in vain
+ He spread his little plumeless wing,
+ A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.
+
+ But thou, who all didst see and hear,
+ Young, active, wast already there,
+ And caught the flutterer in air.
+ Then up the tree to topmost limb,
+ A vine for ladder, borest him.
+ Against thy cheek his little heart
+ Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art,
+ Thou spokest smiling; comfort thee!
+ With joyous cries the parents flee
+ Thy presence none--confidingly
+ Pour out their very hearts to thee.
+ The mockbird sees thy tenderness
+ Of deed; doth with melodiousness,
+ In many tongues, thy praise express.
+ And all the while, his dappled wings
+ He claps his sides with, as he sings,
+ From perch to perch his body flings:
+ A poet he, to ecstasy
+ Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say.
+
+ Stay, stay!--I hear a flutter now
+ Beneath yon flowering alder bough.
+ I hear a little plaintive voice
+ That did at early morn rejoice,
+ Make a most sad yet sweet complaint,
+ Saying, "my heart is very faint
+ With its unutterable wo.
+ What shall I do, where can I go,
+ My cruel anguish to abate.
+ Oh! my poor desolated mate,
+ Dear Cherry, will our haw-bush seek,
+ Joyful, and bearing in her beak
+ Fresh seeds, and such like dainties, won
+ By careful search. But they are gone
+ Whom she did brood and dote upon.
+ Oh! if there be a mortal ear
+ My sorrowful complaint to hear;
+ If manly breast is ever stirred
+ By wrong done to a helpless bird,
+ To them for quick redress I cry."
+ Moved by the tale, and drawing nigh,
+ On alder branch thou didst espy
+ How, sitting lonely and forlorn,
+ His breast was pressed upon a thorn,
+ Unknowing that he leant thereon;
+ Then bidding him take heart again,
+ Thou rannest down into the lane
+ To seek the doer of this wrong,
+ Nor under hedgerow hunted long,
+ When, sturdy, rude, and sun-embrowned,
+ A child thy earnest seeking found.
+ To him in sweet and modest tone
+ Thou madest straight thy errand known.
+ With gentle eloquence didst show
+ (Things erst he surely did not know)
+ How great an evil he had done;
+ How, when next year the mild May sun
+ Renewed its warmth, this shady lane
+ No timid birds would haunt again;
+ And how around his mother's door
+ The robins, yearly guests before--
+ He knew their names--would come no more;
+ But if his prisoners he released,
+ Before their little bosoms ceased
+ To palpitate, each coming year
+ Would find them gladly reappear
+ To sing his praises everywhere--
+ The sweetest, dearest songs to hear.
+ And afterward, when came the term
+ Of ripened corn, the robber worm
+ Would hunt through every blade and turn,
+ Impatient thus his smile to earn.
+
+ At first, flushed, angrily, and proud,
+ He answered thee with laughter loud
+ And brief retort. But thou didst speak
+ So mild, so earnestly did seek
+ To change his mood, in wonder first
+ He eyed thee; then no longer durst
+ Raise his bold glances to thy face,
+ But, looking down, began to trace,
+ With little, naked foot and hand,
+ Thoughtful devices in the sand;
+ And when at last thou didst relate
+ The sad affliction of the mate,
+ When to the well-known spot she came,
+ He hung his head for very shame;
+ His penitential tears to hide,
+ His face averted while he cried;
+ "Here, take them all, I've no more pride
+ In climbing up to rob a nest--
+ I've better feelings in my breast."
+
+ Then thanking him with heart and eyes,
+ Thou tookest from his grasp the prize,
+ And bid the little freedmen rise.
+ But when thou sawest how too weak
+ Their pinions were, the nest didst seek,
+ And called thy client. Down he flew
+ Instant, and with him Cherry too;
+ And fluttering after, not a few
+ Of the minuter feathered race
+ Filled with their warbling all the place.
+ From hedge and pendent branch and vine,
+ Recounted still that deed of thine;
+ Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er,
+ Gladly--more heartily, be sure,
+ Were praises never sung before.
+
+ Beholding thee, they understand
+ (These Minne-singers of the land)
+ How thou apart from all dost stand,
+ Full of great love and tenderness
+ For all God's creatures--these express
+ Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct
+ All things that are, to thee are linked
+ By subtle ties; and none so mean
+ Or loathsome hast thou ever seen,
+ But wonderous in make hath been.
+ Compassionate, thou seest none
+ Of insect tribes beneath the sun
+ That thou canst set thy heel upon.
+ A sympathy thou hast with wings
+ In groves, and with all living things.
+ Unmindful if they walk or crawl,
+ The same arm shelters each and all;
+ The shadow of the Curse and Fall
+ Alike impends. Ah! truly great,
+ Who strivest earnestly and late,
+ A single atom to abate,
+ Of helpless wo and misery.
+ For very often thou dost see
+ How sadly and how helplessly
+ A pleading face looks up to thee.
+ Therefore it is, thou canst not choose,
+ With petty tyranny to abuse
+ Thy higher gifts; and justly fear
+ The feeblest worm of earth or air,
+ In thy heart's judgment to condemn,
+ Since God made thee, and God made them.
+
+
+
+
+DEATH:--AN INVOCATION.
+
+BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
+
+
+ Thou art no king of terrors--sweet Death!
+ But a maiden young and fair;
+ Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight,
+ And golden is thy hair;
+ While the smile that flickers thy lips upon
+ Has a light beyond compare.
+
+ Come then, Death, from the dark-brown shades
+ Where thou hast lingered long;
+ Come to the haunts where sins abound
+ And troubles thickly throng,
+ And lay thy bridal kiss on the lips
+ Of a child of sorrow and song.
+
+ For I can gaze with a rapture deep
+ Upon thy lovely face;
+ Many a smile I find therein,
+ Where another a frown would trace--
+ As a lover would clasp his new-made bride
+ I will take thee to my embrace.
+
+ Come, oh, come! I long for thy look;
+ I weary to win thy kiss--
+ Bear me away from a world of wo
+ To a world of quiet bliss--
+ For in that I may kneel to God alone,
+ Which I may not do in this.
+
+ For woman and wealth they woo pursuit,
+ And a winning voice has fame;
+ Men labor for love and work for wealth
+ And struggle to gain a name;
+ Yet find but fickleness, need and scorn,
+ If not the brand of shame.
+
+ Then carry me hence, sweet Death--_my_ Death!
+ Must I woo thee still in vain?
+ Come at the morn or come at the eve,
+ Or come in the sun or rain;
+ But come--oh, come! for the loss of life
+ To me is the chiefest gain.
+
+
+
+
+GOLD.
+
+BY R. H. STODDARD.
+
+
+ Alas! my heart is sick when I behold
+ The deep engrossing interest of wealth,
+ How eagerly men sacrifice their health,
+ Love, honor, fame and truth for sordid gold;
+ Dealing in sin, and wrong, and tears, and strife,
+ Their only aim and business in life
+ To gain and heap together shining store;--
+
+ Alchemists, mad as e'er were those of yore.
+ Transmuting every thing to glittering dross,
+ Wasting their energies o'er magic scrolls,
+ Day-books and ledgers leaden, gain and loss--
+ Casting the holiest feelings of their souls
+ High hopes, and aspirations, and desires,
+ Beneath their crucibles to feed th' accursed fires!
+
+
+
+
+FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.
+
+A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE.
+
+BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE
+WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC.
+
+
+There was a mighty stir in the streets of Paris, as Paris' streets
+were in the olden time. A dense and eager mob had taken possession, at
+an early hour of the day, of all the environs of the Bastile, and
+lined the way which led thence to the Place de Greve in solid and
+almost impenetrable masses.
+
+People of all conditions were there, except the very highest; but the
+great majority of the concourse was composed of the low populace, and
+the smaller bourgeoisie. Multitudes of women were there, too, from the
+girl of sixteen to the beldam of sixty, nor had mothers been ashamed
+to bring their infants in their arms into that loud and tumultuous
+assemblage.
+
+Loud it was and tumultuous, as all great multitudes are, unless they
+are convened by purposes too resolutely dark and solemn to find any
+vent in noise. When that is the case, let rulers beware, for peril is
+at hand--perhaps the beginning of the end.
+
+But this Parisian mob, although long before this period it had learned
+the use of barricades, though noisy, turbulent, and sometimes even
+violent in the demonstrations of its impatience, was any thing but
+angry or excited.
+
+On the contrary, it seemed to be on the very tip-toe of pleasurable
+expectation, and from the somewhat frequent allusions to _notre bon
+roi_, which circulated among the better order of spectators, it would
+appear that the government of the Fifteenth Louis was for the moment
+in unusually good odor with the good folks of the metropolis.
+
+What was the spectacle to which they were looking forward with so much
+glee--which had brought forth young delicate girls, and tender
+mothers, into the streets at so early an hour--which, as the day
+advanced toward ten o'clock of the morning, was tempting forth laced
+cloaks, and rapiers, and plumed hats, and here and there, in the
+cumbrous carriages of the day, the proud and luxurious ladies of the
+gay metropolis?
+
+One glance toward the centre of the Place de Greve was sufficient to
+inform the dullest, for there uprose, black, grisly, horrible, a tall
+stout pile of some thirty feet in height, with a huge wheel affixed
+horizontally to the summit.
+
+Around this hideous instrument of torture was raised a scaffold hung
+with black cloth, and strewed with saw-dust, for the convenience of
+the executioners, about three feet lower than the wheel which
+surmounted it.
+
+Around this frightful apparatus were drawn up two companies of the
+French guard, forming a large hollow-square facing outwards, with
+muskets loaded, and bayonets fixed, as if they apprehended an attempt
+at rescue, although from the demeanor of the people nothing appeared
+at that time to be further from their thoughts than any thing of the
+kind.
+
+Above was the executioner-in-chief, with two grim, truculent-looking
+assistants, making preparations for the fearful operation they were
+about to perform, or leaning indolently on the instruments of
+slaughter.
+
+By and bye, as the day wore onward, and the concourse kept still
+increasing both in numbers and in the respectability of those who
+composed it, something of irritation began to show itself, mingled
+with the eagerness and expectation of the populace, and from some
+murmurs, which ran from time to time through their ranks, it would
+seem that they apprehended the escape of their victim.
+
+By this time the windows of all the houses which overlooked the
+precincts of that fatal square on which so much of noble blood has
+been shed through so many ages, were occupied by persons of both
+sexes, all of the middle, and some even of the upper classes, as eager
+to behold the frightful and disgusting scene, which was about to
+ensue, as the mere rabble in the open streets below.
+
+The same thing was manifest along the whole line of the thoroughfare
+by which the fatal procession would advance, with this difference
+alone, that many of the houses in that quarter belonging to the high
+nobility, and all with few exceptions being the dwellings of opulent
+persons, the windows, instead of being let like seats at the opera, to
+any who would pay the price, were occupied by the inhabitants, coming
+and going from their ordinary avocations to look out upon the noisy
+throng, when any louder outbreak of voices called their attention to
+the busy scene.
+
+Among the latter, in a large and splendid mansion, not far from the
+Porte St. Antoine, and commanding a direct view of the Place de la
+Bastille, with its esplanade, drawbridge, and principal entrance, a
+group was collected at one of the windows, nearly overlooking the gate
+itself, which seemed to take the liveliest interest in the proceedings
+of the day, although that interest was entirely unmixed with any thing
+like the brutal expectation, and morbid love of horrible excitement
+which characterized the temper of the multitude.
+
+The most prominent person of this group was a singularly noble-looking
+man, fast verging to his fiftieth year, if he had not yet attained it.
+His countenance, though resolute and firm, with a clear, piercing eye,
+lighted up at times, for a moment, by a quick, fiery flash, was calm,
+benevolent, and pensive in its ordinary mood, rather than energetical
+or active. Yet it was easy to perceive that the mind, which informed
+it, was of the highest capacity both of intellect and imagination.
+
+The figure and carriage of this gentleman would have sufficiently
+indicated that, at some period of his life, he had borne arms and led
+the life of a camp--which, indeed, at that day was only to say that he
+was a nobleman of France--but a long scar on his right brow, a little
+way above the eye, losing itself among the thick locks of his fine
+waving hair, and a small round cicatrix in the centre of his cheek,
+showing where a pistol ball had found entrance, proved that he had
+been where blows were falling thickest, and that he had not spared his
+own person in the _melée_.
+
+His dress was very rich, according to the fashion of the day, though
+perhaps a fastidious eye might have objected that it partook somewhat
+of the past mode of the Regency, which had just been brought to a
+conclusion as my tale commences, by the resignation of the witty and
+licentious Philip of Orleans.
+
+If, however, this fine-looking gentleman was the most prominent, he
+certainly was not the most interesting person of the company, which
+consisted, beside himself, of an ecclesiastic of high rank in the
+French church, a lady, now somewhat advanced in years, but showing the
+remains of beauty which, in its prime, must have been extraordinary,
+and of a boy in his fifteenth or sixteenth year.
+
+For notwithstanding the eminent distinction, and high intellect of the
+elder nobleman, the dignity of the abbé, not unsupported by all which
+men look for as the outward and visible signs of that dignity, and the
+grace and beauty of the lady, it was upon the boy alone that the eye
+of every spectator would have dwelt, from the instant of its first
+discovering him.
+
+He was tall of his age, and very finely made, of proportions which
+gave promise of exceeding strength when he should arrive at maturity,
+but strength uncoupled to any thing of weight or clumsiness. He was
+unusually free, even at this early period, from that heavy and
+ungraceful redundance of flesh which not unfrequently is the
+forerunner of athletic power in boys just bursting into manhood; for
+he was already as conspicuous for the thinness of his flanks, and the
+shapely hollow of his back, as for the depth and roundness of his
+chest, the breadth of his shoulders, and the symmetry of his limbs.
+
+His head was well set on, and his whole bearing was that of one who
+had learned ease, and grace, and freedom, combined with dignity of
+carriage, in no school of practice and mannerism, but from the example
+of those with whom he had been brought up, and by familiar intercourse
+from his cradle upward with the high-born and gently nurtured of the
+land.
+
+His long rich chestnut hair fell down in natural masses, undisfigured
+as yet by the hideous art of the court hair-dresser, on either side
+his fine broad forehead, and curled, untortured by the crisping-irons,
+over the collar of his velvet jerkin. His eyes were large and very
+clear, of the deepest shade of blue, with dark lashes, yet full of
+strong, tranquil light. All his features were regular and shapely, but
+it was not so much in the beauty of their form, or in the harmony of
+their coloring that the attractiveness of his aspect consisted, as in
+the peculiarity and power of his expression.
+
+For a boy of his age, the pensiveness and composure of that expression
+were indeed almost unnatural, and they combined with a calm firmness
+and immobility of feature, which promised, I know not what of
+resolution and tenacity of purpose. It was not gravity, much less
+sternness, or sadness, that lent so powerful an expression to that
+young face; nor was there a single line which indicated coldness or
+hardness of heart, or which would have led to a suspicion that he had
+been schooled by those hard monitors, suffering and sorrow. No, it was
+pure thoughtfulness, and that of the highest and most intellectual
+order, which characterized the boy's expression.
+
+Yet, though it was so thoughtful, there was nothing in the aspect
+whence to forebode a want of the more masculine qualifications. It was
+the thoughtfulness of a worker, not of a dreamer--the thoughtfulness
+which prepares, not unfits a man for action.
+
+If the powers portrayed in that boy's countenance were not deceptive
+to the last degree, high qualities were within, and a high destiny
+before him.
+
+But who, from the foreshowing and the bloom of sixteen years, may
+augur of the finish and the fruit of the three-score and ten, which
+are the sum of human toil and sorrow?
+
+It was now nearly noon, when the outer drawbridge of the Bastile was
+lowered and its gate opened, and forth rode, two a-breast, a troop of
+the mousquetaires, or life-guard, in the bright steel casques and
+cuirasses, with the musquetoons, from which they derived their name,
+unslung and ready for action. As they issued into the wider space
+beyond the bridge, the troopers formed themselves rapidly into a sort
+of hollow column, the front of which, some eight file deep, occupied
+the whole width of the street, two files in close order composing each
+flank, and leaving an open space in the centre completely surrounded
+by the horsemen.
+
+Into this space, without a moment's delay, there was driven a low
+black cart, or hurdle as it was technically called, of the rudest
+construction, drawn by four powerful black horses, a savage-faced
+official guiding them by the ropes which supplied the place of reins.
+On this ill-omened vehicle there stood three persons, the prisoner,
+and two of the armed wardens of the Bastile, the former ironed very
+heavily, and the latter bristling with offensive weapons.
+
+Immediately in the rear of this car followed another troop of the
+life-guard, which closed up in the densest and most serried order
+around and behind the victim of the law, so as to render any attempt
+at rescue useless.
+
+The person, to secure whose punishment so strong a military force had
+been produced, and to witness whose execution so vast a multitude was
+collected, was a tall, noble-looking man of forty or forty-five years,
+dressed in a rich mourning-habit of the day, but wearing neither hat
+nor mantle. His dark hair, mixed at intervals with thin lines of
+silver, was cut short behind, contrary to the usage of the times, and
+his neck was bare, the collar of his superbly laced shirt being folded
+broadly back over the cape of his pourpoint.
+
+His face was very pale, and his complexion being naturally of the
+darkest, the hue of his flesh, from which all the healthful blood had
+receded, was strangely livid and unnatural in its appearance. Still it
+did not seem that it was fear which had blanched his cheeks, and
+stolen all the color from his compressed lip, for his eye was full of
+a fierce, scornful light, and all his features were set and steady
+with an expression of the calmest and most iron resolution.
+
+As the fatal vehicle which bore him made its appearance on the
+esplanade without the gates of the prison, a deep hum of satisfaction
+ran through the assembled concourse, rising and deepening gradually
+into a savage howl like that of a hungry tiger.
+
+Then, then blazed out the haughty spirit, the indomitable pride of the
+French noble! Then shame, and fear, and death itself, which he was
+looking even now full in the face, were all forgotten, all absorbed in
+his overwhelming scorn of the people!
+
+The blood rushed in a torrent to his brow, his eye seemed to lighten
+forth actual fire, as he raised his right hand aloft, loaded although
+it was with such a mass of iron, as a Greek Athlete might have shunned
+to lift, and shook it at the clamorous mob, with a glare of scorn and
+fury that showed how, had he been at liberty, he would have dealt with
+the revilers of his fallen state.
+
+"_Sacré canaille!_" he hissed through his hard-set teeth, "back to
+your gutters and your garbage, or follow, if you can, in silence, and
+learn, if ye lack not courage to look on, how a man should die."
+
+The reproof told; for, though at the contemptuous tone and fell insult
+of the first words the clamor of the rabble route waxed wilder, there
+was so much true dignity in the last sentiment he uttered, and the
+fate to which he was going was so hideous, that a key was struck in
+the popular heart, and thenceforth the tone of the spectators was
+changed altogether.
+
+It was the exultation of the people over the downfall and disgrace of
+a noble that had found tongue in that savage conclamation--it was the
+apprehension that his dignity, and the interest of his great name,
+would win him pardon from the partial justice of the king, that had
+rendered them pitiless and savage--and now that their own cruel will
+was about to be gratified, as they beheld how dauntlessly the proud
+lord went to a death of torture, they were stricken with a sort of
+secret shame, and followed the dread train in sullen silence.
+
+As the black car rolled onward, the haughty criminal turned his eyes
+upward, perchance from a sentiment of pride, which rendered it painful
+to him to meet the gaze, whether pitiful or triumphant, of the
+Parisian populace, and as he did so, it chanced that his glance fell
+on the group which I have described, as assembled at the windows of a
+mansion which he knew well, and in which, in happier days, he had
+passed gay and pleasant hours. Every eye of that group, with but one
+exception, was fixed upon himself, as he perceived on the instant; the
+lady alone having turned her head away, as unable to look upon one in
+such a strait, whom she had known under circumstances so widely
+different. There was nothing, however, in the gaze of all these
+earnest eyes that seemed to embarrass, much less to offend the
+prisoner. Deep interest, earnestness, perhaps horror, was expressed by
+one and all; but that horror was not, nor in anywise partook of, the
+abhorrence which appeared to be the leading sentiment of the populace
+below.
+
+As he encountered their gaze, therefore, he drew himself up to his
+full height, and laying his right hand upon his heart bowed low and
+gracefully to the windows at which his friends of past days were
+assembled.
+
+The boy turned his eye quickly toward his father as if to note what
+return he should make to that strange salutation. If it were so, he
+did not remain in doubt a moment, for that nobleman bowed low and
+solemnly to his brother peer with a very grave and sad aspect; and
+even the ecclesiastic inclined his head courteously to the condemned
+criminal.
+
+The boy perhaps marveled, for a look of bewilderment crossed his
+ingenuous features; but it passed away in an instant, and following
+the example of his seniors, he bent his ingenuous brow and sunny locks
+before the unhappy man, who never was again to interchange a salute
+with living mortal.
+
+It would seem that the recipient of that last act of courtesy was
+gratified even beyond the expectation of those who offered it, for a
+faint flush stole over his livid features, from which the momentary
+glow of indignation had now entirely faded, and a slight smile played
+upon his pallid lip, while a tear--the last he should ever
+shed--twinkled for an instant on his dark lashes. "True," he muttered
+to himself approvingly--"the nobles are true ever to their order!"
+
+The eyes of the mob likewise had been attracted to the group above, by
+what had passed, and at first it appeared as if they had taken umbrage
+at the sympathy showed to the criminal by his equals in rank; for
+there was manifested a little inclination to break out again into a
+murmured shout, and some angry words were bandied about, reflecting on
+the pride and party spirit of the proud lords.
+
+But the inclination was checked instantly, before it had time to
+render itself audible, by a word which was circulated, no one knew
+whence or by whom, through the crowded ranks--"Hush! hush! it is the
+good Lord of St. Renan." And therewith every voice was hushed, so
+fickle is the fancy of a crowd, although it is very certain that four
+fifths of those present knew not, nor had ever heard the name of St.
+Renan, nor had the slightest suspicion what claims he who bore it, had
+either on their respect or forbearance.
+
+The death-train passed on its way, however, unmolested by any further
+show of temper on the part of the crowd, and the crowd itself
+following the progress of the hurdle to the place of execution, was
+soon out of sight of the windows occupied by the family of the Count
+de St. Renan.
+
+"Alas! unhappy Kerguelen!" exclaimed the count, with a deep and
+painful sigh, as the fearful procession was lost to sight in the
+distance. "He knows not yet half the bitterness of that which he has
+to undergo."
+
+The boy looked up into his father's face with an inquiring glance,
+which he answered at once, still in the same subdued and solemn voice
+which he had used from the first.
+
+"By the arrangement of his hair and dress I can see that he imagines
+he is to die as a nobleman, by the axe. May Heaven support him when he
+sees the disgraceful wheel."
+
+"You seem to pity the wretch, Louis," cried the lady, who had not
+hitherto spoken, nor even looked toward the criminal as he was passing
+by the windows--"and yet he was assuredly a most atrocious criminal. A
+cool, deliberate, cold-blooded poisoner! Out upon it! out upon it! The
+wheel is fifty times too good for him!"
+
+"He was all that you say, Marie," replied her husband gravely; "and
+yet I do pity him with all my heart, and grieve for him. I knew him
+well, though we have not met for many years, when we were both young,
+and there was no braver, nobler, better man within the limits of fair
+France. I know, too, how he loved that woman, how he trusted that
+man--and then to be so betrayed! It seems to me but yesterday that he
+led her to the altar, all tears of happiness, and soft maiden blushes.
+Poor Kerguelen! He was sorely tried."
+
+"But still, my son, he was found wanting. Had he submitted him as a
+Christian to the punishment the good God laid upon him--"
+
+"The world would have pronounced him a spiritless, dishonored slave,
+father," said the count, answering the ecclesiastic's speech before it
+was yet finished, "and gentlemen would have refused him the hand of
+fellowship."
+
+"Was he justified then, my father?" asked the boy eagerly, who had
+been listening with eager attention to every word that had yet been
+spoken. "Do you think, then, that he was in the right; that he could
+not do otherwise than to slay her? I can understand that he was bound
+to kill the man who had basely wronged his honor--but a woman!--a
+woman whom he had once loved too!--that seems to me most horrible; and
+the mode, by a slow poison! living with her while it took effect!
+eating at the same board with her! sleeping by her side! that seems
+even more than horrible, it was cowardly!"
+
+"God forbid, my son," replied the elder nobleman, "that I should say
+any man was justified who had murdered another in cold blood;
+especially, as you have said, a woman, and by a method so terrible as
+poison. I only mean exactly what I said, that he was tried very
+fearfully, and that under such trial the best and wisest of us here
+below cannot say how he would act himself. Moreover, it would seem
+that mistaken as he was perhaps in the course which he seems to have
+imagined that honor demanded at his hands, he was much mistaken in the
+mode which he took of accomplishing his scheme of vengeance. It was
+made very evident upon his trial that he did nothing, even to that
+wretched traitress, in rage or revenge, but all as he thought in
+honor. He chose a drug which consumed her by a mild and gradual decay,
+without suffering or spasm; he gave her time for repentance, nay, it
+is clearly proved that he convinced her of her sin, reconciled her to
+the part he had taken in her death, and exchanged forgiveness with her
+before she passed away. I do not think myself that to commit a crime
+himself can clear one from dishonor cast upon him by another's act,
+but at the same time I cannot look upon Kerguelen's guilt as of that
+brutal and felonious nature which calls for such a punishment as
+his--to be broken alive on the wheel, like a hired stabber--much less
+can I assent to the stigma which is attached to him on all sides,
+while that base, low-lived, treacherous, cogging miscreant, who fell
+too honorably by his honorable sword, meets pity--God defend us from
+such justice and sympathy!--and is entombed with tears and honors,
+while the avenger is crushed, living, out of the very shape of
+humanity by the hands of the common hangman."
+
+The churchman's lips moved for a moment, as if he were about to speak
+in reply to the false doctrines which he heard enunciated by that
+upright and honorable man, and good father, but, ere he spoke, he
+reflected that those doctrines were held at that time, throughout
+Christian Europe, unquestioned, and confirmed by prejudice and pride
+beyond all the power of argument or of religion to set them aside, or
+invalidate them. The law of chivalry, sterner and more inflexible than
+that Mosaic code requiring an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,
+which demanded a human life as the sacrifice for every rash word, for
+every wrongful action, was the law paramount of every civilized land
+in that day, and in France perhaps most of all lands, as standing
+foremost in what was then deemed civilization. And the abbé well knew
+that discussion of this point would only tend to bring out the
+opinions of the Count de St. Renan, in favor of the sanguinary code of
+honor, more decidedly, and consequently to confirm the mind of the
+young man more effectually in what he believed himself to be a fatal
+error.
+
+The young man, who was evidently very deeply interested in the matter
+of the conversation, had devoured every word of his father, as if he
+had been listening to the oracles of a God; and, when he ceased, after
+a pause of some seconds, during which he was pondering very deeply on
+that which he had heard, he raised his intelligent face and said in an
+earnest voice.
+
+"I see, my father, all that you have alleged in palliation of the
+count's crime, and I fully understand you--though I still think it the
+most terrible thing I ever have heard tell of. But I do not perfectly
+comprehend wherefore you ransack our language of all its deepest terms
+of contempt which to heap upon the head of the Chevalier de la
+Rochederrien? He was the count's sworn friend, she was the count's
+wedded wife; they both were forsworn and false, and both betrayed him.
+But in what was the chevalier's fault the greater or the viler?"
+
+Those were strange days, in which such a subject could have been
+discussed between two wise and virtuous parents and a son, whom it was
+their chiefest aim in life to bring up to be a good and honorable
+man--that son, too, barely more than a boy in years and understanding.
+But the morality of those times was coarser and harder, and, if there
+was no more real vice, there was far less superficial delicacy in the
+manners of society, and the relations between men and women, than
+there is nowadays.
+
+Perhaps the true course lies midway; for certainly if there was much
+coarseness then, there is much cant and much squeamishness now, which
+could be excellently well dispensed with.
+
+Beside this, boys were brought into the great world much earlier at
+that period, and were made men of at an age when they would have been
+learning Greek and Latin, had their birth been postponed by a single
+century.
+
+Then, at fifteen, they held commissions, and carried colors in the
+battle's front, and were initiated into all the license of the court,
+the camp, and the forum.
+
+So it came that the discussion of a subject such as that which I have
+described, was very naturally introduced even between parents and a
+beloved and only son by the circumstances of the day. Morals, as
+regards the matrimonial contract, and the intercourse between the
+sexes, have at all times been lower and far less rigid among the
+French, than in nations of northern origin; and never at any period of
+the world was the morality of any country, in this respect, at so low
+an ebb as was France under the reign of the Fifteenth Louis.
+
+The Count de St. Renan replied, therefore, to his son with as little
+restraint as if he had been his equal in age, and equally acquainted
+with the customs and vices of the world, although intrigue and crime
+were the topics of which he had to treat.
+
+"It is quite true, Raoul," replied the count, "that so far as the
+unhappy Lord of Kerguelen was concerned, the guilt of the Chevalier de
+la Rochederrien was, as you say, no deeper, perhaps less deep than
+that of the miserable lady. He was, indeed, bound to Kerguelen by
+every tie of friendship and honor; he had been aided by his purse,
+backed by his sword, nay, I have heard and believe, that he owed his
+life to him. Yet for all that he seduced his wife; and to make it
+worse, if worse it could be, Kerguelen had married her from the
+strongest affection, and till the chevalier brought misery, and
+dishonor, and death upon them, there was no wedded couple in all
+France so virtuous or so happy."
+
+"Indeed, sir!" replied Raoul, in tones of great emotion, staring with
+his large, dark eyes as if some strange sight had presented itself to
+him on a sudden.
+
+"I know well, Raoul, and if you have not heard it yet, you will soon
+do so, when you begin to mingle with men, that there are those in
+society, _those_ whom the world regards, moreover, as honorable men,
+who affect to say that he who loves a woman, whether lawfully or
+sinfully, is at once absolved from all considerations except how he
+most easily may win--or in other words--ruin her; and consequently
+such men would speak slightly of the chevalier's conduct toward his
+friend, Kerguelen, and affect to regard it as a matter of course, and
+a mere affair of gallantry! But I trust you will remember this, my
+son, that there is nothing _gallant_, nor can be, in lying, or deceit,
+or treachery of any kind. And further, that to look with eyes of
+passion on the wife of a friend, is in itself both a crime, and an act
+of deliberate dishonor."
+
+"I should not have supposed, sir," replied the boy, blushing very
+deeply, partly it might be from the nature of the subject under
+discussion, and partly from the strength of his emotions, "that any
+cavalier could have regarded it otherwise. It seems to me that to
+betray a friend's honor is a far blacker thing than to betray his
+life--and surely no man with one pretension to honor, would attempt to
+justify that."
+
+"I am happy to see, Raoul, that you think so correctly on this point.
+Hold to your creed, my dear boy, for there are who shall try ere long
+to shake it. But be sure that is the creed of honor. But, although I
+think La Rochederrien disgraced himself even in this, it was not for
+this only that I termed him, as I deem him, the very vilest and most
+infamous of mankind. For when he had led that poor lady into sin; when
+she had surrendered herself up wholly to his honor; when she had
+placed the greatest trust--although a guilty trust, I admit--in his
+faith and integrity that one human being can place in another, the
+base dog betrayed her. He boasted of her weakness, of Kerguelen's
+dishonor, of his own infamy."
+
+"And did not they to whom he boasted of it," exclaimed the noble boy,
+his face flushing fiery red with excitement and indignation, "spurn
+him at once from their presence, as a thing unworthy and beyond the
+pale of law."
+
+"No, Raoul, they laughed at him, applauded his gallant success, and
+jeered at the Lord of Kerguelen."
+
+"Great heaven! and these were gentlemen!"
+
+"They were called such, at least; gentlemen by name and descent they
+were assuredly, but as surely not right gentlemen at heart. Many of
+them, however, in cooler moments, spoke of the traitor and the
+braggart with the contempt and disgust he merited. Some friend of
+Kerguelen's heard what had passed, and deemed it his duty to inform
+him. The most unhappy husband called the seducer to the field, wounded
+him mortally, and--to increase yet more his infamy--even in the agony
+of death the slave confessed the whole, and craved forgiveness like a
+dog. Confessed the _woman's crime_--you mark me, Raoul!--had he died
+mute, or died even with a falsehood in his mouth, as I think he was
+bound to do in such extremity, affirming her innocence with his last
+breath, he had saved her, and perhaps spared her wretched lord the
+misery of knowing certainly the depth of his dishonor."
+
+The boy pondered for a moment or two without making any answer; and
+although he was evidently not altogether satisfied, probably would not
+have again spoken, had not his father, who read what was passing in
+his mind, asked him what it was that he desired to know further.
+
+Raoul smiled at perceiving how completely his father understood him,
+and then said at once, without pause or hesitation--
+
+"I understand you to say, sir, that you thought the wretched man of
+whom we spoke was bound, under the extremity in which he stood, to die
+with a falsehood in his mouth. Can a gentleman ever be justified in
+saying the thing that is not? Much more can it be his bounden duty to
+do so?"
+
+"Unquestionably, as a rule of general conduct, he cannot. Truth is the
+soul of honor; and without truth, honor cannot exist. But this is a
+most intricate and tangled question. It never can arise without
+presupposing the commission of one guilty act--one act which no good
+or truly moral man would commit at all. It is, therefore, scarcely
+worth our while to examine it. But I do say, on my deliberate and
+grave opinion, that if a woman, previously innocent and pure, have
+sacrificed her honor to a man, that man is bound to sacrifice every
+thing, his life without a question, and I think his truth also, in
+order to preserve her character, so far as he can, scathless. But we
+will speak no more of this. It is an odious subject, and one of which,
+I trust, you, Raoul, will never have the sad occasion to consider."
+
+"Oh! never, father, never! I," cried the ingenuous boy, "I must first
+lose my senses, and become a madman."
+
+"All men are madmen, Raoul," said the church-man, who stood in the
+relation of maternal uncle to the youth, "who suffer their passions to
+have the mastery of them. You must learn, therefore, to be their
+tyrant, for if you be not, be well assured that they will be
+yours--and merciless tyrants they are to the wretches who become their
+subjects."
+
+"I will remember what you say, sir," answered the boy, "and, indeed, I
+am not like to forget it, for, altogether, this is the saddest day I
+ever have passed; and this is the most horrible and appalling story
+that I ever have heard told. It was but just that the Lord of
+Kerguelen should die, for he did a murder; and since the law punishes
+that in a peasant, it must do so likewise with a noble. But to break
+him upon the wheel!--it is atrocious! I should have thought all the
+nobles of the land would have applied to the king to spare him that
+horror."
+
+"Many of them did apply, Raoul; but the king, or his ministers in his
+name, made answer, that during the Regency the Count Horn was broken
+on the wheel for murder, and therefore that to behead the Lord of
+Kerguelen for the same offence, would be to admit that the Count was
+wrongfully condemned."
+
+"Out on it! out on it! what sophistry. Count Horn murdered a banker,
+like a common thief, for his gold, and this unhappy lord hath done the
+deed for which he must suffer in a mistaken sense of honor, and with
+all tenderness compatible with such a deed. There is nothing similar
+or parallel in the two cases; and if there were, what signifies it now
+to Count Horn, whether he were condemned rightfully or no; are these
+men heathen, that they would offer a victim to the offended manes of
+the dead? But is there no hope, my father, that his sentence may be
+commuted?"
+
+"None whatsoever. Let us trust, therefore, that he has died penitent,
+and that his sufferings are already over; and let us pray, ere we lay
+us down to sleep, that his sins may be forgiven to him, and that his
+soul may have rest."
+
+"Amen!" replied the boy, solemnly, at the same moment that the
+ecclesiastic repeated the same word, though he did so, as it would
+seem, less from the heart, and more as a matter of course.
+
+Nothing further was said on that subject, and in truth the
+conversation ceased altogether. A gloom was cast over the spirits of
+all present, both by the imagination of the horrors which were in
+progress at that very moment, and by the recollection of the preceding
+enormities of which this was but the consummation; but the young
+Viscount Raoul was so completely engrossed by the deep thoughts which
+that conversation had awakened in his mind, that his father, who was a
+very close observer, and correct judge of human nature, almost
+regretted that he had spoken, and determined, if possible, to divert
+him from the gloomy revery into which he had fallen.
+
+"Viscount," said he, after a silence which had endured now for many
+minutes, "when did you last wait upon Mademoiselle Melanie
+d'Argenson?"
+
+Raoul's eyes, brightened at the name, and again the bright blush,
+which I noticed before, crossed his ingenuous features; but this time
+it was pleasure, not embarrassment, which colored his young face so
+vividly.
+
+"I called yesterday, sir;" he answered, "but she was abroad with the
+countess, her mother. In truth, I have not seen her since Friday
+last."
+
+"Why that is an age, Raoul! are you not dying to see her again by this
+time. At your age, I was far more gallant."
+
+"With your permission, sir, I will go now and make my compliments to
+her."
+
+"Not only my permission, Raoul, but my advice to make your best haste
+thither. If you go straight-ways, you will be sure to find her at
+home, for the ladies are sure not to have ventured abroad with all
+this uproar in the streets. Take Martin, the equerry, with you, and
+three of the grooms. What will you ride? The new Barb I bought for you
+last week? Yes! as well him as any; and, hark you, boy, tell them to
+send Martin to me first, I will speak to him while you are beautifying
+yourself to please the _beaux yeux_ of Mademoiselle Melanie."
+
+"I am not sure that you are doing wisely, Louis," said the lady, as
+her son left the saloon, her eye following him wistfully, "in bringing
+Raoul up as you are doing."
+
+"Nor I, Marie," replied her husband, gravely. "We poor, blind mortals
+cannot be sure of any thing, least of all of any thing the ends of
+which are incalculably distant. But in what particular do you doubt
+the wisdom of my method?"
+
+"In talking to him as you do, as though he were a man already; in
+opening his eyes so widely to the sins and vices of the world; in
+discussing questions with him such as those you spoke of with him but
+now. He is a mere boy, you will remember, to hear tell of such
+things."
+
+"Boys hear of such things early enough, I assure you--far earlier than
+you ladies would deem possible. For the rest, he must hear of them one
+day, and I think it quite as well that he should hear of them, since
+hear he must, with the comments of an old man, and that old man his
+best friend, than find them out by the teachings, and judge of them
+according to the light views of his young and excitable associates. He
+who is forewarned is fore-weaponed. I was kept pure, as it is
+termed--or in other words, kept ignorant of myself and of the world I
+was destined to live in, until one fine day I was cut loose from the
+apron-strings of my lady mother, and the tether of my abbé tutor, and
+launched head-foremost into that vortex of temptation and iniquity,
+the world of Paris, like a ship without a chart or a compass. A
+precious race I ran in consequence, for a time; and if I had not been
+so fortunate as to meet you, Marie, whose bright eyes brought me out,
+like a blessed beacon, safe from that perilous ocean, I know not but I
+should have suffered shipwreck, both in fortune, which is a trifle,
+and in character, which is every thing. No, no; if that is all in
+which you doubt, your fears are causeless."
+
+"But that is not all. In this you may be right--I know not; at all
+events you are a fitter judge than I. But are you wise in encouraging
+so very strongly his fancy for Melanie d'Argenson?"
+
+"I'faith, it is something more than a fancy, I think; the boy loves
+her."
+
+"I see that, Louis, clearly; and you encourage it."
+
+"And wherefore should I not. She is a good girl--as good as she is
+beautiful."
+
+"She is an angel."
+
+"And her mother, Marie, was your most intimate, your bosom friend."
+
+"And now a saint in Heaven!"
+
+"Well, what more; she is as noble as a De Rohan, or a Montmorency. She
+is an heiress with superb estates adjoining our own lands of St.
+Renan. She is, like our Raoul, an only child. And what is the most of
+all, I think, although it is not the mode in this dear France of ours
+to attach much weight to that, it is no made-up match, no cradle
+plighting between babes, to be made good, perhaps, by the breaking of
+hearts, but a genuine, natural, mutual affection between two young,
+sincere, innocent, artless persons--and a splendid couple they will
+make. What can you see to alarm you in that prospect?"
+
+"Her father."
+
+"The Sieur d'Argenson! Well, I confess, he is not a very charming
+person; but we all have our own faults or weaknesses; and, after all,
+it is not he whom Raoul is about to marry."
+
+"I doubt his good faith, very sorely."
+
+"I should doubt it too, Marie, did I see any cause which should lead
+him to break it. But the match is in all respects more desirable for
+him than it is for us. For though Mademoiselle d'Argenson is noble,
+rich, and handsome, the Viscount de Douarnez might be well justified
+in looking for a wife far higher than the daughter of a simple Sieur
+of Bretagne. Beside, although the children loved before any one spoke
+of it--before any one saw it, indeed, save I--it was d'Argenson
+himself who broke the subject. What, then, should induce him to play
+false?"
+
+"I do not know, yet I doubt--I fear him."
+
+"But that, Marie, is unworthy of your character, of your mind."
+
+"Louis, she is _too_ beautiful."
+
+"I do not think Raoul will find fault with her on that score."
+
+"Nor would one greater than Raoul."
+
+"Whom do you mean?" cried the count, now for the first time startled.
+
+"I have seen eyes fixed upon her in deadly admiration, which never
+admire but they pollute the object of their admiration."
+
+"The king's, Marie?"
+
+"The king's."
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"And then I have heard it whispered that the Baron de Beaulieu has
+asked her hand of the Sieur d'Argenson."
+
+"The Baron de Beaulieu! and who the devil is the Baron de Beaulieu,
+that the Sieur d'Argenson should doubt for the nine hundredth part of
+a minute between him and the Viscount de Douarnez for the husband of
+his daughter?"
+
+"The Baron de Beaulieu, count, is the very particular friend, the
+right hand man, and most private minister of his most Christian
+Majesty King Louis the Fifteenth!"
+
+"Ha! is it possible? Do you mean that?--"
+
+"I mean even _that_. If, by that, you mean all that is most infamous
+and loathsome on the part of Beaulieu, all that is most licentious on
+the part of the king. I believe--nay, I am well nigh sure, that there
+is such a scheme of villany on foot against that sweet, unhappy child;
+and therefore would I pause ere I urged too far my child's love toward
+her, lest it prove most unhappy and disastrous."
+
+"And do you think d'Argenson capable--" exclaimed her husband--
+
+"Of any thing," she answered, interrupting him, "of any thing that may
+serve his avarice or his ambition."
+
+"Ah! it may be so. I will look to it, Marie; I will look to it
+narrowly. But I fear that if it be as you fancy, it is too late
+already--that our boy's heart is devoted to her entirely--that any
+break now, in one word, would be a heart-break."
+
+"He loves her very dearly, beyond doubt," replied the lady; "and she
+deserves it all, and is, I think, very fond of him likewise."
+
+"And can you suppose for a moment that she will lend herself to such a
+scheme of infamy?"
+
+"Never. She would die sooner."
+
+"I do not apprehend, then, that there will be so much difficulty as
+you seem to fear. This business which brought all of us Bretons up to
+Paris, as claimants of justice for our province, or counters of the
+king's grace, as they phrase it, is finished happily; and there is
+nothing to detain any of us in this great wilderness of stone and
+mortar any longer. D'Argenson told me yesterday that he should set out
+homeward on Wednesday next; and it is but hurrying our own
+preparations a little to travel with them in one party. I will see him
+this evening and arrange it."
+
+"Have you ever spoken with him concerning the contract, Louis?"
+
+"Never, directly, or in the form of a solemn proposal. But we have
+spoken oftentimes of the evident attachment of the children, and he
+has ever expressed himself gratified, and seemed to regard it as a
+matter of course. But hush, here comes the boy; leave us awhile and I
+will speak with him."
+
+Almost before his words were ended the door was thrown open, and young
+Raoul entered, splendidly dressed, with his rapier at his side, and
+his plumed hat in his hand, as likely a youth to win a fair maid's
+heart as ever wore the weapon of a gentleman.
+
+"Martin is absent, sir. He went out soon after breakfast, they tell
+me, to look after a pair of fine English carriage horses for the
+countess my mother, and has not yet returned. I ordered old Jean
+François to attend me with the four other grooms."
+
+"Very well, Raoul. But look you, your head is young, and your blood
+hot. You will meet, it is very like, all this canaille returning from
+the slaughter of poor Kerguelen. Now mark me, boy, there must be no
+vaporing on your part, or interfering with the populace; and even if
+they should, as very probably may, be insolent, and utter outcries and
+abuse against the nobility, even bear with them. On no account strike
+any person, nor let your servants do so, nor encroach upon their
+order, unless, indeed, they should so far forget themselves as to
+throw stones, or to strike the first."
+
+"And then, my father?"
+
+"Oh, then, Raoul, you are at liberty to let your good sword feel the
+fresh air, and to give your horse a taste of those fine spurs you
+wear. But even in that case, I should advise you to use your edge
+rather than your point. There is not much harm done in wiping a saucy
+burgher across the face to mend his manners, but to pink him through
+the body makes it an awkward matter. And I need not tell you by no
+means to fire, unless you should be so beset and maltreated that you
+cannot otherwise extricate yourself--yet you must have your pistols
+loaded. In these times it is necessary always to be provided against
+all things. I do not, however, tell you these things now because you
+are likely to be attacked but such events are always possible, and one
+cannot provide against such too early."
+
+"I will observe what you say, my father. Have I your permission now to
+depart?"
+
+"Not yet, Raoul, I would speak with you first a few words. This
+Mademoiselle Melanie is very pretty, is she not?"
+
+"She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen," replied the youth,
+not without some embarrassment.
+
+"And as amiable and gentle as she is beautiful?"
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. She is all gentleness and sweetness, yet is
+full of mirth, too, and graceful merriment."
+
+"In one word, then, she seems to you a very sweet and lovely
+creature."
+
+"Doubtless she does, my father."
+
+"And I beseech you tell me, viscount, in what light do you appear in
+the eyes of this very admirable young lady?"
+
+"Oh, sir!" replied the youth, now very much embarrassed, and blushing
+actually from shame.
+
+"Nay, Raoul, I did not ask the question lightly, I assure you, or in
+the least degree as a jest. It becomes very important that I should
+know on what terms you and this fair lady stand together. You have
+been visiting her now almost daily, I think, during these three months
+last past. Do you conceive that you are very disagreeable to her?"
+
+"Oh! I hope not, sir. It would grieve me much if I thought so."
+
+"Well, I am to understand, then, that you think she is not blind to
+your merits, sir."
+
+"I am not aware, my dear father, that I have any merits which she
+should be called to observe."
+
+"Oh, yes, viscount! That is an excess of modesty which touches a
+little, I am afraid, on hypocrisy. You are not altogether without
+merits. You are young, not ill-looking, nobly born, and will, in God's
+good time, be rich. Then you can ride well, and dance gracefully, and
+are not generally ill-educated or unpolished. It is quite as
+necessary, my dear son, that a young man should not undervalue
+himself, as that he should not think of his deserts too highly. Now
+that you have some merits is certain--for the rest I desire frankness
+of you just now, and beg that you will speak out plainly. I think you
+love this young girl. Is it not so, Raoul?"
+
+"I do love, sir, very dearly; with my whole heart and spirit."
+
+"And do you feel sure that this is not a mere transient liking--that
+it will last, Raoul?"
+
+"So long as life lasts in my heart, so long will my love for her last,
+my father."
+
+"And you would wish to marry her?"
+
+"Beyond all things in this world, my dear father."
+
+"And do you think that, were her tastes and views on the subject
+consulted, she would say likewise?"
+
+"I hope she would, sir. But I have never asked her."
+
+"And her father, is he gracious when you meet him?"
+
+"Most gracious, sir, and most kind. Indeed, he distinguishes me above
+all the other young gentlemen who visit there."
+
+"You would not then despair of obtaining his consent?"
+
+"By no means, my father, if you would be so kind as to ask it."
+
+"And you desire that I should do so?"
+
+"You will make me the happiest man in all France, if you will."
+
+"Then go your way, sir, and make the best you can of it with the young
+lady. I will speak myself with the Sieur d'Argenson to-night; and I do
+not despair any more than you do, Raoul. But look you, boy, you do not
+fancy, I hope, that you are going to church with your lady-love
+to-morrow or the next day. Two or three years hence, at the earliest,
+will be all in very good time. You must serve a campaign or two first,
+in order to show that you know how to use your sword."
+
+"In all things, my dear father, I shall endeavor to fulfill your
+wishes, knowing them to be as kindly as they are wise and prudent. I
+owe you gratitude for every hour since I was born, but for none so
+much as for this, for indeed you are going to make me the happiest of
+men."
+
+"Away with you, then, Sir Happiness! Betake yourself on the wings of
+love to your bright lady, and mind the advice of your favorite Horace,
+to pluck the pleasures of the passing hour, mindful how short is the
+sum of mortal life."
+
+The young man embraced his father gayly, and left the room with a
+quick step and a joyous heart; and the jingling of his spurs, and the
+quick, merry clash of his scabbard on the marble staircase, told how
+joyously he descended its steps.
+
+A moment afterward his father heard the clear, sonorous tones of his
+fine voice calling to his attendants, and yet a few seconds later the
+lively clatter of his horse's hoofs on the resounding pavement.
+
+"Alas! for the happy days of youth, which are so quickly flown,"
+exclaimed the father, as he participated the hopeful and exulting mood
+of his noble boy. "And, alas! for the promise of mortal happiness,
+which is so oft deceitful and a traitress." He paused for a few
+moments, and seemed to ponder, and then added with a confident and
+proud expression, "But I see not why one should forebode aught but
+success and happiness to this noble boy of mine. Thus far, every
+thing has worked toward the end as I would wish it. They have fallen
+in love naturally and of their own accord, and d'Argenson, whether he
+like it or no, cannot help himself. He must needs accede, proudly and
+joyfully, to my proposal. He knows his estates to be in my power far
+too deeply to resist. Nay, more, though he be somewhat selfish, and
+ambitious, and avaricious, I know nothing of him that should justify
+me in believing that he would sell his daughter's honor, even to a
+king, for wealth or title! My good wife is all too doubtful and
+suspicious. But, hark! here comes the mob, returning from that
+unfortunate man's execution. I wonder how he bore it."
+
+And with the words he moved toward the window, and throwing it open,
+stepped out upon the spacious balcony. Here he learned speedily from
+the conversation of the passing crowd, that, although dreadfully
+shocked and startled by the first intimation of the death he was to
+undergo, which he received from the sight of the fatal wheel, the Lord
+of Kerguelen had died as becomes a proud, brave man, reconciled to the
+church, forgiving his enemies, without a groan or a murmur, under the
+protracted agonies of that most horrible of deaths, the breaking on
+the wheel.
+
+Meanwhile the day passed onward, and when evening came, and the last
+and most social meal of the day was laid on the domestic board, young
+Raoul had returned from his visit to the lady of his love, full of
+high hopes and happy anticipations. Afterward, according to his
+promise, the Count de St. Renan went forth and held debate until a
+late hour of the night with the Sieur d'Argenson. Raoul had not
+retired when he came home, too restless in his youthful ardor even to
+think of sleep. His father brought good tidings, the father of the
+lady had consented, and on their arrival in Britanny the marriage
+contract was to be signed in form.
+
+That was to Raoul an eventful day; and never did he forget it, or the
+teachings he drew from it. That day was his fate.
+
+[_To be continued_.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF THE WEST.
+
+BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+ Thou land whose deep forest was wide as the sea,
+ And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
+ Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
+ Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
+ The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
+ Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
+
+ Thou land whose dark streams, like a hurrying horde
+ Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
+ Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
+ Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:--
+ Oh grand were thy waters which spurned as they ran
+ The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
+
+ Thou land whose bright blossoms, like shells of the sea,
+ Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
+ Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
+ And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid:--
+ Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
+ To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
+
+ Thou land whose last hamlets were circled with maize,
+ And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
+ While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
+ The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:--
+ Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home
+ And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
+
+ Thou land where the eagle of Freedom looked down
+ From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
+ Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
+ The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:--
+ Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
+ Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
+
+
+
+
+GOING TO HEAVEN.
+
+BY T. S. ARTHUR.
+
+Whatever our gifts may be, the love of imparting them for the good of
+others brings HEAVEN into the soul. MRS. CHILD.
+
+
+An old man, with a peaceful countenance, sat in a company of twelve
+persons. They were conversing, but he was silent. The theme upon which
+they were discoursing was Heaven; and each one who spoke did so with
+animation.
+
+"Heaven is a place of rest," said one--"rest and peace. Oh! what sweet
+words! rest and peace. Here, all is labor and disquietude. There we
+shall have rest and peace."
+
+"And freedom from pain," said another, whose pale cheeks and sunken
+eyes told many a tale of bodily suffering. "No more pain; no more
+sickness--the aching head will be at rest--the weary limbs find
+everlasting repose."
+
+"Sorrow and sighing shall forever flee away," spoke up a third one of
+the company. "No more grief, no more anguish of spirit. Happy, happy
+change!"
+
+"There," added a fourth, "the wounded spirit that none can bear is
+healed. The reed long bruised and bent by the tempests of life, finds
+a smiling sky, and a warm, refreshing, and healing sunshine. Oh! how
+my soul pants to escape from this world, and, like a bird fleeing to
+the mountains, get home again from its dreary exile."
+
+"My heart expands," said another, "whenever I think of Heaven; and I
+long for the wings of a dove, that I may rise at once from this low,
+ignorant, groveling state, and bathe my whole soul in the sunlight of
+eternal felicity. What joy it will be to cast off this cumbersome
+clay; to leave this poor body behind, and spread a free wing upon the
+heavenly atmosphere. I shall hail with delight the happy moment which
+sets me free."
+
+Thus, one after another spoke, and each one regarded Heaven as a state
+of happiness into which he was to come after death; but the old man
+still sat silent, and his eyes were bent thoughtfully upon the floor.
+Presently one said,
+
+"Our aged friend says nothing. Has he no hope of Heaven? Does he not
+rejoice with us in the happy prospect of getting there when the silver
+chord shall be loosened, and the golden bowl broken at the fountain?"
+
+The old man, thus addressed, looked around upon his companions. His
+face remained serene, and his eye had a heavenly expression.
+
+"Have you not a blessed hope of Heaven? Does not your heart grow warm
+with sweet anticipations?" continued the last speaker.
+
+"I never think of going to Heaven," the old man said, in a mild, quiet
+tone.
+
+"Never think of going to Heaven!" exclaimed one of the most ardent of
+the company, his voice warming with indignation. "Are you a heathen?"
+
+"I am one who is patiently striving to fill my allotted place in
+life," replied the old man, as calmly as before.
+
+"And have you no hopes beyond the grave?" asked the last speaker.
+
+"If I live right here, all will be right there." The old man pointed
+upward. "I have no anxieties about the future--no impatience--no
+ardent longings to pass away and be at rest, as some of you have said.
+I already enjoy as much of Heaven as I am prepared to enjoy, and this
+is all that I can expect throughout eternity. You all, my friends,
+seem to think that men come into Heaven when they die. You look ahead
+to death with pleasure, because then you think you will enter the
+happy state you anticipate--or rather _place_; for it is clear you
+regard Heaven as a place full of delights, prepared for those who may
+be fitted to become inhabitants thereof. But in this you are mistaken.
+If you do not enter Heaven before you die, you will never do so
+afterward. If Heaven be not formed within you, you will never find it
+out of you--you will never _come into it_."
+
+These remarks offended the company, and they spoke harshly to the old
+man, who made no reply, but arose and retired, with a sorrowful
+expression on his face. He went forth and resumed his daily
+occupations, and pursued them diligently. Those who had been assembled
+with him, also went forth--one to his farm, another to his
+merchandize, each one forgetting all he had thought about Heaven and
+its felicities, and only anxious to serve natural life and get gain.
+Heaven was above the world to them, and, therefore, while in the
+world, they could only act upon the principle that governed the world;
+and prepare for Heaven by pious acts on the Sabbath. There was no
+other way to do, they believed--to attempt to bring religion down into
+life would only, in their view, desecrate it, and expose it to
+ridicule and contempt.
+
+The old man, to whom allusion has been made, kept a store for the sale
+of various useful articles; those of the pious company who needed
+these articles as commodities of trade, or for their own use, bought
+of him, because they believed that he would sell them only what was of
+good quality. One of the most ardent of these came into the old man's
+store one day, holding a small package in his hand; his eye was
+restless, his lip compressed, and he seemed struggling to keep down a
+feeling of excitement.
+
+"Look at that," he said, speaking with some sternness, as he threw the
+package on the old man's counter.
+
+The package was taken up, opened, and examined.
+
+"Well?" said the old man, after he had made the examination, looking
+up with a steady eye and a calm expression of countenance.
+
+"Well? Don't you see what is the matter?"
+
+"I see that this article is a damaged one," was replied.
+
+"And yet you sold it to me for good." The tone in which this was said
+implied a belief that there had been an intention of wrong.
+
+A flush warmed the pale cheek of the old man at this remark. He
+examined the sample before him more carefully, and then opened a
+barrel of the same commodity and compared its contents with the
+sample. They agreed. The sample from which he had bought and by which
+he had sold was next examined--this was in good condition and of the
+best quality.
+
+"Are you satisfied?" asked the visitor with an air of triumph.
+
+"Of what?" the old man asked.
+
+"That you sold me a bad article for a good one."
+
+"Intentionally?"
+
+"You are the best judge. That lies with God and your own conscience."
+
+"Be kind enough to return every barrel you purchased of me, and get
+your money."
+
+There was a rebuke in the way this was said, which was keenly felt. An
+effort was made to soften the aspersion tacitly cast upon the old
+man's integrity, but it was received without notice.
+
+In due time the damaged article was brought back, and the money which
+had been paid for it returned.
+
+"You will not lose, I hope?" said the merchant, with affected
+sympathy.
+
+"I shall lose what I paid for the article."
+
+"Why not return it, as I have done?"
+
+"The man from whom _I_ purchased is neither honest nor responsible, as
+I have recently learned. He left the city last week in no very
+creditable manner, and no one expects to see him back again."
+
+"That is hard; but I really don't think you ought to lose."
+
+"The article is not merchantable. Loss is, therefore, inevitable."
+
+"You can, of course, sell at some price."
+
+"Would it be right to sell, at any price, an article known to be
+useless--nay, worse than useless, positively injurious to any one who
+might use it?"
+
+"If any one should see proper to buy from you the whole lot, knowing
+that it was injured, you would certainly sell. For instance, if I were
+to offer you two cents a pound for what I bought from you at six
+cents, would you not take me at my offer?"
+
+"Will you buy at that price?"
+
+"Yes. I will give you two cents."
+
+"What would you do with it?"
+
+"Sell it again. What did you suppose I would do with it? Throw it in
+the street?"
+
+"To whom would you sell?"
+
+"I'd find a purchaser."
+
+"At an advance?"
+
+"A trifle."
+
+The inquiries of the old man created a suspicion that he wished to
+know who was to be the second purchaser, in order that he might go to
+him and get a better price than was offered. This was the cause of the
+brief answers given to his questions. He clearly comprehended what was
+passing in the other's mind, but took no notice of it.
+
+"For what purpose would the individual who purchased from you buy?" he
+pursued.
+
+"To sell again."
+
+"At a further advance, of course?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"And to some one, in all probability, who would be deceived into
+purchasing a worthless article."
+
+"As likely as not; but with that I have no concern. I sell it for what
+it is, and ask only what it is worth."
+
+"Is it worth anything?"
+
+"Why--yes--I can't say--no." The first words were uttered with
+hesitation; the last one with a decided emphasis. "But then it has a
+market value, as every article has."
+
+"I cannot sell it to you, my friend," said the old man firmly.
+
+"Why not?" I am sure you can't do better."
+
+"I am not willing to become a party in wronging my neighbors. That is
+the reason. The article has no real value, and it would be wrong for
+me to take even a farthing per pound for it. You might sell it at an
+advance, and the purchaser from you at a still further advance, but
+some one would be cheated in the end, for the article never could be
+used."
+
+"But the loss would be divided. It isn't right that one man should
+bear all. In the end it would be distributed amongst a good many, and
+the loss fall lightly upon each."
+
+The good old man shook his head. "My friend," he said, laying his hand
+gently upon his arm--"Not very long since I heard you indulging the
+most ardent anticipations of Heaven. You expected to get there one of
+these days. Is it by acts of over-reaching your neighbor that you
+expect to merit Heaven? Will becoming a party to wrong make you more
+fitted for the company of angels who seek the good of others, and love
+others more than themselves? I fear you are deceiving yourself. All
+who come into Heaven love God: and I would ask with one of the
+apostles, 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he
+love God whom he hath not seen?' You have much yet to learn, my
+friend. Of that true religion by which Heaven is formed in man, you
+have not yet learned the bare rudiments."
+
+There was a calm earnestness in the manner of the old man, and an
+impressiveness in the tone of his voice, that completely subdued his
+auditor. He felt rebuked and humbled, and went away more serious than
+he had come. But though serious, his mind was not free from anger, his
+self-love had been too deeply wounded.
+
+After he had gone away, the property about which so much had been
+said, was taken and destroyed as privately as it could be done. The
+fact, however, could not be concealed. A friend of a different order
+from the pious one last introduced, inquired of the old man why he had
+done this. His answer was as follows:
+
+"No man should live for himself alone. Each one should regard the
+common good, and act with a view to the common good. If all were to do
+so, you can easily see that we should have Heaven upon earth, from
+whence, alas! it has been almost entirely banished. Our various
+employments are means whereby we can serve others--our own good being
+a natural consequence. If the merchant sent out his ships to distant
+parts to obtain the useful commodities of other countries, in order to
+benefit his fellow citizens, do you not see that he would be far
+happier when his ships came in laden with rich produce, than if he had
+sought only gain for himself? And do you not also see that he would
+obtain for himself equal, if not greater advantages. If the builder
+had in view the comfort and convenience of his neighbors while
+erecting a house, instead of regarding only the money he was to
+receive for his work, he would not only perform that work more
+faithfully, and add to the common stock of happiness, but would lay up
+for himself a source of perennial satisfaction. He would not, after
+receiving the reward of his labor in a just return of this world's
+goods, lose all interest in the result of that labor; but would,
+instead, have a feeling of deep interior pleasure whenever he looked
+at a human habitation erected by his hands, arising from a
+consciousness that his skill had enabled him to add to the common
+good. The tillers of the soil, the manufacturers of its products into
+useful articles, the artisans of every class, the literary and
+professional man, all would, if moved by a regard for the welfare of
+the whole social body, not only act more efficiently in their
+callings, but would derive therefrom a delight now unimagined except
+by a very few. Believing thus, I could not be so blind as not to see
+that the only right course for me to pursue was to destroy a worthless
+and injurious commodity, rather than sell it at any price to one who
+would, for gain, either himself defraud his neighbor, or aid another
+in doing it. The article was not only useless, it was worse than
+useless. How, then, could I, with a clear conscience sell it? No--no,
+my friend. I am not afraid of poverty; I am not afraid of any worldly
+ill--but I am afraid of doing wrong to my neighbors; or of putting it
+in the power of any one else to do wrong. As I have said before, if
+every man were to look to the good of the whole, instead of turning
+all his thoughts in upon himself, his own interests would be better
+served and he would be far happier."
+
+"That is a beautiful theory," remarked the friend, "but never can be
+realized in actual life. Men are too selfish. They would find no
+pleasure in contemplating the enjoyments of others, but would, rather,
+be envious of others' good. The merchant, so little does he care for
+the common welfare, that unless he receives the gain of his
+adventures, he will let his goods perish in his ware-house--to
+distribute them, even to the suffering, would not make him happier.
+And so with the product of labor in all the various grades of
+society. Men turn their eyes inward upon the little world of self,
+instead of outward upon the great social world. Few, if any,
+understand that they are parts of a whole, and that any disease in any
+other part of that whole, must affect the whole, and consequently
+themselves. Were this thoroughly understood, even selfishness would
+lead men to act less selfishly. We should indeed have Heaven upon
+earth if your pure theories could be brought out into actual life."
+
+"Heaven will be found nowhere else by man," was replied to this.
+
+"What!" said the friend, in surprise. "Do you mean to say that there
+is no Heaven for the good who bravely battle with evil in this life?
+Is all the reward of the righteous to be in this world?"
+
+One of the pious company, at first introduced, came up at this moment,
+and hearing the last remark, comprehended, to some extent, its
+meaning. He was one who hoped, from pious acts of prayer, fastings,
+and attendance upon all the ordinances of the church, to get to Heaven
+at last. In the ordinary pursuits of life he was eager for gain, and
+men of the world dealt warily with him--they had reason; for he
+separated his religious from his business life.
+
+"A most impious doctrine," he said, with indignant warmth. "Heaven
+upon earth! A man had better give all his passions the range, and
+freely enjoy the world, if there is to be no hereafter. Pain, and
+sorrow, and self-denial make a poor kind of Heaven, and these are all
+the Christian man meets here. Far better to live while we do live, say
+I, if our Heaven is to be here."
+
+"What makes Heaven, my friend?" calmly asked the old man.
+
+"Happiness. Freedom from care, and pain, and sorrow, and all the ills
+of this wretched life--to live in the presence of God and sing his
+praises forever--to make one of the blessed company who, with the
+four-and-twenty elders forever bow before the throne of God and the
+Lamb--to have rest, and peace, and unspeakable felicity forever."
+
+"How do you expect to get into Heaven? How do you expect to unlock the
+golden gates of the New Jerusalem?" pursued the old man.
+
+"By faith," was the prompt reply. "Faith unlocks these gates."
+
+The old man shook his head, and turning to the individual with whom he
+had first been conversing, remarked--
+
+"You asked me if I meant to say that there was no Heaven for the good
+who bravely battle with evil in this life? If all the reward of the
+righteous was to be in this world? God forbid! For then would I be of
+all men most miserable. What I said was, that Heaven would be _found_
+no where else but in this world, by man. Heaven must be entered into
+here, or it never can be entered into when men die."
+
+"You speak in a strange language," said the individual who had joined
+them, in a sneering tone. "No one can understand what you mean.
+Certainly I do not."
+
+"I should not think you did," quietly replied the old man. "But I
+will explain my meaning more fully--perhaps you will be able to
+comprehend something of what I say. Men talk a great deal about
+Heaven, but few understand what it means. All admit that in this life
+they must prepare for Heaven; but nearly all seem to think that this
+preparation consists in the _doing_ of something as a means by which
+they will be entitled to enter Heaven after death, when there will be
+a sudden and wonderful change in all their feelings and perceptions."
+
+"And is not that true?" asked the one who had previously spoken.
+
+"I do not believe that it is, in the commonly understood sense."
+
+"And pray what do you believe?"
+
+"I believe that all in heavenly societies are engaged in doing good,
+and that heavenly delight is the delight which springs from a
+gratified love of benefiting others. And I also believe, that the
+beginning of Heaven with every one is on this earth, and takes place
+when he first makes the effort to renounce self and seek from a true
+desire to benefit them, the good of others. If this coming into
+Heaven, as I call it, does not take place here, it can never take
+place, for '_As the tree falls so it lies_.' Whatever is a man's
+internal quality when he dies that it must remain forever. If he have
+been a lover of self, and sought only his own good, he will remain a
+lover of self in the next life. But, if he have put away self-love
+from his heart and shunned the evils to which it would prompt him, as
+sins, then he comes into Heaven while still upon earth, and when he
+lays aside his mortal body, his heavenly life is continued. Thus you
+can see, that if a man do not find Heaven while in this world, he will
+never find it in the next. He must come into heavenly affections here,
+or he will never feel their warmth hereafter. Hundreds and thousands
+live on from day to day, thinking only of themselves, and caring only
+for themselves, who insanely cherish the hope that they shall get into
+Heaven at last. Some of these are church-going people, and partakers
+of its ordinances; while others expect, some time before they die, to
+become pious, and thus, by a 'saving faith,' secure an entrance into
+Heaven. Their chances of finding Heaven, at last, are about equal. And
+if they should be permitted to come into a heavenly society they would
+soon seek to escape from it. Where all were unselfish, how could one
+who was utterly selfish dwell? Where all sought the good of others,
+how could one who cared simply for his own good, remain and be happy?
+It could not be. If you wish to enter Heaven, my friend, you must
+bring heavenly life into your daily occupations."
+
+"How can that be? Religion is too tender a plant for the world."
+
+"Your error is a common one," replied the old man, "and arises from
+the fact that you do not know what religion is. Mere piety is not
+religion. There is a life of charity as well as a life of piety, and
+the latter without the former is like sounding brass and tinkling
+cymbal."
+
+"All know that," was replied.
+
+"All profess to know it, but all do not know what is meant by
+charity."
+
+"It is love. That every Christian man admits."
+
+"It is love for the neighbor in activity; not a mere idle emotion of
+the heart. Now, how can a man best promote the good of his
+neighbor?--love, you know, always seeks the good of its object; in no
+way, it is clear, so well as by faithfully and diligently performing
+the duties of his office, no matter what it may be. If a judge, let
+him administer justice with equity and from a conscientious principle;
+if a physician, a lawyer, a soldier, a merchant, or an artisan, let
+him with all diligence do the works that his hands find to do, not
+merely for gain, but because it is his duty to serve the public good
+in that calling by which he can most efficiently do it. If he act from
+this high motive, from this religious principle, all that he does will
+be well and faithfully done. No wrong to his neighbor can result from
+his act. True charity is not that feeling which prompts merely to the
+bestowment of worldly goods for the benefit of others--in fact, true
+charity has very little to do with alms-giving and public
+benefactions. It is not a mere 'love for the brethren' only, as many
+religious denominations think, but it is a love that embraces all
+mankind, and regards good as its brother wherever and in whomever it
+is seen."
+
+"That every one admits."
+
+"Admission and practice, my friend, are not always found walking in
+the same path. But I am not at all sure that every one admits that
+charity consists in a man's performing his daily uses in life with
+justice and judgment. By most minds charity, as well as religion, is
+viewed as separate from the ordinary business of man; while the truth
+is, there can be neither religion nor charity apart from a man's
+business life. If he be not charitable and religious here, he has
+neither charity nor religion; if he love not his neighbor whom he hath
+seen; if he do not deal justly and conscientiously with his neighbor
+whom he hath seen, how can he love God, or act justly and
+conscientiously toward God whom he hath not seen? How blind and
+foolish is more than half of mankind on this subject! They seem to
+think, that if they only read the Bible and attend to the ordinances
+of the church, and lead very pious lives on the Sabbath, that this
+service will be acceptable to God, and save them; while, at the same
+time, in their business pursuits, they seek to gain this world's goods
+so eagerly, that they trample heedlessly upon the rights and interests
+of all around them; in fact, act from the most selfish, and,
+consequently, infernal principles. You call R---- a very pious man, do
+you not?"
+
+"I believe him to be so. We are members of the same church, and I see
+a good deal of him. He is superintendent of our Sabbath-school, and is
+active in all the various secular uses of the church."
+
+"Do you know any thing of his business life?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I do. Men of the world call him a shark, so eager is he for gain. He
+will not steal, nor commit murder, nor break any one of the
+commandments so far as the laws of the state recognize these divine
+laws to be laws of common society. But, in his heart, and in act, so
+far as the law cannot reach him, he violates them daily. He will
+overreach you in a bargain, and think it all right. If your business
+comes in contact with his, he will use every means in his power to
+break you down, even to the extent of secretly attacking your credit.
+He will lend his money on usury, and when he has none to lend, will
+play the jackal to some money-lion, and get a large share of the spoil
+for himself. And further, if you differ in faith from him, in his
+heart will send you to hell with as much pleasure as he would derive
+from cheating you out of a dollar."
+
+"You are too severe on R----. I cannot believe him to be what you
+say."
+
+"A man's reputation among business men gives the true impression of
+his character, for, in business, the eagerness with which men seek
+their ends causes them to forget their disguises. Go and ask any man
+who knows R---- in business, and he will tell you that he is a
+sharper. That if you have any dealings with him you must keep your
+eyes open. I could point you to dozens of men who are as pious as he
+is on the Sabbath, who, in their ordinary life are no better than
+swindlers. The Christian religion is disgraced by thousands of such,
+who are far worse than those who never saw the inside of a church."
+
+"I am afraid that you, in the warmth of your indignation against false
+professors, are led into the extreme of setting aside all religion; or
+of making it to consist alone in mere honesty and integrity of
+character--your moral man is all; it is morality that opens Heaven.
+Now mere morality, mere good works, are worth nothing, and cannot
+bring a man into Heaven."
+
+"There is a life of piety, and a life of charity, my friend, as I have
+before said," replied the old man, "and they cannot be separated. The
+life of charity regards man, and the life of piety God. A man's
+prayers, and fastings, and pious duties on the Sabbath are nothing, if
+love to the neighbor, showing itself in a faithful performance of all
+life's varied uses that come within his sphere of action, is not
+operative through the week, vain hopes are all those which are built
+upon so crumbling a foundation as the mere life of piety. Morality,
+as you call it, built upon man's pride, is of little use, but
+morality, which is based upon a sincere desire to do good, is worth a
+thousand prayers from the lips of a man who inwardly hates his
+neighbor."
+
+"Then I understand you to mean that religious, or pious duties are
+useless"--was remarked with a good deal of bitterness.
+
+"I said," was mildly returned, "that the life of piety and the life of
+charity could not be separated. If a man truly loves his neighbor and
+seeks his good, he will come into heavenly states of mind, and will
+have his heart elevated, and from a consciousness that every good and
+perfect gift comes from God, worship him in a thankful spirit. His
+life of piety will make one with his life of charity. The Sabbath to
+him will be a day of true, not forced, spiritual life. He will rest
+from all natural labors, and gain strength from that rest to
+recommence those labors in a true spirit."
+
+Much more was said, that need not be repeated here. The closing
+remarks of the old man were full of truth. It will do any one good to
+remember them:
+
+"Our life is twofold. We have a natural life and a spiritual life," he
+said. "Our natural life delights in external things, and our spiritual
+life in things internal. The first regards the things of time and
+sense, the latter involves states and qualities of the soul. Heaven is
+a state of mutual love from a desire to benefit others, and whenever
+man's spiritual life corresponds with the life of Heaven, he is in
+Heaven so far as his spirit is concerned, notwithstanding his body
+still remains upon the earth. His heavenly life begins here, and is
+perfected after death. If, therefore, a man does not enter Heaven
+here, he cannot enter it when he dies. His state of probation is
+closed, and he goes to the place for which he is prepared. The means
+whereby man enters Heaven here, are very simple. He need only shun as
+sin every thing that would in any way injure his neighbors, either
+naturally or spiritually, and look above for the power to do this.
+This will effect an entrance through the straight gate. After that,
+the way will be plain before him, and he will walk in it with a daily
+increasing delight."
+
+
+
+
+TO LYDIA--WITH A WATCH.
+
+BY G. G. FOSTER.
+
+
+ So well has time kept you, my love,
+ Unfaded in your prime,
+ That you would most ungrateful prove,
+ If you did not keep time.
+
+ Then let this busy monitor
+ Remind you how the hours
+ Steal, brook-like, over golden sands,
+ Whose banks love gems with flowers.
+
+ And when the weary day grows dark,
+ And skies are overcast,
+ Watch well this token--it will bring
+ The morning true and fast.
+
+ This little diamond-fooled sprite,
+ How soft he glides along!
+ How quaint, yet merry, singeth he
+ His never-ending song!
+
+ So smoothly pass thine hours and years,
+ So calmly beat thy heart--
+ While both our souls, in concert tuned,
+ Nor hope nor dream apart!
+
+
+
+
+A NIGHT ON THE ICE.
+
+BY SOLITAIRE.
+
+
+A love for amusement is one of those national peculiarities of the
+French people which neither time nor situation will ever eradicate,
+for, be their lot cast where it may, amid the brilliant _salons_ of
+Paris, or on the outskirts of civilization on the western continent,
+they will set apart seasons for innocent mirth, in which they enter
+into its spirit with a joyousness totally devoid of calculation or of
+care. I love this trait in their character, because, perhaps, my own
+spirits incline to the volatile. I like not that puritanical coldness
+of intercourse which acts upon men as the winter winds do upon the
+surface of the mountain streams, freezing them into immovable
+propriety; and less do I delight in that festivity where calculation
+seems to wait on merriment. Joy at such a board can never rise to
+blood heat, for the jingle in the mind of cent. per cent., which rises
+above the constrained mirth of the assembly, will hold the guests so
+anchored to the consideration of profit and loss, that in vain they
+spread a free sail--the tide of gayety refuses to float their barks
+from the shoal beside which they are moored. In their seasons of
+gayety the French are philosophers, for while they imbibe the mirth
+they discard the wassail, and wine instead of being the body of their
+feasts, as with other nations, it is but the spice used to add a
+flavor to the whole. I know not that these remarks of mine have aught
+to do with my story, but I throw them out by way of a prelude to--some
+will say excuse for--what may follow.
+
+In the winter of 1830 it was my good fortune to be the guest of an old
+French resident upon the north-western frontier, and while enjoying
+his hospitality I had many opportunities of mingling with the
+_habitans_ of Detroit, a town well known as one of the early French
+settlements on the American continent. At the period of which I write,
+the stranger met a warm welcome in the habitation of the simple
+residents--time, progress and speculation, I am told, have somewhat
+marred those friendly feelings. The greedy adventurer, by making his
+passport to their hospitality a means of profit, has planted distrust
+in their bosoms, and the fire of friendship no longer flashes up at
+the sound of an American's voice beneath their roof. To the all
+absorbing spirit of Mammon be ascribed the evil change.
+
+While residing with my friend Morell, I received many invitations to
+join sleighing parties upon the ice, which generally terminated on the
+floor of some old settler's dwelling upon the borders of the Detroit,
+Rouge, or Ecorse rivers; where, after a merry jaunt over the frozen
+river, we kept the blood in circulation by participating in the
+pleasures of the dance. At one of these parties upon the Rouge I
+formed two very interesting acquaintances, one of them a beautiful
+girl named Estelle Beaubien, the other, Victor Druissel. Estelle was
+one of those dark-eyed lively brunettes formed by nature for the
+creation of flutterings about the hearts of the sterner sex. She was
+full of naive mischief, and coquetry, and having been petted into
+imperial sway by the flattery of her courtiers, she punished them by
+wielding her sceptre with autocratic despotism--tremble, heart, that
+owned her sway yet dared disobey her behests! In the dance she was the
+nimblest, in mirth the most gleeful, and in beauty peerless. Victor
+Druissel was a tall, dark haired young man, of powerful frame,
+intelligent countenance, quiet easy manners, and possessed of a bold,
+dark eye, through which the quick movings of his impassioned nature
+were much sooner learned than through his words. He appeared to be
+devoid of fear, and in either expeditions of pleasure or daring, with
+a calmness almost unnatural he led the way. He loved Estelle with all
+that fervor so inherent in men of his peculiar temperament, and when
+others fluttered around her, seemingly winning lasting favor in her
+eyes, he would vainly try to hide the jealousy of his nature.
+
+When morning came Druissel insisted that I should take a seat in his
+cutter, as he had come alone. He would rather have taken Estelle as
+his companion to the city, but her careful aunt, who always
+accompanied her, would not trust herself behind the heels of the
+prancing pair of bays harnessed to Victor's sliding chariot. The
+sleighs were at length filled with their merry passengers, and my
+companion shouting _allons!_ led the cavalcade. We swept over the
+chained tide like the wind, our horses' hoofs beating time to the
+merry music of their bells, and our laughter ringing out on the clear,
+cold air, free and unrestrained as the thoughts of youth.
+
+"I like this," said Victor, as he leaned back and nestled in the furry
+robes around us. "This is fun in the old-fashioned way; innocent,
+unconstrained, and full of real enjoyment. A fashionable ball is all
+well enough in its way, but give me a dance where there is no
+formality continually reminding me of my 'white kids,' or where my
+equanimity is never disturbed by missing a figure; there old Time
+seldom croaks while he lingers, for the heart merriment makes him
+forget his mission."
+
+On dashed our steeds over the glassy surface of the river, and soon
+the company we had started with was left far behind. We in due time
+reached Detroit, and as I leaped from the sleigh at the door of my
+friend's residence, Victor observed:
+
+"To-morrow night we are invited to a party at my uncle Yesson's, at
+the foot of Lake St. Clair, and if you will accept a seat with me, I
+shall with pleasure be your courier. I promise you a night of rare
+enjoyment."
+
+"You promise then," said I, "that Estelle Beaubien will be there."
+
+He looked calmly at me for a moment.
+
+"What, another rival?" he exclaimed. "Now, by the mass one would think
+Estelle was the only fair maiden on the whole frontier. Out of pity
+for the rest of her sex I shall have to bind her suddenly in the bonds
+of Hymen, for while she is free the young men will sigh after no other
+beauty, and other maids must pine in neglect."
+
+"You flatter yourself," said I. "Give me but a chance, and I will
+whisper a lay of love in the fair beauty's ear that will obliterate
+the image you have been engraving on her heart. She has listened to
+you, no other splendid fellow being by, but when I enter the lists
+look well to your seat in her affections, for I am no timid knight
+when a fair hand or smile is to be won."
+
+"Come on," cried he, laughing, "I scorn to break lance with any other
+knight. The lists shall be free to you, the fair Estelle shall be the
+prize, and I dare you to a tilt at Cupid's tourney."
+
+With this challenge he departed, and as his yet unwearied steeds bore
+him away, I could hear his laugh of conscious triumph mingling with
+the music of his horses' bells.
+
+After a troubled sleep that day, I awoke to a consciousness of
+suffering. I had lost my appetite, was troubled with vertigo, and
+obstructed breathing, which were sure indications that the sudden
+change from heated rooms to the clear, cold air, sweeping over the
+ice-bound river, had given me a severe influenza. My promise of a tilt
+with Victor, or participation in further festivity, appeared
+abrogated, for a time at least. I kept my bed during the day, and at
+night applied the usual restoratives. Sleep visited my pillow, but it
+was of that unrefreshing character which follows disease. I tossed
+upon my couch in troubled dreams, amid which I fancied myself a knight
+of the olden time, fighting in the lists for a wreath or glove from a
+tourney queen. In the contest I was conscious of being overthrown, and
+raised myself up from the inglorious earth upon which I had been
+rolled, a bruised knight from head to heel. When I awoke in the
+morning the soreness of every joint made me half think, for a moment,
+that I had suffered some injury while in sleeping unconsciousness;
+but, waking recollection assigned a natural cause, and I bowed my
+fevered head to the punishment of my imprudence. An old and dignified
+physician was summoned to my bed-side, who felt my pulse, ordered
+confinement to my room, and the swallowing of a horrible looking
+potion, which nearly filled a common-sized tumbler. A few days care,
+he said, would restore me, and with his own hands he mixed my dose,
+placed it beside me upon a table, and departed. I venerate a kind and
+skillful physician; but, like all the rest of the human family, his
+nauseous doses I abhor. I looked at the one before me until, in
+imagination, I tasted its ingredients. In my fevered vision the vessel
+grew into a monster goblet, and soon after it assumed the shape of a
+huge glass tun. Methought I commenced swallowing, fearful that if I
+longer hesitated it would grow more vast, and then it seemed as if the
+dose would never be exhausted, and that my body would not contain the
+whole of the dreadful compound. I dropped off again from this
+half-dreamy state into the oblivion of deep sleep, and remained
+unconscious of every thing until awoke in the evening by the chiming
+of bells beneath my window. I had scarcely changed my position before
+Victor, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, walked into my room.
+
+"Why, my dear fellow," cried he, on seeing me nestled beneath the
+cover, with a towel round my head by way of a night-cap, "what is all
+this? Nothing serious, I hope?"
+
+"Oh no," answered I, "only sore bones, and an embargo on the
+respiratory organs. That mixture"--calling his attention to the
+tumbler--"will no doubt set all right again."
+
+"_Pah!_" he exclaimed, twisting his face as if he had tasted it, "I
+hope you don't resort to such restoratives."
+
+"So goes the doctor's orders," said I.
+
+"Oh, a pest on his drugs," says Victor. "Why didn't you call me in?
+I'm worth a dozen _regular_ practitioners in such cases, especially
+where I am the patient. Come, up and dress, and while you are about it
+I will empty this potion out of the window, we will then take a seat
+behind the 'tinklers,' and before the night is over, I will put you
+through a course of exercise which has won more practice among the
+young than ever the wisest practitioner has been able to obtain for
+his most skillfully concocted healing draughts."
+
+"I can't, positively, Victor," said I. "It would cost me my life."
+
+"Then I will lend you one of mine, without interest," said he. "Along
+you must go, any how, so up at once. Think, my dear boy, of the beauty
+gathering now in the old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair."
+
+"Think," said I, "of my sore bones."
+
+"And then," he continued, unmindful of my remark, "think of the dash
+along the ice, the moon lighting your pathway, while a cluster of
+star-bright eyes wait to welcome your coming."
+
+"Oh, _nonsense_" said I, "and by that I mean _your_ romance. If
+through my imprudence I should have the star of my existence quenched,
+the lustre of those eyes would fail in any effort to light me up
+again, and that is a matter worth consideration."
+
+Even while I talked to him I felt my health rapidly improving.
+
+"What would the doctor say, Victor," inquired I, "if he came here and
+_found me out_? Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a hoax,
+shamelessly played off upon his old age, and he would never forgive
+me."
+
+"Not so," says Victor, "you can take my prescription without his
+knowing it, and it is as follows: First and foremost, toss his
+medicine out of the window, visit uncle's with me and dance until
+morning, get back by daylight, go to bed and take a nap before he
+comes, and take my word for it he will pronounce your improved state
+the effect of _his_ medicine."
+
+"It would be madness, and I cannot think of it," replied I, half
+disposed at the same time to yield.
+
+"Then I pronounce you no true knight," said he, "I will report to
+Estelle the challenge that passed between us, and be sure she will set
+you down in her memory as a _timid gentleman_!"
+
+"Oh, stop," said I, "and I will save you that sneer. I know that out
+of pure dread of my power you wish to kill me off; but I will go,
+nevertheless, if it is to death, in the performance of my duty."
+
+"What _duty_ do you speak of," inquired he.
+
+"Taking the conceit out of a coxcomb," said I.
+
+"Bravo!" he shouted, "your blood is already in circulation, and there
+are hopes of you. I will now look to the horses." Indulging in a quiet
+laugh at his success, he descended the staircase.
+
+It was a work of some labor to perform the toilet for my journey, but
+at length Dr. B.'s patient, well muffled up, placed himself beneath a
+load of buffalo robes, and reversing the doctor's orders, which were
+peremptory to keep quiet, he was going like mad, in the teeth of a
+strong breeze, over the surface of Detroit river.
+
+The moon was yet an hour high above the dark forest line of the
+American shore, and light fleecy clouds were chasing each other across
+her bright disc, dimming her rays occasionally, but not enough to make
+traveling doubtful. A south wind swept down from the lake, along the
+bright line of the river, but it was not the balmy breeze which
+southern poets breathe of in their songs. True it had not the piercing
+power of the northern blast, but in passing over those frozen regions
+it had encountered its adversary and been chilled by his embrace. It
+was the first breath of spring combating with the strongly posted
+forces of old winter, and as they mingled, the mind could easily
+imagine it heard the roar of elemental strife. Now the south wind
+would sound like the murmur of a myriad of voices, as it rustled and
+roared through the dark woods lining the shore, and then it would pipe
+afar off as if a reserve were advancing to aid in holding the ground
+already occupied; anon the echo of a force would be heard close in by
+the bluff bordering the stream, and in a moment more, it was sweeping
+with all its strength and pride of power down the broad surface of the
+glittering ice, as if the rightfulness of its invasion scorned
+resistance. Sullen old winter with his frosty beard and snow-wreathed
+brow, sat with calm firmness at his post, sternly resolved to yield
+only when his power _melted_ before the advancing tide of the enemy.
+
+"Our sport on the ice is nearly at an end," remarked Victor. "This
+south wind, if it continues a few days, will set our present pathway
+afloat. Go along!" he shouted, excitedly, to his horses, following the
+exclamation by the lash of his whip. They dashed ahead with the speed
+of lightning, while the ice cracked in a frightful manner beneath the
+runners of our sleigh for several rods. I held my breath with
+apprehension, but soon we were speeding along as before.
+
+"That was nigh being a cold bath," quietly observed Victor.
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired I.
+
+"Did you not see the air-hole we just passed?" he inquired in turn.
+
+"It was at least ten yards long, and we came within six inches of
+being emptied into it before I noticed the opening."
+
+I could feel my pores open--moisture was quickly forced to the surface
+of my skin at this announcement, and I inwardly breathed a prayer of
+thanks for our escape.
+
+But a short time elapsed ere the hospitable mansion of Victor's uncle
+appeared in sight, with lights dancing from every window, and our good
+steeds, like couriers of the air, scudded over the polished surface
+toward these pleasant beacons. We were soon able to descry forms
+flitting before the window, and as we turned up the road leading from
+the lake to the dwelling, Victor whispered--
+
+"I recognize the person of Estelle standing by yonder window, remember
+our challenge."
+
+"I shall not forget it," said I, as we drew up before the portal.
+
+Consigning our panting steeds to two negro boys, and divesting
+ourselves of extra covering, we were soon mingling in the "merrie
+companie." Estelle was there in all her beauty, her dark eyes beaming
+mischief, her graceful actions inviting attention, and her merry laugh
+infecting all with its gleeful cadences. Victor was deep in the toils,
+and willingly he yielded to the bondage of the gay coquette. Now she
+smiled winningly upon him, and again laughed at his tender speeches.
+He besought her to dance with him, and she refused, but with such an
+artless grace, such witching good humor, and playful cruelty, that he
+could not feel offended. I addressed her and she turned away from him.
+I had not presumption enough to suppose I could win a maiden's heart
+where he was my rival, but I thought that, aided by the coquetry of
+Estelle, I could help to torture the victim--and I set about it; nay,
+further, I confess that as she leaned her little ear, which peeped out
+from a cluster of dark curls, toward my flattering whisper, I fancied
+that she inclined it with pleasure; but, then, the next moment my
+hopes were dissipated, for she as fondly smiled on my rival.
+
+A flourish of the music, and with one accord the company moved forward
+to the dance. Estelle consented to be my partner. Victor was not left
+alone, but his companion in the set might as well have been, for she
+frequently had to call his attention to herself and the figure--his
+eye was continually wandering truant to the next set, where he was one
+moment scanning with a lover's jealousy a rival's enjoyment, and the
+next gazing with wrapt admiration upon the beautiful figure and
+graceful movements of his mistress. The set was ended, and the second
+begun--Victor being too slow in his request for her hand, she yielded
+it to another eager admirer. The third set soon followed, and
+laughingly she again took my arm. The fourth, and she was dancing with
+a stranger guest. As she wound through the mazes of the dance, arching
+her graceful neck with a proud motion, her eye, maliciously sportive,
+watched the workings of jealousy which clouded Victor's brow. He did
+not solicit her hand again, but stood with fixed eye and swelling
+throat, looking out upon the lake. I rallied him upon his moodiness,
+and told him he did not bear defeat with philosophy.
+
+"Your dancing," said he, "would win the admiration of an angel;" and
+his lip curled with a slight sneer.
+
+I did not feel flattered much, that he attributed my success to my
+_heels_ instead of my _head_, and I carelessly remarked that perhaps
+he felt inclined to test my superior powers in some other method. He
+looked at me firmly for a moment, his large, dark eye blazing, and
+then burst into a laugh.
+
+"Yes," said he, "I should like to try a waltz with you upon the icy
+surface of the lake."
+
+"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of
+conceit--you know that is my purpose here to-night."
+
+Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed
+by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at
+Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in
+the night air to cool his fevered passions.
+
+"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the
+Indian fishermen, far out on the lake--they are spearing
+salmon-trout--we will go see the sport."[2]
+
+I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its
+glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a
+bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse
+before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through
+the clear, cold atmosphere.
+
+"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."
+
+"If the bare thought fills you with _fear_," he answered, "I have no
+desire for your company. The _dance_ within, I see, is more to your
+mind."
+
+Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to
+play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered
+not how far the fit took him.
+
+"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.
+
+"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest
+negro boy.
+
+"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen
+want wid such tings at de ball?"
+
+"It is too hot in the ball-room," answered Victor; "myself and friend,
+therefore, wish to try a waltz on the ice."
+
+"Yah, yah, h-e-a-h!" shouted the negro, wonderfully tickled at the
+novelty of the idea, "well, dat is a high kick, please goodness--guess
+you can't git any ob de ladies to try dat shine wid you, _h-e-a-h_!"
+
+"We shall not _invite_ them," said Victor, through his teeth.
+
+"Well, dar is de poles, massa," said the negro, handing him a couple
+of saplings about twelve feet long. "You better hab a lantern wid you,
+too, else you can't see dat dance berry well."
+
+"A good thought," said Victor; "give us the lantern."
+
+[Footnote 2: The Indians cut holes in the ice, and holding a torch
+over the opening, spear the salmon-trout which are attracted to the
+surface by the blaze.]
+
+It was procured, lighted, and together we descended the steep bluff to
+the lake's brink. He paused for a moment to listen--revelry sounded
+clearly out upon the air of night, nimble feet were treading gayly to
+the strains of sweet music, and high above both, yet mingling with
+them, was heard the merry laughter of the joyous guests. Ah, Victor,
+thought I, trout are not the only fish captured by brilliant lights;
+there is a pair dancing above, yonder, which even now is driving you
+to madness. I shrunk from the folly we were about to perpetrate, yet
+had not courage enough to dare my companion's sneer, and turn boldly
+back; vainly hoping he would soon tire of the exploit I followed on.
+
+Running one pole through the ring of our lantern, and placing
+ourselves at each end, we took up our line of march for the light
+ahead. Victor seizing the end of the other sapling slid it before him
+to feel our way. At times the beacon would blaze up as if but an
+hundred yards ahead, and again it would sink to a spark, far away in
+the distance. The night wind was now sweeping down the lake in a
+tornado, sighing and laboring in its course as if pregnant with
+evil--afar off, at one moment, heard in a low whistle, and anon
+rushing around us like an army of invisible spirits, bearing us along
+with the whirl of their advance, and yelling a fearful war-cry in our
+ears. The beacon-light still beckoned us on. My companion, as if
+rejoicing in the fury of the tempest which roared around us, burst
+into a derisive laugh.
+
+"Thunder would be fit music, now," said he, "for this pleasant little
+party"--and the words were scarcely uttered, ere a sound of distant
+thunder appeared to shake the frozen surface of the lake. The pole he
+was sliding before him, and of which he held but a careless grip, fell
+from his hands. He stooped to pick it up, but it was gone; and holding
+up our lantern to look for it, we beheld before us a wide opening in
+the ice, where the dark tide was ruffled into mimic waves by the
+breeze. Our sapling was floating upon its surface.
+
+"This way," said Victor, bent in his spirit of folly to fulfill his
+purpose, and skirting the yawning pool, where the cold tide rolled
+many fathoms deep, we held on our way. We thus progressed nearly two
+miles, and yet the _ignus fatuus_ which tempted us upon the mad
+journey shone as distant as ever. Our own feeble light but served to
+show, indistinctly, the dangers with which we were surrounded. I was
+young, and loved life; nay, I was even about to plead in favor of
+turning toward the shore that I might preserve it, when my companion,
+his eye burning with excitement, turned toward me, and raising his end
+of the sapling until the light of the lantern fell upon my face,
+remarked,
+
+"You are pale--I am sorry I frightened you thus, we will return."
+
+With a reckless pride that would not own my fears, even though death
+hung on my footsteps, I answered with a scornful laugh,
+
+"Your own fears, and not mine, counsel you to such a proceeding."
+
+"Say you so," says he, "then we will hold on until we cross the
+lake;" and with a shout he pressed forward; bending my head to the
+blast, I followed.
+
+I had often heard of the suddenness with which Lake St. Clair cast off
+its winter covering, when visited by a southern breeze; and whether
+the heat of my excitement, or an actual moderation of cold in the wind
+sweeping over us was the fact, I am unable to determine, but I fancied
+its puff upon my cheek had grown soft and balmy in its character; a
+few drops of rain accompanied it, borne along as forerunners of a
+storm. While we thus journeyed, a sound like the reverberation of
+distant thunder again smote upon our ears, and shook the ice beneath
+our feet. We suddenly halted.
+
+"There is no mistaking that," said Victor. "The ice is breaking up--we
+will pursue this folly no further."
+
+He had scarcely ceased speaking, when a report, like that of cannon,
+was heard in our immediate neighborhood, and a wide crevice opened at
+our very feet, through which the agitated waters underneath bubbled
+up. We leaped it, and rushed forward.
+
+"Haste!" cried my companion, "there is sufficient time for us yet to
+reach the shore before the surface moves."
+
+"_Time_, for us, Victor," replied I, "is near an end--if we ever reach
+the shore, it will be floating lifeless amid the ice."
+
+"Courage," says he, "do not despond;" and seizing my arm, we moved
+with speed in the direction where lights streamed from the gay and
+pleasant mansion which we had so madly left. Ah, how with mingled hope
+and fear our hearts beats, as with straining eyes we looked toward
+that beacon. In an instant, even as we sped along, the ice opened
+again before us, and ere I could check my impetus, I was, with the
+lantern in my hand, plunged within the flood. My companion retained
+his hold of me, and with herculean strength he dragged me from the
+dark tide upon the frail floor over which we had been speeding. In the
+struggle, the lantern fell from my grasp, and sunk within the whirling
+waters.
+
+"Great God!" exclaimed Victor, "the field we stand upon is
+_moving_!"--and so it was. The mass closed up the gap into which I had
+fallen; and we could hear the edges which formed the brink of the
+chasm, crushing and crumbling as they moved together in the conflict.
+We stood breathlessly clinging to each other, listening to the mad
+fury of the wind, and the awful roar of the ice which broke and surged
+around us. The wind moaned by us and above our heads like the wail of
+nature in an agony, while mingling with its voice could be distinctly
+heard the ominous reverberations which proclaimed a general breaking
+up of the whole surface of the lake. The wind and current were both
+driving the ice toward the Detroit river, and we could see by the
+lights on the shore that we were rapidly passing in that direction. A
+dark line, scarcely discernible, revealed where the distant shore
+narrowed into the straight; but the hope of ever reaching it died
+within me, as our small platform rose and sunk on the troubled waves.
+
+While floating thus, held tightly in the grasp of my companion, his
+deep breathing fanning my cheek, I felt my senses gradually becoming
+wrapt with a sweet dream, and so quickly did it steal upon me, that in
+a few moments all the peril of our position was veiled from my mind,
+and I was reveling in a delightful illusion. I was floating upon an
+undulating field of ice, in a triumphal car, drawn by snow-white
+steeds, and in my path glittered a myriad gems of the icy north. My
+progress seemed to be as quiet as the falling of the snow-flake, and
+swift as the wind, which appeared drawn along with my chariot-wheels.
+To add to this dreamy delight, many forms of beauty, symmetrical as
+angels, with eyes radiant as the stars of night, floated around my
+pathway. Though their forms appeared superior to earth, the tender
+expression of their eyes was altogether human. Their ethereal forms
+were clad in flowing robes, white as the wintry drift; coronets of icy
+jewels circled their brows, and glittered upon their graceful necks;
+their golden hair floated upon the sportive wind, as if composed of
+the sun's bright rays, and the effect upon the infatuated gazer at
+these spirit-like creations, was a desire not to break the spell, lest
+they should vanish from before his entranced vision. To add to the
+charm of their power they burst into music wild as the elements, but
+yet so plaintively sweet, that the senses yielded up in utter abandon
+to its soothing swell. I had neither the power nor the wish to move,
+but under the influence of this ravishing dream, floated along in
+happy silence, a blest being, attended by an angel throng, whose
+voluptuous forms delighted, and whose pleasing voices lulled into all
+the joys of fancied elysium.
+
+From this dream I was aroused to the most painful sensations. The
+pangs of death can bear no comparison to the agony of throwing off
+this sleep. Action was attended with torture, and every move of my
+blood seemed as if molten lead was coursing through my veins. My
+companion, by every means he could think of, was forcing me back to
+consciousness; but I clung with the tenacity of death to my sweet
+dream. He dashed my body upon our floating island; he pinched my
+flesh, fastened his fingers into my hair, and beat me into feeling
+with the power of his muscular arm. Slowly the figures of my dream
+began to change--my triumphal car vanished--dark night succeeded the
+soft light which had before floated around me, and the fair forms,
+which had fascinated my soul by their beauty, were now changed into
+furies, whose voices mingling in the howl of the elements, sounded
+like a wail of sorrow, or a chaunt of rage. They looked into my eyes
+with orbs lit by burning hatred, while they seemed to lash me with
+whips of the biting wind, until every fibre in my frame was convulsed
+with rage and madness. I screamed with anguish, and grasping the
+muscular form of my companion, amid the loud howl of the storm, amid
+the roar of the crushing ice, amid the gloom of dark night upon that
+uncertain platform of the congealed yet moving waters, I fought with
+him, and struggled for the mastery. I rained blows upon his body, and
+he returned them with interest. I tried to plunge with him into the
+dark waters that were bubbling around us, but he held me back as if I
+were a child; and in impotent rage I wept at my weakness. Slowly our
+perilous situation again forced itself upon my mind. I became
+conscious that a platform, brittle as the thread of life, was all that
+separated me from a watery grave; and I fancied the wind was murmuring
+our requiem as it passed. Hope died within _me_; but not so my
+companion.
+
+"Speak to me!" he cried; "arouse, and let me hear your voice! Shake
+off this stupor, or you are lost!"
+
+"Why did you wake me?" I inquired; "while in that lethargy I was
+happy."
+
+"While there is hope you should never yield to despair," said Victor.
+"I discovered you freezing in my arms. Come, arouse yourself more
+fully; Providence has designed us for another grave than the waters of
+Lake St. Clair, or ere this we would have been quietly resting in some
+of the chasms beneath. We are floating rapidly into the river, and
+will here find some chance to escape."
+
+"Here, at last," answered I, despondingly, "we are likely to find our
+resting-place."
+
+"Shake off this despondency!" exclaimed Victor, "it is unmanly. If we
+are to die, let it be in a struggle against death. We have now only to
+avoid being crushed between the fields of ice. Oh! that unfortunate
+lantern! if we had only retained it--but no matter, we will escape
+yet; aye, and have another dance among our friends in yonder old
+hospitable mansion. Courage!" he exclaimed, "see, lights are dancing
+opposite us upon the shore. Hark! I hear shouts."
+
+A murmur, as of the expiring sound of a shout rose above the roar of
+the ice and waters--but it failed to arouse me. The lights, though, we
+soon plainly discerned; and on the bluff, at the very mouth of the
+river, a column of flame began to rise, which cast a lurid light far
+over the surface of the raging lake. Some persons stood at the edge of
+the flood waving lighted torches; and I thought from their manner that
+we were discovered.
+
+"We are safe, thank God!" says Victor. "They have discovered us!"
+
+Hope revived again within me, and my muscles regained their strength.
+We were only distant about one hundred yards from shore, and rapidly
+nearing it, when a scene commenced, which, for the wildly terrific,
+exceeded aught I had ever before beheld. The force of the wind and the
+current had driven vast fields of ice into the mouth of the river,
+where it now gorged; and with frightful rapidity, and a stunning
+noise, the ice began to pile up in masses of several feet in height,
+until the channel was entirely obstructed. The dammed-up waters here
+boiled and bubbled, seeking a passage, and crumbling the barrier which
+impeded their way, dashed against it, and over it, in the mad endeavor
+to rush onward. The persons seen a few moments before were driven up
+to the bluff; and they no sooner reached there than Victor and myself,
+struggling amid the breaking ice and the rising flood, gained the
+shore; but in vain did we seek a spot upon the perpendicular sides of
+the bluff, where, for an instant, we could rest from the struggle. We
+shouted to those above, and they hailed us with a cheer, flashed their
+torches over our heads--but they had no power to aid us, for the
+ground they stood upon was thirty feet above us. Even while we were
+thus struggling, and with our arms outstretched toward heaven,
+imploring aid, the gorge, with a sound like the rumbling of an
+earth-quake, broke away, and swept us along in its dreadful course.
+Now did it seem, indeed, as if we had been tempted with hope, only
+that we might feel to its full extent of poignancy the bitterness of
+absolute despair. I yielded in hopeless inactivity to the current; my
+companion, in the meantime, was separated from me--and I felt as if
+fate had singled out me, alone, as the victim; but, while thus
+yielding to despondency, Victor again appeared at my side, and held me
+within his powerful grasp. He seized me as I was about to sink through
+exhaustion, and dragging me after him, with superhuman strength he
+leaped across the floating masses of ice, recklessly and boldly daring
+the death that menaced us. We neared the shore where it was low; and
+all at once, directly before us, shot up another beacon, and a dozen
+torches flashed up beside it. The river again gorged below us, and the
+accumulating flood and ice bore us forward full fifty feet beyond the
+river's brink--as before, the tide again swept away the barrier,
+leaving us lying among the fragments of ice deposited by the
+retreating flood, which dashed on its course, foaming, and roaring,
+and flashing in the light of the blazing beacons. Locked in each
+other's arms, and trembling with excitement, we lay collecting our
+scattered senses, and endeavoring to divest us of the terrible thought
+that we were still at the mercy of the flood. Our friends, who had
+learned from the negroes the mad adventure we had started upon, now
+gathered around us, lifted us up from our prostrate position, and
+moved toward Yesson's mansion. Victor, who through the whole struggle
+had borne himself up with that firmness which scorns to shrink before
+danger, now yielded, and sunk insensible. The excitement was at an
+end, and the strong man had become a child. I, feeble in body, and
+lacking his energy in danger, now that the peril was past, felt a
+buoyancy and strength which I did not possess at starting out.
+
+My companion was lifted up and borne toward his uncle's. No music
+sounded upon the air as we approached--no voice of mirth escaped from
+the portal, for all inside were hushed into grief--that grief which
+anticipates a loss but knows not the sum of it. Several who entered
+the mansion first, and myself among the number, announced the coming
+of Victor, who had fallen in a fainting fit; but they would not
+believe us--they supposed at once that we came to save them from the
+sudden shock of an abrupt announcement of his death, and Estelle, with
+a piercing cry, rushed toward the hall--those bearing his body were at
+the moment entering the house--rushing toward them she clung to his
+inanimate form, uttering the most poignant cries of anguish. A few
+restoratives brought Victor to consciousness, and sweet were the
+accents of reproof which fell upon his ear with the first waking into
+life, for they betrayed to him the tender feelings of love which the
+fair Estelle had before concealed beneath her coquetry. While the
+tears of joy were bedewing her cheeks, on finding her lover safe, he
+like a skillful tactician pursued the advantage, and in a mock
+attitude of desperation threatened to rush out and cast himself amid
+the turbid waters of the lake, unless she at once promised to
+terminate his suspense by fixing the day of their marriage. The fair
+girl consented to throw around him, merely as she said for his
+preservation, the gentle authority of a wife, and I at once offered to
+seal a "quit claim" of my pretensions upon her rosy lips, but she
+preferred having Victor act as my attorney in the matter, and the
+tender negotiation was accordingly closed.
+
+After partaking of a fragrant cup of Mocha, about the hour day was
+breaking, I started for home, and having arrived, I plunged beneath
+the blankets to rest my wearied body. Near noon I was awakened by the
+medical attendant feeling my pulse. On opening my eyes, the first
+impulse was to hide the neglected potions, which I had carelessly left
+exposed upon the table, but a glance partially relieved my fears about
+its discovery, for I had fortunately thrown my cravat over it and hid
+it from view. As Victor predicted, the doctor attributed the healthy
+state in which he found me entirely to his prescription, and following
+up its supposed good effect, with a repetition of his advice to keep
+quiet, he departed. I could scarcely suppress a smile in his presence.
+Little did he dream of the remedy which had banished my fever--cold
+baths and excitement had produced an effect upon me far more potent
+than drugs, either vegetable or mineral.
+
+A month after the events here above mentioned, I made one of a gay
+assembly in that same old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair. It
+was Victor's wedding-night, about to be consummated where the
+confession was first won, and while he sat upon one side of a sofa
+holding his betrothed's hand, in all the joy of undisputed possession,
+I on the other gave her a description of the winter-spirits which hold
+their revel upon the ice of the lake. While she listened her eye
+kindled with excitement, and she clung unconsciously and with a
+convulsive shudder to the person of her lover.
+
+"You are right, Estelle," said I, "hold him fast, or they will steal
+him away to their deep caves beneath the waters, where their dance is,
+to mortal, a dance of death."
+
+Bidding me begone, for a spiteful croaker, who was trying out of
+jealousy to mar her happiness, she turned confidingly to the manly
+form beside her, and from the noble expression beaming from his eyes
+imbibed a fire which defied the whole spirit-world, so deep and so
+strong was their assurance of devoted affection. The good priest now
+bade them stand up, the words were spoken, the benediction bestowed,
+the bride and groom congratulated, and a general joy circled the
+company round.
+
+The causes which led to, and the incidents which befel, a "night on
+the ice," I have endeavored faithfully to rehearse, and now let me add
+the pleasing sequel. Victor Druissel, folded in the embrace of beauty,
+now pillows his head upon a bosom as fond and true as ever in its wild
+pulsations of coquetry made a manly heart to ache with doubt.
+
+
+
+
+THE THANKSGIVING OF THE SORROWFUL.
+
+BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.
+
+
+ "Thanksgiving," said the preacher.
+ "What hast thou,
+ Oh heart"--I asked--"for which to render thanks!
+ What--crushed and stricken--canst thou here recall
+ Worthy for this rejoicing. That thy home
+ Hath suddenly been made so desolate;
+ Or that the love for which thy being yearned
+ Through years of youth, was given but to show
+ How fleet are life's enjoyments? For the smile
+ That never more shall greet thee at the dawn,
+ Or the low, earnest blessing, which at eve
+ Merged thoughts of human love in dreams of Heaven;
+ That these are taken wilt thou now rejoice?
+ That thou art censured, where thou seekest love--
+ And all thy purest thoughts, are turned to ill
+ Soon as they knew expression? Offerest praise
+ That such has been thy lot in earliest youth?
+ "_Thou murmurer_!"--thus whispered back my heart,
+ "Thou--of all others--shouldst this day give thanks:
+ Thanks for the love which for a little space
+ Made thy life beautiful, and taught thee well
+ By precept, and example, so to act
+ That others might in turn be blessed by thee.
+ The patient love, that checked each wayward word;
+ The holy love, that turned thee to thy God--
+ Fount of all pure affection! Hadst thou dwelt
+ Longer in such an atmosphere, thy strength
+ Had yielded to the weakness of idolatry,
+ Forgetting Him, the GIVER, in his gifts.
+ So He recalled them. Ay, for that rejoice,
+ That thou hast added treasure up in Heaven;
+ O, let thy heart dwell with thy treasure there;
+ The dream shall thus become reality.
+ The blessing may be resting on thy brow
+ Cold as it is with sorrow. Thou hast lost
+ The love of earth--but gained an angel's care.
+ And that the world views thee with curious eyes,
+ Wronging the pure expression of thy thoughts,--
+ Censure may prove to thee as finer's fire,
+ That purifies the gold."
+ Then gave I thanks,
+ Reproved by that low whisper. FATHER hear!
+ Forgive the murmurer thus in love rebuked;
+ And may I never cease through all to pay
+ This tribute to thy bounty.
+
+
+[Illustration: _Drawn by L. Nagel Engraved by J. Sartain_
+Lamartine Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine]
+
+
+
+
+DE LAMARTINE,
+
+MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE.
+
+BY FRANCIS J. GRUND.
+
+[SEE ENGRAVING.]
+
+
+Alphonse de Lamartine, the present Minister of Foreign Affairs of the
+Republic of France, was born in 1792, at Saint Pont, near Mâcon, in
+the Department of the Saone and Loire. His true family name is De
+Prat; but he took the name of De Lamartine from his uncle, whose
+fortune he inherited in 1820. His father and uncle were both
+royalists, and suffered severely from the Jacobins during the
+revolution. Had they lived in Paris their heads might have fallen from
+the block, but even in the province they did not escape persecution--a
+circumstance which, from the earliest youth of Lamartine, made a deep
+and indelible impression on his mind. His early education he received
+at the College of Belley, from which he returned in 1809, at the age
+of 18 years.
+
+The splendor of the empire under Napoleon had no attractions for him.
+Though, at that period, Napoleon was extremely desirous to reconcile
+some of the old noble families, and for that purpose employed
+confidential ladies and gentlemen to correspond with the exiles and to
+represent to them the nobility of sentiment, and the magnanimity of
+the emperor; Lamartine refused to enter the service of his country
+under the new _régime_. So far from taking an interest in the great
+events of that period, he devoted himself entirely to literary
+studies, and improved his time by perambulating Italy. The fall of
+Napoleon did not affect him, for he was no friend of the first
+revolution, (whose last representative Napoleon still continued to be,
+though he had tamed it;) and when, in 1814, the elder line of Bourbons
+was restored, Lamartine returned from Naples, and entered, the service
+of Louis XVIII., as an officer of the _garde-du-corps_. With the
+return of Napoleon from Elba he left the military service forever.
+
+A contemporary of Chateaubriand, Delavigne and Beranger, he now
+devoted himself to that species of lyric and romantic poetry which at
+first exasperated the French critics, but, in a very short time, won
+for him the European appellation of "the French Schiller." His first
+poems, "Méditations Poétiques," which appeared in Paris in 1820, were
+received with ten times the bitter criticism that was poured out on
+Byron by the Scotch reviewers, but with a similar result; in less than
+two months a second edition was called for and published. The spirit
+of these poems is that of a deep but undefined religion, presentiments
+and fantastic dreams of another world, and the consecration of a noble
+and disinterested passion for the beau ideal of his youth, "Elvire,"
+separated from him forever by the chilly hand of death. In the same
+year Lamartine became Secretary of the French Legation at Naples, and
+in 1822, Secretary of the Legation in London--Chateaubriand being at
+the time minister plenipotentiary.
+
+But the author of the _Génie du Christianism_, _les Martyrs_, and
+_Bonaparte et des Bourbons_, "did not seem to have been much pleased
+with Lamartine, whom he treated with studied neglect, and afterward
+entirely forgot as minister of foreign affairs. Chateaubriand, shortly
+before taking the place of Mons. Decazes in London, had published his
+_Mémoires_, _lettres_, _et pièces authentiques touchant la vie et la
+mort du Duc de Berri_,"[3] and was then preparing to accompany the
+Duke of Montmorency, whom, in December 1822, he followed as minister
+of foreign affairs to the Congress of Verona. It is very possible that
+Chateaubriand, who was truly devoted to the elder branch of the
+Bourbons,[4] may at that time have discovered in Lamartine little of
+that political talent or devotion which could have recommended him to
+a diplomatic post. Chateaubriand was a man of positive convictions in
+politics and religion, while Lamartine, at that period, though far
+surpassing Chateaubriand in depth of feeling and imagination, had not
+yet acquired that objectiveness of thought and reflection which is
+indispensable to the statesman or the diplomatist.
+
+[Footnote 3: Memoirs, Letters and Authentic Papers Touching the Life
+and Death of the Duke de Berry.]
+
+[Footnote 4: He followed them in 1815 into exile; and in 1830, after
+the Revolution of July, spoke with fervor in defence of the rights of
+the Duke of Bordeaux. Chateaubriand refused to pledge the oath of
+allegiance to Louis Philippe, and left in consequence the Chamber of
+Peers, and a salary of 12,000 francs. From this period he devoted
+himself entirely to the service of the unfortunate duchess and her
+son. Against the exclusion of the elder branch of Bourbons he wrote
+"_De la nouvelle proposition relative au banissement de Charles X. et
+de sa famille_." (On the New Proposition in regard to the Banishment
+of Charles X. and his Family,) and "_De la restoration et de la
+monarchie elective_." (On the Restoration and on the Elective
+Monarchy,) and several other pamphlets, which, after the apprehension
+of the duchess in France, caused his own imprisonment.
+
+Chateaubriand, in fact, was a _political_ writer as well as a poet.
+His "Genius of Christianity", published in 1802, reconciled Napoleon
+with the clergy, and his work, "Bonaparte and the Bourbons," was by
+Louis XVIII. himself pronounced "equal to an army."]
+
+After the dismission of Chateaubriand from the ministry, in July,
+1824, Lamartine became Secretary to the French Legation at Florence.
+Here he wrote "_Le dernier chant du pélerinage d'Harold_," (the Last
+Song of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage,) which was published in Paris in
+1825. Some allusions to Italy which occur in this poem, caused him a
+duel with Col. Pepe, a relation of General Pepe--who had commanded the
+Neapolitan Insurgents--in which he was severely wounded. In the same
+year he published his "_Chant du Sacre_," (Chant of the Coronation,)
+in honor of Charles X., just about the time that his contemporary,
+Beranger, was preparing for publication his "_Chansons inédittes_,"
+containing the most bitter sarcasm on Charles X., and for which the
+great _Chansonnier_ was afterward condemned to nine month's
+imprisonment, and a fine of 10,000 francs. The career of Lamartine
+commences in 1830, after he had been made a member of the Academy,
+when Beranger's muse went to sleep, because, with Charles X.'s flight
+from France, he declared his mission accomplished. Delavigne, in 1829,
+published his _Marino Falieri_.
+
+While in London, Lamartine married a young English lady, as handsome
+as _spirituelle_, who had conceived a strong affection for him through
+his poems, which she appreciated far better than his compeer,
+Chateaubriand, and requited with the true _troubadour's_ reward. With
+the accession of Louis Philippe, Lamartine left the public service and
+traveled through Turkey, Egypt, and Syria. Here he lost his daughter,
+a calamity which so preyed on his mind that it would have
+incapacitated him for further intellectual efforts, had he not been
+suddenly awakened to a new sphere of usefulness. The town of Bergues,
+in the Department of the North, returned him, in his absence, to the
+Chamber of Deputies. He accepted the place, and was subsequently again
+returned from his native town, Mâcon, which he represented at the
+period of the last Revolution, which has called him to the head of the
+provisional government.
+
+It is here worthy of remark, that Lamartine, from the commencement of
+his political career, did not take that interest in public affairs
+which seriously interferred with his poetical meditations; on the
+contrary, it was his muse which gave direction to his politics. He
+took a poetical view of religion, politics, morals, society, and
+state; the Chambers were to him but the medium for the realization of
+his beaux ideals. But it must not be imagined that Lamartine's beaux
+ideals had a distinct form, definitive outlines, or distinguishing
+lights and shades. His imagination has never been plastic, and his
+fancy was far better pleased with the magnitude of objects than with
+the artistical arrangement of their details. His conceptions were
+grand; but he possessed little power of elaboration; and this
+peculiarity of his intellect he carried from literature into politics.
+
+Shortly after his becoming a member of the French Academy, he
+publishes his "_Harmonies politiques et religieuses._"[5] Between the
+publication of these "Harmonies," and the "Poetical Meditations," with
+which he commenced his literary career, lies a cycle of ten years; but
+no perceptible intellectual progress or developement. True, the first
+effusions of a poet are chiefly marked by intensity of feeling and
+depth of sentiment. (What a world of emotions does not pervade
+Schiller's "Robbers," or Goethe's "Götz of Berlichingen, with the iron
+hand!") but the subsequent productions must show some advancement
+toward objective reality, without which it is impossible to
+individualize even genius. To _our_ taste, the "Meditations" are
+superior to his "Harmonies," in other words, we prefer his præludium
+to the concert. The one leaves us full of expectation, the other
+disappoints us. Lamartine's religion is but a sentiment; his politics
+at that time were but a poetical conception of human society. His
+religion never reached the culmination point of _faith_; his politics
+were never condensed into a system; his liquid sympathies for mankind
+never left a precipitate in the form of an absorbing patriotism. When
+his contemporary, Beranger, electrified the masses by his "_Roi
+d'Yvetot_," and "_le Senateur_," (in 1813,) Lamartine quietly mused in
+Naples, and in 1814 entered the body guard of Louis XVIII., when
+Cormenin resigned his place as counsellor of state, to serve as a
+volunteer in Napoleon's army.
+
+[Footnote 5: Political and Religious Harmonies. Paris, 1830. 2 vols.]
+
+Lamartine's political career did not, at first, interfere with his
+literary occupation, it was merely an agreeable pastime--a respite
+from his most ardent and congenial labors. In 1835 appeared his
+"_Souvenirs, impressions, pensées et paysages pendant un voyage en
+Orient, &c_."[6] This work, though written from personal observations,
+is any thing but a description of travels, or a faithful delineation
+of Eastern scenery or character. It is all poetry, without a
+sufficient substratum of reality--a dream of the Eastern world with
+its primitive vigor and sadness, but wholly destitute of either
+antiquarian research or living pictures. Lamartine gives us a picture
+of the East by candle-light--a high-wrought picture, certainly; but
+after all nothing but canvas. Shortly after this publication, there
+appeared his "_Jocelyn, journal trouvé chez un curé de village_,"[7] a
+sort of imitation of the Vicar of Wakefield; but with scarcely an
+attempt at a faithful delineation of character. Lamartine has nothing
+to do with the village parson, who may be a very ordinary personage;
+his priest is an ideal priest, who inculcates the doctrines of ideal
+Christianity in ideal sermons without a text. Lamartine seems to have
+an aversion to all positive forms, and dislikes the dogma in religion
+as much as he did the principles of the _Doctrinaires_. It would
+fetter his genius or oblige it to take a definite direction, which
+would be destructive to its essence.
+
+As late as in 1838 Lamartine published his "_La chute d'un age_."[8]
+This is one of his poorest productions, though exhibiting vast powers
+of imagination and productive genius. The scene is laid in a chaotic
+antediluvian world, inhabited by Titans, and is, perhaps, descriptive
+of the author's mind, full of majestic imagery, but as yet undefined,
+vague, and without an object worthy of its efforts. Lamartine's time
+had not yet come, though he required but a few years to complete the
+fiftieth anniversary of his birth.
+
+[Footnote 6: Souvenirs, Impressions, Thoughts and Landscapes, during a
+Voyage in the East. Paris, 1835. 4 vols.]
+
+[Footnote 7: Jocelyn, a Journal found at the House of a Village
+Priest. Paris, 1836. 2 vols.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The Fall of an Angel. Paris, 1838. 2 vols.]
+
+The year following, in 1839, he published his "_Recueillements
+poétiques_," which must be looked upon as the commencement of a new
+era in his life. Mahomed was past forty when he undertook to establish
+a new religion, and built upon it a new and powerful empire; Lamartine
+was nearly fifty when he left the fantastic for the real; and from the
+inspiration without an object, returned to the only real poetry in
+this world--the life of man. Lamartine, who until that period had been
+youthful in his conceptions, and wild and _bizarre_ in his fancy, did
+not, as Voltaire said of his countrymen, pass "from childhood to old
+age," but paused at a green manhood, with a definite purpose, and the
+mighty powers of his mind directed to an object large enough to afford
+it scope for its most vigorous exercise. His muse was now directed to
+the interests of humanity; he was what the French call _un poete
+humanitaire_.
+
+Thus far it was proper for us to follow the life of the poet to
+understand that of the statesman, orator, and tribune. Men like
+Lamartine must be judged in their totality, not by single or detached
+acts of their lives. Above all men it is the poet who is a
+self-directing agent, whose faculties receive their principal impulse
+from _within_, and who stamps his own genius on every object of his
+mental activity. Schiller, after writing the history of the most
+remarkable period preceding the French Revolution, "the thirty years'
+war," (for liberty of conscience,) and "the separation of the
+Netherlands from the crown of Spain," felt that his energies were not
+yet exhausted on the subject; but his creative genius found no theatre
+of action such as was open to Lamartine in the French Chamber, in the
+purification of the ideas engendered by the Revolution; and he had
+therefore to content himself with bringing _his_ poetical conceptions
+on the _stage_. Instead of becoming an actor in the great world-drama,
+he gave us his _Wallenstein_ and _Don Carlos_; Lamartine gave us
+_himself_ as the best creation of his poetic genius. The poet
+Lamartine has produced the statesman. This it will be necessary to
+bear in mind, to understand Lamartine's career in the Chamber of
+Deputies, or the position he now holds at the head of the provisional
+government.
+
+Lamartine, as we have above observed, entered the French Chamber in
+1833, as a cosmopolite, full of love for mankind, full of noble ideas
+of human destiny, and deeply impressed with the degraded social
+condition not only of his countrymen, but of all civilized Europe. He
+knew and felt that the Revolution which had destroyed the social
+elements of Europe, or thrown them in disorder, had not reconstructed
+and arranged them; and that the re-organization of society on the
+basis of humanity and mutual obligation, was still an unfinished
+problem. Lamartine felt this; but did the French Chambers, as they
+were then organized, offer him a fair scope for the development of his
+ideas, or the exercise of his genius? Certainly not. The French
+Chamber was divided into two great dynastic interests--those of the
+younger and elder Bourbons. The Republican party (the extreme left)
+was small, and without an acknowledged leader; and the whole assembly,
+with few individual exceptions, had taken a material direction.
+During seventeen years--from 1830 to 1847--no organic principle of law
+or politics was agitated in the Chambers, no new ideas evolved. The
+whole national legislation seemed to be directed toward material
+improvements, to the exclusion of every thing that could elevate the
+soul or inspire the masses with patriotic sentiments. The government
+of Louis Philippe had at first become stationary, then reactionary;
+the mere enunciation of a general idea inspired its members with
+terror, and made the centres (right and left) afraid of the horrors of
+the guillotine. The government of Louis Philippe was not a reign of
+terror, like that of 1793, but it was a reign of prospective terror,
+which it wished to avoid. Louis Philippe had no faith in the people;
+he treated them as the keeper of a menagerie would a tame tiger--he
+knew its strength, and he feared its vindictiveness. To disarm it, and
+to change its ferocious nature, he checked the progress of political
+ideas, instead of combating them with the weapons of reason, and
+banished from his counsel those who alone could have served as
+mediators between the throne and the liberties of the nation. The
+French people seemed stupified at the _contre-coups_ to all their
+hopes and aspirations. Even the more moderate complained; but their
+complaints were hushed by the immediate prospect of an improved
+material condition. All France seemed to have become industrious,
+manufacturing, mercantile, speculating. The thirst for wealth had
+succeeded to the ambition of the Republicans, the fanaticism of the
+Jacobins, and the love of distinction of the old monarchists. The
+Chamber of Deputies no longer represented the French people--its love,
+its hatred, its devotion--the elasticity of its mind, its facility of
+emotion, its capacity to sacrifice itself for a great idea. The
+Deputies had become stock-jobbers, partners in large enterprises of
+internal improvements, and _timidly_ conservative, as are always the
+representatives of mere property. The Chamber, instead of representing
+the essence of the nation, represented merely the moneyed classes of
+society.
+
+Such was the Chamber of Deputies to which Lamartine was chosen by an
+electoral college, devoted to the Dynastic opposition. He entered it
+in 1833, not a technical politician or orator as Odillon Barrot, not
+as a skillful tactitioner like Thiers, not as a man with one idea as
+the Duke de Broglie, not as the funeral orator of departed grandeur
+like Berryer, nor as the embodiment of a legal abstraction like Dupin,
+or a man of the devouring ambition and skill in debate of François
+Pierre Guillaume Guizot: Lamartine was simply a _humanitaire_. Goaded
+by the sarcasm of Cormenin, he declared that he belonged to no party,
+that he sought for no parliamentary conquest--that he wished to
+triumph through the force of ideas, and through no power of
+persuasion. He was the very counterpart of Thiers, the most sterile
+orator and statesman of France. Lamartine had studied the French
+Revolution, he saw the anarchical condition of society, and the
+ineffectual attempt to compress instead of organizing it; and he
+conceived the noble idea of collecting the scattered fragments, and
+uniting them into a harmonious edifice. While the extreme left were
+employed in removing the pressure from above, Lamartine was quietly
+employed in laying the foundation of a new structure, and called
+himself _un démocrate conservateur_.[9] He spoke successfully and with
+great force against the political monopoly of real property, against
+the prohibitive system of trade, against slavery, and the punishment
+of death.[10] His speeches made him at once a popular character; he
+did not address himself to the Chamber, he spoke to the French people,
+in language that sunk deep into the hearts of the masses, without
+producing a striking effect in the Legislature. At that time already
+had the king singled him out from the rest of the opposition. He
+wished to secure his talents for his dynasty; but Lamartine was not in
+search of a _portefeuille_, and escaped without effort from the
+temptation.
+
+In November, 1837, he was re-elected to the Chamber from Bergues and
+Mâcon, his native town. He decided in favor of the latter, and took
+his seat as a member for that place. He supported the Molé ministry,
+not because he had become converted to the new dynasty, but because he
+despised the _Doctrinaires_, who, by their union with the Liberals,
+brought in the new Soult ministry. He was not satisfied with the
+purity of motives, he also wanted proper means to attain a laudable
+object. In the Oriental question, which was agitated under Soult,
+Lamartine was not felt. His opposition was too vague and undefined:
+instead of pointing to the interests of France, he pointed to the
+duties of humanity of a great nation; he read Milton in a
+counting-room, and a commercial Maclaurin asked him "what does it
+prove?"
+
+[Footnote 9: A conservative Democrat.]
+
+[Footnote 10: He had already, in 1830, published a pamphlet, _Contre
+la peine de mort au peuple du 19 Octobre, 1830_. (Against the
+Punishment of Death to the People of the 19th October, 1830.)]
+
+In 1841 his talent as an orator (he was never distinguished as a
+debater) was afforded ample scope by Thiers' project to fortify the
+capital. He opposed it vehemently, but without effect. In the
+boisterous session of 1842 he acted the part of a moderator; but still
+so far seconded the views of Thiers as to consider the left bank of
+the Rhine as the proper and legitimate boundary of France against
+Germany. This debate, it is well known, produced a perfect storm of
+popular passions in Germany. In a few weeks the whole shores of the
+Rhine were bristling with bayonets; the peasantry in the Black Forest
+began to clean and polish their rusty muskets, buried since the fall
+of Napoleon, and the princes perceiving that the spirit of nationality
+was stronger than that of freedom, encouraged this popular declaration
+against French usurpation. Nicolas Becker, a modest German, without
+pretension or poetic genius, but inspired by an honest love of country
+and national glory, then composed a war-song, commencing thus:
+
+ No, never shall they have it,
+ The free, the German Rhine;
+
+which was soon in every man's mouth, and being set to music, became
+for a short period the German Marseillaise. Lamartine answered the
+German with the _Marseillaise de paix_, (the Marseillaise of peace,)
+which produced a deep impression; and the fall of the Thiers' ministry
+soon calmed the warlike spirit throughout Europe.
+
+On the question of the Regency, Lamartine declared himself in favor of
+the Duchess of Orleans as Regent, should Louis Philippe die during the
+minority of the Count of Paris, and it is our firm belief that he
+would have accepted that Regency even in February last, if the king
+had abdicated a day sooner. Lamartine never avowed himself a
+Republican; but was left no alternative but to eclipse himself
+forever, or become its champion.
+
+The star of Lamartine's political destiny rose in the session of 1843,
+when, utterly disgusted with the reactionary policy of Guizot, he
+conceived the practical idea of uniting all the elements of
+opposition, of whatever shade and color, against the government. But
+he was not satisfied with this movement in the Chamber, which produced
+the coalition of the Dynastic right with the Democratic left, and for
+a moment completely paralyzed the administration of Guizot: he carried
+his new doctrine right before the people, as the legitimate source of
+the Chamber, and thus became the first political agitator of France
+since the restoration, in the legitimate, legal, English sense of the
+word. Finding that the press was muzzled, or subsidized and bought, he
+moved his countrymen through the power of his eloquence. He appealed
+from the Chamber to the sense and the virtue of the people. In
+September, 1843, he first addressed the electors of Mâcon on the
+necessity of extending the franchise, in order to admit of a greater
+representation of the French people--generous, magnanimous, bold and
+devoted to their country. Instead of fruitlessly endeavoring to reform
+the government, he saw that the time had come for reforming the
+Chamber.
+
+In the month of October, of the same year--so rapidly did his new
+political genius develop itself--he published a regular programme for
+the opposition; a thing which Thiers, up to that moment, had
+studiously avoided, not to break entirely with the king, and to render
+himself still "possible" as a minister of the crown. Lamartine knew no
+such selfish consideration, which has destroyed Thiers as a man of the
+people, and declared himself entirely independent of the throne of
+July. He advocated openly _the abolition of industrial feudalism, and
+the foundation of a new democratic society under a constitutional
+throne_.
+
+Thus, then, had Lamartine separated himself not only from the king and
+his ministers, but also from the ancient _noblesse_ and the
+_bourgeoisie_, without approaching or identifying himself with the
+Republican left wing of the Chamber. He stood alone, admired for his
+genius, his irreproachable rectitude, his devoted patriotism, but
+considered rather as a poetical abstraction, an impracticable Utopist;
+and yet he was the only man in the Chamber who had devised a
+practical means of regenerating the people and the government.
+Lamartine was now considered a parliamentary oddity rather than the
+leader of a faction, or the representative of a political principle;
+but he was indeed far in advance of the miserable routine of his
+colleagues. He personated, indeed, no principle represented in the
+Chamber, but he was already the Tribune of the unrepresented masses!
+The people had declared the government a fraud--the Chamber an
+embodied falsehood. At last Marrast, one of the editors of the
+National, (now a member of the provisional government,) pronounced it
+in his paper that the French people had no representation, that it was
+in vain to attempt to oppose the government in the legislature: "_La
+Chambre_," said Marrast, "_n'est qu' un mensonge_."[11]
+
+Lamartine had thus, all at once, as if by a _coup-de-main_, become "a
+popular greatness." He was the man of the people, without having
+courted popularity--that stimulus (as he himself called it) to so many
+noble acts and crimes, as the object of its caresses remains its
+conscious master or its pandering slave. Lamartine grew rapidly in
+public estimation, because he was a new man. All the great characters
+of the Chamber, beginning with Casimir Perrier, had, in contact with
+Louis Philippe, become either eclipsed or tarnished. Lamartine avoided
+the court, but openly and frankly confessed that he belonged to no
+party. He had boldly avowed his determination to oppose the government
+of Louis Philippe, not merely this or that particular direction, which
+it took in regard to its internal and external relations; but in its
+whole general tendency. He was neither the friend nor the enemy of a
+particular combination for the ministry, and had, during a short
+period, given his support to Count Molé, not because he was satisfied
+with his administration, but because he thought the opposition and its
+objects less virtuous than the minister. In this independent position,
+supported by an ample private fortune, (inherited, as we before
+observed, by his maternal uncle, and the returns of his literary
+activity,) Lamartine became an important element of parliamentary
+combination, from the weight of his _personal_ influence, while at the
+same time his "utopies," as they were termed by the tactitioners of
+Alphonse Thiers, gave but little umbrage to the ambition of his
+rivals. He alone enjoyed some credit with the masses, though his
+social position ranked with the first in the country, while, from the
+peculiar bend of his mind, and the idealization of his principles, he
+was deemed the most harmless aspirant to political power. The
+practical genius of the opposition, everlastingly occupied with
+unintellectual details of a venal class-legislature, saw in Lamartine
+a useful co-operator: they never dreamt that the day would come when
+they would be obliged to serve under him.
+
+[Footnote 11: The Chamber is but a lie.]
+
+And, in truth, it must be admitted that without the Revolution of
+February, Lamartine must have been condemned to a comparative
+political inactivity. With the exception of a few friends, personally
+devoted to him, he had no party in the Chamber. The career which he
+had entered, as the people's Tribune, placed him, in a measure, in
+_opposition_ to all existing parties; but it was even this singular
+position of parliamentary impotence, which confirmed and strengthened
+his reputation as an honest man, in contradistinction to a notoriously
+corrupt legislature. His eloquence in the Chamber had no particular
+direction; but it was the sword of justice, and was, as such, dreaded
+by all parties. As a statesman his views were tempered by humanity,
+and so little specific as to be almost anti-national. In his views as
+regards the foreign policy of France he was alike opposed to Guizot
+and Thiers; and, perhaps, to a large portion of the French people. He
+wished the external policy of France governed by a general principle,
+as the internal politics of the country, and admitted openly the
+solidarity of interests of the different states of Europe. He thus
+created for himself allies in Germany, in Italy, in Spain; but he
+lacked powerful supporters at home; and became the most impracticable
+man to carry out the aggressive views of the fallen Dynasty. Thiers
+never considered him a rival; for he considered him incapable of ever
+becoming the exponent of a leading popular passion: neither the
+present nor the future seemed to present a chance for Lamartine's
+accession to power. _L'homme positive_, as Thiers was pleased to call
+himself at the tribune of the Chamber, almost commiserated the poet
+statesman and orator.
+
+Lamartine never affected, in his manner or in his mode of living, that
+"republican simplicity" which is so often nothing but the frontispiece
+of demagoguism. He despised to flatter the people, for whom he
+cherished a generous sentiment, by vulgar appeal to their ignoble
+prejudices. He gratified his tastes where they did not come in
+conflict with morality or justice, and thus preserved his
+individuality and his friends, in the midst of the swelling tide of
+popular commotion and conflicting opinions. Guizot affected in his
+_déhors_ that severity and simplicity of style, which won for him the
+_soubriquet_ of "the Puritan;" bestowed by the sarcasm of the
+Parisians, to punish his egotism, his craving ambition and his love of
+power. While Guizot was penetrating the mysteries of European
+diplomacy, under the guidance of Princess Lieven, Lamartine's hôtel,
+in the _Rue de l'Université_ was the _réunion_ of science, literature,
+wit, elegance and grace. His country-seat near Paris was as elegantly
+furnished and artistically arranged as his palace in the Faubourg St.
+Germain; and his weekly receptions in Paris were as brilliant as they
+were attractive by the intelligence of those who had the honor to
+frequent them. The _élite_ of the old nobility, the descendants of the
+notabilities of the Empire, the historical remnants of the Gironde and
+the Jacobins, the versatility of French genius in every department,
+and distinguished strangers from all parts of the world were his
+guests; excluded were only the men of mere accidental position--the
+mob in politics, literature and the arts.
+
+But the time for Lamartine had not yet come, though the demoralization
+of the government, and the sordid impulses given by it to the
+national legislature were fast preparing that anarchy of passions
+which no government has the power to render uniform, though it may
+compress it. The ministry in the session of 1845 was defeated by the
+coalition; but the defection of Emil de Girardin saved it once more
+from destruction. Meanwhile Duchâtel, the Minister of the Interior,
+had found means, by a gigantic system of internal improvement, (by a
+large number of concessions for new rail-ways and canals,) to obtain
+from the same Chamber a ministerial majority, which toward the close
+of the session amounted to nearly eighty members. Under such auspices
+the new elections were ushered in, and the result was an overwhelming
+majority for the administration. The government was not to be shaken
+in the Chambers, but its popular ascendancy had sunk to zero. The
+opposition from being parliamentary had become organic. The
+opposition, seeing all hopes of success vanish in the Chambers, now
+embraced Lamartine's plan of agitating the people. They must either
+fall into perfect insignificance or dare to attack the very basis of
+the government. The party of Thiers and Odillon Barrot joined the
+movement, and by that means gave it a practical direction; while
+Lamartine, Marrast, Louis Blanc, and Ledru Rollin were operating on
+the masses, Thiers and Odillon Barrot indoctrinated the National
+Guards. While Thiers was willing to stake his life to dethrone Guizot,
+the confederates of Lamartine aimed at an organic change of the
+constitution.
+
+Was Lamartine a conspirator? may here be asked. We answer most
+readily, no! Lamartine is what himself says of Robespierre, "a man of
+general ideas;" but not a man of a positive system; and hence,
+incapable of devising a plan for attaining a specific political
+object. His opposition to Louis Philippe's government was general; but
+it rested on a noble basis, and was free from individual passions. He
+may have been willing to batter it, but he did not intend its
+demolition. The Republic of France was proclaimed in the streets,
+partly as the consequence of the king's cowardice. Lamartine accepted
+its first office, because he had to choose between it and anarchy, and
+he has thus far nobly discharged his trust. If he is not a statesman
+of consummate ability, who would devise means of extricating his
+country from a difficult and perilous situation, he will not easily
+plunge it into danger; if he be not versed in the intrigues of
+cabinets, his straight forward course commands their respect, and the
+confidence of the French people. This is not the time for Europe to
+give birth to new ideas--the old Revolution has done that
+sufficiently--but the period has arrived for elaborating them, with a
+view to a new and lasting organization of society. The present
+revolution in Europe need not forcibly overthrow any established
+political creed; for there is no established political conviction in
+Europe. The people have arrived at a period of universal political
+scepticism, which, like scepticism in religion, always prepares the
+soil for the reception of the seed of a new faith. The great work of
+the revolution is done, if the people will but seize and perpetuate
+its consequences. Such, at least, are the views of Lamartine, and with
+him of a majority of European writers, as expressed in the literature
+of the day.
+
+The history of the Girondists contains Lamartine's political faith. It
+is not without its poetry and its Utopian visions; but it is full of
+thought and valuable reflections, and breathes throughout the loftiest
+and most noble sentiments. Lamartine, in that history, becomes the
+panegyrist and the censor of the French Revolution. He vindicates with
+a powerful hand the ideas which it evolved; while he castigates, and
+depicts with poetic melancholy its mournful errors and its tragic
+character. He makes Vergniaud, the chief of the Girondists, say before
+his execution--"In grafting the tree, my friend, we have killed it. It
+was too old. Robespierrie cuts it. Will he be more successful than
+ourselves? No. This soil is too unsteady to nourish the roots of civil
+liberty; this people is too childish to handle its laws without
+wounding itself. It will come back to its kings as children come back
+to their rattle. We made a mistake in our births, in being born and
+dying for the liberty of the world. We imagined that we were in Rome,
+and we were in Paris. But revolutions are like those crises which, in
+a single night, turn men's hair gray. They ripen the people fast. The
+blood in our veins is warm enough to fecundate the soil of the
+Republic. Let us not take with us the future, and let us bequeath to
+the people our hope in return for the death which it gives us."[12]
+
+It is impossible that Lamartine should not have felt as a poet what he
+expressed as a historian, and his character is too sincere to prevent
+him from acting out his conviction. In describing the death of the
+founders of the first French Republic, Lamartine employs the whole
+pathos of his poetic inspiration.
+
+"They (the Girondists) possessed three virtues which in the eyes of
+posterity atone for many faults. They worshiped liberty; they founded
+the Republic--this precautions truth of future governments;--at last,
+they died, because they refused blood to the people. Their time has
+condemned them to death, the future has judged them to glory and
+pardon. They died because they did not allow Liberty to soil itself,
+and posterity will yet engrave on their memory the inscription which
+Vergniaud, their oracle, has, with his own hand, engraved on the wall
+of his dungeon: 'Rather death than crime!' '_Potius mori quam
+foedari!_'"
+
+[Footnote 12: This and the following versions of Lamartine are our
+own; for we have not as yet had time to look into the published
+translation. We mention this to prevent our own mistakes, if we should
+have committed any, from being charged to the American translator of
+the work.]
+
+Lamartine is visibly inclined in favor of the Girondists--the founders
+of the Republic; but his sense of justice does not permit him to
+condemn the Jacobins without vindicating their memory from that
+crushing judgment which their contemporaries pronounced upon them. He
+thus describes, in a few masterly strokes, the character of
+Robespierre:
+
+"Robespierre's refusal of the supreme power was sincere in the
+motives which he alleged. But there were other motives which caused
+him to reject the sole government. These motives he did not yet avow.
+The fact is that he had arrived at the end of his thoughts, and that
+himself did not know what form was best suited to revolutionary
+institutions. More a man of ideas than of action, Robespierre had the
+sentiment of the Revolution rather than the political formula. The
+soul of the institutions of the future was in his dreams, but he
+lacked the mechanism of a popular government. His theories, all taken
+from books, were brilliant and vague as perspectives, and cloudy as
+the far distance. He contemplated them daily; he was dazzled by them;
+but he never touched them with the firm and precise hand of practice.
+He forgot that Liberty herself requires the protection of a strong
+power, and that this power must have a head to conceive, and hands to
+execute. He believed that the words Liberty, Equality, Disinterestedness,
+Devotion, Virtue, incessantly repeated, were themselves a government.
+He took philosophy for politics, and became indignant at his false
+calculations. He attributed continually his deceptions to the
+conspiracies of aristocrats and demagogues. He thought that in
+extinguishing from society the aristocrats and demagogues, he would be
+able to suppress the vices of humanity, and the obstacles to the work
+of liberal institutions. His notion of the people was an illusion, not
+a reality. He became irritated to find the people often so weak, so
+cowardly, so cruel, so ignorant, so changeable, so unworthy the rank
+which nature has assigned them. He became irritated and soured, and
+challenged the scaffold to extricate him from his difficulties. Then,
+indignant at the excesses of the scaffold, he returned to words of
+justice and humanity. Then once more he seized upon the scaffold,
+invoked virtue and suscitated death. Floating sometimes on clouds,
+sometimes in human gore, he despaired of mankind and became frightened
+at himself. 'Death, and nothing but death!' he cried, in conversation
+with his intimate friends, 'and the villains charge it upon me. What
+memory shall I leave behind me if this goes on? Life is a burthen to
+me!'"
+
+Once, says Lamartine, the truth became manifest. He (Robespierre)
+exclaimed, with a gesture of despair, "_No, I was not made to govern,
+I was made to combat the enemies of the people!_"
+
+These meditations on the character of Robespierre, show sufficiently
+that Lamartine, though he may not as yet have taken a positive
+direction in politics, has at least, from his vague poetical
+conceptions, returned to a sound state of political criticism, the
+inevitable precursor of sound theories. His views on the execution of
+the royal family are severe but just.
+
+"Had the French nation a right to judge Louis XVI. as a legal
+tribunal?" demands Lamartine. "No! Because the judge ought to be
+impartial and disinterested--and the nation was neither the one nor
+the other. In this terrible but inevitable combat, in which, under the
+name of revolution, royalty and liberty were engaged for emancipating
+or enslaving the citizen, Louis XVI. personified the throne, the
+nation personified liberty. This was not their fault, it was their
+nature. All attempts at a mutual understanding were in vain. Their
+natures warred against each other in spite of their inclination toward
+peace. Between these two adversaries, the king and the people, of whom
+the one, by instinct, was prompted to retain, the other to wrest from
+its antagonist the rights of the nation, there was no tribunal but
+combat, no judge but victory. We do not mean to say that there was not
+above the parties a moral of the case, and acts which judge even
+victory itself. This justice never perishes in the eclipse of the law,
+and the ruin of empires; but it has no tribunal before which it can
+legally summon the accused; it is the justice of state, the justice
+which has neither regularly appointed judges, nor written laws, but
+which pronounces its sentences in men's consciences, and whose code is
+equity."
+
+"Louis XVI. could not be judged in politics or equity, but by a
+process of state. Had the nation a right to judge him thus? As well
+might we demand whether she had a right to fight and conquer, in other
+words, as well might we ask whether despotism is inviolable--whether
+liberty is a revolt--whether there is no justice here below but for
+kings--whether there is, for the people, no other right than to serve
+and obey? The mere doubt is an act of impiety toward the people."
+
+So far the political philosophy of Lamartine, the legal argument
+against the king, strikes us as less logical and just. We may agree
+with him in principle, but we cannot assent to the abstract justice of
+his conclusions.
+
+"The nation," says the head of the present provisional government of
+France, "possessing within itself the inalienable sovereignty which
+rests in reason, in the right and the will of each citizen, the
+aggregate of which constitutes the people, possesses certainly the
+faculty of modifying the exterior form of its sovereignty, to level
+its aristocracy, to dispossess its church of its property, to lower or
+even to suppress the throne, and to govern themselves through their
+proper magistrates. But as the nation had a right to combat and
+emancipate itself, she also had a right to watch over and consolidate
+the fruits of its victories. If, then, Louis XVI., a king too recently
+dispossessed of sovereign power--a king in whose eyes all restitution
+of power to the people was tantamount to a forfeiture--a king ill
+satisfied with what little of government remained in his hands,
+aspiring to reconquer the part he had lost--torn in one direction by a
+usurping assembly, and in another by a restless queen or humble
+nobility, and a clergy which made Heaven to intervene in his cause, by
+implacable emigrants, by his brothers running all over Europe to drum
+up enemies to the Revolution; if, in one word, Louis XVI., KING,
+appeared to the nation a living conspiracy against her liberty; if the
+nation suspected him of regretting in his soul too much the loss of
+supreme power--of causing the new constitution to stumble, in order to
+profit by its fall--of conducting liberty into snares to rejoice in
+anarchy--of disarming the country because he secretly wished it to be
+defeated--then the nation had a right to make him descend from the
+throne, and to call him to her bar, and to depose him in the name of
+her own dictatorship, and for her own safety. If the nation had not
+possessed this right, the right to betray the people with impunity,
+would, in the new constitution, have been one of the prerogatives of
+the crown."
+
+This is a pretty fair specimen of revolutionary reasoning; but it is
+rather a definition of Democracy, as Lamartine understands it, than a
+constitutional argument in favor of the decapitation of "_Louis
+Capet_." Lamartine is, indeed, a "Conservative Democrat," that is,
+ready to immolate the king to preserve the rights of the people; but
+he does not distinguish in his mind a justifiable act from a righteous
+one. But it is a peculiarity of the French mind to identify itself so
+completely with the object of its reflection, that it is impossible
+for a French mind to be impartial, or as they will have it, not to be
+an enthusiast. The French are partisans even in science; the Academy
+itself has its factions.
+
+We have thus quoted the most important political opinions expressed in
+his "Girondists," because these are his _latest_ political
+convictions, and he has subscribed to them his name. We look upon this
+his last work, as a public confession of his faith--as a declaration
+of the principles which will guide him in the administration of the
+new government. Lamartine has been indoctrinated with the spirit of
+revolution; but it is not the spirit of his youth or early manhood.
+Liberty in his hands becomes something poetical--perhaps a lyric
+poem--but we respectfully doubt his capacity to give her a practical
+organization, and a real existence. High moral precepts and sublime
+theories may momentarily elevate a people to the height of a noble
+devotion; but laws and institutions are made for ordinary men, and
+must be adapted to their circumstances. Herein consists the specific
+talent of the statesman, and his capacity to govern. Government is not
+an ideal abstraction--a blessing showered from a given height on the
+abiding masses, or a scourge applied to mortify their passions; it is
+something natural and spontaneous, originating in and coeval with the
+people, and must be adapted to their situation, their moral and
+intellectual progress, and to their national peculiarities. It
+consists of details as well as of general forms, and requires labor
+and industry as well as genius. The majority of the people must not
+only yield the laws a ready submission, but they must find, or at
+least believe, it their interest to do so, or the government becomes
+coercion. The great problem of Europe is to discover the laws of
+labor, not to invent them, for without this question being practically
+settled in some feasible manner, all fine spun theories will not
+suffice to preserve the government.
+
+Lamartine closes his history of the Girondists with the following
+sublime though mystic reflection: "A nation ought, no doubt, to weep
+her dead, and not to console itself in regard to a single life that
+has been unjustly and odiously sacrificed; but it ought not to regret
+its blood when it was shed to reveal eternal truths. God has put this
+price on the germination and maturation of all His designs in regard
+to man. Ideas vegetate in human blood; revolutions descend from the
+scaffold. All religions become divine through martyrdom. Let us, then,
+pardon each other, sons of combatants and victims. Let us become
+reconciled over their graves to take up the work which they have left
+undone. Crime has lost every thing in introducing itself into the
+ranks of the republic. To do battle is not to immolate. Let us take
+away the crime from the cause of the people, as a weapon which has
+pierced their hands and changed liberty into despotism. Let us not
+seek to justify the scaffold with the cause of our country, and
+proscriptions by the cause of liberty. Let us not pardon the spirit of
+our age by the sophism of revolutionary energy, let humanity preserve
+its heart; it is the safest and most infallible of its principles, and
+_let us resign ourselves to the condition of human things_. The
+history of the Revolution is glorious and sad as the day after the
+victory, or the eve of another combat. But if this history is full of
+mourning, it is also full of faith. It resembles the antique drama
+where, while the narrator recites his story, the chorus of the people
+shouts the glory, weeps for the victims and raises a hymn of
+consolation and hope to God."
+
+All this is very beautiful, but it does not increase our stock of
+historical information. It teaches the people resignation, instead of
+pointing to their errors, and the errors of those who claimed to be
+their deliverers. Lamartme has made an apotheosis of the Revolution,
+instead of treating it as the unavoidable consequence of
+misgovernment. To an English or American reader the allusion to "the
+blood sacrifice," which is necessary in politics as in religion, would
+border on impiety; with the French it is probably a proof of religious
+faith. Lamartine, in his views and conceptions, in his mode of
+thinking and philosophizing, is much more nearly allied to the German
+than to the English schools; only that, instead of a philosophical
+system, carried through with a rigorous and unsparing logic, he
+indulges in philosophical reveries. As a statesman Lamartine lacks
+speciality, and for this reason we think that his administration will
+be a short one.
+
+With respect to character, energy, and courage, Lamartine has few
+equals. He has not risen to power by those crafty combinations which
+destroy a man's moral greatness in giving him distinction. "Greatness"
+was, indeed, "thrust upon him," and thus far he has nobly and
+courageously sustained it. He neither courted power, nor declined it.
+When it was offered, he did not shrink from assuming the
+responsibility of accepting it. He has no vulgar ambition to gratify,
+no insults to revenge, no devotion to reward. He stands untrammeled
+and uncommitted to any faction whatever. He may not be able to solve
+the social problem of the age; but will, in that case, surrender his
+command untarnished as he received it, and serve once more in the
+ranks.
+
+
+
+
+SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.
+
+BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
+
+ [When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough,
+ the admiral was seen constantly sitting in the stern,
+ with a book in his hand. On the 9th of September he was
+ seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of
+ the Hind to say, "We are as near Heaven by sea as by
+ land." In the following night the lights of the ship
+ suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel
+ kept a good look out for him during the remainder of
+ the voyage. On the 22d of September they arrived,
+ through much tempest and peril; at Falmouth. But
+ nothing more was seen or heard of the admiral.
+ _Belknap's American Biography_, I. 203.]
+
+
+ Southward with his fleet of ice
+ Sailed the Corsair Death;
+ Wild and fast, blew the blast,
+ And the east-wind was his breath.
+
+ His lordly ships of ice
+ Glistened in the sun;
+ On each side, like pennons wide,
+ Flashing crystal streamlets run.
+
+ His sails of white sea-mist
+ Dripped with silver rain;
+ But where he passed there were cast
+ Leaden shadows o'er the main.
+
+ Eastward from Campobello
+ Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
+ Three days or more seaward he bore,
+ Then, alas! the land wind failed.
+
+ Alas! the land wind failed,
+ And ice-cold grew the night;
+ And nevermore, on sea or shore,
+ Should Sir Humphrey see the light.
+
+ He sat upon the deck,
+ The book was in his hand;
+ "Do not fear! Heaven is as near,"
+ He said "by water as by land!"
+
+ In the first watch of the night,
+ Without a signal's sound,
+ Out of the sea, mysteriously,
+ The fleet of Death rose all around.
+
+ The moon and the evening star
+ Were hanging in the shrouds;
+ Every mast, as it passed,
+ Seemed to rake the passing clouds.
+
+ They grappled with their prize,
+ At midnight black and cold!
+ As of a rock was the shock;
+ Heavily the ground-swell rolled.
+
+ Southward through day and dark,
+ They drift in close embrace;
+ With mist and rain to the Spanish main;
+ Yet there seems no change of place.
+
+ Southward, forever southward,
+ They drift through dark and day;
+ And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream,
+ Sinking vanish all away.
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT.
+
+
+ The day, the bitter day, divides us, sweet--
+ Tears from our souls the wings with which we soar
+ To Heaven. All things are cruel. We may meet
+ Only by stealth, to sigh--and all is o'er:
+ We part--the world is dark again, and fleet;
+ The phantoms of despair and doubt once more
+ Pursue our hearts and look into our eyes,
+ Till Memory grows dismayed, and sweet Hope dies.
+
+ But the still night, with all its fiery stars,
+ And sleep, within her world of dreams apart--
+ These, these are ours! Then no rude tumult mars
+ Thy image in the fountain of my heart--
+ Then the faint soul her prison-gate unbars
+ And springs to life and thee, no more to part,
+ Till cruel day our rapture disenchants,
+ And stills with waking each fond bosom's pants. M. E. T.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOB-O-LINK.
+
+BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.
+
+
+ Merrily sings the fluttering Bob-o-link,
+ Whose trilling song above the meadow floats;
+ The eager air speeds tremulous to drink
+ The bubbling sweetness of the liquid notes,
+ Whose silver cadences arise and sink,
+ Shift, glide and shiver, like the trembling motes
+ In the full gush of sunset. One might think
+ Some potent charm had turned the auroral flame
+ Of the night-kindling north to melody,
+ That in one gurgling rush of sweetness came
+ Mocking the ear, as once it mocked the eye,
+ With varying beauties twinkling fitfully;
+ Low hovering in the air, his song he sings
+ As if he shook it from his trembling wings.
+
+
+
+
+MY AUNT POLLY.
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+Every body has had an Aunt Peggy--an Aunt Patty--an Aunt Penelope, or
+an aunt something else; but every body hasn't had an Aunt POLLY--i. e.
+_such_ an Aunt Polly as mine! Most Aunt Pollies have been the
+exemplars and promulgators of "single blessedness"--not such was
+_she_! But more of this anon. Aunt Polly was the only sister of my
+father, who often spoke of her affectionately; but would end his
+remark with "poor Polly! so nervous--so unlike her self-possessed and
+beautiful mother"--whose memory he devoutly revered. Children are not
+destitute of the curiosity native to the human mind, and we often
+teased papa about a visit from Aunt Polly, who, he replied, never left
+home; but not enlightening us on the _why_, his replies only served to
+whet the edge of curiosity more and more. I never shall forget the
+surprise that opened my eye-lids early and wide one morning, when it
+was announced to me that Aunt Polly and her spouse had unexpectedly
+arrived at the homestead. It would be difficult to analyze the nature
+of that eagerness which hastily dressed and sent me down stairs. But
+unfortunately did I enter the breakfast-room just as the good book was
+closing, and the family circle preparing to finish its devotions on
+the knee; however, a glance of the eye takes but little time, and a
+penetrating look was returned me by Aunt Polly, in which the beaming
+affection of her sanguine nature, and the scowl of scarce restrained
+impatience to get hold of me, were mixed so strangely as to give her
+naturally sharp black eyes an expression almost fearful to a child;
+but on surveying her unique apparel, and indescribably uneasy position
+on the chair--for she remained seated while the rest of us knelt,
+giving me thus an opportunity to scrutinize her through the
+interstices of my chair-back--so excited my girlish risibilities, that
+fear became stifled in suppressed laughter. "Amen" was scarce
+pronounced, when a shrill voice called out--"Come here, you little
+good-for-nothing--_what's_ your name?" The inviting smile conveyed to
+me with these startling tones left no doubt who was addressed, and I
+instantly obeyed the really fervent call. Both the stout arms of my
+aunt were opened to receive me, but held me at their length,
+while--with a nervous sensibility that made the tears gush from her
+eyes--she hurriedly exclaimed--"_What_ shall I do with you? Do you
+love to be _squeezed_? When, suiting the action to the question, she
+embraced me with a tenacity that almost choked my breath. From that
+moment I loved Aunt Polly! The fervid outpouring of her affection had
+mingled with the well-springs of a heart that--despite its
+mischievousness--was ever brimming with love. The first gush of
+feeling over, Aunt Polly again held me at arm's distance, while she
+surveyed intently my features, and traced in the laughing eye and
+golden ringlets the likeness of her "_dearest_ brother in the world!"
+Poor aunty had but one! Nor was my opportunity lost of looking right
+into the face I had so often desired to see. It would be hard to draw
+a picture of Aunt Polly in words, so good as the reader's fancy will
+supply. There was nothing peculiar in her tall, stout figure; in her
+well developed features--something between the Grecian and the
+Roman--in her complexion, which one could see had faded from a glowing
+brunette to a pale Scotch snuff color. But her eyes, they _were_
+peculiar--so black--so rapid in their motions--so penetrating when
+looking forward--so flashing when she laughed, that really--I never
+saw such eyes!
+
+It would be still more puzzling to describe her dress. She wore a real
+chintz of the olden time, filled with nosegays, as unlike to Nature's
+flowers as the fashion of her gown was to the dresses of modern dames
+of her sixty years. Though I don't believe Aunt Polly's attire looked
+like any body else's at the time it was made; at any rate, it was put
+on in a way that differed from the pictures I had seen of the
+old-school ladies. Her cap was indeed the crowner! but let that pass,
+for the old lady had these dainty articles so carefully packed in what
+had been a sugar-box, that no doubt they were _sweet_ to any _taste_
+but mine. I said that Aunt Polly was not a spinster. A better idea of
+her lord cannot be given than in her own words to my eldest sister,
+who declared in her hearing that she would never marry a minister.
+"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Aunt Polly, "I remember saying, when I was
+a girl, that whatever faults my husband might have, he should never be
+younger than myself--have red hair, or stammer in his speech: all
+these objections were united in the man I married!"
+
+One more fact will convey to the imagination all that I need say of
+Aunt Polly's husband. Late one evening came a thundering knock at my
+father's door, and as all the servants had retired, a youth who
+happened to be staying with us at the time, started, candle in hand,
+to answer it: Now the young man was of a credulous turn, and had just
+awakened from a snooze in his chair. Presently a loud shriek called
+all who were up in the house to the door, where, lying prostrate and
+faint, was found the youth, and standing over him, with eye-balls
+distended--making ineffectual efforts to speak--was the husband of
+Aunt Polly. When the lad recovered, all that he could tell of his
+mishap was, that on opening the street-door a man, wrapped in a large
+over-coat, with glassy eyes staring straight at him, opened and shut
+his mouth four times without uttering a syllable--when the candle
+fell from his hands, and he to the floor! Aunt Polly's spouse was the
+prince of stammerers! But if he could seldom _begin_ a sentence, so
+Aunt Polly could seldom _finish_ one: indeed the most noticeable
+_point_ in her conversation was, that it had _no_ point, or was made
+up of sentences broken off in the middle. This may have been
+physiologically owing to the velocity with which the nervous fluid
+passed through her brain, giving uncommon rapidity to her thoughts,
+and correspondingly to the motions of her body. It soon became a
+wonder to my girlish mind how Aunt Polly ever kept still long enough
+to listen to a declaration of love--especially from a stutterer--or
+even to respond to the marriage ceremony.
+
+My wonder now is, how the functions of her system ever had time to
+fulfill their offices, or the flesh to accumulate, as it did, to a
+very respectable consistency; for she never, to my knowledge, finished
+a meal while under our roof; nor do I believe that she ever slept
+_out_ a nap in her life. As she became a study well fitted to interest
+one of my novel, fun-loving age, I used often to steal out of bed at
+different times in the night and peep from my own apartment into hers,
+which adjoined it, where a night lamp was always burning; for she
+insisted on having the door between left open. I invariably found
+those eyes of hers wide awake, and my own room being dark, took
+pleasure in watching her unobserved, as she fidgeted now with her
+ample-bordered night-cap, and now with the bed-clothes. Once was I
+caught by a sudden cough on my part, which brought Aunt Polly to her
+feet before I had time to slip back to bed; and the only plea that my
+guiltiness could make her kind remonstrance on my being up in the
+cold, was the very natural and very wicked fib, that I heard her move
+and thought she might want something. Unsuspecting old lady! May her
+ashes at least rest in peace! How she caught me in her arms, kissed
+and carried me to bed, tucking in the blankets so effectually that all
+attempts to get up again that night were vain! Oh, she was a love of
+an aunt! The partiality of her attachment to me might have been
+accounted for by her having had no children of her own; or to the
+evident interest which she excited in me, causing my steps to follow
+her wherever she went; though all the family endeavored to make her
+first and last visit as agreeable as possible. But every attempt to
+fasten her attention to an object of interest or curiosity long enough
+to understand it, was unavailing. Sometimes I sallied out with her
+into the street, and while rather pleased than mortified by the
+observation which her grotesque costume and nervous, irregular gait
+attracted, it was different with me when she attempted to shop; as
+more often than otherwise, she would begin to pay for articles
+purchased, and putting her purse abruptly in her pocket, hurry toward
+the door, as if on purpose to avoid a touch on the elbow, which
+sometimes served to jog her memory also, and sometimes the very
+purchases were forgotten, till I became their witness.
+
+On the whole, Aunt Polly's visit was a source of more amusement to me
+than all the visits of all my school-mates put together. When we
+parted--for I truly loved her--I forgave the squeeze--a screw-turn
+tighter than that at our meeting--and promised through my tears to
+make her a visit whenever my parents would consent to it. The
+homestead was as still for a week after her departure, as a ball-room
+after the waltzers have all whirled themselves home. Hardly had the
+family clock-work commenced its methodical revolutions again, when a
+letter arrived; and who that knew Aunt Polly, could have mistaken its
+characteristic superscription.
+
+My father was well-known at the post office, or the
+half-written-out-name would never have found its way into his box.
+Internally, the letter was made up of broken sentences, big with love,
+like the large, fragmentary drops of rain from a passing summer cloud.
+By dint of patient perseverance we "gathered up the fragments, so that
+nothing was lost" of Aunt Polly's itinerant thoughts or wishes.
+
+Among the latter was an invitation for me to visit her, on which my
+father looked silently and negatively; but I was not thus to be denied
+a desire of the heart, and insisted on having an audible response to
+my request of permission to fulfill the parting promise to Aunt Polly.
+In vain did my father give first an evasive answer, and then hint at
+the disappointment likely to await such a step--recall to my mind the
+eccentricities of his "worthy sister"--endeavor by all gentle means of
+persuasion to deter me from my purpose, and finally try to frighten me
+out of it. I was incorrigible.
+
+Not long after, a gentleman who resided in the town with my aunt, came
+to visit us, and being alone in a comfortable one-horse vehicle, was
+glad enough to accept my offered company on his way home; so, gaining
+the reluctant consent of my mother, I started, full of an indefinite
+sort of pleasurable expectation, nourished by the changing diorama of
+a summer afternoon's ride through a cultivated part of the country.
+
+Arriving at the verge of a limpid stream, my companion turned the
+horse to drink, so suddenly, that the wheels became cramped, and we
+were precipitated into the water, the wagon turning a summerset
+directly over our heads. Strange to say, neither of us were hurt, and
+the stream was shallow, though deep enough to give us a thorough cold
+bath, and to deluge the trunk containing my clothes, the lock of which
+flew open in the fall. My mortified protector crept from under our
+capsized ark as soon as he could, and let me out at the window; when I
+felt myself to be in rather a worse condition than was Noah's dove,
+who "found no rest for the sole of her foot;" for beside dripping from
+all my garments, like a surcharged umbrella, my soul, too, found no
+foothold of excuse on which to stand justified before my father for
+exposing myself to such an _emergence_ without his knowledge. However,
+_return_ we must. Nor was the situation of my conductor's body or mind
+very enviable, being obliged to present me to my parents, drooping
+like a water-lily. But if ill-luck had pursued us, good luck awaited
+our return; for we found that my father had not yet arrived from his
+business, and my mother's conscience kept our secret; so that
+frustration in my first attempt to visit Aunt Polly, was all the evil
+that came out of the adventure. Notwithstanding my ardor had been so
+damped with cold water, it was yet warm enough for another effort;
+though it must be confessed, that for a few days subsequent to the
+accident, my animal spirits were something in the state of
+over-night--uncorked champagne.
+
+The first sign of their renewed vitality was the again expressed
+desire to visit Aunt Polly. I, however, learned obedience by the
+things I had suffered, and resolved not to venture on another
+expedition without the approval and protection of my father, who,
+because of my importunity, at length consented to accompany me,
+provided I would not reveal to Aunt Polly the proposed length of my
+visit until I had spent a day and night under her roof. This I readily
+consented to, thinking only at the time what a strange proviso it was.
+Accordingly, arrangements were soon completed for the long coveted
+journey; but not until I had remonstrated with my mother on her
+limited provision for my wardrobe, furnishing me only with what a
+small carpet-bag would contain.
+
+After a ride of some forty miles, through scenery that gave fresh
+inspiration to my hopes, we arrived at the witching hour of sunset,
+before a venerable-looking farm-house. Its exterior gave no signs in
+the form of shrubbery or flowers of the decorating, refining hand of
+woman; but the sturdy oak and sycamore were there to give shade, and
+the life-scenes that surrounded the farm-yard were plenty in promise
+of eggs and poultry for the keen appetites of the travelers.
+
+As we drove into the avenue leading to a side-door of the mansion, I
+caught a glimpse of Aunt Polly's unparalleled cap through a window,
+and the next moment she stood on the steps, wringing her hands and
+crying for joy. An involuntary dread of another _squeezing_ came over
+me, which had scarce time to be idealized ere it was realized almost
+to suffocation. My father's more graduated look of pleasure, called
+from Aunt Polly an out-bursting--"_Forgive_ me, _forgive_ me! It's my
+only brother in the world! It's my dear little puss all over again!
+_Forgive_ me, _forgive_ me!" But during these ejaculations I was
+confirmed in a discovery that had escaped all my vigilance while Aunt
+Polly sojourned with us. She was a snuff-taker! That she took snuff,
+as she did every thing else, by _snatches_, I had also ascertained, on
+seeing her in the door, when she thought herself yet beyond the reach
+of our vision, forgetting that young eyes can see further than old
+eyes; _mine_ could not be deceived in the convulsive motion that
+carried her fore-finger and thumb to the tip of her olfactory organ,
+which drew up one snuff of the fragrant weed--as hurriedly as a
+porpoise puts his head out of water for a snuff of the sweet air of
+morning--when scattering the rest of the pinch to the four winds, she
+forgot, in her excitement, for once, to wipe the traces from her upper
+lip. Had I only suspected before, the hearty sneeze on my part that
+followed close upon her kiss, would have made that suspicion a
+certainty. Aunt Polly was, indeed, that inborn abhorrence of mine, a
+snuff-taker! Thus my rosy prospects began to assume a yellowish tinge
+before entering the house; what color they took afterward it would be
+difficult to tell; for the wild confusion of its interior, gave to my
+fancy as many and as mixed hues as one sees in a kaleidoscope.
+
+The old-fashioned parlor had a corner cupboard, which appeared to be
+put to any use but the right one, while the teacups and saucers--no
+whole set alike--were indiscriminately arranged _on_ the side-board,
+and _in_ it I saw, as the door stood ajar, Aunt Polly's bonnet and
+shawl; a drawer, too, being half open, disclosed one of her _sweetish_
+caps, side by side with a card of gingerbread. The carpet was woven of
+every color, in every form, but without any definite _figure_, and
+promised to be another puzzle for my curious eyes to unravel; it
+seemed to have been just _thrown_ down with here and there a tack in
+it, only serving to make it look more awry. While amusing myself with
+this carpet, it recalled an incident that a roguish cousin of mine
+once related to me after he had been to see Aunt Polly, connected with
+this parlor, which she always called her "_square_-room!" One day
+during his visit the old lady having occasion to step into a
+neighbor's house, while a pot of lard was trying over the kitchen
+fire, and not being willing to trust her half-trained servants to
+watch it, she gave the precious oil in charge to this youth, who was
+one of her favorites, bidding him, after a stated time, remove it from
+the chimney to a cooling-place; now not finishing her directions, the
+lad indulged his mischievous propensities by attempting to place the
+kettle of boiling lard to cool in the square-room fire-place; but
+finding it heavier than his strength could carry, its contents were
+suddenly deposited on the carpet, save such sprinklings as served to
+brand his face and hands as the culprit of the mischief.
+
+The terrified boy hearing Aunt Polly's step on the threshold, took the
+first way that was suggested to him of escaping her wrath, which led
+out at the window. Scarce had his agile limbs landed him safe on
+_terra firma_, when the door opened, and, preceded by a shriek that
+penetrated his hiding-place, he heard Aunt Polly's lamentable
+lamentation--"It's my _square_-room! my square-room _carpet_! Oh! that
+_I_ should live to see it come to this!" and again, and again, were
+these heart-thrilling exclamations reiterated. The lad, finding that
+all the good lady's excitement was likely to be spent on the
+square-room--though, alas! all wouldn't exterminate the
+grease--recovered courage and magnanimity enough to reveal himself as
+the author of the catastrophe, which he did with such contrition,
+showing at the same time his wounds, that Aunt Polly soon began "to
+take on" about her dear boy, to the seeming forgetfulness, while
+anointing his burns, of the kettle of lard and her unfortunate
+square-room.
+
+But I must take up again the broken thread of my own adventures in
+this square-room, where I left Aunt Polly flourishing about in joy at
+our unexpected arrival.
+
+A large, straight-backed rocking-chair stood in one corner of this
+apartment, and on its cushion--stuffed with feathers, and covered with
+blazing chintz--lay a large gray cat curled up asleep--decidedly the
+most comfortable looking object in the room--till Aunt Polly
+unceremoniously shook her out of her snug quarters to give my father
+the chair. I then discovered that poor puss was without a tail! On
+expressing my surprise, aunt only replied--"Oh, _my_ cats are all so!"
+And, true enough, before we left, I saw some half dozen round the
+house, all deficient in this same graceful appendage of the feline
+race. The human domestics of the family were only half-grown--but half
+did their work, and seemed altogether naturalized to the whirligig
+spirit of their mistress. The reader may anticipate the consequences
+to the culinary and table arrangements. For supper we had, not
+unleavened bread, but that which contained "the little leaven," that
+having had no time to "leaven the whole lump," rendered it still
+heavier of digestion; butter half-worked, tea made of water that did
+not get time to boil, and slack-baked cakes. I supped on cucumbers,
+and complaining of fatigue, was conducted by my kind aunt to the
+sleeping apartment next her own, as it would seem like old times to
+have me so near. What was wanting to make my bed comfortable, might
+have been owing to the fact, that the feathers under me had been only
+half-baked, or were picked from geese of Aunt Polly's raising; at any
+rate, I was as restless as the good lady herself until daylight, when
+I fell into as uneasy dreams--blessing the ducking that saved me a
+more lingering fate before. After a brief morning-nap I arose, and
+seeing fresh eggs brought in from the farm-yard, confidently expected
+to have my appetite appeased, knowing that they could be cooked in
+"less than no time;" but here again disappointment awaited me. For
+once, Aunt Polly's mis-hit was in _over_-doing. The coffee sustained
+in part her reputation, being half-roasted, half-ground, half-boiled,
+and, I may add, half-swallowed. After this breakfast--or keepfast--my
+father archly inquired of me aside, how long I wished him to leave me
+with Aunt Polly, as he must return immediately home. Horror at the
+idea of being left at all overcame the mortification that my reaction
+of feeling naturally occasioned, and throwing my arms around his neck,
+I implored him to take me back with him. This reply he took as coolly
+as if he were prepared for it. Not so did Aunt Polly receive the
+announcement of my departure. She insisted that I had promised her a
+_visit_, and this was no visit at all. My father humored her fondness
+with his usual tact; but on telling her that it was really necessary
+for me to return to school, the kind woman relinquished at once her
+selfish claims, in view of a greater good to me.
+
+Poor Aunt Polly! if my affection for her was less disinterested than
+her own, it was none the less in quantity; and I never loved her more
+than when she gave me that cruelest of squeezes at our parting, which
+proved to be the last--for I never saw her again. But in proof that
+she loved me to the end, I was remembered in her will; and did I not
+believe that if living, her generous affection, that was the precious
+oil through which floated her eccentricities like "flies as big as
+bumble-bees," would smooth over all appearance of ridicule in these
+reminiscences, they should never amuse any one save myself. But
+really, I cannot better carry out her restless desire of pleasing
+others, than by reproducing the merriment which throughout a long life
+was occasioned by her, who of all the Aunt Pollies that ever lived,
+was _the_ AUNT POLLY!
+
+
+
+
+STUDY. (Extract.)
+
+
+ Life, like the sea, hath yet a few green isles
+ Amid the waste of waters. If the gale
+ Has tossed your bark, and many weary miles
+ Stretch yet before you, furl the battered sail,
+ Fling out the anchor, and with rapture hail
+ The pleasant prospect--storms will come too soon.
+ They are but suicides, at best, who fail
+ To seize when'er they can Joy's fleeting boon--
+ Fools, who exclaim "'tis night," yet always shun the noon.
+
+ Live not as though you had been born for naught.
+ Save like the brutes to perish. What do they
+ But crop the grass and die? Ye have been taught
+ A nobler lesson--that within the clay,
+ Upon the minds high altar, burns a ray
+ Flashed from Divinity--and shall it shine
+ Fitful and feebly? Shall it die away,
+ Because, forsooth, no priest is at the shrine?
+ Go ye with learning's lamp and tend the fire divine.
+
+ Pore o'er the classic page, and turn again
+ The leaf of History--ye will not heed
+ The noisy revel and the shouts of men,
+ The jester and the mime, for ye can feed,
+ Deep, deep, on these; and if your bosoms bleed,
+ At tales of treachery and death they tell,
+ The land that gave you birth will never need
+ Tarpeian rock, that rock from which there fell
+ He who loved Rome and Rome's, yet loved himself too well.
+
+ And she, the traitress, who beneath the weight
+ Of Sabine shields and bracelets basely sank,
+ Stifled and dying, at the city-gate,
+ Lies buried there--and now the long weeds, dank
+ With baneful dews, bend o'er her, and the rank
+ Entangled grass, the timid lizard's home,
+ Covers the sepulchre--the wild flower shrank
+ To plant its roots in that polluted loam--
+ Pity that such a tomb should look o'er ruined Rome.
+
+ Rome! lovely in her ruins! Can they claim
+ Common humanity who never feel
+ The pulse beat higher at the very name,
+ The brain grow wild, and the rapt senses reel,
+ Drunken with happiness? O'er us should steal
+ Feelings too big for utt'rance--I should prize
+ Such joy above all earthly wealth and weal,
+ Nor barter it for love--when Beauty dies
+ Love spreads his silken wings. The happy are the wise.
+
+ HENRY S. HAGERT.
+
+
+
+
+THE FANE-BUILDER.
+
+BY EMMA C. EMBURY.
+
+ A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
+ A poet's memory thy most far renown. LAMENT OF TASSO.
+
+In the olden time of the world there stood on the ocean-border a large
+and flourishing city, whose winged ships brought daily the costly
+merchandise of all nations to its overflowing store-houses. It was a
+place of busy, bustling, turbulent life. Men were struggling fiercely
+for wealth, and rank, and lofty name. The dawn of day saw them
+striving each for his own separate and selfish schemes; the stars of
+midnight looked down in mild rebuke upon the protracted labor of men
+who gave themselves no time to gaze upon the quiet heavens. One only
+of all this busy crowd mingled not in their toil--one only idler
+sauntered carelessly along the thronged mart, or wandered listlessly
+by the seashore; Adonais alone scorned to bind himself by fetters
+which he could not fling aside at his own wild will. Those who loved
+the stripling grieved to see him waste the spring-time of life in thus
+aimlessly loitering by the way-side; while the old men and sages would
+fain have taken from him his ill-used freedom, and shut him up in the
+prison-house where they bestowed their madmen, lest his example should
+corrupt the youth of the city.
+
+But for all this Adonais cared little. In vain they showed him the
+craggy path which traversed the hill of Fame; in vain they set him in
+the foul and miry roads which led to the temple of Mammon. He bowed
+before their solemn wisdom, but there was a lurking mischief in his
+glance as he pointed to his slender limbs, and feigned a shudder of
+disgust at the very sight of these rugged and distasteful ways. So at
+last he was suffered to wend his own idle course, and save that
+careful sires sometimes held him up as a warning to their children,
+his fellow-townsmen almost forgot his existence.
+
+Years passed on, and then a beautiful and stately Fane began to rise
+in the very heart of the great city. Slowly it rose, and for a while
+they who toiled so intently at their daily business, marked not the
+white and polished stones which were so gradually and silently piled
+together in their midst. It grew, that noble temple, as if by magic.
+Every morning dawn shed its rose-tints upon another snowy marble which
+had been fixed in its appointed place beneath the light of the quiet
+stars. Men wondered somewhat, but they had scarce time to observe, and
+none to inquire. So the superb fabric had nearly reached its summit
+ere they heard, with unbelieving ears, that the builder of this noble
+fane, was none other than Adonais, the idler.
+
+Few gave credence to the tale, for whence could he, the vagrant, and
+the dreamer, have drawn those precious marbles, encrusted as they were
+with sculpture still more precious, and written over with characters
+as inscrutable as they were immortal? Some set themselves to watch for
+the Fane-builder, but their eyes were heavy, and at the magic hour
+when the artist took up his labors, their senses were fast locked in
+slumber. Yet silently, even as the temple of the mighty Solomon, in
+which was never heard the sound of the workman's tool, so rose that
+mystic fane. Not until it stood in grand relief against the clear blue
+sky; not until its lofty dome pierced the clouds even a mountain-top;
+not until its polished walls were fashioned within and without, to
+surpassing beauty, did men learn the truth, and behold in the despised
+Adonais, the wonder-working Fane-builder. In his wanderings the
+dreamer had lighted on the entrance to that exhaustless mine, whence
+men of like soul have drawn their riches for all time. The hidden
+treasures of poesy had been given to his grasp, and he had built a
+temple which should long outlast the sand-heaps which the worshipers
+of Mammon had gathered around them.
+
+But even then, when pilgrims came from afar to gaze upon the noble
+fane, the men of his own kindred and people stood aloof. They cared
+not for this adornment of their birth-place--they valued not the
+treasures that had there been gathered together. Only the few who
+entered the vestibule, and saw the sparkle of jewels which decked the
+inner shrine, or they to whom the pilgrims recounted the priceless
+value of these gems in other lands--only they began to look with
+something like pride upon the dreamer Adonais.
+
+But not without purpose had the Fane-builder reared this magnificent
+structure. Within those costly walls was a veiled and jeweled
+sanctuary. There had he enshrined an idol--the image of a bright
+divinity which he alone might worship. Willingly and freely did he
+admit the pilgrim and the wayfarer to the outer courts of his temple;
+gladly did he offer them refreshing draughts from the fountain of
+living water which gushed up in its midst; but never did he suffer
+them to enter that "Holy of holies;" never did their eyes rest on that
+enshrined idol, in whose honor all these treasures were gathered
+together.
+
+In progress of time, when Adonais had lavished all his wealth upon his
+temple, and when with the toil of gathering and shaping out her
+treasures, his strength had well-nigh failed him, there came a troop
+of revilers and slanderers--men of evil tongue, who swore that the
+Fane-builder was no better than a midnight robber, and had despoiled
+other temples of all that adorned his own. The tale was as false and
+foul as they who coined it; but when they pointed to many pigmy fanes
+which now began to be reared about the city, and when men saw that
+they were built of like marbles as those which glittered in the temple
+of Adonais, they paused not to mark that the fairest stones in these
+new structures were but the imperfect sculptures which the true artist
+had scorned to employ, or perhaps the chippings of some rare gem which
+in his affluence he could fling aside. So the tale was hearkened unto
+and believed. They whose dim perceptions had been bewildered by this
+new uncoined and uncoinable wealth, were glad to think that it had
+belonged to some far off time, or some distant region. The envious,
+the sordid, the cold, all listened well-pleased to the base slander;
+and they who had cared little for his glory made themselves strangely
+busy in spreading the story of his shame.
+
+Patiently and unweariedly had the dreamer labored at his pleasant
+task, while the temple was gradually growing up toward the heavens;
+skillfully had he polished the rich marbles, and graven upon them the
+ineffaceable characters of truth. But the jeweled adornments of the
+inner shrine had cost him more than all his other toil, for with his
+very heart's blood had he purchased those costly gems that sparkled on
+his soul's idol. Now wearied and worn with by-gone suffering he had no
+strength to stand forth and defy his revilers. Proudly and silently he
+withdrew from the world, and entered into his own beautiful fane.
+Presently men beheld that a heavy stone had been piled against the
+door of the inner sanctuary, and upon its polished surface was
+inscribed these words: "To Time the Avenger!"
+
+From that day no one ever again beheld the dreamer. Pilgrims came as
+before, and rested within the vestibule, and drank of the springing
+fountain, but they no longer saw the dim outline of the veiled goddess
+in the distant shrine, only the white and ghastly glitter of that
+threatening stone, which seemed like the portal of a tomb, met their
+eyes.
+
+Thus years passed on, and men had almost forgotten the name of him who
+had wasted himself in such fruitless toil. At length there came one
+from a country far beyond the seas, who had set forth to explore the
+wonders of all lands. He lacked the pious reverence of the pilgrims,
+but he also lacked the cold indifference of those who dwelt within the
+shadow of the temple. He entered the mystic fane, he gazed with
+unsated eye upon the treasures it contained, and his soul sought for
+greater beauty. With daring hand he and his companions thrust aside
+the marble portal which guarded the sanctuary. At first they shrunk
+back, dazzled and awe-stricken as the blaze of rich light met their
+unhallowed gaze. Again they went forward, and then what saw they?
+Surrounded by the sheen of jewels--glowing in the gorgeous light of
+the diamond, the chrysolite, the beryl, the ruby, they found an image
+fashioned but of common clay, while extended at its feet lay the
+skeleton of the Fane-builder.
+
+Worn with toil, and pain, and disappointment, he had perished at the
+feet of his idol. It may be that the scorn of the world had opened his
+eyes to behold of what mean materials was shapen the divinity he had
+so honored. It may be that the glitter of the gems he had heaped
+around it had perpetuated the delusion which had first charmed him,
+and he had thus been saved the last, worst pang of wasted idolatry. It
+matters not. He died--as all such men must die--in sorrow and in
+loneliness.
+
+But the fane he has reared is as indestructible as the soul of him who
+lifted its lofty summit to the skies. "Time, the Avenger," has
+redeemed the builder's fame; and even the men of his own nation now
+believe that a prophet and a seer once dwelt among them.
+
+When that great city shall have shared the fortunes of the Babylons
+and Ninevahs of olden time, that snow-white fane, written all over
+with characters of truth, and graven with images of beauty, will yet
+endure; and men of new times and new states shall learn lessons of
+holier and loftier existence from a pilgrimage to that glorious
+temple, built by spirit-toil, and consecrated by spirit-worship and
+spirit-suffering.
+
+
+
+
+DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-FLUTE.
+
+A BALLAD.
+
+BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
+
+
+ There--Pearl of Beauty! lightly press,
+ With yielding form, the yielding sand;
+ And while you lift the rosy shells,
+ Within your dear and dainty hand,
+
+ Or toss them to the heedless waves.
+ That reck not how your treasures shine,
+ As oft you waste on careless hearts
+ Your fancies, touched with light divine,
+
+ I'll sing a lay--more wild than gay--
+ The story of a magic flute;
+ And as I sing, the waves shall play
+ An ordered tune, the song to suit.
+
+ In silence flowed our grand old Rhine;
+ For on his breast a picture burned,
+ The loveliest of all scenes that shine
+ Where'er his glorious course has turned.
+
+ That radiant morn the peasants saw
+ A wondrous vision rise in light,
+ They gazed, with blended joy and awe--
+ A castle crowned the beetling height!
+
+ Far up amid the amber mist,
+ That softly wreathes each mountain-spire,
+ The sky its clustered columns kissed,
+ And touched their snow with golden fire;
+
+ The vapor parts--against the skies,
+ In delicate tracery on the blue,
+ Those graceful turrets lightly rise,
+ As if to music there they grew!
+
+ And issuing from its portal fair,
+ A youth descends the dizzy steps;
+ The sunrise gilds his waving hair,
+ From rock to rock he lightly leaps--
+
+ He comes--the radiant, angel-boy!
+ He moves with more than human grace;
+ His eyes are filled with earnest joy,
+ And Heaven is in his beauteous face.
+
+ And whether bred the stars among,
+ Or in that luminous palace born,
+ Around his airy footsteps hung
+ The light of an immortal morn.
+
+ From steep to steep he fearless springs,
+ And now he glides the throng amid.
+ So light, as if still played the wings
+ That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!
+
+ A fairy flute is in his hand--
+ He parts his bright, disordered hair,
+ And smiles upon the wondering band,
+ A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.
+
+ Anon, his blue, celestial eyes
+ He bent upon a youthful maid,
+ Whose looks met his in still surprise,
+ The while a low, glad tune he played--
+
+ Her heart beat wildly--in her face
+ The lovely rose-light went and came;
+ She clasped her hands with timid grace,
+ In mute appeal, in joy and shame!
+
+ Then slow he turned--more wildly breathed
+ The pleading flute, and by the sound
+ Through all the throng her steps she wreathed,
+ As if a chain were o'er her wound.
+
+ All mute and still the group remained,
+ And watched the charm, with lips apart,
+ While in those linkéd notes enchained,
+ The girl was led, with listening heart:--
+
+ The youth ascends the rocks again.
+ And in his steps the maiden stole,
+ While softer, holier grew the strain,
+ Till rapture thrilled her yearning soul!
+
+ And fainter fell that fairy tune;
+ Its low, melodious cadence wound,
+ Most like a rippling rill at noon,
+ Through delicate lights and shades of sound;
+
+ And with the music, gliding slow,
+ Far up the steep, their garments gleam;
+ Now through the palace gate they go;
+ And now--it vanished like a dream!
+
+ Still frowns above thy waves, oh Rhine!
+ The mountain's wild terrific height,
+ But where has fled the work divine,
+ That lent its brow a halo-light?
+
+ Ah! springing arch and pillar pale
+ Had melted in the azure air!
+ And she--the darling of the dale--
+ She too had gone--but how--and where?
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ Long years rolled by--and lo! one morn,
+ Again o'er regal Rhine it came,
+ That picture from the dream-land borne,
+ That palace built of frost and flame.
+
+ Behold! within its portal gleams
+ A heavenly shape--oh! rapturous sight!
+ For lovely as the light of dreams
+ She glides adown the mountain height!
+
+ She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!
+ And in her hand the charméd flute;
+ But ere its mystic tune was played
+ She spake--the peasants listened mute--
+
+ She told how in that instrument
+ Was chained a world of wingéd dreams;
+ And how the notes that from it went
+ Revealed them as with lightning gleams;
+
+ And how its music's magic braid
+ O'er the unwary heart it threw,
+ Till he or she whose dream it played
+ Was forced to follow where it drew.
+
+ She told how on that marvelous day
+ Within its changing tune she heard
+ A forest-fountain's plaintive play,
+ A silver trill from far-off bird;
+
+ And how the sweet tones, in her heart,
+ Had changed to promises as sweet,
+ That if she dared with them depart,
+ Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.
+
+ And then she played a joyous lay,
+ And to her side a fair child springs,
+ And wildly cries--"Oh! where are they?
+ Those singing-birds, with diamond wings?"
+
+ Anon a loftier strain is heard,
+ A princely youth beholds his dream;
+ And by the thrilling cadence stirred,
+ Would follow where its wonders gleam.
+
+ Still played the maid--and from the throng--
+ Receding slow--the music drew
+ A choice and lovely band along--
+ The brave--the beautiful--the true!
+
+ The sordid--worldly--cold--remained,
+ To watch that radiant troop ascend;
+ To hear the fading fairy strain;
+ To see with Heaven the vision blend!
+
+ And ne'er again, o'er glorious Rhine,
+ That sculptured dream rose calm and mute;
+ Ah! would that now once more 't would shine,
+ And I could play the fairy flute!
+
+ I'd play, Marié, the dream I see,
+ Deep in those changeful eyes of thine,
+ And thou perforce should'st follow _me_,
+ Up--up where life is all divine!
+
+
+
+
+RISING IN THE WORLD.
+
+BY P. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.
+
+ "This is the house that Jack built."
+
+
+Whether it was cotton or tallow that laid the foundations of Mr.
+Fairchild's fortunes we forget--for people have no right now-a-days to
+such accurate memories--but it was long ago, when Mrs. Fairchild was
+contented and humble, and Mr. Fairchild happy in the full stretch of
+his abilities to make the two ends meet--days which had long passed
+away. A sudden turn of fortune's wheel had placed them on new ground.
+Mr. Fairchild toiled, and strained, and struggled to follow up
+fortune's favors, and was successful. The springs of life had
+well-nigh been consumed in the eager and exhausting contest; and now,
+breathless and worn, he paused to be happy. One half of life he had
+thus devoted to the one object, meaning when that object was obtained
+to enjoy the other half, supposing that happiness, like every thing
+else, was to be bought.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild's ideas had jumped with her husband's fortunes. Once
+she only wanted additional pantries and a new carpet for her front
+parlor, to be perfectly happy. Now, a grand house in a grand avenue
+was indispensable. Once, she only wished to be a little finer than
+Mrs. Simpkins; now, she ardently desired to forget she ever knew Mrs.
+Simpkins; and what was harder, to make Mrs. Simpkins forget she had
+ever known _her_. In short, Mrs. Fairchild had grown _fine_, and meant
+to be fashionable. And why not? Her house was as big as any body's.
+Her husband gave her _carte blanche_ for furniture, and the mirrors,
+and gilding, and candelabras, were enough to put your eyes out.
+
+She was very busy, and talked very grand to the shopmen, who were very
+obsequious, and altogether was very happy.
+
+"I don't know what to do with this room, or how to furnish it," she
+said to her husband one day, as they were going through the house.
+There are the two drawing-rooms, and the dining-room--but this fourth
+room seems of no use--I would make a _keeping_-room of it, but that it
+has only that one large window that looks back--and I like a cheerful
+look-out where I sit--why did you build it so?"
+
+"I don't know," he replied, "it's just like Ashfield's house next
+door, and so I supposed it must be right, and I told the workmen to
+follow the same plan as his."
+
+"Ashfield's!" said Mrs. Fairchild, looking up with a new idea, "I
+wonder what use they put it to."
+
+"A library, I believe. I think the head carpenter told me so."
+
+"A library! Well, then, let's _us_ have a library," she said.
+"Book-cases would fill those walls very handsomely."
+
+He looked at her for a moment, and said,
+
+"But the books?"
+
+"Oh, we can get those," she replied. "I'll go this very morning to
+Metcalf about the book-cases."
+
+So forthwith she ordered the carriage, and drove to the
+cabinet-maker's.
+
+"Mr. Metcalf," she said with her grandest air, (for as at present she
+had to confine her grandeur to her trades-people, she gave them full
+measure, for which, however, they charged her full price,) "I want new
+book-cases for my library--I want your handsomest and most expensive
+kind."
+
+The man bowed civilly, and asked if she preferred the Gothic or
+Egyptian pattern.
+
+Gothic or Egyptian! Mrs. Fairchild was nonplused. What did he mean by
+Gothic and Egyptian? She would have given the world to ask, but was
+ashamed.
+
+"I have not made up my mind," she replied, after some hesitation, (her
+Egyptian ideas being drawn from the Bible, were not of the latest
+date, and so she thought of Pharaoh) and added, "but Gothic, I
+believe"--for Gothic at least was untrenched ground, and she had no
+prejudices of any kind to combat there--"which, however, are the most
+fashionable?" she continued.
+
+"Why I make as many of the one as the other," he replied. "Mr.
+Ashfield's are Egyptian, Mr. Campden's Gothic."
+
+Now the Ashfields were her grand people. She did not know them, but
+she meant to. They lived next door, and she thought nothing would be
+easier. They were not only rich, but fashionable. He was a man of
+talent and information, (but that the Fairchilds knew nothing about,)
+head of half the literary institutions, a person of weight and
+influence in all circles. She was very pretty and very elegant--dressing
+beautifully, and looking very animated and happy; and Mrs. Fairchild
+often gazed at her as she drove from the door, (for the houses
+joined,) and made up her mind to be very intimate as soon as she was
+"all fixed."
+
+"The Ashfields have Egyptian," she repeated, and Pharaoh faded into
+insignificance before such grand authority--and so she ordered
+Egyptian too.
+
+"Not there," said Mrs. Fairchild, "you need not measure there," as the
+cabinet-maker was taking the dimensions of her rooms. "I shall have a
+looking-glass there."
+
+"A mirror in a library!" said the man of rule and inches, with a tone
+of surprise that made Mrs. Fairchild color. "Did you wish a mirror
+here, ma'am," he added, more respectfully.
+
+"No, no," she replied quickly, "go on"--for she felt at once that he
+had seen the inside of more libraries than she had.
+
+Her ideas received another illumination from the upholsterer, as she
+was looking at blue satin for a curtain to the one large window which
+opened on a conservatory, who said,
+
+"Oh, it's for a library window; then cloth, I presume, madam, is the
+article you wish."
+
+"Cloth!" she repeated, looking at him.
+
+"Yes," he replied; "we always furnish libraries with cloth. Heavy,
+rich materials is considered more suitable for such a purpose than
+silk."
+
+Mrs. Fairchild was schooled again. However, Mr. Ashfield was again the
+model.
+
+And now the curtains were up, and the cases home, and all but the
+books there, which being somewhat essential to a library, Mrs.
+Fairchild said to her husband,
+
+"My dear, you must buy some books. I want to fill these cases and get
+this room finished."
+
+"I will," he replied. "There's an auction to-night. I'll buy a lot."
+
+"An auction," she said, hesitatingly. "Is that the best place? I don't
+think the bindings will be apt to be handsome of auction books."
+
+"I can have them rebound," he answered.
+
+"But you cannot tell whether they will fit these shelves," she
+continued, anxiously. "I think you had better take the measure of the
+shelves, and go to some book-store, and then you can choose them
+accordingly."
+
+"I see Ashfield very often at book auctions," he persisted, to which
+she innocently replied,
+
+"Oh, yes--but he knows what he is buying, we don't;" to which
+unanswerable argument Mr. Fairchild had nothing to say. And so they
+drove to a great book importers, and ordered the finest books and
+bindings that would suit their measurements.
+
+And now they were at last, as Mrs. Fairchild expressed it, "_all
+fixed_." Mr. Fairchild had paid and dismissed the last workman--she
+had home every article she could think of--and now they were to sit
+down and enjoy.
+
+The succeeding weeks passed in perfect quiet--and, it must be
+confessed, profound _ennui_.
+
+"I wish people would begin to call," said Mrs. Fairchild, with an
+impatient yawn. "I wonder when they will."
+
+"There seems to be visiting enough in the street," said Mr. Fairchild,
+as he looked out at the window. "There seems no end of Ashfield's
+company."
+
+"I wish some of them would call here," she replied sorrowfully.
+
+"We are not fine enough for them, I suppose," he answered, half
+angrily.
+
+"Not fine enough!" she ejaculated with indignant surprise. "_We_ not
+fine enough! I am sure this is the finest house in the Avenue. And I
+don't believe there is such furniture in town."
+
+Mr. Fairchild made no reply, but walked the floor impatiently.
+
+"Do you know Mr. Ashfield?" she presently ask.
+
+"Yes," he replied; "I meet him on 'change constantly."
+
+"I wonder, then, why _she_ does not call," she said, indignantly.
+"It's very rude in her, I am sure. We are the last comers."
+
+And the weeks went on, and Mr. Fairchild without business, and Mrs.
+Fairchild without gossip, had a very quiet, dull time of it in their
+fine house.
+
+"I wish somebody would call," had been repeated again and again in
+every note of _ennui_, beginning in impatience and ending in despair.
+
+Mr. Fairchild grew angry. His pride was hurt. He looked upon himself
+as especially wronged by his neighbor Ashfield. The people opposite,
+too--"who were they, that the Ashfields were so intimate with them?
+The Hamiltons! Why he could buy them over and over again! Hamilton's
+income was nothing."
+
+At last Mrs. Fairchild took a desperate resolution, "Why should not
+_we_ call first? We'll never get acquainted in this way," which
+declaration Mr. Fairchild could not deny. And so she dressed one
+morning in her finest and drove round with a pack of cards.
+
+Somehow she found every body "out." But that was not much, for, to
+tell the truth, her heart did beat a little at the idea of entering
+strange drawing-rooms and introducing herself, and she would be sure
+to be at home when they returned her calls; and that would be less
+embarrassing, and suit her views quite as well.
+
+In the course of a few days cards were left in return.
+
+"But, Lawrence, I told you to say I was at home." said Mrs. Fairchild,
+impatiently, as the servant handed her half a dozen cards.
+
+"I did, ma'am," he replied.
+
+"You did," she said, "then how is this?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am," he replied, "but the foot-man gave me the cards
+and said all was right."
+
+Mrs. Fairchild flushed and looked disconcerted.
+
+Before a fortnight had elapsed she called again; but this time her
+cards remained unnoticed.
+
+"Who on earth is this Mrs. Fairchild?" said Mrs. Leslie Herbert to
+Mrs. Ashfield, "who is forever leaving her cards."
+
+"The people who built next to us," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "I don't
+know who they are."
+
+"What an odd idea," pursued the other, "to be calling once a week in
+this way. I left my card after the first visit; but if the little
+woman means to call every other day in this way, I shall not call
+again."
+
+And so Mrs. Fairchild was dismissed from the minds of her new
+neighbors, while she sat in anxious wonderment at their not calling
+again.
+
+Though Mr. Fairchild was no longer in business, yet he had property to
+manage, and could still walk down town and see some business
+acquaintances, and inquire into stocks, and lots, and other
+interesting matters; but poor Mrs. Fairchild had fairly nothing to do.
+She was too rich to sew. She could buy every thing she wanted. She had
+but two children, and they could not occupy all her time; and her
+house and furniture were so new, and her servants so many, that
+housekeeping was a mere name. As to reading, that never formed any
+part of either her or Mr. Fairchild's pleasures. They did not even
+know the names of half the books they had. He read the papers, which
+was more than she did beyond the list of deaths and marriages--and so
+she felt as if she would die in her grandeur for something to do, and
+somebody to see. We are not sure but that Mrs. Simpkins would have
+been most delightedly received if she had suddenly walked in upon her.
+But this Mrs. Simpkins had no idea of doing. The state of wrath and
+indignation in which Mrs. Fairchild had left her old friends and
+acquaintances is not easily to be described.
+
+"She had begun to give herself airs," they said, "even before she left
+---- street; and if she had thought herself a great lady then, in that
+little box, what must she be now?" said Mrs. Thompson, angrily.
+
+"I met her not long ago in a store, and she pretended not to see me,"
+replied Mrs Simpkins. "So I shall not trouble myself to call," she
+continued, with considerable dignity of manner; not telling, however,
+that she _had_ called soon after Mrs. Fairchild moved, and her visit
+had never been returned.
+
+"Oh, I am sure," said the other, "I don't want to visit her if she
+don't want to visit me;" which, we are sorry to say, Mrs. Thompson,
+was a story, for you know you were dying to get in the house and see
+and "hear all about it."
+
+To which Mrs. Simpkins responded,
+
+"That, for her part, she did not care about it--there was no love lost
+between them;" and these people, who had once been kind and neighborly
+friends, would not have been sorry to hear that Mr. Fairchild had
+failed--or rather would have been glad (which people mean when they
+say, "they would not be sorry,") to see them humbled in any way.
+
+So much for Mrs. Fairchild's first step in prosperity.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild pined and languished for something to do, and somebody
+to see. The memory of early habits came strongly over her at times,
+and she longed to go in the kitchen and make a good batch of pumpkin
+pies, by way of amusement; but she did not dare. Her stylish pampered
+menials already suspected she was "nobody," and constantly quoted the
+privileges of Mrs. Ashfield's servants, and the authority of other
+fashionable names, with the impertinence and contempt invariably felt
+by inferiors for those who they instinctively know to be ignorant and
+vulgar, and "not to the manor born."
+
+She accidently, to her great delight, came across a young mantuamaker,
+who occasionally sewed at Mrs. Ashfield's; and she engaged her at once
+to come and make her some morning-dresses; not that she wanted them,
+only the opportunity for the gossip to be thence derived. And to those
+who know nothing of the familiarity with which ladies can sometimes
+condescend to question such persons, it would be astonishing to know
+the quantity of information she extracted from Miss Hawkins. Not only
+of Mrs. Ashfield's mode of living, number of dresses, &c., but of many
+other families of the neighborhood, particularly the Misses Hamilton,
+who were described to be such "nice young ladies," and for whom she
+chiefly sewed, as "Mrs. Ashfield chiefly imported most of her
+dresses," but she lent all her patterns to the Miss Hamiltons; and
+Miss Hawkins made up all their dresses after hers, only not of such
+expensive materials. And thus she found out all the Hamiltons'
+economies, which filled her with contempt and indignation--contempt
+for their poverty, and indignation at their position in society, and
+the company they saw notwithstanding.
+
+She could not understand it. Her husband sympathized with her most
+fully on this score, for, like all ignorant, purse-proud men, he could
+comprehend no claims not based in money.
+
+A sudden light broke in, however, upon the Fairchild's dull life. A
+great exertion was being made for a new Opera company, and Mr.
+Fairchild's money being as good as any body else's, the subscription
+books were taken to him. He put down his name for as large a sum as
+the best of them, and felt himself at once a patron of music, fashion,
+and the fine arts.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild was in ecstasies. She had chosen seats in the midst of
+the Ashfields, Harpers, and others, and felt now "that they would be
+all together."
+
+Mr. Fairchild came home one day very indignant with a young Mr.
+Bankhead, who had asked him if he would change seats with him, saying
+his would probably suit Mr. Fairchild better than those he had
+selected, as they were front places, &c., that his only object in
+wishing to change was to be next to the Ashfields, "as it would be a
+convenience to his wife, who could then go often with them when he was
+otherwise engaged."
+
+Mr. Fairchild promptly refused in what Mr. Bankhead considered a rude
+manner, who rather haughtily replied "that he should not have offered
+the exchange if he had supposed it was a favor, his seats being
+generally considered the best. It was only on his wife's account, who
+wished to be among her friends that he had asked it, as he presumed
+the change would be a matter of indifference to Mr. Fairchild."
+
+The young man had no idea of the sting conveyed in these words. Mrs.
+Fairchild was very angry when her husband repeated it to her. "It was
+_not_ a matter of indifference at all. Why should not _we_ wish to be
+among the Ashfields and Harpers as well as anybody?" she said,
+indignantly. "And who is this Mrs. Bankhead, I should like to know,
+that I am to yield my place to _her_;" to which Mr. Fairchild replied,
+with his usual degree of angry contempt when speaking of people of no
+property,
+
+"A pretty fellow, indeed! He's hardly worth salt to his porridge!
+Indeed, I wonder how he is able to pay for his seats at all!"
+
+While on the Bankhead's side it was,
+
+"We cannot change our places, Mrs. Ashfield. Those Fairchilds
+refused."
+
+"Oh, how provoking!" was the reply. "We should have been such a nice
+little set by ourselves. And so disagreeable, too, to have people one
+don't know right in the midst of us so! Why what do the creatures
+mean--your places are the best?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. He 's a vulgar, purse-proud man. My husband was
+quite sorry he had asked him, for he seemed to think it was a great
+favor, and made the most of the opportunity to be rude."
+
+"Well, I am sorry. It's not pleasant to have such people near one; and
+then I am so very, very sorry, not to have you and Mr. Bankhead with
+us. The Harpers were saying how delightful it would be for us all to
+be together; and now to have those vulgar people instead--too
+provoking!"
+
+Ignorant, however, of the disgust, in which her anticipated proximity
+was held, Mrs. Fairchild, in high spirits, bought the most beautiful
+of white satin Opera cloaks, and ordered the most expensive
+paraphernalia she could think of to make it all complete, and
+determined on sporting diamonds that would dazzle old acquaintances,
+(if any presumed to be there,) and make even the fashionables stare.
+
+The first night opened with a very brilliant house. Every body was
+there, and every body in full dress. Mrs. Fairchild had as much as she
+could do to look around. To be sure she knew nobody, but then it was
+pleasant to see them all. She learnt a few names from the conversation
+that she overheard of the Ashfields and Harpers, as they nodded to
+different acquaintances about the house. And then, during the
+intervals, different friends came and chatted a little while with
+them, and the Bankheads leaned across and exchanged a few animated
+words; and, in short, every body seemed so full of talk, and so
+intimate with every body, except poor Mrs. Fairchild, who sat, loaded
+with finery, and no one to speak to but her husband, who was by this
+time yawning wearily, well-nigh worn out with the fatigue of hearing
+two acts of a grand Italian Opera.
+
+As Mrs. Fairchild began to recover self-possession enough to
+comprehend what was going on among them, she found to her surprise,
+from their conversation, that the music was not all alike; that one
+singer was "divine," another "only so so;" the orchestra admirable,
+and the choruses very indifferent. She could not comprehend how they
+could tell one from another. "They all sang at the same time; and as
+for the chorus and orchestra, she did not know 'which was which.'"
+
+Then there was a great deal said about "_contraltos_" and
+"_sopranos_;" and when her husband asked her what they meant, she
+replied, "she did not know, it was _French_!" They talked, too, of
+Rossini and Bellini, and people who _read_ and _wrote_ music, and that
+quite passed her comprehension. She thought "music was only played and
+sung;" and what they meant by reading and writing it, she could not
+divine. Had they talked of eating it, it would have sounded to her
+about as rational.
+
+Occasionally one of the Hamiltons sat with some of the set, for it
+seemed they had no regular places of their own. "Of course not," said
+Mrs Fairchild, contemptuously. "They can't afford it," which
+expressive phrase summed up, with both husband and wife, the very
+essence of all that was mean and contemptible, and she was only
+indignant at their being able to come there at all. The Bankheads were
+bad enough; but to have the Hamiltons there too, and then to hear them
+all talking French with some foreigners who occasionally joined them,
+really humbled her.
+
+This, then, she conceived was the secret of success. "They _know_
+French," she would reply in a voice of infinite mortification, when
+her husband expressed his indignant astonishment at finding these
+"nobodies" on 'change, "somebodies" at the Opera. To "_know_ French,"
+comprehended all her ideas of education, information, sense, and
+literature. This, then, she thought was the "Open Sesame" of "good
+society," the secret of enjoyment at the Opera; for, be it understood,
+all foreign languages were "French" to Mrs. Fairchild.
+
+She was beginning to find the Opera a terrible bore, spite of all the
+finery she sported and saw around her, with people she did not know,
+and music she did not understand. As for Mr. Fairchild, the fatigue
+was intolerable; and he would have rebelled at once, if he had not
+paid for his places for the season, and so chose to have his money's
+worth, if it was only in tedium.
+
+A bright idea, a bold resolution occurred to Mrs. Fairchild. She would
+learn French.
+
+So she engaged a teacher at once, at enormous terms, who was to place
+her on a level with the best of them.
+
+Poor little woman! and poor teacher, too! what work it was! How he
+groaned in spirit at the thick tongue that _could not_ pronounce the
+delicate vowels, and the dull apprehension that knew nothing of moods
+and tenses.
+
+And she, poor little soul, who was as innocent of English Grammar as
+of murder, how was she to be expected to understand the definite and
+indefinite when it was all indefinite; and as for the participle past,
+she did not believe _any_ body understood it. And so she worked and
+puzzled, and sometimes almost cried, for a week, and then went to the
+Opera and found she was no better off than before.
+
+In despair, and angry with her teacher, she dismissed him. "She did
+not believe any body ever learnt it that way out of books;" and "so
+she would get a French maid, and she'd learn more hearing her talk in
+a month, than Mr. A. could teach her, if she took lessons forever."
+And so she got a maid, who brought high recommendations from some
+grand people who had brought her from France, and then she thought
+herself quite set up.
+
+But the experiment did not succeed. She turned out a saucy thing, who
+shrugged her shoulders with infinite contempt when she found "madame"
+did not comprehend her; and soon Mrs. Fairchild was very glad to take
+advantage of a grand flare-up in the kitchen between her and the cook,
+in which the belligerent parties declared that "one or the other must
+leave the house," to dismiss her.
+
+In deep humility of spirit Mrs. Fairchild placed her little girl at
+the best French school in the city, almost grudging the poor child her
+Sundays at home when she must hear nothing but English. She was
+determined that she should learn French young; for she now began to
+think it must be taken like measles or whooping-cough, in youth, or
+else the attack must be severe, if not dangerous.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild made no acquaintances, as she fondly hoped, at the
+Opera. A few asked, "Who is that dressy little body who sits in front
+of you, Mrs. Ashfield?"
+
+"A Mrs. Fairchild. I know nothing about them except that they live
+next door to us."
+
+"What a passion the little woman seems to have for jewelry," remarked
+the other. "It seems to me she has a new set of something once a week
+at least."
+
+"Yes," said one of the Hamiltons, laughing, "she's as good as a
+jeweler's window. It's quite an amusement to me to see the quantity of
+bracelets and chains she contrives to hang around her."
+
+"I would gladly have dispensed with that amusement, Ellen," replied
+Mrs. Ashfield, "for they have the places the Bankheads wanted; and he
+is so clever and well-informed, and she such a bright, intelligent
+little creature, that it would have added so much to our pleasure to
+have had them with us."
+
+"Oh, to be sure! the Bankheads are jewels of the first water. And how
+they enjoy every thing. What a shame it is they have not those
+Fairchilds' money."
+
+"No, no, Ellen, that is not fair," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "Let Mrs.
+Fairchild have her finery--it's all, I suppose, the poor woman has.
+The Bankheads don't require wealth for either enjoyment or
+consequence. They are bright and flashing in their own lustre, and
+like all pure brilliants, are the brighter for their simple setting."
+
+"May be," replied the gay Ellen, "but I do love to see some people
+have every thing."
+
+"Nay, Ellen," said Mrs. Ashfield, "Is that quite just? Be satisfied
+with Mrs. Bankhead's having so much more than Mrs. Fairchild, without
+robbing poor Mrs. Fairchild of the little she has."
+
+Could Mrs. Fairchild have believed her ears had she heard this? Could
+she have believed that little Mrs. Bankhead, whose simple book-muslin
+and plainly braided dark hair excited her nightly contempt, was held
+in such respect and admiration by those who would not know her. And
+Bankhead, whom her husband spoke of with such infinite contempt, as
+having "nothing at all," "not salt to his porridge." And yet as Mrs.
+Fairchild saw them courted and gay, she longed for some of their
+porridge, "for they knew French."
+
+And thus the season wore on in extreme weariness and deep
+mortification. The Fairchilds made no headway at all. She made no
+acquaintances at all at the opera, as she had fondly hoped. She even
+regretted that her husband had refused their seats to the Bankheads.
+Had he yielded them a favor may be they would have spoken to them.
+
+Desperate, at last, she determined she would do something. She would
+give a party. But who to ask?
+
+Not old friends and acquaintance. That was not to be thought of. But
+who else? She knew nobody.
+
+"It was not necessary to know them," she told her husband. "She would
+send her card and invitations to all those fine people, and they'd be
+glad enough to come. The Bankheads, too, and the Hamiltons, she would
+ask them."
+
+"You are sure of them, at any rate," said her husband contemptuously.
+"Poor devils! it's not often they get such a supper as they'll get
+here."
+
+But somehow the Hamiltons and Bankheads were not as hungry as Mr.
+Fairchild supposed, for very polite regrets came in the course of a
+few days, to Mrs. Fairchild's great wrath and mortification.
+
+This was but the beginning, however. Refusals came pouring in thick
+and fast from all quarters.
+
+The lights were prepared, the music sounding, and some half dozen
+ladies, whose husbands had occasionally a business transaction with
+Mr. Fairchild, looked in on their way to a grand fashionable party
+given the same evening by one of their own _clique_, and then
+vanished, leaving Mrs. Fairchild with the mortified wish that they had
+not come at all, to see the splendor of preparations and the beggary
+of guests. Some few young men dropped in and took a look, and bowed
+themselves out as soon as the Fairchilds gave them a chance; and so
+ended this last and most desperate effort.
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Fairchild one day to her husband in perfect
+desperation, "let us go to Europe."
+
+"To Europe," he said, looking up in amazement.
+
+"Yes," she replied, with energy. "That's what all these fine people
+have done, and that's the way they know each other so well. All the
+Americans are intimate in Paris, and then when they come back they are
+all friends together."
+
+Mr. Fairchild listened and pondered. He was as tired as his wife with
+nothing to do; and moreover deeply mortified, though he said less
+about it, at not being admitted among those with whom he had no tastes
+or associations in common, and he consented.
+
+The house was shut up and the Fairchilds were off.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"Who are those Fairchilds," asked somebody in Paris, "that one sees
+every where, where money can gain admittance?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," replied Miss Rutherford. "They traveled down the
+Rhine with us last summer, and were our perfect torment. We could not
+shake them off."
+
+"What sort of people are they?" was the next question.
+
+"Ignorant past belief: but that would not so much matter if she were
+not such a spiteful little creature. I declare I heard more gossip and
+ill-natured stories from her about Americans in Paris than I ever
+heard in all the rest of my life put together."
+
+"And rich?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so--for they spent absurdly. They are just those
+ignorant, vulgar people that one only meets in traveling, and that
+make us blush for our country and countrymen. Such people should not
+have passports."
+
+"Fairchild," said Mrs. Castleton. "The name is familiar to me. Oh,
+now I remember. But they can't be the same. The Fairchilds I knew were
+people in humble circumstances. They lived in ---- street."
+
+"Yes. I dare say they are the very people," replied Miss Rutherford.
+"He has made money rapidly within a few years."
+
+"But she was the best little creature I ever knew," persisted Mrs.
+Castleton. "My baby was taken ill while we were in the country
+boarding at the same house, and this Mrs. Fairchild came to me at
+once, and helped me get a warm bath, and watched and nursed the child
+with me as if it had been her own. I remember I was very grateful for
+her excessive kindness and attention."
+
+"Well, I dare say," replied Miss Rutherford. "But that was when she
+was poor, and, as you say, humble, Mrs. Castleton. Very probably she
+may have been kind-hearted originally. She does love her children
+dearly. She has that merit; but now that she is rich, and wants to be
+fine and fashionable, and don't know how to manage it, and can't
+succeed, you never knew any body so spiteful and jealous as she is of
+all those she feels beyond her reach."
+
+"Pity," said Mrs. Castleton almost sorrowfully. "She was such a good
+little creature. How prosperity spoils some people."
+
+And so Mrs. Fairchild traveled and came home again.
+
+They had been to Paris, and seen more things and places than they
+could remember, and did not understand what they could remember, and
+were afraid of telling what they had seen, lest they should
+mispronounce names, whose spelling was beyond their most ambitious
+flights.
+
+They had gone to the ends of the earth to be in society at home. But
+ignorant they went and ignorant they returned.
+
+"Edward and Fanny shall know every thing," said Mrs. Fairchild, and
+teachers without end were engaged for the young Fairchilds, who, to
+their parents' great delight were not only chatting in "unknown
+tongues," but becoming quite intimate with the little Ashfields and
+other baby sprigs of nobility.
+
+"Who is that pretty boy dancing with your Helen, Mrs. Bankhead?" asked
+some one at a child's party.
+
+"Young Fairchild," was the reply.
+
+"Fairchild! What, a son of that overdressed little woman you used to
+laugh at so at the opera?" said the other.
+
+"The same," replied Mrs. Bankhead laughing.
+
+"And here's an incipient flirtation between your girl and her boy,"
+continued the other archly.
+
+"Well, there's no leveler like Education. The true democrat after
+all," she pursued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Mrs. Bankhead. "Intelligence puts us all on a
+footing. What other distinction can or should we have?"
+
+"I doubt whether Mrs. Fairchild thinks so," replied her friend.
+
+"Indeed you are mistaken," replied Mrs. Bankhead earnestly. "She would
+not perhaps express it in those words: but her humble reverence for
+education is quite touching. They are giving these children every
+possible advantage, and in a few years, when they are grown up," she
+continued, laughing, "We mothers will be very glad to admit the young
+Fairchilds in society, even if they must bring the mother with them."
+
+"I suppose so," said the other. "And old people are inoffensive even
+if they are ignorant. Old age is in itself a claim to respect."
+
+"True enough," returned Mrs. Bankhead; "and when you see them
+engrossed and happy in the success of their children, you forgive them
+a good deal. That is the reward of such people."
+
+"They have fought through a good deal of mortification though to
+attain it," rejoined the other. "I wonder whether the end is worth
+it?"
+
+"Ah! that's a question hard to settle," replied Mrs. Bankhead
+seriously. "Society at large is certainly improved, but I doubt
+whether individuals are the happier. No doubt the young Fairchilds
+will be happier for their parents' rise in the world--but I should say
+the 'transition state' had been any thing but a pleasant one to the
+parents. The children will have the tastes as well as the means for
+enjoyment; the one Mrs. Fairchild having found to be quite as
+necessary as the other."
+
+"This is the march of intellect, the progress of society, exemplified
+in the poor Fairchilds," replied the other laughing. "Well, thank
+Heaven my mission has not been to _rise_ in the world."
+
+
+
+
+TWILIGHT.--TO MARY.
+
+
+ Oh! how I love this time of ev'n,
+ When day in tender twilight dies;
+ And the parting sun, as it falls from heaven,
+ Leaves all its beauty on the skies.
+ When all of rash and restless Nature,
+ Passion--impulse--meekly sleeps,
+ And loveliness, the soul's sweet teacher,
+ Seems like religion in its deeps.
+ And now is trembling through my senses
+ The melting music of the trees,
+ And from the near and rose-crowned fences
+ Comes the balm and fragrant breeze;
+ And from the bowers, not yet shrouded
+ In the coming gloom of night,
+ Breaks the bird-song, clear, unclouded.
+ In trembling tones of deep delight.
+ But not for this alone I prize
+ This witching time of ev'n,
+ The murmuring breeze, the blushing skies,
+ And day's last smile on heaven.
+ But thoughts of thee, and such as thou art.
+ That mingle with these sacred hours,
+ Give deeper pleasure to my heart
+ Than song of birds arid breath of flowers.
+ Then welcome the hour when the last smile of day
+ Just lingers at the portal of ev'n,
+ When so much of life's tumults are passing away,
+ And earth seems exalted to heaven. H. D. G.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAGAMORE OF SACO.
+
+A LEGEND OF MAINE.
+
+BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
+
+ Land of the forest and the rock--
+ Of dark blue lake and mighty river--
+ Of mountains reared aloft to mock
+ The storms career, the lightning's shock--
+ My own green land forever. WHITTIER.
+
+
+Never was country more fruitful than our own with rich materials of
+romantic and tragic interest, to call into exercise the finest talents
+of the dramatist and novelist. Every cliff and headland has its
+aboriginal legend; the village, now thrifty and quiet, had its days of
+slaughter and conflagration, its tale of devoted love or cruel
+treachery; while the city, now tumultuous with the pressure of
+commerce, in its "day of small things," had its bombardment and
+foreign army, and its handful of determined freemen, who achieved
+prodigies of single handed valor. Now that men are daily learning the
+worth of humanity, its hopes and its trials coming nearer home to
+thought and affection; now that the complicated passions of refined
+and artificial life are becoming less important than the broad, deep,
+genuine manifestations of the common mind, we may hope for a bolder
+and more courageous literature: we may hope to see the drama free
+itself from sensualism and frivolity, and rise to the Shaksperian
+dignity of true passion; while the romance will learn better its true
+ground, and will create, rather than portray--delineate, rather than
+dissect human sentiment and emotion.
+
+The State of Maine is peculiarly rich in its historically romantic
+associations. Settled as it was prior to the landing of the Pilgrims,
+first under Raleigh Gilbert, and subsequently by Sir Ferdinando
+Gorges, whose colony it is fair, in the absence of testimony, to infer
+never left the country after 1616, but continued to employ themselves
+in the fisheries, and in some commerce with the West Indies, up to the
+time of their final incorporation with the Plymouth settlement. Indeed
+the correspondence of Sir Richard Vines, governor of the colony under
+Sir Ferdinando Gorges, with the Governor of Plymouth, leaves no doubt
+upon this head; and it is a well known fact that the two settlements
+of De Aulney and De la Tour at the mouths of the Penobscot and
+Kennebec rivers, even at this early age, were far from being
+contemptible, both in a commercial and numeric point of view. Added to
+these was the handful of Jesuits at Mont Desert, and we might say a
+colony of Swedes on the sea-coast, between the two large rivers just
+named, the memory of which is traditional, and the vestiges of which
+are sometimes turned up by the ploughshare. These people probably fell
+beneath some outbreak of savage vengeance, which left no name or
+record of their existence.
+
+Subsequently to these was the dispersion of the Acadians, that
+terrible and wanton piece of political policy, which resulted in the
+extinction and denationalizing of a simple and pious people. The
+fugitive Acadians found their way through a wilderness of forests,
+suffering and dying as they went, some landing in distant states,
+(five hundred having been consigned to Governor Oglethorpe of
+Georgia,) and others, lonely and bereft, found a home with the humble
+and laborious farmers of this hardy state, whose finest quality is an
+open-handed hospitality. These intermarrying with our people here,
+have left traces of their blood and fine moral qualities to enhance
+the excellence of a pure and healthful population.
+
+Then followed the times of the Revolution, when Maine did her part
+nobly in the great and perilous work. Our own Knox was commandant of
+the artillery, and the bosom friend of Washington: our youth sunk into
+unknown graves in the sacred cause of freedom; and our people, poor as
+they were, for the resources of the state were then undeveloped, cast
+their mite of wealth into the national treasury. Northerly and
+isolated as she is, her cities were burned, and her frontiers
+jealously watched by an alert and cruel enemy. Here, too, Arnold sowed
+his last seeds of virtue and patriotism, in his arduous march through
+the wilderness of Maine to the capital of the Canadas, an exploit
+which, considering the season, the poverty of numbers and resources,
+combined with the wild, unknown, and uncleared state of the country,
+may compete with the most heroic actions of any great leader of any
+people.
+
+A maritime state, Maine suffers severely from the fluctuations of
+commerce, but is the first to realize the reactions of prosperity. Her
+extended seaboard, her vast forests, her immense mineral resources,
+together with a population hardy, laborious, virtuous, and
+enterprising; a population less adulterated by foreign admixture than
+any state in the Union, all point to a coming day of power and
+prosperity which shall place her foremost in the ranks of the states,
+in point of wealth, as she is already in that of intelligence.
+
+We have enumerated but a tithe of the intellectual resources of
+Maine--have given but a blank sheet as it were of the material which
+will hereafter make her renowned in story, and must confine ourselves
+to but a single point of historic and romantic interest, connected
+with the earlier records of the country. We have alluded to the first
+governor, Sir Richard Vines, a right worthy and chivalric gentleman,
+the friend and agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, of Walter Raleigh, and
+other fine spirits of the day. His residence was at the Pool, as it is
+now called, or "Winter Harbor," from the fact that the winter of
+1616-17 was passed by Vines and his followers at this place. After a
+residence of eighteen or twenty years, devoted to the interests of the
+colony, the death of his patron, the transfer of the Maine plantation
+to the Plymouth proprietors, together with domestic and pecuniary
+misfortunes, induced Sir Richard Vines to retire to the Island of
+Barbadoes, where we find him prosperous and respected, and still
+mindful of the colony for which he had done and suffered so much.
+
+Prior to his departure, and probably not altogether unconnected with
+it, he had incurred the deadly hatred of John Bonyton, a young man of
+the colony, who in after years was called, and is still remembered in
+tradition as the "Sagamore of Saco." The cause of this hatred was in
+some way connected with the disappearance of Bridget Vines, the
+daughter of the governor, for whom John Bonyton had conceived a wild
+and passionate attachment. Years before our story she had been
+suddenly missing, to the permanent grief and dismay of the family, and
+the more terrible agony of John Bonyton, who had conceived the idea
+that Bridget had been sent to a European convent, to save her from his
+presence. This idea he would never abandon, notwithstanding the most
+solemn denials of Sir Richard, and the most womanly and sympathizing
+asseverations of Mistress Vines. The youth listened with compressed
+lip, his large, remarkable eye fixed with stern and searching scrutiny
+upon the face of the speaker, and when he was done the reply was
+always the same, "God knows if this be true; but, true or false, my
+hand shall be against every man till she be found."
+
+Accordingly we find the youth, who seems to have been possessed of
+those rare and strong points of character which go to make the hero,
+in constant collision with the people of the times. Moody and
+revengeful, he became an alien to his father's house, and with gun and
+dog passed months in the wildest regions of that wild country. With
+the savage he slept in his wigwam, he threaded the forest and stood
+upon the verge of the cataract; or penetrated up to the stormy regions
+of the White Mountains; and anon, hushed the tumultuous beatings of
+his heart in accordance with the stroke of his paddle, as he and his
+red companions glided over that loveliest of lakes, Winnépisógé, or
+"the smile of the Great Spirit."
+
+There seemed no rest for the unhappy man. Unable to endure the
+formalities and intermedlings, which so strongly mark the period, he
+spent most of his time on the frontiers of the settlement, admitting
+of little companionship, and yielding less of courtesy. When he
+appeared in the colony, the women regarded his fine person, his
+smile, at once sorrowful and tender, and his free, noble bearing with
+admiration, not unmingled with terror; while men, even in that age of
+manly physique looked upon his frame, lithe yet firm as iron, athletic
+and yet graceful, with eyes of envious delight. Truth to say, John
+Bonyton had never impaired a fine development by any useful
+employment, or any elaborate attempts at book-knowledge. He knew all
+that was essential for the times, or the mode of life which he had
+adopted, and further he cared not. His great power consisted in a
+passionate yet steady will, by which all who came within his sphere
+found themselves bent to his purposes.
+
+The Pilgrims even, unflinching and uncompromising as they were, felt
+the spell of his presence, and were content to spurn, to persecute,
+and set a price upon the head of a man whom they could not control.
+Yet for all this John Bonyton died quietly in his bed, no one daring
+to do to him even what the law would justify. He slept in perfect
+security, for he knew this, and knew, too, that the woods were alive
+with ardent and devoted adherents, who would have deluged the soil
+with blood had but a hair of his head been injured. The Sagamore of
+Saco was no ordinary man; and the men of the times, remarkable as they
+were, felt this; and hence is it, that even to this day his memory is
+held in remembrance with an almost superstitious awe, and people point
+out a barrow where lie the ashes of the "Sagamore," and show the
+boundaries of his land, and tell marvelous tales of his hardihood and
+self-possession.
+
+They tell of a time when a price had been set upon his head, how, when
+the people were assembled in the little church for worship, John
+Bonyton walked in with gun in hand, and stood through the whole
+service, erect and stern as a man of iron, and no one dared scarcely
+look upon him, much less lift a finger against him; and how he waited
+till all had gone forth, even the oracle of God, pale and trembling,
+and then departed in silence as he came. Surely there was greatness in
+this--the greatness of a Napoleon, needing but a field for its
+exercise.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+ Methought, within a desert cave,
+ Cold, dark, and solemn as the grave,
+ I suddenly awoke.
+ It seemed of sable night the cell,
+ Where, save when from the ceiling fell
+ An oozing drop, her silent spell
+ No sound had ever broke.--ALLSTON.
+
+
+Among the great rivers of Maine the Penobscot and Kennebec stand
+preëminent, on account of their maritime importance, their depth and
+adaptability to the purposes of internal navigation; but there are
+others less known, yet no less essential to the wealth of the country,
+which, encumbered with falls and rapids, spurn alike ship and steamer,
+but are invaluable for the great purposes of manufacture. The
+Androscoggin is one of these, a river, winding, capricious and most
+beautiful; just the one to touch the fancy of the poet, and tempt the
+cupidity of a millwright. It abounds with scenery of the most lovely
+and romantic interest, and falls already in bondage to loom and
+shuttle. Lewiston Falls, or Pe-jip-scot, as the aboriginals called
+this beautiful place, are, perhaps, among the finest water plunges in
+the country. It is not merely the beauty of the river itself, a broad
+and lengthened sheet of liquid in the heart of a fine country, but the
+whole region is wild and romantic. The sudden bends of the river
+present headlands of rare boldness, beneath which the river spreads
+itself into a placid bay, till ready to gather up its skirts again,
+and thread itself daintily amid the hills. The banks present slopes
+and savannas warm and sheltered, in which nestle away finely
+cultivated farms, and from whence arise those rural sounds of flock
+and herd so grateful to the spirit, and that primitive blast of horn,
+winding itself into a thousand echoes, the signal of the in-gathering
+of a household. Cliffs, crowned with fir, overhang the waters; hills,
+rising hundreds of feet, cast their dense shadows quite across the
+stream; and even now the "slim canoe" of the Indian may be seen poised
+below, while some stern relic of the woods looks upward to the ancient
+hunting sites of his people, and recalls the day when, at the verge of
+this very fall, a populous village sent up its council smoke day and
+night, telling of peace and the uncontested power of his tribe.
+
+But in the times of our story the region stood in its untamed majesty;
+the whirling mass of waters tumbling and plunging in the midst of an
+unbroken forest, and the great roar of the cataract booming through
+the solitude like the unceasing voice of the eternal deep. Men now
+stand with awe and gaze upon those mysterious falls, vital with
+traditions terribly beautiful, and again and again ask, "Can they be
+true? Can it be that beneath these waters, behind that sheet of foam
+is a room, spacious and vast, and well known, and frequented by the
+Indian?"
+
+An old man will tell you that one morning as he stood watching the
+rainbows of the fall, he was surprised at the sudden appearance of an
+Indian from the very midst of the foam. He accosted him, asked whence
+he came, and how he escaped the terrible plunge of the descending
+waves. The Indian, old and white-headed, with the eye of an eagle, and
+the frame of a Hercules, raised the old man from the ground, shook him
+fiercely, and then cast him like a reptile to one side. A moment more
+and the measured stroke of a paddle betrayed the passage of the stout
+Red Man adown the stream.
+
+Our story must establish the fact in regard to this cave--a fact well
+known in the earlier records of the country, more than one white man
+having found himself sufficiently athletic to plunge behind the sheet
+of water and gain the room.
+
+It was mid-day, and the sun, penetrating the sheet of the falls, cast
+a not uncheerful light into the cave, the size and gloom of which were
+still further relieved by a fire burning in the centre, and one or
+more torches stuck in the fissures of the rocks. Before this fire
+stood a woman of forty or fifty years of age, gazing intently upon the
+white, liquid, and tumultuous covering to the door of her home, and
+yet the expression of her eye showed that her thoughts were far beyond
+the place in which she stood.
+
+She was taller than the wont of Indian women, more slender than is
+customary with them at her period of life, and altogether, presented a
+keenness and springiness of fibre that reminded one of Arab more than
+aboriginal blood. Her brow was high, retreating, and narrow, with
+arched and contracted brows, beneath which fairly burned a pair of
+intense, restless eyes.
+
+At one side, stretched upon skins, appeared what might have been
+mistaken for a white veil, except that a draft of air caused a portion
+of it to rise and fall, showing it to be a mass of human hair. Yet so
+motionless was the figure, so still a tiny moccasoned foot, just
+perceptible, and so ghastly the hue and abundance of the covering,
+that all suggested an image of death.
+
+At length the tall woman turned sharply round and addressed the object
+upon the mats.
+
+"How much longer will you sleep, Skoke? Get up, I tell thee."
+
+At this ungracious speech--for Skoke[13]means snake--the figure
+started slightly, but did not obey. After some silence she spoke
+again, "Wa-ain (white soul) get up and eat, our people will soon be
+here." Still no motion nor reply. At length the woman, in a sharper
+accent, resumed,
+
+"Bridget Vines, I bid thee arise!" and she laughed in an under tone.
+
+The figure slowly lifted itself up and looked upon the speaker.
+"Ascáshe,[14] I will answer only to my own name."
+
+"As you like," retorted the other. "Skoke is as good a name as
+Ascáshe." A truism which the other did not seem disposed to
+question--the one meaning a snake, the other a spider, or
+"net-weaver."
+
+Contrary to what might have been expected from the color of the hair,
+the figure from the mat seemed a mere child in aspect, and yet the
+eye, the mouth, and the grasp of the hand, indicated not only maturity
+of years, but the presence of deep and intense passions. Her size was
+that of a girl of thirteen years in our northern climate, yet the fine
+bust, the distinct and slender waist, and the firm pressure of the
+arched foot, revealed maturity as well as individualism of character.
+
+[Footnote 13: I do not know how general is the use of this word
+amongst the Indians. The writer found it in use amongst the Penobscot
+tribe.]
+
+[Footnote 14: As-nob-a-cá-she, contracted to Ascáshe, is literally a
+net-weaver, the name for spider. This term is from Schoolcraft.]
+
+Rising from her recumbent posture, she approached the water at the
+entrance of the cave till the spray mingled with her long, white
+locks, and the light falling upon her brow, revealed a sharp beautiful
+outline of face scarcely touched by years, white, even teeth, and eyes
+of blue, yet so deeply and sadly kindling into intensity, that they
+grew momentarily darker and darker as you gazed upon them.
+
+"Water, still water, forever water," she murmured. Suddenly turning
+round, she darted away into the recesses of the cave, leaping and
+flying, as it were, with her long hair tossed to and fro about her
+person. Presently she emerged, followed by a pet panther, which leaped
+and bounded in concert with his mistress. Seizing a bow, she sent the
+arrow away into the black roof of the cavern, waited for its return,
+and then discharged it again and again, watching its progress with
+eager and impatient delight. This done, she cast herself again upon
+the skins, spread her long hair over her form, and lay motionless as
+marble.
+
+Ascáshe again called, "Why do you not come and eat, Skoke?"
+
+Having no answer, she called out, "Wa-ain, come and eat;" and then
+tired of this useless teasing, she arose, and shaking the white girl
+by the arm, cried, "Bridget Vines, I bid you eat."
+
+"I will, Ascáshe," answered the other, taking corn and dried fish,
+which the other presented.
+
+"The spider caught a bad snake when she wove a net for Bridget Vines,"
+muttered the tall woman. The other covered her face with her hands,
+and the veins of her forehead swelled above her fingers; yet when she
+uncovered her eyes they were red, not with tears, but the effort to
+suppress their flow.
+
+"It is a long, long time, that I have been here, Ascáshe," answered
+Bridget, sorrowfully.
+
+"Have you never been out since Samoret left you here?" asked the
+net-weaver; and she fixed her eyes searchingly upon the face of the
+girl, who never quailed nor changed color beneath her gaze, but
+replied in the same tone, "How should little Hope escape--where should
+she go?" Hope being the name by which Mistress Vines had called her
+child in moments of tenderness, as suggesting a mother's yearning hope
+that she would at some time be less capricious, for Bridget had always
+been a wayward, incoherent, and diminutive creature, and treated with
+great gentleness by the family.
+
+"Do you remember what I once told you?" continued the other. "You had
+a friend--you have an enemy."
+
+This time Bridget Vines started, and gave utterance to a long, low,
+plaintive cry, as if her soul wailed, as it flitted from its frail
+tenement, for she fell back as if dead upon the skins.
+
+The woman muttered, "The white boy and girl shouldn't have scorned the
+red woman," and she took her to the verge of the water and awaited her
+recovery; when she opened her eyes, she continued, "Ascáshe is
+content--she has been very, very wretched, but so has been her enemy.
+Look, my hair is black; Wa-ain's is like the white frost."
+
+"I knew it would be so," answered the other, gently, "but it is
+nothing. Tell me where you have been, Ascáshe, and how came you here?
+O-ya-ah died the other day." She alluded to an old squaw, who had been
+her keeper in the cave.
+
+At this moment a shadow darkened the room, another, and another, and
+three stalwart savages stood before the two women. Each, as he passed,
+patted the head of Bridget, who shook them off with moody impatience.
+
+They gathered about the coals in the centre, talking in under tones,
+while the women prepared some venison which was to furnish forth the
+repast.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+ And she who climbed the storm-swept steep,
+ She who the foaming wave would dare,
+ So oft love's vigil here to keep,
+ Stranger, albeit, thou think'st I dote;
+ I know, I know, she watches there.--HOFFMAN.
+
+
+That night the men sat long around the fire, and talked of a deadly
+feud and a deadly prospect of revenge. Ascáshe listened and counseled,
+and her suggestions were often hailed with intimations of
+approval--for the woman was possessed of a keen and penetrating mind,
+heightened by passions at once powerful and malevolent. Had the group
+observed the white occupant of the skins, they would have seen a pair
+of dark, bright eyes peering through those snowy locks, and red lips
+parted, in the eagerness of the intent ear.
+
+"How far distant are they now?" asked the woman.
+
+"A three hours walk down stream," was the answer. "To-morrow they will
+ascend the falls to surprise our people, and burn the village.
+To-night, when the moon is down, we are to light a fire at still-water
+_above_ the falls, and the Terrentines will join us at the signal,
+leave their canoes in the care of the women, and descend upon our
+foes. The fire will warn our people how near to approach the falls,
+for the night will be dark." This was told at intervals, and to the
+questionings of the woman.
+
+"Where is the Sagamore of Saco," asked Ascáshe.
+
+"John Bonyton heads our foes, but to-night is the last one to the
+Sagamore."
+
+At this name the white hair stirred violently, and then a low wail
+escaped from beneath. The group started, and one of the men, with
+Ascáshe, scanned the face of the girl, who seemed to sleep in perfect
+unconsciousness; but the panther rolled itself over, stretched out its
+claws, and threw back his head, showing his long, red tongue, and
+uttered a yawn so nearly a howl, that the woman declared the sounds
+must have been the same.
+
+Presently the group disposed themselves to sleep till the moon should
+set, when they must once more be upon the trail. Previous to this,
+many were the charges enjoined upon the woman in regard to Bridget.
+
+"Guard her well," said the leader of the band. "In a few suns more she
+will be a great medicine woman, foretelling things that shall come to
+the tribes."
+
+We must now visit the encampment of John Bonyton, where he and his
+followers slept, waiting till the first dawn of day should send them
+on their deadly path. The moon had set; the night was intensely dark,
+for clouds flitted over the sky, now and then disburdening themselves
+with gusts of wind, which swayed the old woods to and fro, while big
+drops of rain fell amid the leaves and were hushed.
+
+Suddenly a white figure stood over the sleeping chief, so slight, so
+unearthly in its shroud of wet, white hair, that one might well be
+pardoned a superstitious tremor. She wrung her hands and wept bitterly
+as she gazed--then she knelt down and looked more closely; then, with
+a quick cry, she flung herself into his bosom.
+
+"Oh, John Bonyton, did I not tell you this? Did I not tell you, years
+ago, that little Hope stood in my path, with hair white as snow?"
+
+The man raised himself up, he gathered the slight figure in his
+arms--he uncovered a torch and held it to her face.
+
+"Oh, my God! my God!" he cried--and his strength departed, and he was
+helpless as a child. The years of agony, the lapse of thirty years
+were concentrated in that fearful moment. Bridget, too, lay motionless
+and silent, clinging to his neck. Long, long was that hour of
+suffering to the two. What was life to them! stricken and changed,
+living and breathing, they only felt that they lived and breathed by
+the pangs that betrayed the beating pulse. Oh, life! life! thou art a
+fearful boon, and thy love not the least fearful of thy gifts.
+
+At length Bridget raised herself up, and would have left his arms; but
+John Bonyton held her fast.
+
+"Nay, Hope, never again. My tender, my beautiful bird, it has fared
+ill with thee;" and smoothing her white locks, the tears gushed to the
+eyes of the strong man. Indeed, he, in his full strength and manhood,
+she, diminutive and bleached by solitude and grief, contrasted so
+powerfully in his mind, that a paternal tenderness grew upon him, and
+he kissed her brow reverently, saying,
+
+"How have I searched for thee, my birdie, my child; I have been
+haunted by the furies, and goaded well nigh to murder--but thou art
+here--yet not thou. Oh, Hope! Hope!"
+
+The girl listened intent and breathless.
+
+"I knew it would be so, John Bonyton; I knew if parted we could never
+be the same again--the same cloud returns not to the sky; the same
+blossom blooms not twice; human faces wear never twice the same look;
+and, alas! alas! the heart of to-day is not that of to-morrow."
+
+"Say on, Hope--years are annihilated, and we are children again,
+hoping, loving children."
+
+But the girl only buried her face in his bosom, weeping and sobbing.
+At this moment a red glare of light shot up into the sky, and Bridget
+sprung to her feet.
+
+"I had forgotten. Come, John Bonyton, come and see the only work that
+poor little Hope could do to save thee;" and she darted forward with
+the eager step which Bonyton so well remembered. As they approached
+the falls, the light of the burning tree, kindled by the hands of
+Bridget _below_ the falls, flickered and glared upon the waters; the
+winds had died away; the stars beamed forth, and nothing mingled with
+the roar of waters, save an occasional screech of some nocturnal
+creature prowling for its prey.
+
+Ever and ever poured on the untiring flood, till one wondered it did
+not pour itself out; and the heart grew oppressed at the vast images
+crowding into it, swelling and pressing, as did the tumultuous waves
+over their impediment of granite--water, still water, till the nerves
+ached from weariness at the perpetual flow, and the mind questioned if
+the sound itself were not silence, so lonely was the spell--questioned
+if it were stopped if the heart would not cease to beat, and life
+become annihilate.
+
+Suddenly the girl stopped with hand pointing to the falls. A black
+mass gleamed amid the foam--one wild, fearful yell arose, even above
+the roar of waters, and then the waves flowed on as before.
+
+"Tell me, what is this?" cried John Bonyton, seizing the hand of
+Bridget, and staying her flight with a strong grasp.
+
+"Ascáshe did not know I could plunge under the falls--she did not know
+the strength of little Hope, when she heard the name of John Bonyton.
+She then went on to tell how she had escaped the cave--how she had
+kindled a signal fire _below_ the falls in advance of that to be
+kindled above--and how she had dared, alone, the terrors of the
+forest, and the black night, that she might once more look upon the
+face of her lover. When she had finished, she threw her arms tenderly
+around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, and then, with a
+gentleness unwonted to her nature, would have disengaged herself from
+his arms.
+
+"Why do you leave me, Hope--where will you go?" asked the Sagamore.
+
+She looked up with a face so pale, so hopeless, so mournfully tender,
+as was most affecting to behold. "I will go under the falls, and there
+sleep--oh! so long will I sleep, John Bonyton.
+
+He folded her like a little child to his bosom. "You must not leave
+me, Hope--do you not love me?"
+
+She answered only by a low wail, that was more affecting than any
+words; and when the Sagamore pressed her again to his heart, she
+answered, calling him John Bonyton, as she used to call him in the
+days of her childhood.
+
+"Little Hope is a terror to herself, John Bonyton. Her heart is all
+love--all lost in yours; but she is a child, a child just as she was
+years ago; but you, you are not the same--more beautiful--greater;
+poor little Hope grows fearful before you;" and again her voice was
+lost in tears.
+
+The sun now began to tinge the sky with his ruddy hue; the birds
+filled the woods with an out-gush of melody; the rainbow, as ever,
+spanned the abyss of waters, while below, drifting in eddies, were
+fragments of canoes, and still more ghastly fragments telling of the
+night's destruction. The stratagem of the girl had been entirely
+successful--deluded by the false beacon, the unhappy savages had
+drifted on with the tide, unconscious of danger, till the one terrible
+pang of danger, and the terrible plunge of death came at the one and
+same moment.
+
+Upon a headland overlooking the falls stood the group of the cavern,
+stirred with feelings to which words give no utterance, and which find
+expression only in some deadly act. Ascáshe descended stealthily along
+the bank, watching intently the group upon the opposite shore, in the
+midst of which floated the white, abundant locks of Bridget Vines,
+visible at a great distance. She now stood beside the Sagamore,
+saying,
+
+"Forget poor little Hope, John Bonyton, or only remember that her life
+was one long, long thought of thee."
+
+She started--gave one wild look of love and grief at the Sagamore--and
+then darted down the bank, marking her path with streams of blood, and
+disappeared under the falls. The aim of the savage had done its work.
+
+"Ascáshe is revenged, John Bonyton," cried a loud voice--and a dozen
+arrows stopped it in its utterance. Fierce was the pursuit, and
+desperate the flight of the few surviving foes. The "Sagamore of Saco"
+never rested day nor night till he and his followers had cut off the
+last vestige of the Terrantines, and avenged the blood of the unhappy
+maiden. Then for years did he linger about the falls in the vain hope
+of seeing once more her wild spectral beauty--but she appeared no more
+in the flesh; though to this, men not romantic nor visionary declare
+they have seen a figure, slight and beautiful, clad in robe of skin,
+with moccasoned feet, and long, white hair, nearly reaching to the
+ground, hovering sorrowfully around the falls; and this strange figure
+they believe to be the wraith of the lost Bridget Vines.
+
+
+
+
+THE SACHEM's HILL.
+
+BY ALFRED B. STREET.
+
+
+ 'T was a green towering hill-top: on its sides
+ June showered her red delicious strawberries,
+ Spotting the mounds, and in the hollows spread
+ Her pink brier roses, and gold johnswort stars.
+ The top was scattered, here and there, with pines,
+ Making soft music in the summer wind,
+ And painting underneath each other's boughs
+ Spaces of auburn from their withered fringe.
+ Below, a scene of rural loveliness
+ Was pictured, vivid with its varied hues;
+ The yellow of the wheat--the fallow's black--
+ The buckwheat's foam-like whiteness, and the green
+ Of pasture-field and meadow, whilst amidst
+ Wound a slim, snake-like streamlet. Here I oft
+ Have come in summer days, and with the shade
+ Cast by one hollowed pine upon my brow,
+ Have couched upon the grass, and let my eye
+ Roam o'er the landscape, from the green hill's foot
+ To where the hazy distance wrapped the scene.
+ Beneath this pine a long and narrow mound
+ Heaves up its grassy shape; the silver tufts
+ Of the wild clover richly spangle it,
+ And breathe such fragrance that each passing wind
+ Is turned into an odor. Underneath
+ A Mohawk Sachem sleeps, whose form had borne
+ A century's burthen. Oft have I the tale
+ Heard from a pioneer, who, with a band
+ Of comrades, broke into the unshorn wilds
+ That shadowed then this region, and awoke
+ The echoes with their axes. By the stream
+ They found this Indian Sachem in a hut
+ Of bark and boughs. One of the pioneers
+ Had lived a captive 'mid the Iroquois.
+ And knew their language, and he told the chief
+ How they had come to mow the woods away,
+ And change the forest earth to meadows green,
+ And the tall trees to dwellings. Rearing up
+ His aged form, the Sachem proud replied,
+ That he had seen a hundred winters pass
+ Over this spot; that here his tribe had died,
+ Parents and children, braves, old men and all,
+ Until he stood a withered tree amidst
+ His prostrate kind; that he had hoped he ne'er
+ Would see the race, whose skin was like the flower
+ Of the spring dogwood, blasting his old sight;
+ And that beholding them amidst his haunts,
+ He called on Hah-wen-ne-yo to bear off
+ His spirit to the happy hunting-grounds.
+ Shrouding his face within his deer-skin robe,
+ And chanting the low death-song of his tribe,
+ He then with trembling footsteps left the hut
+ And sought the hill-top; here he sat him down
+ With his back placed within this hollowed tree,
+ And fixing his dull eye upon the scene
+ Of woods below him, rocked with guttural chant
+ The livelong day, whilst plyed the pioneers
+ Their axes round him. Sunset came, and still
+ There rocked his form. The twilight glimmered gray,
+ Then kindled to the moon, and still he rocked;
+ Till stretched the pioneers upon the earth
+ Their wearied limbs for sleep. One, wakeful, left
+ His plump moss couch, and strolling near the tree
+ Saw in the pomp of moonlight that old form
+ Still rocking, and, with deep awe at his heart,
+ Hastened to join his comrades. Morn awoke,
+ And the first light discovered to their eyes
+ That weird shape rocking still. The pioneers,
+ With kindly hands, took food and at his side
+ Placed it, and tried to rouse him, but in vain.
+ He fixed his eye still dully down the hill,
+ And when they took their hands from off his frame
+ It still renewed its rocking. Morning went,
+ And noon and sunset. Often had they glanced
+ From their hard toil as passed the hours away
+ Upon that rocking form, and wondered much;
+ And when the sunset vanished they approached
+ Their kindness to renew; but suddenly,
+ As came they near, they saw the rocking cease,
+ And the head drop upon his naked breast.
+ Close came they, and the shorn head lifting up,
+ In the glazed eye and fallen jaw beheld
+ Death's awful presence. With deep sorrowing hearts
+ They scooped a grave amidst the soft black mould,
+ Laid the old Sachem in its narrow depth,
+ Then heaped the sod above, and left him there
+ To hallow the green hill-top with his name.
+
+
+
+
+VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY.
+
+BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
+
+
+ City of marble! whose lone structures rise
+ In pomp of sculpture beautifully rare,
+ On thy still brow a mournful shadow lies,
+ For round thy haunts no busy feet repair;
+ No curling smoke ascends from roof-tree fair,
+ Nor cry of warning time the clock repeats--
+ No voice of Sabbath-bell doth call to prayer--
+ There are no children playing in thy streets,
+ Nor sounds of echoing toil invade thy green retreats.
+
+ Rich vines around thy graceful columns wind,
+ Young buds unfold, the dewy skies to bless,
+ Yet no fresh wreaths thine inmates wake to bind--
+ Prune no wild spray, nor pleasant garden dress--
+ From no luxuriant flower its fragrance press--
+ The golden sunsets through enwoven trees
+ Tremble and flash, but they no praise express--
+ They lift no casement to the balmy breeze,
+ For fairest scenes of earth have lost their power to please.
+
+ A ceaseless tide of emigration flows
+ On through thy gates, for thou forbiddest none
+ In thy close-curtained couches to repose,
+ Or lease thy narrow tenements of stone,
+ It matters not where first the sunbeam shone
+ Upon their cradle--'neath the foliage free
+ Where dark palmettos fleck the torrid zone,
+ Or 'mid the icebergs of the Arctic sea--
+ Thou dost no questions ask; all are at home with thee.
+
+ One pledge alone they give, before their name
+ Is with thy peaceful denizens enrolled--
+ The vow of silence thou from each dost claim,
+ More strict and stern than Sparta's rule of old,
+ Bidding no secrets of thy realm be told,
+ Nor slightest whisper from its precincts spread--
+ Sealing each whitened lip with signet cold,
+ To stamp the oath of fealty, ere they tread
+ Thy never-echoing halls, oh city of the dead!
+
+ 'Mid scenes like thine, fond memories find their home,
+ For sweet it was to me, in childhood's hours,
+ 'Neath every village church-yard's shade to roam,
+ Where humblest mounds were decked with grassy flowers,
+ And I have roamed where dear Mount Auburn towers,
+ Where Laurel-Hill a cordial welcome gave
+ To the rich tracery of its hallowed bowers,
+ And where, by quiet Lehigh's crystal wave,
+ The meek Moravian smooths his turf-embroidered grave:
+
+ Where too, in Scotia, o'er the Bridge of Sighs,
+ The Clyde's Necropolis uprears its head,
+ Or that old abbey's sacred turrets rise
+ Whose crypts contain proud Albion's noblest dead,--
+ And where, by leafy canopy o'erspread,
+ The lyre of Gray its pensive descant made--
+ And where, beside the dancing city's tread,
+ Famed Père La Chaise all gorgeously displayed
+ Its meretricious robes, with chaplets overlaid.
+
+ But thou, oh Greenwood! sweetest art to me,
+ Enriched with tints of ocean, earth and sky,
+ Solemn and sweet, to meditation free,
+ Most like a mother, who with pleading eye
+ Dost turn to Him who for the lost did die--
+ And with thy many children at thy breast,
+ Invoke His aid, with low and prayerful sigh,
+ To bless the lowly pillow of their rest,
+ And shield them, when the tomb no longer guards its guest.
+
+ Calm, holy shades! we come to you for health,--
+ Sickness is with the living--wo and pain--
+ And dire diseases thronging on, by stealth
+ From the worn heart its vital flood to drain,
+ Or smite with sudden shaft the reeling brain,
+ Till lingering on, with nameless ills distrest,
+ We find the healer's vaunted armor vain,
+ The undrawn spear-point in our bleeding breast,--
+ Fain would we hide with you, and win the boon of rest.
+
+ Sorrow is with the living! Youth doth fade--
+ And Joy unclasp its tendril green, to die--
+ The mocking tares our harvest-hopes invade,
+ On wrecking blasts our garnered treasures fly,
+ Our idols shame the soul's idolatry,
+ Unkindness gnaws the bosom's secret core,
+ Long-trusted friendship turns an altered eye
+ When, helpless, we its sympathies implore--
+ Oh! take us to your arms, that we may weep no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE HALL OF INDEPENDENCE.
+
+BY GEO. W. DEWEY.
+
+
+ This is the sacred fane wherein assembled
+ The fearless champions on the side of Right;
+ Men, at whose declaration empires trembled,
+ Moved by the truth's immortal might.
+
+ Here stood the patriot band--one union folding
+ The Eastern, Northern, Southern sage and seer,
+ Within that living bond which truth upholding,
+ Proclaims each man his fellow's peer.
+
+ Here rose the anthem, which all nations hearing,
+ In loud response the echoes backward hurled;
+ Reverberating still the ceaseless cheering,
+ Our continent repeats it to the world.
+
+ This is the hallowed spot where first, unfurling,
+ Fair Freedom spread her blazing scroll of light;
+ Here, from oppression's throne the tyrant hurling,
+ She stood supreme in majesty and might!
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST OF THE BOURBONS.
+
+A FRENCH PATRIOTIC SONG,
+
+WRITTEN BY ALEXANDRE PANTOLÉON,
+THE MUSIC COMPOSED AND DEDICATED TO THE NATIONAL GUARD OF FRANCE, BY
+
+=J. C. N. G.=
+
+Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chesnut Street, Philad'a.--Copyright
+secured.
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+Des Bourbons c'est la chu te Dit la Li-ber-té Leur scep-tre dans la
+lut-te Mes mains l'ont bri sé; J'ai chas-
+
+'Tis the last of the Bourbons Shouts freedom with joy, As her legions
+in triumph Be-fore her de-ploy, And the
+
+sé de ma lan ce, Le cou-pa-ble roi, Et j'ai ren-du la France,
+Mai-tres-se de soi.
+
+throne of the des-pot Is dashed at her feet, Which her men in coarse
+blouses, With Mar-seillaise greet.
+
+_Ad. lib._]
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la Li-ber-té! Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la Li-ber-té!
+
+Hur-rah! hur-rah! hur-rah! for Li-ber-ty! Hur-rah! hur-rah! hur-rah!
+for Li-ber-ty!
+
+Tempo. CHORUS.
+
+A-bas les ty-rans! A-bas les ty-rans! Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la
+Li-ber-té!
+
+Ty-rants shall no more our coun-try con-trol! Hur-rah! hur-rah!
+hur-rah! for Li-ber-ty!]
+
+
+II.
+
+
+ Oh thou spirit of lightning
+ That movest the French
+ From the hands of the tyrant,
+ The sceptre to wrench.
+ Thou no more wilt be cheated
+ But keep under arms
+ Till the sway thou upholdest
+ Is free from alarms!
+ Hurrah! hurrah! &c.
+
+
+II.
+
+
+ J'entends gronder la foudre
+ Des braves Français
+ Ils ont réduit en poudre
+ Le siége des forfaits.
+ Leurs éclairs épouvantent
+ Les rois étrangers
+ Dont les glaives tourmentent
+ Des coeurs opprimés.
+ Vive, vive, &c.
+
+
+III.
+
+
+ Tis too late for an Infant
+ To govern a land
+ Which a tyrant long practiced
+ Has failed to command.
+ For the men of fair Gallia
+ At home will be free,
+ And extend independence
+ To lands o'er the sea!
+ Hurrah! hurrah! &c.
+
+
+III.
+
+
+ Désormais soyez sages
+ Restez tous armés
+ Protégeant vos suffrages
+ Et vos droits sacrés.
+ Comblez l'espoir unique
+ De France! en avant!
+ Vive la République!
+ A bas les tyrans!
+ Vive, vive, &c.
+
+
+
+
+TO AN ISLE OF THE SEA.[15]
+
+BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR.
+
+
+ Bright Isle of the Ocean, and gem of the sea,
+ Thou art stately and fair as an island can be,
+ With thy clifts tow'ring upward, thy valleys outspread,
+ And thy fir-crested hills, where the mountain deer tread,
+ So crowned with rich verdure, so kissed by each ray
+ Of the day-god that mounts on and upward his way,
+ While thy wild rushing torrent, thy streams in their flow,
+ Reflect the high archway of heaven below,
+ Whose clear azure curtains, so cloudless and bright,
+ Are here ever tinged with the red gold at night;
+ Then with one burst of glory the sun sinks to rest,
+ And the stars they shine out on the land that is blest.
+
+ Thy foliage is fadeless, no chilling winds blow,
+ No frost has embraced thee, no mantle of snow;
+ Then hail to each sunbeam whose swift airy flight
+ Speeds on for thy valleys each hill-top and height!
+ To clothe them in glory then die 'mid the roar
+ Of the sea-waves which echo far up from the shore!
+ They will rest for a day, as if bound by a spell,
+ They will noiselessly fall where the beautiful dwell,
+ They will beam on thy summits so lofty and lone,
+ Where nature hath sway and her emerald throne,
+ Then each pearly dew-drop descending at even,
+ At morn they will bear to the portals of Heaven.
+
+ Thou art rich in the spoils of the deep sounding sea,
+ Thou art blest in thy clime, (of all climates for me,)
+ Thou hast wealth on thy bosom, where orange-flowers blow,
+ And thy groves with their golden-hued fruit bending low,
+ In thy broad-leafed banana, thy fig and the lime,
+ And grandeur and beauty, in palm-tree and vine.
+ Thou hast wreaths on thy brow, and gay flowers ever bloom,
+ Wafting upward and onward a deathless perfume,
+ While round thee the sea-birds first circle, then rise,
+ Then sink to the wave and then glance tow'rd the skies!
+
+ While their bright plumage glows 'neath the sun's burning light,
+ And their screams echo back in a song of delight.
+ Thou hast hearts that are noble, and doubtless are brave,
+ Thou hast altars to bow at, for worship and praise,
+ Thou hast light when night's curtains around thee are driven
+ From the Cross which beams out in the far southern heaven,
+ Yet one spot of darkness remains on thy breast,
+ As a cloud in the depth of a calm sky at rest.
+
+ Like a queen that is crowned, or a king on his throne,
+ In grandeur thou sittest majestic and lone,
+ And the power of thy beauty is breathed on each gale
+ As it sweeps o'er thy hills or descends to the vale;
+ And homage is offered most boundless and free,
+ Oh, Isle of the Ocean, in gladness to thee,
+ So circled with waters, so dashed by the spray
+ Of the waves which leap upward then stop in their way.
+
+ And lo! thou art loved by a child of the West,
+ For the beauty and bloom of thy tropical breast,
+ Yet dearer by far is that land where the skies
+ Though colder bends o'er it and bleak winds arise,
+ Where the broad chart of Nature is boldly unfurled,
+ And a light from the free beameth out o'er the world.
+
+ Yes, dearer that land where the eagle on high
+ Spreads his wings to the wind as he cleaves the cold sky,
+ Where mountain, and torrent, and forest and vale,
+ Are swept by the path of the storm-ridden gale,
+ And each rock is an altar, each heart is a shrine,
+ Where Freedom is worshiped in Liberty clime,
+ And her banners float out on the breath of the gale,
+ Bright symbols of glory which proudly we hail,
+ And her bulwarks are reared where the heart of the brave
+ Refused to be subject, and scorned to be slave.
+
+[Footnote 15: Santa Cruz.]
+
+
+
+
+SONNET:--TO ARABELLA,
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+ There is a pathos in those azure eyes,
+ Touching, and beautiful, and strange, fair child!
+ When the fringed lids upturn, such radiance mild
+ Beams out as in some brimming lakelet lies,
+ Which undisturbed reflects the cloudless skies:
+ No tokens glitter there of passion wild,
+ That into ecstasy with time shall rise;
+ But in the deep of those clear orbs are signs--
+ Which Poesy's prophetic eye divines--
+ Of woman's love, enduring, undefiled!
+ If, like the lake at rest, through life we see
+ Thy face reflect the heaven that in it shines,
+ No _idol_ to thy worshipers thou'lt be,
+ For he will worship HEAVEN, who worships _thee_.
+
+
+
+
+PROTESTATION.
+
+
+ No, I will not forget thee. Hearts may break
+ Around us, as old lifeless trees are snapt
+ By the swift breath of whirlwinds as they wake
+ Their path amid the forest. Lightning-wrapt,
+ (For love is fire from Heaven,) we calmly stand--
+ Heart pressed to answering heart--hand linked with hand.
+
+
+
+
+REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
+
+ _Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst. Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor &
+ Co. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+It was Goethe, we believe, who objected to some poet, that he put too
+much water in his ink. This objection would apply to the uncounted
+host of our amateur versifiers, and poets by the grace of verbiage. If
+an idea, or part of an idea, chances to stray into the brain of an
+American gentleman, he quickly apparels it in an old coat from his
+wardrobe of worn phrases, and rushes off in mad haste to the first
+magazine or newspaper, in order that the public may enjoy its
+delectable beauty at once. We have on hand enough MSS. of this kind,
+which we never intend to print, to freight the navy of Great Britain.
+But mediocrity and stupidity are not the only sinners in respect to
+this habit of writing carelessly. Hasty composition is an epidemic
+among many of our writers, whose powers, if disciplined by study, and
+directed to a definite object, would enable them to produce beautiful
+and permanent works. So general is the mental malady to which we have
+alluded, that it affects the judgments of criticism, and if a
+collection of lines, going under the name of a poem, contains fine
+passages, or felicitous flashes of thought, it commonly passes muster
+as satisfying the requirements of the critical code. Careless writers,
+therefore, are sustained by indulgent critics, and between both good
+literature is apt to be strangled in its birth.
+
+Now it is due to Mr. Hirst to say that his poem belongs not to the
+class we have described. It is no transcript of chance conceptions,
+expressed in loose language, and recklessly huddled together, without
+coherence and without artistic form, but a true and consistent
+creation, with a central principle of vitality and a definite shape.
+He has, in short, produced an original poem on a classic subject,
+written in a style of classic grace, sweetness and simplicity,
+rejecting all superfluous ornament and sentimental prettinesses, and
+conveying one clear and strong impression throughout all its variety
+of incident, character and description. It is no conglomeration of
+parts, but an organic whole. This merit alone should give him a high
+rank among the leading poets of the country, for it evidences that he
+has a clear notion of what the word poem means.
+
+We have neither time nor space to analyze the poem, and indicate its
+merits as a work of art. It displays throughout great force and
+delicacy of conception, a fine sense of harmony, and a power and
+decision of expression which neither overloads nor falls short of the
+thought. In tone it is half way between Shelley and Keats, neither so
+ideal as the one nor so sensuous as the other. Keat's Endymion is so
+thick with fancies, and verbal daintinesses, and sweet sensations,
+that with all its wonderful affluence of beautiful things it lacks
+unity of impression. The mind of the poet is so possessed by his
+subject that, in an artistic sense, he becomes its victim, and wanders
+in metaphor, and revels in separate images, and gets entangled in a
+throng of thoughts, until, at the end, we have a sense of a beautiful
+confusion of "flowers of all hues, and weeds of glorious feature," and
+applaud the fertility at the expense of the force of his mind. The
+truth is that will is an important element of genius, and without it
+the spontaneous productions of the mind must lack the highest quality
+of poetic art. True intellectual creation is an _effort_ of the
+imagination, not its result, and without force of will to guide it, it
+does not obey its own laws, and gives little impression of real
+power. Art is not the prize of luck or the effect of chance, but of
+conscious combination of vital elements. Mr. Hirst, though he does
+give evidence of Keats' fluency of fancy and expression, has really
+produced a finer work of art. We think it is so important that a poem,
+to be altogether worthy of the name, should be deeply meditated and
+carefully finished, that we hazard this last opinion at the expense of
+being berated by all the undeveloped geniuses of the land, as having
+no true sense of the richness of Keats' mind, or the great capacity
+implied, rather than fully expressed, in his Endymion.
+
+Mere extracts alone can give no fair impression of the beauty of Mr.
+Hirst's poem as a whole, but we cannot leave it without quoting a few
+passages illustrative of the author's power of spiritualizing the
+voluptuous, and the grace, harmony and expressiveness of his verse:
+
+ And still the moon arose, serenely hovering,
+ Dove-like, above the horizon. Like a queen
+ She walked in light between
+ The stars--her lovely handmaids--softly covering
+ Valley and wold, and mountain-side and plain
+ With streams of lucid rain.
+
+ She saw not Eros, who on rosy pinion
+ Hung in the willow's shadow--did not feel
+ His subtle searching steel
+ Piercing her very soul, though his dominion
+ Her breast had grown: and what to her was heaven
+ If from Endymion riven?
+
+ Nothing; for love flowed in her, like a river,
+ Flooding the banks of wisdom; and her soul,
+ Losing its self-control,
+ Waved with a vague, uncertain, tremulous quiver,
+ And like a lily in the storm, at last
+ She sunk 'neath passion's blast.
+
+ Flowing the fragrance rose--as though each blossom
+ Breathed out its very life--swell over swell,
+ Like mist along the dell,
+ Wooing his wondering heart from out his bosom--
+ His heart, which like a lark seemed slowly winging
+ Its way toward heaven, singing.
+
+ Dian looked on; she saw her spells completing,
+ And sighing, bade the sweetest nightingale
+ That ever in Carian vale
+ Sang to her charms, rise, and with softest greeting
+ Woo from its mortal dreams and thoughts of clay
+ Endymion's soul away.
+
+From the conclusion of the poem we take a few stanzas, describing the
+struggle of Dian with her passion, when Endymion asserts his love for
+Chromia:
+
+ The goddess gasped for breath, with bosom swelling:
+ Her lips unclosed, while her large, luminous eyes
+ Blazing like Stygian skies,
+ With passion, on the audacious youth were dwelling:
+ She raised her angry hand, that seemed to clasp
+ Jove's thunder in its grasp.
+
+ And then she stood in silence, fixed and breathless;
+ But presently the threatening arm slid down;
+ The fierce, destroying frown
+ Departed from her eyes, which took a deathless
+ Expression of despair, like Niobe's--
+ Her dead ones at her knees.
+
+ Slowly her agony passed, and an Elysian,
+ Majestic fervor lit her lofty eyes,
+ Now dwelling on the skies:
+ Meanwhile, Endymion stood, cheek, brow and vision,
+ Radiant with resignation, stern and cold,
+ In conscious virtue bold,
+
+In conclusion, we cannot but congratulate Mr. Hirst on his success in
+producing a poem conceived with so much force and refinement of
+imagination, and finished with such consummate art, as the present. It
+is a valuable addition to the permanent poetical literature of the
+country.
+
+
+ _Memoir of William Ellery Channing. With Extracts from
+ His Correspondence and Manuscripts. Boston: Crosby &
+ Nichols. 3 vols. 12mo._
+
+
+This long expected work has at last been published, and we think it
+will realize the high expectations raised by its announcement two or
+three years ago. It is mostly composed of extracts from the letters,
+journals, and unpublished sermons of Dr. Channing, and is edited by
+his nephew, Wm. H. Channing, who has also supplied a memoir. It
+conveys a full view of Dr. Channing's interior life from childhood to
+old age, and apart from its great value and interest, contains, in the
+exhibition of the steps of his intellectual and spiritual growth, as
+perfect a specimen of psychological autobiography as we have in
+literature. Such a work subjects its author to the severest tests
+which can be applied to a human mind in this life, and we have risen
+from its perusal with a new idea of the humility, sincerity, and
+saintliness of Dr. Channing's character. In him self-distrust was
+admirably blended with a sublime conception of the capacity of man,
+and a sublime confidence in human nature. He was not an egotist, as
+passages in his writings may seem to indicate, for he was more severe
+upon himself than upon others, and numberless remarks in the present
+volumes show how sharp was the scrutiny to which he subjected the most
+elusive appearances of pride and vanity. But with his high and living
+sense of the source and destiny of every human mind, and his almost
+morbid consciousness of the deformity of moral evil, he reverenced in
+himself and in others the presence of a spirit which connected
+humanity with its Maker, and by unfolding the greatness of the
+spiritual capacities of men, he hoped to elevate them above the
+degradation of sensuality and sin. He was not a teacher of spiritual
+pride, conceit and self-worship, but of those vital principles of love
+and reverence which elevate man only by directing his aspirations to
+God.
+
+The present volumes give a full length portrait of Dr. Channing in all
+the relations of life, and some of the minor details regarding his
+opinions and idiosyncrasies are among the most interesting portions of
+the book. We are glad to perceive that he early appreciated
+Wordsworth. The Excursion he eagerly read on its first appearance, and
+while so many of the Pharisees of taste were scoffing at it, he
+manfully expressed his sense of its excellence. This poem he recurred
+to oftener than to any other, and next to Shakspeare, Wordsworth seems
+to have been the poet he read with the most thoughtful delight. When
+he went to Europe, in 1822, he had an interview with Wordsworth, and
+of the impression he himself made on the poet there can be no more
+pertinent illustration, than the fact that, twenty years afterward,
+Wordsworth mentioned to an American gentleman that one observation of
+Channing, respecting the connection of Christianity with progress, had
+stamped itself ineffaceably upon his mind. Coleridge he appears to
+have profoundly impressed. In a letter to Washington Allston,
+Coleridge says of him--"His affection for the good as the good, and
+his earnestness for the true as the true--with that harmonious
+subordination of the latter to the former, without encroachment on the
+absolute worth of either--present in him a character which in my
+heart's heart I believe to be the very rarest on earth. . . . . Mr.
+Channing is a philosopher in both the possible renderings of the word.
+He has the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love. . . . . I am
+confident that the few differences of opinion between him and myself
+not only are, but would by him be found to be apparent, not real--the
+same truth seen in different relations. Perhaps I have been more
+absorbed in the depth of the mystery of the spiritual life, he more
+engrossed by the loveliness of its manifestations."
+
+In nothing is Dr. Channing's humility better seen than in his
+relations to literature. He became an author almost unconsciously. All
+his intellectual convictions were so indissolubly woven into the
+texture of his life, so vitalized by his heart and imagination, that
+writing with him was never an end but a means. Literary fame followed
+him; he did not follow it. When, however, he found that his reputation
+not only rung through his own country but was reverberated from
+Europe, he appears to have feared that it might corrupt his motives
+for composition. He studiously avoided reading all eulogistic notices
+of his works or character, though they were interesting to him as
+indications of the influence his cherished opinions were exerting. The
+article in the Westminster Review, which exceeded all others in
+praise, he never read. Dr. Dewey's criticism in the Christian Examiner
+he only knew as far as related to its objections, and his only
+disappointment was in finding them so few. Brougham's criticism on his
+style provoked in him no retort. Hazlitt's coarse attack on him in the
+Edinburgh Review he considered as an offset to the undue praise he had
+received from other quarters. "The author of the article," he says, in
+one of his letters, "is now dead; and as I did not feel a moment's
+anger toward him during his life, I have no reproach for him now. He
+was a man of fine powers, and wanted nothing but pure and fixed
+principles to make him one of the lights of the age."
+
+It would be impossible in our limits to convey an adequate impression
+of the beauty, value, or interest of the present volumes. They are
+full of matter. The letters are admirable specimens of epistolary
+composition, considered as the spontaneous expression of a grave, high
+and warm nature, to the friends of his heart and mind. They are
+exceedingly original of their kind, and while they bear no resemblance
+to those of Cowper, Burns, Byron, or Mackintosh, they are on that very
+account a positive addition to the literature of epistolary
+composition. Few biographies have been published within a century
+calculated to make so deep an impression as this of Dr. Channing, and
+few could have admitted the reader to so close a communion with the
+subject, without sacrificing that delicacy in the treatment of
+frailties due to the character of the departed.
+
+
+ _Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire. Philadelphia:
+ Carey & Hart. 2 vols. 12mo._
+
+
+The present work is to some extent an attempt "to head" Mr. Headley.
+For our part, we profess to have as much patience as any of the
+descendants of Job, but we must acknowledge that we have broken down
+in every effort to master the merits of the quarrel between the
+publishers of the present volumes and the Author of Napoleon and his
+Marshals. Accordingly we can give no opinion on that matter. In
+respect to the value of the volumes under consideration, as compared
+with a similar work by Mr. Headley, there can be little hesitation of
+judgment. It is idle to say, as some have said, that a work which has
+run through fifteen editions, as Mr. Headley's has done, is a mere
+humbug. On the contrary, it is a book evincing a mind as shrewd as it
+is strong, aiming, it is true, rather at popularity than excellence,
+but obtaining the former by possessing the sagacity to perceive that
+accounts of battles, to be generally apprehended, must be addressed to
+the eye and blood rather than to the understanding; and this power
+of producing vivid pictures of events Mr. Headley has in large
+measure. Hence the success of his book, in spite of its exaggerations
+of statement, sentiment and language.
+
+The present work evinces a merit of another kind. It is a keen,
+accurate, well-written production, devoid of all tumult in its style
+and all exaggeration in its matter, and giving close and consistent
+expositions of the characters, and a clear narrative of the lives, of
+Napoleon and his Marshals. It is evidently the work of a person who
+understands military operations, and conveys a large amount of
+knowledge which we have seen in no other single production on the
+subject of the wars springing out of the French Revolution. The
+portraits of fifteen of the marshals, in military costume, are very
+well executed.
+
+The portion of the work devoted to Napoleon, about one third of the
+whole, is very able. Its defect consists in the leniency of its
+judgment on that gigantic public criminal. Napoleon was a grand
+example of a great man, who demonstrated, on a wide theatre of action,
+what can be done in this world by a colossal intellect and an iron
+will without any moral sense. In his disregard of humanity, and his
+reliance on falsehood and force, he was the architect at once of his
+fortune and his ruin. No man can be greatly and wisely politic who is
+incapable of grasping those universal sentiments which underlie all
+superficial selfishness in mankind, and of discerning the action of
+the moral laws of the universe. Without this, events cannot be read in
+their principles. The only defect in Napoleon's mind was a lack of
+moral insight, the quality of perceiving the moral character and
+relations of objects, and, wanting this, he must necessarily have been
+in the long run unsuccessful. It is curious that of all the great men
+which the Revolution called forth, Lafayette was almost the only one
+who never violated his conscience, and the only one who came out well
+in the end. Intellectually he was below a hundred of his
+contemporaries, but his instinctive sense of right pushed him blindly
+in the right direction, when all the sagacity and insight of the
+masters in intrigue and comprehensive falsehood signally failed.
+
+
+ _Romance of the History of Louisiana. A Series of
+ Lectures. By Charles Gayarre. New York: D. Appleton &
+ Co. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+The romantic element in historical events is that which takes the
+strongest hold upon the imagination and sensibility; and it puts a
+certain degree of life into the fleshless forms of even the
+commonplace historian. The incidents of a nation's annals cannot be
+narrated in a style sufficiently dry and prosaic to prevent the soul
+of poetry from finding some expression, however short of the truth. It
+seems to us that there is much error in the common notions regarding
+matters of fact. Starting from the unquestionable axiom that
+historians should deal with facts and principles, not with fictions
+and sentimentalities, most people have illogically concluded that
+those histories are the worthiest of belief which address the
+understanding alone, and studiously avoid all the arts of
+representation. Now this is false in two respects--such histories not
+only giving imperfect and partial views of facts, but disabling the
+memory from retaining even them. Facts and events, whether we regard
+them singly or in their relations, can be perceived and remembered
+only as they are presented to the whole nature. They must be realized
+as well as generalized. The sensibility and imagination, as well as
+the understanding are to be addressed. As far as possible they should
+be made as real to the mind as any event which experience has stamped
+on the memory. History thus written, is written close to the truth of
+things, and conveys real knowledge. Far from departing from facts, or
+exaggerating them, it is the only kind of history which thoroughly
+comprehends them. We should never forget that the events which have
+occurred in the world, are expressions of the nature of man under a
+variety of circumstances and conditions, and that these events must be
+interpreted in the light of that common humanity which binds all men
+together. History, therefore, differs from true poetry, not so much in
+intensity and fullness of representation; not so much in the force,
+vividness and distinctness with which things are brought home to the
+heart and brain, as in difference of object. The historian and the
+poet are both bound to deal with human nature, but one gives us its
+actual development, the other its possible; one shows us what man has
+done, the other what man can do. The annalist who does not enable us
+to see mankind in real events, is as unnatural as the poetaster who
+substitutes monstrosities for men in fictitious events.
+
+We accordingly welcome with peculiar heartiness all attempts at
+realizing history, by evolving its romantic element, and thus
+demonstrating to the languid and lazy readers of ninepenny nonsense,
+that the actual heroes and heroines of the world have surpassed in
+romantic daring the fictitious ones who swell and swagger in most
+novels and poems. Mr. Gayarre's work is more interesting, both as
+regards its characters and incidents, than Jane Eyre or James's
+"last," for, in truth, it requires a mind of large scope to imagine as
+great things as many men, in every country, have really performed. The
+History of Louisiana affords a rich field to the poet and romancer,
+who is content simply to reproduce in their original life some of its
+actual scenes and characters; and Mr. Gayarre has, to a considerable
+extent, succeeded in this difficult and delicate task. The work
+evinces a mind full of the subject; and if defective at all, the
+defect is rather in style than matter. The author evidently had two
+temptations to hasty composition--a copious vocabulary and complete
+familiarity with his subject. There is an occasional impetuosity and
+recklessness in his manner, and a general habit of tossing off his
+sentences with an air of disdainful indifference, which characterizes
+a large class of amateur southern writers. Such a style is often rapid
+from heedlessness rather than force, and animated from caprice rather
+than fire. The timid correctness of an elegant diction is not more
+remote from beauty than the defiant carelessness of a reckless one is
+from power; and to avoid Mr. Prettyman, it is by no means necessary to
+"fraternize" with Sir Forcible Feeble. Mr. Gayarre has produced so
+pleasant a book, and gives evidence of an ability to do so much toward
+familiarizing American history to the hearts and imaginations of the
+people, that we trust he will not only give us more books, but subject
+their style to a more scrupulous examination than he has the present.
+
+
+ _Universal and Critical Dictionary of the English
+ Language. By Joseph E. Worcester. Boston: Wilkins,
+ Carter, & Co. 1 vol. 8vo._
+
+
+The present century has been distinguished above all others in the
+history of English lexicography, for the number and excellence of its
+dictionaries. It is a matter of pride to Americans that so far the
+United States are in advance of England, in regard to the sagacity and
+labor devoted to the English language. Of those who have done most in
+this department, the pre-eminence belongs to Dr. Webster and Dr.
+Worcester. Each has published a Dictionary of great value; and that of
+the latter is now before us. It bears on every page marks of the most
+gigantic labor, and must have been the result of many long years of
+thought and investigation. Its arrangement is admirable, and its
+definitions clear, concise, critical, and ever to the purpose. The
+introduction, devoted to the principles of pronunciation, orthography,
+English Grammar, the origin, formation, and etymology of the English
+language; and the History of English Lexicography is laden with
+important information, drawn from a wide variety of sources. Dr.
+Worcester has also, in the appendix, enlarged and improved Walker's
+Key to the Classical Pronunciation of Greek, Latin, and Scripture
+Names, and added the pronunciation of modern geographical names. Taken
+as a whole, we think the dictionary one which not even the warmest
+admirers of Dr. Webster can speak of without respect. The advantage
+which Dr. Worcester's dictionary holds over Dr. Webster's may be
+compressed in one word--objectiveness. The English language, as a
+whole, is seen through a more transparent medium in the former than in
+the latter. Dr. Webster, with all his great merits as a lexicographer,
+loved to meddle with the language too much. Dr. Worcester is content
+to take it as it is, without any intrusion of his own idiosyncracies.
+We think that both dictionaries are honorable to the country, and that
+each has its peculiar excellencies. Perhaps the student of
+lexicography could spare neither.
+
+
+ _The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha. From the
+ Spanish of Cervantes. With Illustrations by Schoff.
+ Boston: Charles H. Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+This is a very handsome edition of one of the most wonderful creations
+of the human intellect, elegantly illustrated with appropriate
+engravings. It is to a certain extent a family edition, omitting only
+those portions of the original which would shock the modesty of modern
+times. We know that there is a great opposition among men of letters
+to the practice of meddling with a work of genius, and suppressing any
+portion of it. To a considerable extent we sympathize with this
+feeling. But when the question lies between a purified edition and the
+withdrawal of the book from popular circulation, we go for the former.
+Don Quixote is a pertinent instance. It is not now a book generally
+read by many classes of people, especially young women, and the
+younger branches of a family. The reason consists in the coarseness of
+particular passages and sentences. Strike these out, and there remains
+a body of humor, pathos, wisdom, humanity, expressed in characters and
+incidents of engrossing interest, which none can read without benefit
+and pleasure. The present volume, which might be read by the fireside
+of any family, is so rich in all the treasures of its author's
+beautiful and beneficent genius, that we heartily wish it an extensive
+circulation. It is got up with great care by one who evidently
+understands Cervantes; and the unity of the work, with all its
+beautiful episodes, is not broken by the omissions.
+
+
+_Wuthuring Heights. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+This novel is said to be by the author of Jane Eyre, and was eagerly
+caught at by a famished public, on the strength of the report. It
+afforded, however, but little nutriment, and has universally
+disappointed expectation. There is an old saying that those who eat
+toasted cheese at night will dream of Lucifer. The author of Wuthuring
+Heights has evidently eat toasted cheese. How a human being could have
+attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before
+he had finished a dozen chapters, is a mystery. It is a compound of
+vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors, such as we might suppose a
+person, inspired by a mixture of brandy and gunpowder, might write for
+the edification of fifth-rate blackguards. Were Mr. Quilp alive we
+should be inclined to believe that the work had been dictated by him
+to Lawyer Brass, and published by the interesting sister of that legal
+gentleman.
+
+
+ _A Discourse on the Life, Character, and Public
+ Services of James Kent, late Chancellor of the State of
+ New York. By John Duer. New York: D. Appleton & Co._
+
+
+This discourse was originally delivered before the Judiciary and Bar
+of the city and State of New York. In a style of unpretending
+simplicity it gives a full length portrait of the great chancellor,
+doing complete justice to his life and works, and avoiding all the
+vague commendations and meaningless generalities of commonplace
+eulogy. One charm of the discourse comes from its being the testimony
+of a surviving friend to the intellectual and moral worth of a great
+man, without being marred by the exaggeration of personal attachment.
+Judge Kent's mind and character needed but justice, and could dispense
+with charity, even when friendship was to indicate the grasp of the
+one and the excellence of the other.
+
+
+ _Memorials of the Introduction of Methodism into the
+ Eastern States. By Rev. A. Stevens, A. M. Boston:
+ Charles H. Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+Mr. Stevens takes a high rank among the leading minds of his
+denomination. The present work shows that he combines the power of
+patient research with the ability to express its results in a lucid,
+animated, and elegant style. His biographies of the Methodist
+preachers have the interest of a story. Indeed, out of the Catholic
+Church, there is no religious chivalry whose characters and actions
+partake so much of heroism, and of that fine enthusiasm which almost
+loses its own identity in the objects it contemplates, as the
+Methodist priests.
+
+
+ _The Inundation; or Pardon and Peace. A Christmas
+ Story. By Mrs. Gore. With Illustrations by Geo.
+ Cruikshank. Boston: C. H. Peirce. 1 vol. 18mo._
+
+
+This is a delightful little story, interesting from its incidents and
+characters, and conveying excellent morality and humanity in a
+pleasing dress. The illustrations are those of the London edition, and
+are admirably graphic. Cruikshank's mode of making a face expressive
+of character by caricaturing it, is well exhibited in his sketches in
+the present volume.
+
+
+ _The Book of Visions, being a Transcript of the Record
+ of the Secret Thoughts of a Variety of Individuals
+ while attending Church._
+
+
+The design of this little work is original and commendable. It is
+written to do good, and we trust may answer the expectations of its
+author. It enters the bosoms of members of the cabinet, members of
+congress, bankers, lawyers, editors, &c
+
+., and reports the secret
+meditations of those who affect to be worshipers. It is published by
+J. W. MOORE of this city.
+
+
+
+
+DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE.
+
+TOILETTE DE VILLE.--Dress of Nankin silk, ornamented in the front of
+the skirt with bias trimming of the same stuff, fastened by silk
+buttons; corsage plain, with a rounded point, ornamented at the skirt;
+sleeves half long, with bias trimming; under sleeves of puffed muslin;
+capote of white crape, ornamented with two plumes falling upon the
+side.
+
+SUR LE COTE.--Dress of blue glacé taffetas, trimmed with two puffs
+alike, disposed (en tablier;) corsage plain, low in the neck, and
+trimmed with puffs from the shoulder to the point, and down the side
+seam; sleeves short, and puffed; stomacher of plaited muslin, (under
+sleeves of puffed muslin;) cap of lace, lower part puffed, without
+trimming, ornamented with two long lappets, fastened with some bows of
+yellow ribbon.
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Small errors in punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been
+corrected silently. Minor irregularities in spelling have been
+maintained as in the original.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1
+July 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 29741-8.txt or 29741-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+ https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/7/4/29741/
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+ <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" />
+ <title>
+ The Project Gutenberg Canada eBook of "Graham's Magazine Vol
+ XXXII No. 7 July 1848", by George R. Graham.
+ </title>
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+
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+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 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 XXXIII No. 1 July 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+ Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: August 20, 2009 [EBook #29741]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h2>GRAHAM'S</h2>
+
+<h2>AMERICAN MONTHLY</h2>
+
+<h1>MAGAZINE</h1>
+<br />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/001literature.png" width="200" height="28"
+alt="Of Literature and Art" title="" /></div>
+
+
+<h5>EMBELLISHED WITH</h5>
+
+<h4>MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.</h4>
+
+<h4>WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING, HENRY<br />
+W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.</h4>
+
+<h4>MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, MRS. EMMA C.<br />
+EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY, MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.<br />
+PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.</h4>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h3>G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.</h3>
+<br /><br />
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h2>VOLUME XXXIII.</h2>
+<hr class="short" />
+<br /><br />
+
+<h4>PHILADELPHIA:<br />
+SAMUEL D. PATTERSON &amp; CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.</h4>
+
+<h4>.........</h4>
+
+<h6>1848.</h6>
+<br /><br />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<h6>OF THE</h6>
+
+<h3>THIRTY-THIRD VOLUME.</h3>
+
+<h4>JUNE, 1848, TO JANUARY, 1849.</h4>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+
+
+<table summary="volume TOC" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td>A Night on the Ice.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Solitaire</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">18</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Aunt Mable's Love Story.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Susan Pindar</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">107</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Angila Mervale.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">F. E. F.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">121</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Written Leaf of Memory.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Fanny Lee</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">137</td></tr>
+<tr><td>An Indian-Summer Ramble.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">A. B. Street</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">147</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Leaf in the Life of Ledyard Lincoln.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mary Spencer Pease</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">197</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Pic-Nic in Olden Time.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">229</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Dream Within a Dream.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">C. A. Washburn</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">233</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Scene on the Susquehanna.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Joseph R. Chandler</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">275</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Legend of Clare.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. Gerahty M'teague</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">278</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Day or Two in the Olden Time.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">A New Contributor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">287</td></tr>
+<tr><td>De Lamartine.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Francis J. Grund</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">25</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Edith Maurice.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">T. S. Arthur</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">284</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fiel a la Muerte, or True Loves Devotion.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Henry W. Herbert</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">4, 84, 153</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Going to Heaven.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">T. S. Arthur</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">13</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Game-Birds of America.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Prof. Frost</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">291</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Gems from Late Readings</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">295</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Game-Birds of America.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Prof. Frost</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">357</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Gems from Late Readings</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">364</td></tr>
+<tr><td>My Aunt Polly.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mrs. E. C. Kinney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">34</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mexican Jealousy.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Ecolier</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">172</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mary Dunbar.</td>
+<td>By the Author of "<span class="smcap">The Three Calls</span>"</td>
+<td class="tdr">268</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mildred Ward.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Caroline H. Butler</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">301</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mrs. Tiptop.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mrs. E. C. Kinney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">325</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Overboard in the Gulf.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">C. J. Peterson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">337</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Rising in the World.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">F. E. F.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">41</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Reflections on Some of the Events of the Year 1848.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Joseph R. Chandler</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">318</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Rochester's Return.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Joseph A. Nunes</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">341</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sam Needy.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">204</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Scouting Near Vera Cruz.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Ecolier</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">211</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Fane-Builder.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Emma C. Embury</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">38</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Sagamore of Saco.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Oakes Smith</span>\</td>
+<td class="tdr">47</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Late Maria Brooks.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap"> R. W. Griswold</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">61</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Cruise of the Raker.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Henry A. Clark</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">69, 129, 188, 257</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Maid of Bogota.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">W. Gilmore Simms</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">75</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Departure.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Ann S. Stephens</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">93</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Man Who Was Never Humbugged.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">A Limner</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">112</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Christmas Garland.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Emma Wood</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">163</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Unmarried Belle.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Enna Duval</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">181</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Humbling of a Fairy.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">214</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Will.</td>
+<td>By Miss <span class="smcap">E. A. Dupuy</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">220</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Bride of Fate.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">W. Gilmore Simms</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">241</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Knights of the Ringlet.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Giftie</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">253</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Sailor's Life-Tale.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Sybil Sutherland</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">311</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Exhausted Topic.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Caroline C&mdash;&mdash;</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">330</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Early Called.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Frances B. M. Brotherson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">347</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Lady of Fernheath.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mary Spencer Pease</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">349</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+
+<h3>POETRY.</h3>
+<table summary="POETRY" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td>A New England Legend.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Caroline F. Orne</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">126</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Farewell to a Happy Day.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Frances S. Osgood</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">203</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Night Thought.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">T. Buchanan Read</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">219</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Voice for Poland.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. C. Hosmer</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">228</td></tr>
+<tr><td>An Evening Song.</td>
+<td>By Prof. <span class="smcap">Wm. Campbell</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">235</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Requiem in the North.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. B. Taylor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">256</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Vision.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">E. Curtiss Hine</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">267</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Lay.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Grace Greenwood</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">310</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Angels on Earth.</td>
+<td>By<span class="smcap"> Blanche Bennairde</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">324</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Brutus in His Tent.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. C. Hosmer</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">115</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Death.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Thomas Dunn English</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">3</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Dream-Music.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Frances S. Osgood</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">39</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Description of a Visit to Niagara.</td>
+<td>By Professor <span class="smcap">James Moffat</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">106</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Dreams.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">E. O. H</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">196</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Death.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">256</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Erin Waking.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Wm. H. C. Hosmer</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">360</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Gold.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">R. H. Stoddart</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">3</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Gautama's Song of Rest.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. B. Taylor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">361</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Heads of the Poets.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">W. Gilmore Simms</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">170</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hope On&mdash;Hope Ever.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">E. Curtiss Hine</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">171</td></tr>
+<tr><td>I Want to Go Home.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Richard Coe, Jr.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">213</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Korner's Sister.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth J. Eames</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">111</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Life.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">A. J. Requier</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">294</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Love Thy Mother, Little One.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Richard Coe, Jr.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">346</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lines to a Sketch of J. Bayard Taylor, in His Alpine Costume.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Geo. W. Dewey</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">360</td></tr>
+<tr><td>My Bird.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Jane C. Campbell</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">252</td></tr>
+<tr><td>My Love.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. Ives Pease</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">294</td></tr>
+<tr><td>My Native Isle.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mary G. Horsford</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">340</td></tr>
+<tr><td>My Father's Grave.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">S. D. Anderson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">361</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ornithologoi.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. M. Legare</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">1</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ode to the Moon.</td>
+<td>By Mrs.<span class="smcap"> E. C. Kinney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">251</td></tr>
+<tr><td>One of the "Southern Tier of Counties.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Alfred B. Street</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">329</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Passed Away.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">W. Wallace Shaw</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">234</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Pedro and Inez.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth J. Eames</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">277</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sir Humphrey Gilbert.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Henry W. Longfellow</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Study.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Henry S. Hagert</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">37</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Summer.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">E. Curtiss Hine</span>, U.S.N.</td>
+<td class="tdr">105</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sonnet.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Caroline F. Orne</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">106</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Song of Sleep.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">128</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sunshine and Rain.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">162</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Supplication.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Fayette Robinson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">267</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Stanzas.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">S. S. Hornor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">286</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sonnet.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Oakes Smith</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">340</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Land of the West.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">T. Buchanan Read</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">12</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Lydia.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">17</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Thanksgiving of the Sorrowful.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Joseph C. Neal</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">24</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Night.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">M. E. T.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Bob-o-link.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Twilight.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">H. D. G.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">46</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Sachem's Hill.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Alfred B. Street</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">52</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Hall of Independence.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. W. Dewey</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">53</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To an Isle of the Sea.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">J. W. Mercur</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">56</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Arabella.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">E. C. Kinney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">56</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Soul's Dream.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George H. Boker</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">74</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To the Eagle.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">E. C. Kinney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">83</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Block-House.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Alfred B. Street</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">92</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Erato.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Thomas Buchanan Read</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">110</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Laborer's Companions.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">110</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Enchanted Knight.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">J. B. Taylor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">111</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Sisters.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">114</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Violet.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Jerome A. Maby</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">115</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Prayer of the Dying Girl.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Samuel D. Patterson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">136</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Spanish Princess to the Moorish Knight.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Grace Greenwood</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">146</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Light of our Home.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Thomas Buchanan Read</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">146</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Lost Pet.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Lydia H. Sigourney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">152</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Poet's Heart.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Charles E. Trail</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">161</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Return to Scenes of Childhood.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Gretta</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">162</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Guadalupe.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mayne Reid</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">174</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Faded Rose.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. G. Foster</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">174</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Child's Appeal.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mary G. Horsford</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">175</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Old Farm-House.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mary L. Lawson</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">175</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Temper Life's Extremes.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">G. S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">187</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Deformed Artist.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">E. N. Horsford</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">202</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Angel of the Soul.</td>
+<td>By J. <span class="smcap">Bayard Taylor</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">210</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Bard.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">S. Anna Lewis</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">219</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To Her Who Can Understand It.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Mayne Reid</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">228</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To the Violet.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">H. T. Tuckerman</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">232</td></tr>
+<tr><td>They May Tell of a Clime.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">C. E. Trail</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">232</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Battle of Life.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Anne C. Lynch</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">266</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Prophet's Rebuke.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Juliet H. L. Campbell</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">274</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Mourners.</td>
+<td>By Rev. <span class="smcap">T. L. Harris</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">317</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Gardener.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">George S. Burleigh</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">328</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Record of December.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">H. Morford</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">335</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Christian Hero's Epitaph.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">B.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">348</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The City of Mexico.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">M. E. Thropp</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">356</td></tr>
+<tr><td>To a Rose-Bud.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Y. S.</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">359</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Visit to Greenwood Cemetery.</td>
+<td>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Lydia H. Sigourney</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">53</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Zenobia.</td>
+<td>By <span class="smcap">Myron L. Mason</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">185</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br />
+
+
+<h3>REVIEWS.</h3>
+<table summary="REVIEWS" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td>Endymion.</td>
+<td>By Henry B. Hirst</td>
+<td class="tdr">57</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Memoir of William Ellery Channing</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">58</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">58</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Romance of the History of Louisiana.</td>
+<td>By Charles Gayarre</td>
+<td class="tdr">59</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Life of Oliver Cromwell.</td>
+<td>By J. T. Headley</td>
+<td class="tdr">118</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Supplement to the Plays of Shakspeare.</td>
+<td>By Wm. Gilmore Simms</td>
+<td class="tdr">119</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.</td>
+<td>By Alphonse de Lamartine</td>
+<td class="tdr">119</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hawkstone: A Tale of and for England in 184-</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">178</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Planetary and Stellar Worlds</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">178</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">179</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Calaynos. A Tragedy.</td>
+<td>By George H. Boker</td>
+<td class="tdr">238</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Literary Sketches and Letters</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">238</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Vanity Fair.</td>
+<td>By W. M. Thackerway</td>
+<td class="tdr">297</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Life, Letters and Literary Remains of Keats</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">297</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Principles of Political Economy.</td>
+<td>By John Stuart Mill</td>
+<td class="tdr">367</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br />
+
+<h3>MUSIC.</h3>
+
+<table summary="Music" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td>The Last of the Bourbons. A French Patriotic Song.</td>
+<td>Written by Alexandre Pantol&eacute;on. Music by J. C. N. G.</td>
+<td class="tdr">54</td></tr>
+<tr><td>"Think Not that I Love Thee." A Ballad.</td>
+<td>Music by J. L. Milner</td>
+<td class="tdr">116</td></tr>
+<tr><td>"'Tis Home where the Heart is."</td>
+<td>Words by Miss L. M. Brown. Music by Karl W. Petersilie</td>
+<td class="tdr">176</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Ocean-Buried.</td>
+<td>Composed by Miss Agnes H. Jones</td>
+<td class="tdr">236</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Voices from the Spirit-Land.</td>
+<td>Words by John S. Adams. Music by Valentine Dister</td>
+<td class="tdr">362</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br />
+
+<h3>ENGRAVINGS.</h3>
+
+<table summary="Engravings" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td>Ornithologoi, engraved by W. E. Tucker.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lamartine, engraved by Sartain.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Departure, engraved by Ellis.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Portrait of Mrs. Brooks, engraved by Parker.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Sisters, engraved by Thompson.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Angila Mervale, engraved by J. Addison.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Lost Pet, engraved by Ellis.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>A Pic-Nic in Olden Time, engraved by Tucker.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Unmarried Belle, engraved by A. B. Ross.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Edith Maurice, engraved by J. Addison.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Supplication, engraved by Ellis.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mildred Ward, engraved by A. B. Ross.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Overboard in the Gulf, engraved by J. D. Gross.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Portrait of J. B. Taylor, engraved by G. Jackman.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS&mdash;ISSUE #1</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span>
+
+<table summary="TOC" width="80%" border="0">
+<tr><td><a href="#ORNITHOLOGOI">ORNITHOLOGOI.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">1</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#DEATH_AN_INVOCATION">DEATH:&mdash;AN INVOCATION.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">3</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#GOLD">GOLD.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">3</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE">FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">4</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_LAND_OF_THE_WEST">THE LAND OF THE WEST.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">12</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#GOING_TO_HEAVEN">GOING TO HEAVEN.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">13</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#TO_LYDIA">TO LYDIA&mdash;WITH A WATCH.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">17</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#A_NIGHT_ON_THE_ICE">A NIGHT ON THE ICE.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">18</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_THANKSGIVING_OF_THE_SORROWFUL">THE THANKSGIVING OF THE SORROWFUL.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">24</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#DE_LAMARTINE">DE LAMARTINE.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">25</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#SIR_HUMPHREY_GILBERT">SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_NIGHT">THE NIGHT.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_BOB_O_LINK">THE BOB-O-LINK.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">33</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#MY_AUNT_POLLY">MY AUNT POLLY.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">34</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#STUDY">STUDY.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">37</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_FANE_BUILDER">THE FANE-BUILDER.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">38</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#DREAM_MUSIC">DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-FLUTE.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">39</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#RISING_IN_THE_WORLD">RISING IN THE WORLD.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">41</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#TWILIGHT_TO_MARY">TWILIGHT.&mdash;TO MARY.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">46</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_SAGAMORE_OF_SACO">THE SAGAMORE OF SACO.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">49</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_SACHEMS_HILL">THE SACHEM's HILL.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">52</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#VISIT_TO_GREENWOOD_CEMETERY">VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">53</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_HALL_OF_INDEPENDENCE">THE HALL OF INDEPENDENCE.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">53</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#THE_LAST_OF_THE_BOURBONS">THE LAST OF THE BOURBONS.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">54</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#TO_AN_ISLE_OF_THE_SEA">TO AN ISLE OF THE SEA.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">56</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#SONNET_TO_ARABELLA">SONNET:&mdash;TO ARABELLA.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">56</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#PROTESTATION">PROTESTATION.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">56</td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS">REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">57</td></tr>
+</table>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 544px;">
+<img src="images/006frontis.png" width="544" height="800"
+alt="ORNITHOLOGOI" title="" /></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1>
+<br />
+<table summary="banner" width="100%" border="0">
+<tr><td>VOL. XXXIII.</td>
+<td class="tdc">PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1848.</td>
+<td class="tdr">No. 1.</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class="full" />
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<h2><a name="ORNITHOLOGOI" id="ORNITHOLOGOI"></a>ORNITHOLOGOI.</h2>
+<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY J. M. LEGARE.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h5>[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost see the far hills disappear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Autumn smoke, and all the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are yellow harvests, rich in bread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For winter use; while over-head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The jays to one another call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the stilly woods there fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The squirrel, perched in upper air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From tree-top barks at thee his fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do spy at thee around the tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, prompted by a sudden whim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down leaping on the quivering limb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gains the smooth hickory, from whence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He nimbly scours along the fence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To secret haunts.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i15">But oftener,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Mother Earth begins to stir,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like a Hadji who hath been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Mecca, wears a caftan green;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When jasmines and azalias fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The air with sweets, and down the hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turbid no more descends the rill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wonder of thy hazel eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft opening on the misty skies&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost smile within thyself to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Things uncontained in, seemingly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The open book upon thy knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the quiet woodlands hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sounds full of mystery to ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of grosser mould&mdash;the myriad cries<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That from the teeming world arise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which we, self-confidently wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thy weak babyhood to learn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arcana of creation; turn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy eyes on things intangible<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mortals; when the earth was still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hear dreamy voices on the hill,<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br />
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In wavy woods, that sent a thrill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of joyousness through thy young veins.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that thou lovest, man disdains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sympathy in joys and pains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With dwellers in the long, green lanes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wings that shady groves explore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With watchers at the torrent's roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And waders by the reedy shore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou, through purity of mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost hear, and art no longer blind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Croak!</span> croak!&mdash;who croaketh over-head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Croak! croak!&mdash;a raven's curse on him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The giver of this shattered limb!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Albeit young, (a hundred years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When next the forest leaved appears,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will Duskywing behold this breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shot-riddled, or divide my nest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wearer of so tattered vest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see myself, with wing awry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Approaching. Duskywing will spy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My altered mien, and shun my eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With laughter bursting, through the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds will scream&mdash;she's quite too good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thee. And yonder meddling jay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear him chatter all the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"He's crippled&mdash;send the thief away!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At every hop&mdash;"don't let him stay."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another song!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i15">Is't not enough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The carrion festering we snuff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gathering down upon the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Release the valley from disease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If longing for more fresh a meal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around the tender flock we wheel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A marksman doth some bush conceal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This very morn, I heard an ewe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lazy wing slow circling round,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until I spied unto the ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lamb by tangled briars bound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bleat to her young&mdash;so loudly cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She heard it not when it replied.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ho, ho!&mdash;a feast! I 'gan to croak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alighting straightway on an oak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The little trembler lie and pant.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down its white nostril bubbled red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gush of blood; ere life had fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My beak was buried in its eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turned tearfully upon the skies&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No longer couldst thou sit and hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This demon prate in upper air&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deeds horrible to maiden ear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begone, thou spokest. Over-head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The startled fiend his pinion spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And croaking maledictions, fled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, hark! who at some secret door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou seest how around the tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With scarlet head for hammer, he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Probes where the haunts of insects be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The worm in labyrinthian hole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begins his sluggard length to roll;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But crafty Rufus spies the prey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his mallet beats away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loose bark, crumbling to decay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then chirping loud, with wing elate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He bears the morsel to his mate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mate, she sitteth on her nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In sober feather plumage dressed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A matron underneath whose breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three little tender heads appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With bills distent from ear to ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each clamors for the bigger share;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whilst they clamor, climb&mdash;and, lo!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the margin, to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unsteady poised, one wavers slow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too late; for venturesome, yet weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His frail legs falter under him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He falls&mdash;but from a lower limb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A moment dangles, thence again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Launched out upon the air, in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He spread his little plumeless wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But thou, who all didst see and hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Young, active, wast already there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And caught the flutterer in air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then up the tree to topmost limb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A vine for ladder, borest him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against thy cheek his little heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou spokest smiling; comfort thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With joyous cries the parents flee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy presence none&mdash;confidingly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pour out their very hearts to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mockbird sees thy tenderness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deed; doth with melodiousness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In many tongues, thy praise express.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the while, his dappled wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He claps his sides with, as he sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From perch to perch his body flings:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A poet he, to ecstasy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stay, stay!&mdash;I hear a flutter now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath yon flowering alder bough.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear a little plaintive voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That did at early morn rejoice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make a most sad yet sweet complaint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying, "my heart is very faint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With its unutterable wo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What shall I do, where can I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My cruel anguish to abate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! my poor desolated mate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear Cherry, will our haw-bush seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joyful, and bearing in her beak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fresh seeds, and such like dainties, won<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By careful search. But they are gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom she did brood and dote upon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! if there be a mortal ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sorrowful complaint to hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If manly breast is ever stirred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By wrong done to a helpless bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To them for quick redress I cry."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moved by the tale, and drawing nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On alder branch thou didst espy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How, sitting lonely and forlorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His breast was pressed upon a thorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unknowing that he leant thereon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then bidding him take heart again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou rannest down into the lane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To seek the doer of this wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor under hedgerow hunted long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, sturdy, rude, and sun-embrowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A child thy earnest seeking found.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To him in sweet and modest tone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou madest straight thy errand known.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With gentle eloquence didst show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Things erst he surely did not know)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How great an evil he had done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How, when next year the mild May sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Renewed its warmth, this shady lane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No timid birds would haunt again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how around his mother's door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The robins, yearly guests before&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew their names&mdash;would come no more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if his prisoners he released,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before their little bosoms ceased<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To palpitate, each coming year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would find them gladly reappear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sing his praises everywhere&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweetest, dearest songs to hear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And afterward, when came the term<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ripened corn, the robber worm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would hunt through every blade and turn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Impatient thus his smile to earn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At first, flushed, angrily, and proud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He answered thee with laughter loud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brief retort. But thou didst speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So mild, so earnestly did seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To change his mood, in wonder first<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He eyed thee; then no longer durst<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Raise his bold glances to thy face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, looking down, began to trace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With little, naked foot and hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughtful devices in the sand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when at last thou didst relate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad affliction of the mate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When to the well-known spot she came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hung his head for very shame;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His penitential tears to hide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His face averted while he cried;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Here, take them all, I've no more pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In climbing up to rob a nest&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've better feelings in my breast."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then thanking him with heart and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou tookest from his grasp the prize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bid the little freedmen rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when thou sawest how too weak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their pinions were, the nest didst seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And called thy client. Down he flew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instant, and with him Cherry too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fluttering after, not a few<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the minuter feathered race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled with their warbling all the place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From hedge and pendent branch and vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recounted still that deed of thine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gladly&mdash;more heartily, be sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were praises never sung before.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beholding thee, they understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(These Minne-singers of the land)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How thou apart from all dost stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full of great love and tenderness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all God's creatures&mdash;these express<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All things that are, to thee are linked<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By subtle ties; and none so mean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or loathsome hast thou ever seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But wonderous in make hath been.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Compassionate, thou seest none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of insect tribes beneath the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou canst set thy heel upon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sympathy thou hast with wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In groves, and with all living things.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unmindful if they walk or crawl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The same arm shelters each and all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shadow of the Curse and Fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alike impends. Ah! truly great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who strivest earnestly and late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A single atom to abate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of helpless wo and misery.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For very often thou dost see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How sadly and how helplessly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pleading face looks up to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore it is, thou canst not choose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With petty tyranny to abuse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy higher gifts; and justly fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The feeblest worm of earth or air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thy heart's judgment to condemn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since God made thee, and God made them.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="DEATH_AN_INVOCATION"></a>DEATH:&mdash;AN INVOCATION.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou art no king of terrors&mdash;sweet Death!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But a maiden young and fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And golden is thy hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the smile that flickers thy lips upon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has a light beyond compare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come then, Death, from the dark-brown shades<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where thou hast lingered long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come to the haunts where sins abound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And troubles thickly throng,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lay thy bridal kiss on the lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a child of sorrow and song.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For I can gaze with a rapture deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon thy lovely face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many a smile I find therein,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where another a frown would trace&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As a lover would clasp his new-made bride<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will take thee to my embrace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come, oh, come! I long for thy look;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I weary to win thy kiss&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bear me away from a world of wo<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To a world of quiet bliss&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in that I may kneel to God alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which I may not do in this.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For woman and wealth they woo pursuit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a winning voice has fame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men labor for love and work for wealth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And struggle to gain a name;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet find but fickleness, need and scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If not the brand of shame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then carry me hence, sweet Death&mdash;<i>my</i> Death!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Must I woo thee still in vain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come at the morn or come at the eve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or come in the sun or rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But come&mdash;oh, come! for the loss of life<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To me is the chiefest gain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="GOLD" id="GOLD"></a>GOLD.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY R. H. STODDARD.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! my heart is sick when I behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The deep engrossing interest of wealth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How eagerly men sacrifice their health,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, honor, fame and truth for sordid gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dealing in sin, and wrong, and tears, and strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their only aim and business in life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To gain and heap together shining store;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Alchemists, mad as e'er were those of yore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Transmuting every thing to glittering dross,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wasting their energies o'er magic scrolls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Day-books and ledgers leaden, gain and loss&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Casting the holiest feelings of their souls<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">High hopes, and aspirations, and desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath their crucibles to feed th' accursed fires!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE" id="FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE"></a>FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+
+<h3>A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>There was a mighty stir in the streets of Paris, as Paris' streets
+were in the olden time. A dense and eager mob had taken possession, at
+an early hour of the day, of all the environs of the Bastile, and
+lined the way which led thence to the Place de Greve in solid and
+almost impenetrable masses.</p>
+
+<p>People of all conditions were there, except the very highest; but the
+great majority of the concourse was composed of the low populace, and
+the smaller bourgeoisie. Multitudes of women were there, too, from the
+girl of sixteen to the beldam of sixty, nor had mothers been ashamed
+to bring their infants in their arms into that loud and tumultuous
+assemblage.</p>
+
+<p>Loud it was and tumultuous, as all great multitudes are, unless they
+are convened by purposes too resolutely dark and solemn to find any
+vent in noise. When that is the case, let rulers beware, for peril is
+at hand&mdash;perhaps the beginning of the end.</p>
+
+<p>But this Parisian mob, although long before this period it had learned
+the use of barricades, though noisy, turbulent, and sometimes even
+violent in the demonstrations of its impatience, was any thing but
+angry or excited.</p>
+
+<p>On the contrary, it seemed to be on the very tip-toe of pleasurable
+expectation, and from the somewhat frequent allusions to <i>notre bon
+roi</i>, which circulated among the better order of spectators, it would
+appear that the government of the Fifteenth Louis was for the moment
+in unusually good odor with the good folks of the metropolis.</p>
+
+<p>What was the spectacle to which they were looking forward with so much
+glee&mdash;which had brought forth young delicate girls, and tender
+mothers, into the streets at so early an hour&mdash;which, as the day
+advanced toward ten o'clock of the morning, was tempting forth laced
+cloaks, and rapiers, and plumed hats, and here and there, in the
+cumbrous carriages of the day, the proud and luxurious ladies of the
+gay metropolis?</p>
+
+<p>One glance toward the centre of the Place de Greve was sufficient to
+inform the dullest, for there uprose, black, grisly, horrible, a tall
+stout pile of some thirty feet in height, with a huge wheel affixed
+horizontally to the summit.</p>
+
+<p>Around this hideous instrument of torture was raised a scaffold hung
+with black cloth, and strewed with saw-dust, for the convenience of
+the executioners, about three feet lower than the wheel which
+surmounted it.</p>
+
+<p>Around this frightful apparatus were drawn up two companies of the
+French guard, forming a large hollow-square facing outwards, with
+muskets loaded, and bayonets fixed, as if they apprehended an attempt
+at rescue, although from the demeanor of the people nothing appeared
+at that time to be further from their thoughts than any thing of the
+kind.</p>
+
+<p>Above was the executioner-in-chief, with two grim, truculent-looking
+assistants, making preparations for the fearful operation they were
+about to perform, or leaning indolently on the instruments of
+slaughter.</p>
+
+<p>By and bye, as the day wore onward, and the concourse kept still
+increasing both in numbers and in the respectability of those who
+composed it, something of irritation began to show itself, mingled
+with the eagerness and expectation of the populace, and from some
+murmurs, which ran from time to time through their ranks, it would
+seem that they apprehended the escape of their victim.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the windows of all the houses which overlooked the
+precincts of that fatal square on which so much of noble blood has
+been shed through so many ages, were occupied by persons of both
+sexes, all of the middle, and some even of the upper classes, as eager
+to behold the frightful and disgusting scene, which was about to
+ensue, as the mere rabble in the open streets below.</p>
+
+<p>The same thing was manifest along the whole line of the thoroughfare
+by which the fatal procession would advance, with this difference
+alone, that many of the houses in that quarter belonging to the high
+nobility, and all with few exceptions being the dwellings of opulent
+persons, the windows, instead of being let like seats at the opera, to
+any who would pay the price, were occupied by the inhabitants, coming
+and going from their ordinary avocations to look out upon the noisy
+throng, when any louder outbreak of voices called their attention to
+the busy scene.</p>
+
+<p>Among the latter, in a large and splendid mansion, not far from the
+Porte St. Antoine, and commanding a direct view of the Place de la
+Bastille, with its esplanade, drawbridge, and principal entrance, a
+group was collected at one of the windows, nearly overlooking the gate
+itself, which seemed to take the liveliest interest in the proceedings
+of the day, although that interest was entirely unmixed with any thing
+like the brutal expectation, and morbid love of horrible excitement
+which characterized the temper of the multitude.</p>
+
+<p>The most prominent person of this group was a singularly noble-looking
+man, fast verging to his fiftieth year, if he had not yet attained it.
+His countenance, though resolute and firm, with a clear, piercing eye,
+lighted up at times, for a moment, by a quick, fiery flash, was calm,
+benevolent, and pensive in its ordinary mood, rather than energetical
+or active.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> Yet it was easy to perceive that the mind, which informed
+it, was of the highest capacity both of intellect and imagination.</p>
+
+<p>The figure and carriage of this gentleman would have sufficiently
+indicated that, at some period of his life, he had borne arms and led
+the life of a camp&mdash;which, indeed, at that day was only to say that he
+was a nobleman of France&mdash;but a long scar on his right brow, a little
+way above the eye, losing itself among the thick locks of his fine
+waving hair, and a small round cicatrix in the centre of his cheek,
+showing where a pistol ball had found entrance, proved that he had
+been where blows were falling thickest, and that he had not spared his
+own person in the <i>mel&eacute;e</i>.</p>
+
+<p>His dress was very rich, according to the fashion of the day, though
+perhaps a fastidious eye might have objected that it partook somewhat
+of the past mode of the Regency, which had just been brought to a
+conclusion as my tale commences, by the resignation of the witty and
+licentious Philip of Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>If, however, this fine-looking gentleman was the most prominent, he
+certainly was not the most interesting person of the company, which
+consisted, beside himself, of an ecclesiastic of high rank in the
+French church, a lady, now somewhat advanced in years, but showing the
+remains of beauty which, in its prime, must have been extraordinary,
+and of a boy in his fifteenth or sixteenth year.</p>
+
+<p>For notwithstanding the eminent distinction, and high intellect of the
+elder nobleman, the dignity of the abb&eacute;, not unsupported by all which
+men look for as the outward and visible signs of that dignity, and the
+grace and beauty of the lady, it was upon the boy alone that the eye
+of every spectator would have dwelt, from the instant of its first
+discovering him.</p>
+
+<p>He was tall of his age, and very finely made, of proportions which
+gave promise of exceeding strength when he should arrive at maturity,
+but strength uncoupled to any thing of weight or clumsiness. He was
+unusually free, even at this early period, from that heavy and
+ungraceful redundance of flesh which not unfrequently is the
+forerunner of athletic power in boys just bursting into manhood; for
+he was already as conspicuous for the thinness of his flanks, and the
+shapely hollow of his back, as for the depth and roundness of his
+chest, the breadth of his shoulders, and the symmetry of his limbs.</p>
+
+<p>His head was well set on, and his whole bearing was that of one who
+had learned ease, and grace, and freedom, combined with dignity of
+carriage, in no school of practice and mannerism, but from the example
+of those with whom he had been brought up, and by familiar intercourse
+from his cradle upward with the high-born and gently nurtured of the
+land.</p>
+
+<p>His long rich chestnut hair fell down in natural masses, undisfigured
+as yet by the hideous art of the court hair-dresser, on either side
+his fine broad forehead, and curled, untortured by the crisping-irons,
+over the collar of his velvet jerkin. His eyes were large and very
+clear, of the deepest shade of blue, with dark lashes, yet full of
+strong, tranquil light. All his features were regular and shapely, but
+it was not so much in the beauty of their form, or in the harmony of
+their coloring that the attractiveness of his aspect consisted, as in
+the peculiarity and power of his expression.</p>
+
+<p>For a boy of his age, the pensiveness and composure of that expression
+were indeed almost unnatural, and they combined with a calm firmness
+and immobility of feature, which promised, I know not what of
+resolution and tenacity of purpose. It was not gravity, much less
+sternness, or sadness, that lent so powerful an expression to that
+young face; nor was there a single line which indicated coldness or
+hardness of heart, or which would have led to a suspicion that he had
+been schooled by those hard monitors, suffering and sorrow. No, it was
+pure thoughtfulness, and that of the highest and most intellectual
+order, which characterized the boy's expression.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, though it was so thoughtful, there was nothing in the aspect
+whence to forebode a want of the more masculine qualifications. It was
+the thoughtfulness of a worker, not of a dreamer&mdash;the thoughtfulness
+which prepares, not unfits a man for action.</p>
+
+<p>If the powers portrayed in that boy's countenance were not deceptive
+to the last degree, high qualities were within, and a high destiny
+before him.</p>
+
+<p>But who, from the foreshowing and the bloom of sixteen years, may
+augur of the finish and the fruit of the three-score and ten, which
+are the sum of human toil and sorrow?</p>
+
+<p>It was now nearly noon, when the outer drawbridge of the Bastile was
+lowered and its gate opened, and forth rode, two a-breast, a troop of
+the mousquetaires, or life-guard, in the bright steel casques and
+cuirasses, with the musquetoons, from which they derived their name,
+unslung and ready for action. As they issued into the wider space
+beyond the bridge, the troopers formed themselves rapidly into a sort
+of hollow column, the front of which, some eight file deep, occupied
+the whole width of the street, two files in close order composing each
+flank, and leaving an open space in the centre completely surrounded
+by the horsemen.</p>
+
+<p>Into this space, without a moment's delay, there was driven a low
+black cart, or hurdle as it was technically called, of the rudest
+construction, drawn by four powerful black horses, a savage-faced
+official guiding them by the ropes which supplied the place of reins.
+On this ill-omened vehicle there stood three persons, the prisoner,
+and two of the armed wardens of the Bastile, the former ironed very
+heavily, and the latter bristling with offensive weapons.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately in the rear of this car followed another troop of the
+life-guard, which closed up in the densest and most serried order
+around and behind the victim of the law, so as to render any attempt
+at rescue useless.</p>
+
+<p>The person, to secure whose punishment so strong a military force had
+been produced, and to witness whose execution so vast a multitude was
+collected, was a tall, noble-looking man of forty or forty-five years,
+dressed in a rich mourning-habit of the day, but wearing neither hat
+nor mantle. His dark hair,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> mixed at intervals with thin lines of
+silver, was cut short behind, contrary to the usage of the times, and
+his neck was bare, the collar of his superbly laced shirt being folded
+broadly back over the cape of his pourpoint.</p>
+
+<p>His face was very pale, and his complexion being naturally of the
+darkest, the hue of his flesh, from which all the healthful blood had
+receded, was strangely livid and unnatural in its appearance. Still it
+did not seem that it was fear which had blanched his cheeks, and
+stolen all the color from his compressed lip, for his eye was full of
+a fierce, scornful light, and all his features were set and steady
+with an expression of the calmest and most iron resolution.</p>
+
+<p>As the fatal vehicle which bore him made its appearance on the
+esplanade without the gates of the prison, a deep hum of satisfaction
+ran through the assembled concourse, rising and deepening gradually
+into a savage howl like that of a hungry tiger.</p>
+
+<p>Then, then blazed out the haughty spirit, the indomitable pride of the
+French noble! Then shame, and fear, and death itself, which he was
+looking even now full in the face, were all forgotten, all absorbed in
+his overwhelming scorn of the people!</p>
+
+<p>The blood rushed in a torrent to his brow, his eye seemed to lighten
+forth actual fire, as he raised his right hand aloft, loaded although
+it was with such a mass of iron, as a Greek Athlete might have shunned
+to lift, and shook it at the clamorous mob, with a glare of scorn and
+fury that showed how, had he been at liberty, he would have dealt with
+the revilers of his fallen state.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacr&eacute; canaille!</i>" he hissed through his hard-set teeth, "back to
+your gutters and your garbage, or follow, if you can, in silence, and
+learn, if ye lack not courage to look on, how a man should die."</p>
+
+<p>The reproof told; for, though at the contemptuous tone and fell insult
+of the first words the clamor of the rabble route waxed wilder, there
+was so much true dignity in the last sentiment he uttered, and the
+fate to which he was going was so hideous, that a key was struck in
+the popular heart, and thenceforth the tone of the spectators was
+changed altogether.</p>
+
+<p>It was the exultation of the people over the downfall and disgrace of
+a noble that had found tongue in that savage conclamation&mdash;it was the
+apprehension that his dignity, and the interest of his great name,
+would win him pardon from the partial justice of the king, that had
+rendered them pitiless and savage&mdash;and now that their own cruel will
+was about to be gratified, as they beheld how dauntlessly the proud
+lord went to a death of torture, they were stricken with a sort of
+secret shame, and followed the dread train in sullen silence.</p>
+
+<p>As the black car rolled onward, the haughty criminal turned his eyes
+upward, perchance from a sentiment of pride, which rendered it painful
+to him to meet the gaze, whether pitiful or triumphant, of the
+Parisian populace, and as he did so, it chanced that his glance fell
+on the group which I have described, as assembled at the windows of a
+mansion which he knew well, and in which, in happier days, he had
+passed gay and pleasant hours. Every eye of that group, with but one
+exception, was fixed upon himself, as he perceived on the instant; the
+lady alone having turned her head away, as unable to look upon one in
+such a strait, whom she had known under circumstances so widely
+different. There was nothing, however, in the gaze of all these
+earnest eyes that seemed to embarrass, much less to offend the
+prisoner. Deep interest, earnestness, perhaps horror, was expressed by
+one and all; but that horror was not, nor in anywise partook of, the
+abhorrence which appeared to be the leading sentiment of the populace
+below.</p>
+
+<p>As he encountered their gaze, therefore, he drew himself up to his
+full height, and laying his right hand upon his heart bowed low and
+gracefully to the windows at which his friends of past days were
+assembled.</p>
+
+<p>The boy turned his eye quickly toward his father as if to note what
+return he should make to that strange salutation. If it were so, he
+did not remain in doubt a moment, for that nobleman bowed low and
+solemnly to his brother peer with a very grave and sad aspect; and
+even the ecclesiastic inclined his head courteously to the condemned
+criminal.</p>
+
+<p>The boy perhaps marveled, for a look of bewilderment crossed his
+ingenuous features; but it passed away in an instant, and following
+the example of his seniors, he bent his ingenuous brow and sunny locks
+before the unhappy man, who never was again to interchange a salute
+with living mortal.</p>
+
+<p>It would seem that the recipient of that last act of courtesy was
+gratified even beyond the expectation of those who offered it, for a
+faint flush stole over his livid features, from which the momentary
+glow of indignation had now entirely faded, and a slight smile played
+upon his pallid lip, while a tear&mdash;the last he should ever
+shed&mdash;twinkled for an instant on his dark lashes. "True," he muttered
+to himself approvingly&mdash;"the nobles are true ever to their order!"</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of the mob likewise had been attracted to the group above, by
+what had passed, and at first it appeared as if they had taken umbrage
+at the sympathy showed to the criminal by his equals in rank; for
+there was manifested a little inclination to break out again into a
+murmured shout, and some angry words were bandied about, reflecting on
+the pride and party spirit of the proud lords.</p>
+
+<p>But the inclination was checked instantly, before it had time to
+render itself audible, by a word which was circulated, no one knew
+whence or by whom, through the crowded ranks&mdash;"Hush! hush! it is the
+good Lord of St. Renan." And therewith every voice was hushed, so
+fickle is the fancy of a crowd, although it is very certain that four
+fifths of those present knew not, nor had ever heard the name of St.
+Renan, nor had the slightest suspicion what claims he who bore it, had
+either on their respect or forbearance.</p>
+
+<p>The death-train passed on its way, however, unmolested by any further
+show of temper on the part of the crowd, and the crowd itself
+following the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> progress of the hurdle to the place of execution, was
+soon out of sight of the windows occupied by the family of the Count
+de St. Renan.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas! unhappy Kerguelen!" exclaimed the count, with a deep and
+painful sigh, as the fearful procession was lost to sight in the
+distance. "He knows not yet half the bitterness of that which he has
+to undergo."</p>
+
+<p>The boy looked up into his father's face with an inquiring glance,
+which he answered at once, still in the same subdued and solemn voice
+which he had used from the first.</p>
+
+<p>"By the arrangement of his hair and dress I can see that he imagines
+he is to die as a nobleman, by the axe. May Heaven support him when he
+sees the disgraceful wheel."</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to pity the wretch, Louis," cried the lady, who had not
+hitherto spoken, nor even looked toward the criminal as he was passing
+by the windows&mdash;"and yet he was assuredly a most atrocious criminal. A
+cool, deliberate, cold-blooded poisoner! Out upon it! out upon it! The
+wheel is fifty times too good for him!"</p>
+
+<p>"He was all that you say, Marie," replied her husband gravely; "and
+yet I do pity him with all my heart, and grieve for him. I knew him
+well, though we have not met for many years, when we were both young,
+and there was no braver, nobler, better man within the limits of fair
+France. I know, too, how he loved that woman, how he trusted that
+man&mdash;and then to be so betrayed! It seems to me but yesterday that he
+led her to the altar, all tears of happiness, and soft maiden blushes.
+Poor Kerguelen! He was sorely tried."</p>
+
+<p>"But still, my son, he was found wanting. Had he submitted him as a
+Christian to the punishment the good God laid upon him&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The world would have pronounced him a spiritless, dishonored slave,
+father," said the count, answering the ecclesiastic's speech before it
+was yet finished, "and gentlemen would have refused him the hand of
+fellowship."</p>
+
+<p>"Was he justified then, my father?" asked the boy eagerly, who had
+been listening with eager attention to every word that had yet been
+spoken. "Do you think, then, that he was in the right; that he could
+not do otherwise than to slay her? I can understand that he was bound
+to kill the man who had basely wronged his honor&mdash;but a woman!&mdash;a
+woman whom he had once loved too!&mdash;that seems to me most horrible; and
+the mode, by a slow poison! living with her while it took effect!
+eating at the same board with her! sleeping by her side! that seems
+even more than horrible, it was cowardly!"</p>
+
+<p>"God forbid, my son," replied the elder nobleman, "that I should say
+any man was justified who had murdered another in cold blood;
+especially, as you have said, a woman, and by a method so terrible as
+poison. I only mean exactly what I said, that he was tried very
+fearfully, and that under such trial the best and wisest of us here
+below cannot say how he would act himself. Moreover, it would seem
+that mistaken as he was perhaps in the course which he seems to have
+imagined that honor demanded at his hands, he was much mistaken in the
+mode which he took of accomplishing his scheme of vengeance. It was
+made very evident upon his trial that he did nothing, even to that
+wretched traitress, in rage or revenge, but all as he thought in
+honor. He chose a drug which consumed her by a mild and gradual decay,
+without suffering or spasm; he gave her time for repentance, nay, it
+is clearly proved that he convinced her of her sin, reconciled her to
+the part he had taken in her death, and exchanged forgiveness with her
+before she passed away. I do not think myself that to commit a crime
+himself can clear one from dishonor cast upon him by another's act,
+but at the same time I cannot look upon Kerguelen's guilt as of that
+brutal and felonious nature which calls for such a punishment as
+his&mdash;to be broken alive on the wheel, like a hired stabber&mdash;much less
+can I assent to the stigma which is attached to him on all sides,
+while that base, low-lived, treacherous, cogging miscreant, who fell
+too honorably by his honorable sword, meets pity&mdash;God defend us from
+such justice and sympathy!&mdash;and is entombed with tears and honors,
+while the avenger is crushed, living, out of the very shape of
+humanity by the hands of the common hangman."</p>
+
+<p>The churchman's lips moved for a moment, as if he were about to speak
+in reply to the false doctrines which he heard enunciated by that
+upright and honorable man, and good father, but, ere he spoke, he
+reflected that those doctrines were held at that time, throughout
+Christian Europe, unquestioned, and confirmed by prejudice and pride
+beyond all the power of argument or of religion to set them aside, or
+invalidate them. The law of chivalry, sterner and more inflexible than
+that Mosaic code requiring an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,
+which demanded a human life as the sacrifice for every rash word, for
+every wrongful action, was the law paramount of every civilized land
+in that day, and in France perhaps most of all lands, as standing
+foremost in what was then deemed civilization. And the abb&eacute; well knew
+that discussion of this point would only tend to bring out the
+opinions of the Count de St. Renan, in favor of the sanguinary code of
+honor, more decidedly, and consequently to confirm the mind of the
+young man more effectually in what he believed himself to be a fatal
+error.</p>
+
+<p>The young man, who was evidently very deeply interested in the matter
+of the conversation, had devoured every word of his father, as if he
+had been listening to the oracles of a God; and, when he ceased, after
+a pause of some seconds, during which he was pondering very deeply on
+that which he had heard, he raised his intelligent face and said in an
+earnest voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I see, my father, all that you have alleged in palliation of the
+count's crime, and I fully understand you&mdash;though I still think it the
+most terrible thing I ever have heard tell of. But I do not perfectly
+comprehend wherefore you ransack our language of all its deepest terms
+of contempt which to heap upon the head of the Chevalier de la
+Rochederrien? He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> was the count's sworn friend, she was the count's
+wedded wife; they both were forsworn and false, and both betrayed him.
+But in what was the chevalier's fault the greater or the viler?"</p>
+
+<p>Those were strange days, in which such a subject could have been
+discussed between two wise and virtuous parents and a son, whom it was
+their chiefest aim in life to bring up to be a good and honorable
+man&mdash;that son, too, barely more than a boy in years and understanding.
+But the morality of those times was coarser and harder, and, if there
+was no more real vice, there was far less superficial delicacy in the
+manners of society, and the relations between men and women, than
+there is nowadays.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps the true course lies midway; for certainly if there was much
+coarseness then, there is much cant and much squeamishness now, which
+could be excellently well dispensed with.</p>
+
+<p>Beside this, boys were brought into the great world much earlier at
+that period, and were made men of at an age when they would have been
+learning Greek and Latin, had their birth been postponed by a single
+century.</p>
+
+<p>Then, at fifteen, they held commissions, and carried colors in the
+battle's front, and were initiated into all the license of the court,
+the camp, and the forum.</p>
+
+<p>So it came that the discussion of a subject such as that which I have
+described, was very naturally introduced even between parents and a
+beloved and only son by the circumstances of the day. Morals, as
+regards the matrimonial contract, and the intercourse between the
+sexes, have at all times been lower and far less rigid among the
+French, than in nations of northern origin; and never at any period of
+the world was the morality of any country, in this respect, at so low
+an ebb as was France under the reign of the Fifteenth Louis.</p>
+
+<p>The Count de St. Renan replied, therefore, to his son with as little
+restraint as if he had been his equal in age, and equally acquainted
+with the customs and vices of the world, although intrigue and crime
+were the topics of which he had to treat.</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite true, Raoul," replied the count, "that so far as the
+unhappy Lord of Kerguelen was concerned, the guilt of the Chevalier de
+la Rochederrien was, as you say, no deeper, perhaps less deep than
+that of the miserable lady. He was, indeed, bound to Kerguelen by
+every tie of friendship and honor; he had been aided by his purse,
+backed by his sword, nay, I have heard and believe, that he owed his
+life to him. Yet for all that he seduced his wife; and to make it
+worse, if worse it could be, Kerguelen had married her from the
+strongest affection, and till the chevalier brought misery, and
+dishonor, and death upon them, there was no wedded couple in all
+France so virtuous or so happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, sir!" replied Raoul, in tones of great emotion, staring with
+his large, dark eyes as if some strange sight had presented itself to
+him on a sudden.</p>
+
+<p>"I know well, Raoul, and if you have not heard it yet, you will soon
+do so, when you begin to mingle with men, that there are those in
+society, <i>those</i> whom the world regards, moreover, as honorable men,
+who affect to say that he who loves a woman, whether lawfully or
+sinfully, is at once absolved from all considerations except how he
+most easily may win&mdash;or in other words&mdash;ruin her; and consequently
+such men would speak slightly of the chevalier's conduct toward his
+friend, Kerguelen, and affect to regard it as a matter of course, and
+a mere affair of gallantry! But I trust you will remember this, my
+son, that there is nothing <i>gallant</i>, nor can be, in lying, or deceit,
+or treachery of any kind. And further, that to look with eyes of
+passion on the wife of a friend, is in itself both a crime, and an act
+of deliberate dishonor."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not have supposed, sir," replied the boy, blushing very
+deeply, partly it might be from the nature of the subject under
+discussion, and partly from the strength of his emotions, "that any
+cavalier could have regarded it otherwise. It seems to me that to
+betray a friend's honor is a far blacker thing than to betray his
+life&mdash;and surely no man with one pretension to honor, would attempt to
+justify that."</p>
+
+<p>"I am happy to see, Raoul, that you think so correctly on this point.
+Hold to your creed, my dear boy, for there are who shall try ere long
+to shake it. But be sure that is the creed of honor. But, although I
+think La Rochederrien disgraced himself even in this, it was not for
+this only that I termed him, as I deem him, the very vilest and most
+infamous of mankind. For when he had led that poor lady into sin; when
+she had surrendered herself up wholly to his honor; when she had
+placed the greatest trust&mdash;although a guilty trust, I admit&mdash;in his
+faith and integrity that one human being can place in another, the
+base dog betrayed her. He boasted of her weakness, of Kerguelen's
+dishonor, of his own infamy."</p>
+
+<p>"And did not they to whom he boasted of it," exclaimed the noble boy,
+his face flushing fiery red with excitement and indignation, "spurn
+him at once from their presence, as a thing unworthy and beyond the
+pale of law."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Raoul, they laughed at him, applauded his gallant success, and
+jeered at the Lord of Kerguelen."</p>
+
+<p>"Great heaven! and these were gentlemen!"</p>
+
+<p>"They were called such, at least; gentlemen by name and descent they
+were assuredly, but as surely not right gentlemen at heart. Many of
+them, however, in cooler moments, spoke of the traitor and the
+braggart with the contempt and disgust he merited. Some friend of
+Kerguelen's heard what had passed, and deemed it his duty to inform
+him. The most unhappy husband called the seducer to the field, wounded
+him mortally, and&mdash;to increase yet more his infamy&mdash;even in the agony
+of death the slave confessed the whole, and craved forgiveness like a
+dog. Confessed the <i>woman's crime</i>&mdash;you mark me, Raoul!&mdash;had he died
+mute, or died even with a falsehood in his mouth, as I think he was
+bound to do in such extremity, affirming her innocence with his last
+breath, he had saved her, and perhaps spared her wretched lord the
+misery of knowing certainly the depth of his dishonor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The boy pondered for a moment or two without making any answer; and
+although he was evidently not altogether satisfied, probably would not
+have again spoken, had not his father, who read what was passing in
+his mind, asked him what it was that he desired to know further.</p>
+
+<p>Raoul smiled at perceiving how completely his father understood him,
+and then said at once, without pause or hesitation&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you to say, sir, that you thought the wretched man of
+whom we spoke was bound, under the extremity in which he stood, to die
+with a falsehood in his mouth. Can a gentleman ever be justified in
+saying the thing that is not? Much more can it be his bounden duty to
+do so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Unquestionably, as a rule of general conduct, he cannot. Truth is the
+soul of honor; and without truth, honor cannot exist. But this is a
+most intricate and tangled question. It never can arise without
+presupposing the commission of one guilty act&mdash;one act which no good
+or truly moral man would commit at all. It is, therefore, scarcely
+worth our while to examine it. But I do say, on my deliberate and
+grave opinion, that if a woman, previously innocent and pure, have
+sacrificed her honor to a man, that man is bound to sacrifice every
+thing, his life without a question, and I think his truth also, in
+order to preserve her character, so far as he can, scathless. But we
+will speak no more of this. It is an odious subject, and one of which,
+I trust, you, Raoul, will never have the sad occasion to consider."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! never, father, never! I," cried the ingenuous boy, "I must first
+lose my senses, and become a madman."</p>
+
+<p>"All men are madmen, Raoul," said the church-man, who stood in the
+relation of maternal uncle to the youth, "who suffer their passions to
+have the mastery of them. You must learn, therefore, to be their
+tyrant, for if you be not, be well assured that they will be
+yours&mdash;and merciless tyrants they are to the wretches who become their
+subjects."</p>
+
+<p>"I will remember what you say, sir," answered the boy, "and, indeed, I
+am not like to forget it, for, altogether, this is the saddest day I
+ever have passed; and this is the most horrible and appalling story
+that I ever have heard told. It was but just that the Lord of
+Kerguelen should die, for he did a murder; and since the law punishes
+that in a peasant, it must do so likewise with a noble. But to break
+him upon the wheel!&mdash;it is atrocious! I should have thought all the
+nobles of the land would have applied to the king to spare him that
+horror."</p>
+
+<p>"Many of them did apply, Raoul; but the king, or his ministers in his
+name, made answer, that during the Regency the Count Horn was broken
+on the wheel for murder, and therefore that to behead the Lord of
+Kerguelen for the same offence, would be to admit that the Count was
+wrongfully condemned."</p>
+
+<p>"Out on it! out on it! what sophistry. Count Horn murdered a banker,
+like a common thief, for his gold, and this unhappy lord hath done the
+deed for which he must suffer in a mistaken sense of honor, and with
+all tenderness compatible with such a deed. There is nothing similar
+or parallel in the two cases; and if there were, what signifies it now
+to Count Horn, whether he were condemned rightfully or no; are these
+men heathen, that they would offer a victim to the offended manes of
+the dead? But is there no hope, my father, that his sentence may be
+commuted?"</p>
+
+<p>"None whatsoever. Let us trust, therefore, that he has died penitent,
+and that his sufferings are already over; and let us pray, ere we lay
+us down to sleep, that his sins may be forgiven to him, and that his
+soul may have rest."</p>
+
+<p>"Amen!" replied the boy, solemnly, at the same moment that the
+ecclesiastic repeated the same word, though he did so, as it would
+seem, less from the heart, and more as a matter of course.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing further was said on that subject, and in truth the
+conversation ceased altogether. A gloom was cast over the spirits of
+all present, both by the imagination of the horrors which were in
+progress at that very moment, and by the recollection of the preceding
+enormities of which this was but the consummation; but the young
+Viscount Raoul was so completely engrossed by the deep thoughts which
+that conversation had awakened in his mind, that his father, who was a
+very close observer, and correct judge of human nature, almost
+regretted that he had spoken, and determined, if possible, to divert
+him from the gloomy revery into which he had fallen.</p>
+
+<p>"Viscount," said he, after a silence which had endured now for many
+minutes, "when did you last wait upon Mademoiselle Melanie
+d'Argenson?"</p>
+
+<p>Raoul's eyes, brightened at the name, and again the bright blush,
+which I noticed before, crossed his ingenuous features; but this time
+it was pleasure, not embarrassment, which colored his young face so
+vividly.</p>
+
+<p>"I called yesterday, sir;" he answered, "but she was abroad with the
+countess, her mother. In truth, I have not seen her since Friday
+last."</p>
+
+<p>"Why that is an age, Raoul! are you not dying to see her again by this
+time. At your age, I was far more gallant."</p>
+
+<p>"With your permission, sir, I will go now and make my compliments to
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Not only my permission, Raoul, but my advice to make your best haste
+thither. If you go straight-ways, you will be sure to find her at
+home, for the ladies are sure not to have ventured abroad with all
+this uproar in the streets. Take Martin, the equerry, with you, and
+three of the grooms. What will you ride? The new Barb I bought for you
+last week? Yes! as well him as any; and, hark you, boy, tell them to
+send Martin to me first, I will speak to him while you are beautifying
+yourself to please the <i>beaux yeux</i> of Mademoiselle Melanie."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not sure that you are doing wisely, Louis," said the lady, as
+her son left the saloon, her eye following him wistfully, "in bringing
+Raoul up as you are doing."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I, Marie," replied her husband, gravely. "We poor, blind mortals
+cannot be sure of any thing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> least of all of any thing the ends of
+which are incalculably distant. But in what particular do you doubt
+the wisdom of my method?"</p>
+
+<p>"In talking to him as you do, as though he were a man already; in
+opening his eyes so widely to the sins and vices of the world; in
+discussing questions with him such as those you spoke of with him but
+now. He is a mere boy, you will remember, to hear tell of such
+things."</p>
+
+<p>"Boys hear of such things early enough, I assure you&mdash;far earlier than
+you ladies would deem possible. For the rest, he must hear of them one
+day, and I think it quite as well that he should hear of them, since
+hear he must, with the comments of an old man, and that old man his
+best friend, than find them out by the teachings, and judge of them
+according to the light views of his young and excitable associates. He
+who is forewarned is fore-weaponed. I was kept pure, as it is
+termed&mdash;or in other words, kept ignorant of myself and of the world I
+was destined to live in, until one fine day I was cut loose from the
+apron-strings of my lady mother, and the tether of my abb&eacute; tutor, and
+launched head-foremost into that vortex of temptation and iniquity,
+the world of Paris, like a ship without a chart or a compass. A
+precious race I ran in consequence, for a time; and if I had not been
+so fortunate as to meet you, Marie, whose bright eyes brought me out,
+like a blessed beacon, safe from that perilous ocean, I know not but I
+should have suffered shipwreck, both in fortune, which is a trifle,
+and in character, which is every thing. No, no; if that is all in
+which you doubt, your fears are causeless."</p>
+
+<p>"But that is not all. In this you may be right&mdash;I know not; at all
+events you are a fitter judge than I. But are you wise in encouraging
+so very strongly his fancy for Melanie d'Argenson?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'faith, it is something more than a fancy, I think; the boy loves
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"I see that, Louis, clearly; and you encourage it."</p>
+
+<p>"And wherefore should I not. She is a good girl&mdash;as good as she is
+beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"She is an angel."</p>
+
+<p>"And her mother, Marie, was your most intimate, your bosom friend."</p>
+
+<p>"And now a saint in Heaven!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what more; she is as noble as a De Rohan, or a Montmorency. She
+is an heiress with superb estates adjoining our own lands of St.
+Renan. She is, like our Raoul, an only child. And what is the most of
+all, I think, although it is not the mode in this dear France of ours
+to attach much weight to that, it is no made-up match, no cradle
+plighting between babes, to be made good, perhaps, by the breaking of
+hearts, but a genuine, natural, mutual affection between two young,
+sincere, innocent, artless persons&mdash;and a splendid couple they will
+make. What can you see to alarm you in that prospect?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her father."</p>
+
+<p>"The Sieur d'Argenson! Well, I confess, he is not a very charming
+person; but we all have our own faults or weaknesses; and, after all,
+it is not he whom Raoul is about to marry."</p>
+
+<p>"I doubt his good faith, very sorely."</p>
+
+<p>"I should doubt it too, Marie, did I see any cause which should lead
+him to break it. But the match is in all respects more desirable for
+him than it is for us. For though Mademoiselle d'Argenson is noble,
+rich, and handsome, the Viscount de Douarnez might be well justified
+in looking for a wife far higher than the daughter of a simple Sieur
+of Bretagne. Beside, although the children loved before any one spoke
+of it&mdash;before any one saw it, indeed, save I&mdash;it was d'Argenson
+himself who broke the subject. What, then, should induce him to play
+false?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know, yet I doubt&mdash;I fear him."</p>
+
+<p>"But that, Marie, is unworthy of your character, of your mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Louis, she is <i>too</i> beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think Raoul will find fault with her on that score."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor would one greater than Raoul."</p>
+
+<p>"Whom do you mean?" cried the count, now for the first time startled.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen eyes fixed upon her in deadly admiration, which never
+admire but they pollute the object of their admiration."</p>
+
+<p>"The king's, Marie?"</p>
+
+<p>"The king's."</p>
+
+<p>"And then&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"And then I have heard it whispered that the Baron de Beaulieu has
+asked her hand of the Sieur d'Argenson."</p>
+
+<p>"The Baron de Beaulieu! and who the devil is the Baron de Beaulieu,
+that the Sieur d'Argenson should doubt for the nine hundredth part of
+a minute between him and the Viscount de Douarnez for the husband of
+his daughter?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Baron de Beaulieu, count, is the very particular friend, the
+right hand man, and most private minister of his most Christian
+Majesty King Louis the Fifteenth!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! is it possible? Do you mean that?&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean even <i>that</i>. If, by that, you mean all that is most infamous
+and loathsome on the part of Beaulieu, all that is most licentious on
+the part of the king. I believe&mdash;nay, I am well nigh sure, that there
+is such a scheme of villany on foot against that sweet, unhappy child;
+and therefore would I pause ere I urged too far my child's love toward
+her, lest it prove most unhappy and disastrous."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you think d'Argenson capable&mdash;" exclaimed her husband&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Of any thing," she answered, interrupting him, "of any thing that may
+serve his avarice or his ambition."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! it may be so. I will look to it, Marie; I will look to it
+narrowly. But I fear that if it be as you fancy, it is too late
+already&mdash;that our boy's heart is devoted to her entirely&mdash;that any
+break now, in one word, would be a heart-break."</p>
+
+<p>"He loves her very dearly, beyond doubt," replied the lady; "and she
+deserves it all, and is, I think, very fond of him likewise."</p>
+
+<p>"And can you suppose for a moment that she will lend herself to such a
+scheme of infamy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never. She would die sooner."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I do not apprehend, then, that there will be so much difficulty as
+you seem to fear. This business which brought all of us Bretons up to
+Paris, as claimants of justice for our province, or counters of the
+king's grace, as they phrase it, is finished happily; and there is
+nothing to detain any of us in this great wilderness of stone and
+mortar any longer. D'Argenson told me yesterday that he should set out
+homeward on Wednesday next; and it is but hurrying our own
+preparations a little to travel with them in one party. I will see him
+this evening and arrange it."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever spoken with him concerning the contract, Louis?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never, directly, or in the form of a solemn proposal. But we have
+spoken oftentimes of the evident attachment of the children, and he
+has ever expressed himself gratified, and seemed to regard it as a
+matter of course. But hush, here comes the boy; leave us awhile and I
+will speak with him."</p>
+
+<p>Almost before his words were ended the door was thrown open, and young
+Raoul entered, splendidly dressed, with his rapier at his side, and
+his plumed hat in his hand, as likely a youth to win a fair maid's
+heart as ever wore the weapon of a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Martin is absent, sir. He went out soon after breakfast, they tell
+me, to look after a pair of fine English carriage horses for the
+countess my mother, and has not yet returned. I ordered old Jean
+Fran&ccedil;ois to attend me with the four other grooms."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, Raoul. But look you, your head is young, and your blood
+hot. You will meet, it is very like, all this canaille returning from
+the slaughter of poor Kerguelen. Now mark me, boy, there must be no
+vaporing on your part, or interfering with the populace; and even if
+they should, as very probably may, be insolent, and utter outcries and
+abuse against the nobility, even bear with them. On no account strike
+any person, nor let your servants do so, nor encroach upon their
+order, unless, indeed, they should so far forget themselves as to
+throw stones, or to strike the first."</p>
+
+<p>"And then, my father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, then, Raoul, you are at liberty to let your good sword feel the
+fresh air, and to give your horse a taste of those fine spurs you
+wear. But even in that case, I should advise you to use your edge
+rather than your point. There is not much harm done in wiping a saucy
+burgher across the face to mend his manners, but to pink him through
+the body makes it an awkward matter. And I need not tell you by no
+means to fire, unless you should be so beset and maltreated that you
+cannot otherwise extricate yourself&mdash;yet you must have your pistols
+loaded. In these times it is necessary always to be provided against
+all things. I do not, however, tell you these things now because you
+are likely to be attacked but such events are always possible, and one
+cannot provide against such too early."</p>
+
+<p>"I will observe what you say, my father. Have I your permission now to
+depart?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Raoul, I would speak with you first a few words. This
+Mademoiselle Melanie is very pretty, is she not?"</p>
+
+<p>"She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen," replied the youth,
+not without some embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>"And as amiable and gentle as she is beautiful?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. She is all gentleness and sweetness, yet is
+full of mirth, too, and graceful merriment."</p>
+
+<p>"In one word, then, she seems to you a very sweet and lovely
+creature."</p>
+
+<p>"Doubtless she does, my father."</p>
+
+<p>"And I beseech you tell me, viscount, in what light do you appear in
+the eyes of this very admirable young lady?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir!" replied the youth, now very much embarrassed, and blushing
+actually from shame.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Raoul, I did not ask the question lightly, I assure you, or in
+the least degree as a jest. It becomes very important that I should
+know on what terms you and this fair lady stand together. You have
+been visiting her now almost daily, I think, during these three months
+last past. Do you conceive that you are very disagreeable to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I hope not, sir. It would grieve me much if I thought so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am to understand, then, that you think she is not blind to
+your merits, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not aware, my dear father, that I have any merits which she
+should be called to observe."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, viscount! That is an excess of modesty which touches a
+little, I am afraid, on hypocrisy. You are not altogether without
+merits. You are young, not ill-looking, nobly born, and will, in God's
+good time, be rich. Then you can ride well, and dance gracefully, and
+are not generally ill-educated or unpolished. It is quite as
+necessary, my dear son, that a young man should not undervalue
+himself, as that he should not think of his deserts too highly. Now
+that you have some merits is certain&mdash;for the rest I desire frankness
+of you just now, and beg that you will speak out plainly. I think you
+love this young girl. Is it not so, Raoul?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do love, sir, very dearly; with my whole heart and spirit."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you feel sure that this is not a mere transient liking&mdash;that
+it will last, Raoul?"</p>
+
+<p>"So long as life lasts in my heart, so long will my love for her last,
+my father."</p>
+
+<p>"And you would wish to marry her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Beyond all things in this world, my dear father."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you think that, were her tastes and views on the subject
+consulted, she would say likewise?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope she would, sir. But I have never asked her."</p>
+
+<p>"And her father, is he gracious when you meet him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most gracious, sir, and most kind. Indeed, he distinguishes me above
+all the other young gentlemen who visit there."</p>
+
+<p>"You would not then despair of obtaining his consent?"</p>
+
+<p>"By no means, my father, if you would be so kind as to ask it."</p>
+
+<p>"And you desire that I should do so?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You will make me the happiest man in all France, if you will."</p>
+
+<p>"Then go your way, sir, and make the best you can of it with the young
+lady. I will speak myself with the Sieur d'Argenson to-night; and I do
+not despair any more than you do, Raoul. But look you, boy, you do not
+fancy, I hope, that you are going to church with your lady-love
+to-morrow or the next day. Two or three years hence, at the earliest,
+will be all in very good time. You must serve a campaign or two first,
+in order to show that you know how to use your sword."</p>
+
+<p>"In all things, my dear father, I shall endeavor to fulfill your
+wishes, knowing them to be as kindly as they are wise and prudent. I
+owe you gratitude for every hour since I was born, but for none so
+much as for this, for indeed you are going to make me the happiest of
+men."</p>
+
+<p>"Away with you, then, Sir Happiness! Betake yourself on the wings of
+love to your bright lady, and mind the advice of your favorite Horace,
+to pluck the pleasures of the passing hour, mindful how short is the
+sum of mortal life."</p>
+
+<p>The young man embraced his father gayly, and left the room with a
+quick step and a joyous heart; and the jingling of his spurs, and the
+quick, merry clash of his scabbard on the marble staircase, told how
+joyously he descended its steps.</p>
+
+<p>A moment afterward his father heard the clear, sonorous tones of his
+fine voice calling to his attendants, and yet a few seconds later the
+lively clatter of his horse's hoofs on the resounding pavement.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas! for the happy days of youth, which are so quickly flown,"
+exclaimed the father, as he participated the hopeful and exulting mood
+of his noble boy. "And, alas! for the promise of mortal happiness,
+which is so oft deceitful and a traitress." He paused for a few
+moments, and seemed to ponder, and then added with a confident and
+proud expression, "But I see not why one should forebode aught but
+success and happiness to this noble boy of mine. Thus far, every
+thing has worked toward the end as I would wish it. They have fallen
+in love naturally and of their own accord, and d'Argenson, whether he
+like it or no, cannot help himself. He must needs accede, proudly and
+joyfully, to my proposal. He knows his estates to be in my power far
+too deeply to resist. Nay, more, though he be somewhat selfish, and
+ambitious, and avaricious, I know nothing of him that should justify
+me in believing that he would sell his daughter's honor, even to a
+king, for wealth or title! My good wife is all too doubtful and
+suspicious. But, hark! here comes the mob, returning from that
+unfortunate man's execution. I wonder how he bore it."</p>
+
+<p>And with the words he moved toward the window, and throwing it open,
+stepped out upon the spacious balcony. Here he learned speedily from
+the conversation of the passing crowd, that, although dreadfully
+shocked and startled by the first intimation of the death he was to
+undergo, which he received from the sight of the fatal wheel, the Lord
+of Kerguelen had died as becomes a proud, brave man, reconciled to the
+church, forgiving his enemies, without a groan or a murmur, under the
+protracted agonies of that most horrible of deaths, the breaking on
+the wheel.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the day passed onward, and when evening came, and the last
+and most social meal of the day was laid on the domestic board, young
+Raoul had returned from his visit to the lady of his love, full of
+high hopes and happy anticipations. Afterward, according to his
+promise, the Count de St. Renan went forth and held debate until a
+late hour of the night with the Sieur d'Argenson. Raoul had not
+retired when he came home, too restless in his youthful ardor even to
+think of sleep. His father brought good tidings, the father of the
+lady had consented, and on their arrival in Britanny the marriage
+contract was to be signed in form.</p>
+
+<p>That was to Raoul an eventful day; and never did he forget it, or the
+teachings he drew from it. That day was his fate.</p>
+
+<p class="right">[<i>To be continued</i>.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_LAND_OF_THE_WEST" id="THE_LAND_OF_THE_WEST"></a>THE LAND OF THE WEST.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou land whose deep forest was wide as the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou land whose dark streams, like a hurrying horde<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh grand were thy waters which spurned as they ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou land whose bright blossoms, like shells of the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou land whose last hamlets were circled with maize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lay like a dream in the silence profound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou land where the eagle of Freedom looked down<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="GOING_TO_HEAVEN" id="GOING_TO_HEAVEN"></a>GOING TO HEAVEN.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY T. S. ARTHUR.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>Whatever our gifts may be, the love of imparting them for the good of
+others brings <span class="smcap">Heaven</span> into the soul. <span class="smcap">Mrs. Child.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>An old man, with a peaceful countenance, sat in a company of twelve
+persons. They were conversing, but he was silent. The theme upon which
+they were discoursing was Heaven; and each one who spoke did so with
+animation.</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven is a place of rest," said one&mdash;"rest and peace. Oh! what sweet
+words! rest and peace. Here, all is labor and disquietude. There we
+shall have rest and peace."</p>
+
+<p>"And freedom from pain," said another, whose pale cheeks and sunken
+eyes told many a tale of bodily suffering. "No more pain; no more
+sickness&mdash;the aching head will be at rest&mdash;the weary limbs find
+everlasting repose."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorrow and sighing shall forever flee away," spoke up a third one of
+the company. "No more grief, no more anguish of spirit. Happy, happy
+change!"</p>
+
+<p>"There," added a fourth, "the wounded spirit that none can bear is
+healed. The reed long bruised and bent by the tempests of life, finds
+a smiling sky, and a warm, refreshing, and healing sunshine. Oh! how
+my soul pants to escape from this world, and, like a bird fleeing to
+the mountains, get home again from its dreary exile."</p>
+
+<p>"My heart expands," said another, "whenever I think of Heaven; and I
+long for the wings of a dove, that I may rise at once from this low,
+ignorant, groveling state, and bathe my whole soul in the sunlight of
+eternal felicity. What joy it will be to cast off this cumbersome
+clay; to leave this poor body behind, and spread a free wing upon the
+heavenly atmosphere. I shall hail with delight the happy moment which
+sets me free."</p>
+
+<p>Thus, one after another spoke, and each one regarded Heaven as a state
+of happiness into which he was to come after death; but the old man
+still sat silent, and his eyes were bent thoughtfully upon the floor.
+Presently one said,</p>
+
+<p>"Our aged friend says nothing. Has he no hope of Heaven? Does he not
+rejoice with us in the happy prospect of getting there when the silver
+chord shall be loosened, and the golden bowl broken at the fountain?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man, thus addressed, looked around upon his companions. His
+face remained serene, and his eye had a heavenly expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you not a blessed hope of Heaven? Does not your heart grow warm
+with sweet anticipations?" continued the last speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"I never think of going to Heaven," the old man said, in a mild, quiet
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Never think of going to Heaven!" exclaimed one of the most ardent of
+the company, his voice warming with indignation. "Are you a heathen?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am one who is patiently striving to fill my allotted place in
+life," replied the old man, as calmly as before.</p>
+
+<p>"And have you no hopes beyond the grave?" asked the last speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"If I live right here, all will be right there." The old man pointed
+upward. "I have no anxieties about the future&mdash;no impatience&mdash;no
+ardent longings to pass away and be at rest, as some of you have said.
+I already enjoy as much of Heaven as I am prepared to enjoy, and this
+is all that I can expect throughout eternity. You all, my friends,
+seem to think that men come into Heaven when they die. You look ahead
+to death with pleasure, because then you think you will enter the
+happy state you anticipate&mdash;or rather <i>place</i>; for it is clear you
+regard Heaven as a place full of delights, prepared for those who may
+be fitted to become inhabitants thereof. But in this you are mistaken.
+If you do not enter Heaven before you die, you will never do so
+afterward. If Heaven be not formed within you, you will never find it
+out of you&mdash;you will never <i>come into it</i>."</p>
+
+<p>These remarks offended the company, and they spoke harshly to the old
+man, who made no reply, but arose and retired, with a sorrowful
+expression on his face. He went forth and resumed his daily
+occupations, and pursued them diligently. Those who had been assembled
+with him, also went forth&mdash;one to his farm, another to his
+merchandize, each one forgetting all he had thought about Heaven and
+its felicities, and only anxious to serve natural life and get gain.
+Heaven was above the world to them, and, therefore, while in the
+world, they could only act upon the principle that governed the world;
+and prepare for Heaven by pious acts on the Sabbath. There was no
+other way to do, they believed&mdash;to attempt to bring religion down into
+life would only, in their view, desecrate it, and expose it to
+ridicule and contempt.</p>
+
+<p>The old man, to whom allusion has been made, kept a store for the sale
+of various useful articles; those of the pious company who needed
+these articles as commodities of trade, or for their own use, bought
+of him, because they believed that he would sell them only what was of
+good quality. One of the most ardent of these came into the old man's
+store one day, holding a small package in his hand; his eye was
+restless, his lip compressed, and he seemed struggling to keep down a
+feeling of excitement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Look at that," he said, speaking with some sternness, as he threw the
+package on the old man's counter.</p>
+
+<p>The package was taken up, opened, and examined.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said the old man, after he had made the examination, looking
+up with a steady eye and a calm expression of countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Don't you see what is the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I see that this article is a damaged one," was replied.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you sold it to me for good." The tone in which this was said
+implied a belief that there had been an intention of wrong.</p>
+
+<p>A flush warmed the pale cheek of the old man at this remark. He
+examined the sample before him more carefully, and then opened a
+barrel of the same commodity and compared its contents with the
+sample. They agreed. The sample from which he had bought and by which
+he had sold was next examined&mdash;this was in good condition and of the
+best quality.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you satisfied?" asked the visitor with an air of triumph.</p>
+
+<p>"Of what?" the old man asked.</p>
+
+<p>"That you sold me a bad article for a good one."</p>
+
+<p>"Intentionally?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are the best judge. That lies with God and your own conscience."</p>
+
+<p>"Be kind enough to return every barrel you purchased of me, and get
+your money."</p>
+
+<p>There was a rebuke in the way this was said, which was keenly felt. An
+effort was made to soften the aspersion tacitly cast upon the old
+man's integrity, but it was received without notice.</p>
+
+<p>In due time the damaged article was brought back, and the money which
+had been paid for it returned.</p>
+
+<p>"You will not lose, I hope?" said the merchant, with affected
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall lose what I paid for the article."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not return it, as I have done?"</p>
+
+<p>"The man from whom <i>I</i> purchased is neither honest nor responsible, as
+I have recently learned. He left the city last week in no very
+creditable manner, and no one expects to see him back again."</p>
+
+<p>"That is hard; but I really don't think you ought to lose."</p>
+
+<p>"The article is not merchantable. Loss is, therefore, inevitable."</p>
+
+<p>"You can, of course, sell at some price."</p>
+
+<p>"Would it be right to sell, at any price, an article known to be
+useless&mdash;nay, worse than useless, positively injurious to any one who
+might use it?"</p>
+
+<p>"If any one should see proper to buy from you the whole lot, knowing
+that it was injured, you would certainly sell. For instance, if I were
+to offer you two cents a pound for what I bought from you at six
+cents, would you not take me at my offer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Will you buy at that price?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I will give you two cents."</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sell it again. What did you suppose I would do with it? Throw it in
+the street?"</p>
+
+<p>"To whom would you sell?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd find a purchaser."</p>
+
+<p>"At an advance?"</p>
+
+<p>"A trifle."</p>
+
+<p>The inquiries of the old man created a suspicion that he wished to
+know who was to be the second purchaser, in order that he might go to
+him and get a better price than was offered. This was the cause of the
+brief answers given to his questions. He clearly comprehended what was
+passing in the other's mind, but took no notice of it.</p>
+
+<p>"For what purpose would the individual who purchased from you buy?" he
+pursued.</p>
+
+<p>"To sell again."</p>
+
+<p>"At a further advance, of course?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly."</p>
+
+<p>"And to some one, in all probability, who would be deceived into
+purchasing a worthless article."</p>
+
+<p>"As likely as not; but with that I have no concern. I sell it for what
+it is, and ask only what it is worth."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it worth anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;yes&mdash;I can't say&mdash;no." The first words were uttered with
+hesitation; the last one with a decided emphasis. "But then it has a
+market value, as every article has."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot sell it to you, my friend," said the old man firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" I am sure you can't do better."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not willing to become a party in wronging my neighbors. That is
+the reason. The article has no real value, and it would be wrong for
+me to take even a farthing per pound for it. You might sell it at an
+advance, and the purchaser from you at a still further advance, but
+some one would be cheated in the end, for the article never could be
+used."</p>
+
+<p>"But the loss would be divided. It isn't right that one man should
+bear all. In the end it would be distributed amongst a good many, and
+the loss fall lightly upon each."</p>
+
+<p>The good old man shook his head. "My friend," he said, laying his hand
+gently upon his arm&mdash;"Not very long since I heard you indulging the
+most ardent anticipations of Heaven. You expected to get there one of
+these days. Is it by acts of over-reaching your neighbor that you
+expect to merit Heaven? Will becoming a party to wrong make you more
+fitted for the company of angels who seek the good of others, and love
+others more than themselves? I fear you are deceiving yourself. All
+who come into Heaven love God: and I would ask with one of the
+apostles, 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he
+love God whom he hath not seen?' You have much yet to learn, my
+friend. Of that true religion by which Heaven is formed in man, you
+have not yet learned the bare rudiments."</p>
+
+<p>There was a calm earnestness in the manner of the old man, and an
+impressiveness in the tone of his voice, that completely subdued his
+auditor. He felt rebuked and humbled, and went away more serious than
+he had come. But though serious, his mind was not free from anger, his
+self-love had been too deeply wounded.</p>
+
+<p>After he had gone away, the property about which so much had been
+said, was taken and destroyed as privately as it could be done. The
+fact, however,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> could not be concealed. A friend of a different order
+from the pious one last introduced, inquired of the old man why he had
+done this. His answer was as follows:</p>
+
+<p>"No man should live for himself alone. Each one should regard the
+common good, and act with a view to the common good. If all were to do
+so, you can easily see that we should have Heaven upon earth, from
+whence, alas! it has been almost entirely banished. Our various
+employments are means whereby we can serve others&mdash;our own good being
+a natural consequence. If the merchant sent out his ships to distant
+parts to obtain the useful commodities of other countries, in order to
+benefit his fellow citizens, do you not see that he would be far
+happier when his ships came in laden with rich produce, than if he had
+sought only gain for himself? And do you not also see that he would
+obtain for himself equal, if not greater advantages. If the builder
+had in view the comfort and convenience of his neighbors while
+erecting a house, instead of regarding only the money he was to
+receive for his work, he would not only perform that work more
+faithfully, and add to the common stock of happiness, but would lay up
+for himself a source of perennial satisfaction. He would not, after
+receiving the reward of his labor in a just return of this world's
+goods, lose all interest in the result of that labor; but would,
+instead, have a feeling of deep interior pleasure whenever he looked
+at a human habitation erected by his hands, arising from a
+consciousness that his skill had enabled him to add to the common
+good. The tillers of the soil, the manufacturers of its products into
+useful articles, the artisans of every class, the literary and
+professional man, all would, if moved by a regard for the welfare of
+the whole social body, not only act more efficiently in their
+callings, but would derive therefrom a delight now unimagined except
+by a very few. Believing thus, I could not be so blind as not to see
+that the only right course for me to pursue was to destroy a worthless
+and injurious commodity, rather than sell it at any price to one who
+would, for gain, either himself defraud his neighbor, or aid another
+in doing it. The article was not only useless, it was worse than
+useless. How, then, could I, with a clear conscience sell it? No&mdash;no,
+my friend. I am not afraid of poverty; I am not afraid of any worldly
+ill&mdash;but I am afraid of doing wrong to my neighbors; or of putting it
+in the power of any one else to do wrong. As I have said before, if
+every man were to look to the good of the whole, instead of turning
+all his thoughts in upon himself, his own interests would be better
+served and he would be far happier."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a beautiful theory," remarked the friend, "but never can be
+realized in actual life. Men are too selfish. They would find no
+pleasure in contemplating the enjoyments of others, but would, rather,
+be envious of others' good. The merchant, so little does he care for
+the common welfare, that unless he receives the gain of his
+adventures, he will let his goods perish in his ware-house&mdash;to
+distribute them, even to the suffering, would not make him happier.
+And so with the product of labor in all the various grades of
+society. Men turn their eyes inward upon the little world of self,
+instead of outward upon the great social world. Few, if any,
+understand that they are parts of a whole, and that any disease in any
+other part of that whole, must affect the whole, and consequently
+themselves. Were this thoroughly understood, even selfishness would
+lead men to act less selfishly. We should indeed have Heaven upon
+earth if your pure theories could be brought out into actual life."</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven will be found nowhere else by man," was replied to this.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" said the friend, in surprise. "Do you mean to say that there
+is no Heaven for the good who bravely battle with evil in this life?
+Is all the reward of the righteous to be in this world?"</p>
+
+<p>One of the pious company, at first introduced, came up at this moment,
+and hearing the last remark, comprehended, to some extent, its
+meaning. He was one who hoped, from pious acts of prayer, fastings,
+and attendance upon all the ordinances of the church, to get to Heaven
+at last. In the ordinary pursuits of life he was eager for gain, and
+men of the world dealt warily with him&mdash;they had reason; for he
+separated his religious from his business life.</p>
+
+<p>"A most impious doctrine," he said, with indignant warmth. "Heaven
+upon earth! A man had better give all his passions the range, and
+freely enjoy the world, if there is to be no hereafter. Pain, and
+sorrow, and self-denial make a poor kind of Heaven, and these are all
+the Christian man meets here. Far better to live while we do live, say
+I, if our Heaven is to be here."</p>
+
+<p>"What makes Heaven, my friend?" calmly asked the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"Happiness. Freedom from care, and pain, and sorrow, and all the ills
+of this wretched life&mdash;to live in the presence of God and sing his
+praises forever&mdash;to make one of the blessed company who, with the
+four-and-twenty elders forever bow before the throne of God and the
+Lamb&mdash;to have rest, and peace, and unspeakable felicity forever."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you expect to get into Heaven? How do you expect to unlock the
+golden gates of the New Jerusalem?" pursued the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"By faith," was the prompt reply. "Faith unlocks these gates."</p>
+
+<p>The old man shook his head, and turning to the individual with whom he
+had first been conversing, remarked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me if I meant to say that there was no Heaven for the good
+who bravely battle with evil in this life? If all the reward of the
+righteous was to be in this world? God forbid! For then would I be of
+all men most miserable. What I said was, that Heaven would be <i>found</i>
+no where else but in this world, by man. Heaven must be entered into
+here, or it never can be entered into when men die."</p>
+
+<p>"You speak in a strange language," said the individual who had joined
+them, in a sneering tone. "No one can understand what you mean.
+Certainly I do not."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not think you did," quietly replied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> old man. "But I
+will explain my meaning more fully&mdash;perhaps you will be able to
+comprehend something of what I say. Men talk a great deal about
+Heaven, but few understand what it means. All admit that in this life
+they must prepare for Heaven; but nearly all seem to think that this
+preparation consists in the <i>doing</i> of something as a means by which
+they will be entitled to enter Heaven after death, when there will be
+a sudden and wonderful change in all their feelings and perceptions."</p>
+
+<p>"And is not that true?" asked the one who had previously spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not believe that it is, in the commonly understood sense."</p>
+
+<p>"And pray what do you believe?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe that all in heavenly societies are engaged in doing good,
+and that heavenly delight is the delight which springs from a
+gratified love of benefiting others. And I also believe, that the
+beginning of Heaven with every one is on this earth, and takes place
+when he first makes the effort to renounce self and seek from a true
+desire to benefit them, the good of others. If this coming into
+Heaven, as I call it, does not take place here, it can never take
+place, for '<i>As the tree falls so it lies</i>.' Whatever is a man's
+internal quality when he dies that it must remain forever. If he have
+been a lover of self, and sought only his own good, he will remain a
+lover of self in the next life. But, if he have put away self-love
+from his heart and shunned the evils to which it would prompt him, as
+sins, then he comes into Heaven while still upon earth, and when he
+lays aside his mortal body, his heavenly life is continued. Thus you
+can see, that if a man do not find Heaven while in this world, he will
+never find it in the next. He must come into heavenly affections here,
+or he will never feel their warmth hereafter. Hundreds and thousands
+live on from day to day, thinking only of themselves, and caring only
+for themselves, who insanely cherish the hope that they shall get into
+Heaven at last. Some of these are church-going people, and partakers
+of its ordinances; while others expect, some time before they die, to
+become pious, and thus, by a 'saving faith,' secure an entrance into
+Heaven. Their chances of finding Heaven, at last, are about equal. And
+if they should be permitted to come into a heavenly society they would
+soon seek to escape from it. Where all were unselfish, how could one
+who was utterly selfish dwell? Where all sought the good of others,
+how could one who cared simply for his own good, remain and be happy?
+It could not be. If you wish to enter Heaven, my friend, you must
+bring heavenly life into your daily occupations."</p>
+
+<p>"How can that be? Religion is too tender a plant for the world."</p>
+
+<p>"Your error is a common one," replied the old man, "and arises from
+the fact that you do not know what religion is. Mere piety is not
+religion. There is a life of charity as well as a life of piety, and
+the latter without the former is like sounding brass and tinkling
+cymbal."</p>
+
+<p>"All know that," was replied.</p>
+
+<p>"All profess to know it, but all do not know what is meant by
+charity."</p>
+
+<p>"It is love. That every Christian man admits."</p>
+
+<p>"It is love for the neighbor in activity; not a mere idle emotion of
+the heart. Now, how can a man best promote the good of his
+neighbor?&mdash;love, you know, always seeks the good of its object; in no
+way, it is clear, so well as by faithfully and diligently performing
+the duties of his office, no matter what it may be. If a judge, let
+him administer justice with equity and from a conscientious principle;
+if a physician, a lawyer, a soldier, a merchant, or an artisan, let
+him with all diligence do the works that his hands find to do, not
+merely for gain, but because it is his duty to serve the public good
+in that calling by which he can most efficiently do it. If he act from
+this high motive, from this religious principle, all that he does will
+be well and faithfully done. No wrong to his neighbor can result from
+his act. True charity is not that feeling which prompts merely to the
+bestowment of worldly goods for the benefit of others&mdash;in fact, true
+charity has very little to do with alms-giving and public
+benefactions. It is not a mere 'love for the brethren' only, as many
+religious denominations think, but it is a love that embraces all
+mankind, and regards good as its brother wherever and in whomever it
+is seen."</p>
+
+<p>"That every one admits."</p>
+
+<p>"Admission and practice, my friend, are not always found walking in
+the same path. But I am not at all sure that every one admits that
+charity consists in a man's performing his daily uses in life with
+justice and judgment. By most minds charity, as well as religion, is
+viewed as separate from the ordinary business of man; while the truth
+is, there can be neither religion nor charity apart from a man's
+business life. If he be not charitable and religious here, he has
+neither charity nor religion; if he love not his neighbor whom he hath
+seen; if he do not deal justly and conscientiously with his neighbor
+whom he hath seen, how can he love God, or act justly and
+conscientiously toward God whom he hath not seen? How blind and
+foolish is more than half of mankind on this subject! They seem to
+think, that if they only read the Bible and attend to the ordinances
+of the church, and lead very pious lives on the Sabbath, that this
+service will be acceptable to God, and save them; while, at the same
+time, in their business pursuits, they seek to gain this world's goods
+so eagerly, that they trample heedlessly upon the rights and interests
+of all around them; in fact, act from the most selfish, and,
+consequently, infernal principles. You call R&mdash;&mdash; a very pious man, do
+you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe him to be so. We are members of the same church, and I see
+a good deal of him. He is superintendent of our Sabbath-school, and is
+active in all the various secular uses of the church."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know any thing of his business life?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"I do. Men of the world call him a shark, so eager is he for gain. He
+will not steal, nor commit murder, nor break any one of the
+commandments so far as the laws of the state recognize these divine
+laws<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> to be laws of common society. But, in his heart, and in act, so
+far as the law cannot reach him, he violates them daily. He will
+overreach you in a bargain, and think it all right. If your business
+comes in contact with his, he will use every means in his power to
+break you down, even to the extent of secretly attacking your credit.
+He will lend his money on usury, and when he has none to lend, will
+play the jackal to some money-lion, and get a large share of the spoil
+for himself. And further, if you differ in faith from him, in his
+heart will send you to hell with as much pleasure as he would derive
+from cheating you out of a dollar."</p>
+
+<p>"You are too severe on R&mdash;&mdash;. I cannot believe him to be what you
+say."</p>
+
+<p>"A man's reputation among business men gives the true impression of
+his character, for, in business, the eagerness with which men seek
+their ends causes them to forget their disguises. Go and ask any man
+who knows R&mdash;&mdash; in business, and he will tell you that he is a
+sharper. That if you have any dealings with him you must keep your
+eyes open. I could point you to dozens of men who are as pious as he
+is on the Sabbath, who, in their ordinary life are no better than
+swindlers. The Christian religion is disgraced by thousands of such,
+who are far worse than those who never saw the inside of a church."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid that you, in the warmth of your indignation against false
+professors, are led into the extreme of setting aside all religion; or
+of making it to consist alone in mere honesty and integrity of
+character&mdash;your moral man is all; it is morality that opens Heaven.
+Now mere morality, mere good works, are worth nothing, and cannot
+bring a man into Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"There is a life of piety, and a life of charity, my friend, as I have
+before said," replied the old man, "and they cannot be separated. The
+life of charity regards man, and the life of piety God. A man's
+prayers, and fastings, and pious duties on the Sabbath are nothing, if
+love to the neighbor, showing itself in a faithful performance of all
+life's varied uses that come within his sphere of action, is not
+operative through the week, vain hopes are all those which are built
+upon so crumbling a foundation as the mere life of piety. Morality,
+as you call it, built upon man's pride, is of little use, but
+morality, which is based upon a sincere desire to do good, is worth a
+thousand prayers from the lips of a man who inwardly hates his
+neighbor."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I understand you to mean that religious, or pious duties are
+useless"&mdash;was remarked with a good deal of bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>"I said," was mildly returned, "that the life of piety and the life of
+charity could not be separated. If a man truly loves his neighbor and
+seeks his good, he will come into heavenly states of mind, and will
+have his heart elevated, and from a consciousness that every good and
+perfect gift comes from God, worship him in a thankful spirit. His
+life of piety will make one with his life of charity. The Sabbath to
+him will be a day of true, not forced, spiritual life. He will rest
+from all natural labors, and gain strength from that rest to
+recommence those labors in a true spirit."</p>
+
+<p>Much more was said, that need not be repeated here. The closing
+remarks of the old man were full of truth. It will do any one good to
+remember them:</p>
+
+<p>"Our life is twofold. We have a natural life and a spiritual life," he
+said. "Our natural life delights in external things, and our spiritual
+life in things internal. The first regards the things of time and
+sense, the latter involves states and qualities of the soul. Heaven is
+a state of mutual love from a desire to benefit others, and whenever
+man's spiritual life corresponds with the life of Heaven, he is in
+Heaven so far as his spirit is concerned, notwithstanding his body
+still remains upon the earth. His heavenly life begins here, and is
+perfected after death. If, therefore, a man does not enter Heaven
+here, he cannot enter it when he dies. His state of probation is
+closed, and he goes to the place for which he is prepared. The means
+whereby man enters Heaven here, are very simple. He need only shun as
+sin every thing that would in any way injure his neighbors, either
+naturally or spiritually, and look above for the power to do this.
+This will effect an entrance through the straight gate. After that,
+the way will be plain before him, and he will walk in it with a daily
+increasing delight."</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TO_LYDIA" id="TO_LYDIA"></a>TO LYDIA&mdash;WITH A WATCH.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY G. G. FOSTER.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So well has time kept you, my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unfaded in your prime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you would most ungrateful prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If you did not keep time.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then let this busy monitor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Remind you how the hours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steal, brook-like, over golden sands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose banks love gems with flowers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when the weary day grows dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And skies are overcast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watch well this token&mdash;it will bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The morning true and fast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This little diamond-fooled sprite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How soft he glides along!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How quaint, yet merry, singeth he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His never-ending song!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So smoothly pass thine hours and years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So calmly beat thy heart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While both our souls, in concert tuned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor hope nor dream apart!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_NIGHT_ON_THE_ICE" id="A_NIGHT_ON_THE_ICE"></a>A NIGHT ON THE ICE.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY SOLITAIRE.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>A love for amusement is one of those national peculiarities of the
+French people which neither time nor situation will ever eradicate,
+for, be their lot cast where it may, amid the brilliant <i>salons</i> of
+Paris, or on the outskirts of civilization on the western continent,
+they will set apart seasons for innocent mirth, in which they enter
+into its spirit with a joyousness totally devoid of calculation or of
+care. I love this trait in their character, because, perhaps, my own
+spirits incline to the volatile. I like not that puritanical coldness
+of intercourse which acts upon men as the winter winds do upon the
+surface of the mountain streams, freezing them into immovable
+propriety; and less do I delight in that festivity where calculation
+seems to wait on merriment. Joy at such a board can never rise to
+blood heat, for the jingle in the mind of cent. per cent., which rises
+above the constrained mirth of the assembly, will hold the guests so
+anchored to the consideration of profit and loss, that in vain they
+spread a free sail&mdash;the tide of gayety refuses to float their barks
+from the shoal beside which they are moored. In their seasons of
+gayety the French are philosophers, for while they imbibe the mirth
+they discard the wassail, and wine instead of being the body of their
+feasts, as with other nations, it is but the spice used to add a
+flavor to the whole. I know not that these remarks of mine have aught
+to do with my story, but I throw them out by way of a prelude to&mdash;some
+will say excuse for&mdash;what may follow.</p>
+
+<p>In the winter of 1830 it was my good fortune to be the guest of an old
+French resident upon the north-western frontier, and while enjoying
+his hospitality I had many opportunities of mingling with the
+<i>habitans</i> of Detroit, a town well known as one of the early French
+settlements on the American continent. At the period of which I write,
+the stranger met a warm welcome in the habitation of the simple
+residents&mdash;time, progress and speculation, I am told, have somewhat
+marred those friendly feelings. The greedy adventurer, by making his
+passport to their hospitality a means of profit, has planted distrust
+in their bosoms, and the fire of friendship no longer flashes up at
+the sound of an American's voice beneath their roof. To the all
+absorbing spirit of Mammon be ascribed the evil change.</p>
+
+<p>While residing with my friend Morell, I received many invitations to
+join sleighing parties upon the ice, which generally terminated on the
+floor of some old settler's dwelling upon the borders of the Detroit,
+Rouge, or Ecorse rivers; where, after a merry jaunt over the frozen
+river, we kept the blood in circulation by participating in the
+pleasures of the dance. At one of these parties upon the Rouge I
+formed two very interesting acquaintances, one of them a beautiful
+girl named Estelle Beaubien, the other, Victor Druissel. Estelle was
+one of those dark-eyed lively brunettes formed by nature for the
+creation of flutterings about the hearts of the sterner sex. She was
+full of naive mischief, and coquetry, and having been petted into
+imperial sway by the flattery of her courtiers, she punished them by
+wielding her sceptre with autocratic despotism&mdash;tremble, heart, that
+owned her sway yet dared disobey her behests! In the dance she was the
+nimblest, in mirth the most gleeful, and in beauty peerless. Victor
+Druissel was a tall, dark haired young man, of powerful frame,
+intelligent countenance, quiet easy manners, and possessed of a bold,
+dark eye, through which the quick movings of his impassioned nature
+were much sooner learned than through his words. He appeared to be
+devoid of fear, and in either expeditions of pleasure or daring, with
+a calmness almost unnatural he led the way. He loved Estelle with all
+that fervor so inherent in men of his peculiar temperament, and when
+others fluttered around her, seemingly winning lasting favor in her
+eyes, he would vainly try to hide the jealousy of his nature.</p>
+
+<p>When morning came Druissel insisted that I should take a seat in his
+cutter, as he had come alone. He would rather have taken Estelle as
+his companion to the city, but her careful aunt, who always
+accompanied her, would not trust herself behind the heels of the
+prancing pair of bays harnessed to Victor's sliding chariot. The
+sleighs were at length filled with their merry passengers, and my
+companion shouting <i>allons!</i> led the cavalcade. We swept over the
+chained tide like the wind, our horses' hoofs beating time to the
+merry music of their bells, and our laughter ringing out on the clear,
+cold air, free and unrestrained as the thoughts of youth.</p>
+
+<p>"I like this," said Victor, as he leaned back and nestled in the furry
+robes around us. "This is fun in the old-fashioned way; innocent,
+unconstrained, and full of real enjoyment. A fashionable ball is all
+well enough in its way, but give me a dance where there is no
+formality continually reminding me of my 'white kids,' or where my
+equanimity is never disturbed by missing a figure; there old Time
+seldom croaks while he lingers, for the heart merriment makes him
+forget his mission."</p>
+
+<p>On dashed our steeds over the glassy surface of the river, and soon
+the company we had started with was left far behind. We in due time
+reached Detroit, and as I leaped from the sleigh at the door of my
+friend's residence, Victor observed:</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow night we are invited to a party at my uncle Yesson's, at
+the foot of Lake St. Clair, and if you will accept a seat with me, I
+shall with pleasure be your courier. I promise you a night of rare
+enjoyment."</p>
+
+<p>"You promise then," said I, "that Estelle Beaubien will be there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He looked calmly at me for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"What, another rival?" he exclaimed. "Now, by the mass one would think
+Estelle was the only fair maiden on the whole frontier. Out of pity
+for the rest of her sex I shall have to bind her suddenly in the bonds
+of Hymen, for while she is free the young men will sigh after no other
+beauty, and other maids must pine in neglect."</p>
+
+<p>"You flatter yourself," said I. "Give me but a chance, and I will
+whisper a lay of love in the fair beauty's ear that will obliterate
+the image you have been engraving on her heart. She has listened to
+you, no other splendid fellow being by, but when I enter the lists
+look well to your seat in her affections, for I am no timid knight
+when a fair hand or smile is to be won."</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," cried he, laughing, "I scorn to break lance with any other
+knight. The lists shall be free to you, the fair Estelle shall be the
+prize, and I dare you to a tilt at Cupid's tourney."</p>
+
+<p>With this challenge he departed, and as his yet unwearied steeds bore
+him away, I could hear his laugh of conscious triumph mingling with
+the music of his horses' bells.</p>
+
+<p>After a troubled sleep that day, I awoke to a consciousness of
+suffering. I had lost my appetite, was troubled with vertigo, and
+obstructed breathing, which were sure indications that the sudden
+change from heated rooms to the clear, cold air, sweeping over the
+ice-bound river, had given me a severe influenza. My promise of a tilt
+with Victor, or participation in further festivity, appeared
+abrogated, for a time at least. I kept my bed during the day, and at
+night applied the usual restoratives. Sleep visited my pillow, but it
+was of that unrefreshing character which follows disease. I tossed
+upon my couch in troubled dreams, amid which I fancied myself a knight
+of the olden time, fighting in the lists for a wreath or glove from a
+tourney queen. In the contest I was conscious of being overthrown, and
+raised myself up from the inglorious earth upon which I had been
+rolled, a bruised knight from head to heel. When I awoke in the
+morning the soreness of every joint made me half think, for a moment,
+that I had suffered some injury while in sleeping unconsciousness;
+but, waking recollection assigned a natural cause, and I bowed my
+fevered head to the punishment of my imprudence. An old and dignified
+physician was summoned to my bed-side, who felt my pulse, ordered
+confinement to my room, and the swallowing of a horrible looking
+potion, which nearly filled a common-sized tumbler. A few days care,
+he said, would restore me, and with his own hands he mixed my dose,
+placed it beside me upon a table, and departed. I venerate a kind and
+skillful physician; but, like all the rest of the human family, his
+nauseous doses I abhor. I looked at the one before me until, in
+imagination, I tasted its ingredients. In my fevered vision the vessel
+grew into a monster goblet, and soon after it assumed the shape of a
+huge glass tun. Methought I commenced swallowing, fearful that if I
+longer hesitated it would grow more vast, and then it seemed as if the
+dose would never be exhausted, and that my body would not contain the
+whole of the dreadful compound. I dropped off again from this
+half-dreamy state into the oblivion of deep sleep, and remained
+unconscious of every thing until awoke in the evening by the chiming
+of bells beneath my window. I had scarcely changed my position before
+Victor, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, walked into my room.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear fellow," cried he, on seeing me nestled beneath the
+cover, with a towel round my head by way of a night-cap, "what is all
+this? Nothing serious, I hope?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no," answered I, "only sore bones, and an embargo on the
+respiratory organs. That mixture"&mdash;calling his attention to the
+tumbler&mdash;"will no doubt set all right again."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Pah!</i>" he exclaimed, twisting his face as if he had tasted it, "I
+hope you don't resort to such restoratives."</p>
+
+<p>"So goes the doctor's orders," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, a pest on his drugs," says Victor. "Why didn't you call me in?
+I'm worth a dozen <i>regular</i> practitioners in such cases, especially
+where I am the patient. Come, up and dress, and while you are about it
+I will empty this potion out of the window, we will then take a seat
+behind the 'tinklers,' and before the night is over, I will put you
+through a course of exercise which has won more practice among the
+young than ever the wisest practitioner has been able to obtain for
+his most skillfully concocted healing draughts."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't, positively, Victor," said I. "It would cost me my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will lend you one of mine, without interest," said he. "Along
+you must go, any how, so up at once. Think, my dear boy, of the beauty
+gathering now in the old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair."</p>
+
+<p>"Think," said I, "of my sore bones."</p>
+
+<p>"And then," he continued, unmindful of my remark, "think of the dash
+along the ice, the moon lighting your pathway, while a cluster of
+star-bright eyes wait to welcome your coming."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>nonsense</i>" said I, "and by that I mean <i>your</i> romance. If
+through my imprudence I should have the star of my existence quenched,
+the lustre of those eyes would fail in any effort to light me up
+again, and that is a matter worth consideration."</p>
+
+<p>Even while I talked to him I felt my health rapidly improving.</p>
+
+<p>"What would the doctor say, Victor," inquired I, "if he came here and
+<i>found me out</i>? Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a hoax,
+shamelessly played off upon his old age, and he would never forgive
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Not so," says Victor, "you can take my prescription without his
+knowing it, and it is as follows: First and foremost, toss his
+medicine out of the window, visit uncle's with me and dance until
+morning, get back by daylight, go to bed and take a nap before he
+comes, and take my word for it he will pronounce your improved state
+the effect of <i>his</i> medicine."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be madness, and I cannot think of it," replied I, half
+disposed at the same time to yield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Then I pronounce you no true knight," said he, "I will report to
+Estelle the challenge that passed between us, and be sure she will set
+you down in her memory as a <i>timid gentleman</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, stop," said I, "and I will save you that sneer. I know that out
+of pure dread of my power you wish to kill me off; but I will go,
+nevertheless, if it is to death, in the performance of my duty."</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>duty</i> do you speak of," inquired he.</p>
+
+<p>"Taking the conceit out of a coxcomb," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" he shouted, "your blood is already in circulation, and there
+are hopes of you. I will now look to the horses." Indulging in a quiet
+laugh at his success, he descended the staircase.</p>
+
+<p>It was a work of some labor to perform the toilet for my journey, but
+at length Dr. B.'s patient, well muffled up, placed himself beneath a
+load of buffalo robes, and reversing the doctor's orders, which were
+peremptory to keep quiet, he was going like mad, in the teeth of a
+strong breeze, over the surface of Detroit river.</p>
+
+<p>The moon was yet an hour high above the dark forest line of the
+American shore, and light fleecy clouds were chasing each other across
+her bright disc, dimming her rays occasionally, but not enough to make
+traveling doubtful. A south wind swept down from the lake, along the
+bright line of the river, but it was not the balmy breeze which
+southern poets breathe of in their songs. True it had not the piercing
+power of the northern blast, but in passing over those frozen regions
+it had encountered its adversary and been chilled by his embrace. It
+was the first breath of spring combating with the strongly posted
+forces of old winter, and as they mingled, the mind could easily
+imagine it heard the roar of elemental strife. Now the south wind
+would sound like the murmur of a myriad of voices, as it rustled and
+roared through the dark woods lining the shore, and then it would pipe
+afar off as if a reserve were advancing to aid in holding the ground
+already occupied; anon the echo of a force would be heard close in by
+the bluff bordering the stream, and in a moment more, it was sweeping
+with all its strength and pride of power down the broad surface of the
+glittering ice, as if the rightfulness of its invasion scorned
+resistance. Sullen old winter with his frosty beard and snow-wreathed
+brow, sat with calm firmness at his post, sternly resolved to yield
+only when his power <i>melted</i> before the advancing tide of the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>"Our sport on the ice is nearly at an end," remarked Victor. "This
+south wind, if it continues a few days, will set our present pathway
+afloat. Go along!" he shouted, excitedly, to his horses, following the
+exclamation by the lash of his whip. They dashed ahead with the speed
+of lightning, while the ice cracked in a frightful manner beneath the
+runners of our sleigh for several rods. I held my breath with
+apprehension, but soon we were speeding along as before.</p>
+
+<p>"That was nigh being a cold bath," quietly observed Victor.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" inquired I.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you not see the air-hole we just passed?" he inquired in turn.</p>
+
+<p>"It was at least ten yards long, and we came within six inches of
+being emptied into it before I noticed the opening."</p>
+
+<p>I could feel my pores open&mdash;moisture was quickly forced to the surface
+of my skin at this announcement, and I inwardly breathed a prayer of
+thanks for our escape.</p>
+
+<p>But a short time elapsed ere the hospitable mansion of Victor's uncle
+appeared in sight, with lights dancing from every window, and our good
+steeds, like couriers of the air, scudded over the polished surface
+toward these pleasant beacons. We were soon able to descry forms
+flitting before the window, and as we turned up the road leading from
+the lake to the dwelling, Victor whispered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I recognize the person of Estelle standing by yonder window, remember
+our challenge."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not forget it," said I, as we drew up before the portal.</p>
+
+<p>Consigning our panting steeds to two negro boys, and divesting
+ourselves of extra covering, we were soon mingling in the "merrie
+companie." Estelle was there in all her beauty, her dark eyes beaming
+mischief, her graceful actions inviting attention, and her merry laugh
+infecting all with its gleeful cadences. Victor was deep in the toils,
+and willingly he yielded to the bondage of the gay coquette. Now she
+smiled winningly upon him, and again laughed at his tender speeches.
+He besought her to dance with him, and she refused, but with such an
+artless grace, such witching good humor, and playful cruelty, that he
+could not feel offended. I addressed her and she turned away from him.
+I had not presumption enough to suppose I could win a maiden's heart
+where he was my rival, but I thought that, aided by the coquetry of
+Estelle, I could help to torture the victim&mdash;and I set about it; nay,
+further, I confess that as she leaned her little ear, which peeped out
+from a cluster of dark curls, toward my flattering whisper, I fancied
+that she inclined it with pleasure; but, then, the next moment my
+hopes were dissipated, for she as fondly smiled on my rival.</p>
+
+<p>A flourish of the music, and with one accord the company moved forward
+to the dance. Estelle consented to be my partner. Victor was not left
+alone, but his companion in the set might as well have been, for she
+frequently had to call his attention to herself and the figure&mdash;his
+eye was continually wandering truant to the next set, where he was one
+moment scanning with a lover's jealousy a rival's enjoyment, and the
+next gazing with wrapt admiration upon the beautiful figure and
+graceful movements of his mistress. The set was ended, and the second
+begun&mdash;Victor being too slow in his request for her hand, she yielded
+it to another eager admirer. The third set soon followed, and
+laughingly she again took my arm. The fourth, and she was dancing with
+a stranger guest. As she wound through the mazes of the dance, arching
+her graceful neck with a proud motion, her eye, maliciously sportive,
+watched the workings of jealousy which clouded Victor's brow. He did
+not solicit her hand again, but stood with fixed eye and swelling
+throat, looking out upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> lake. I rallied him upon his moodiness,
+and told him he did not bear defeat with philosophy.</p>
+
+<p>"Your dancing," said he, "would win the admiration of an angel;" and
+his lip curled with a slight sneer.</p>
+
+<p>I did not feel flattered much, that he attributed my success to my
+<i>heels</i> instead of my <i>head</i>, and I carelessly remarked that perhaps
+he felt inclined to test my superior powers in some other method. He
+looked at me firmly for a moment, his large, dark eye blazing, and
+then burst into a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said he, "I should like to try a waltz with you upon the icy
+surface of the lake."</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of
+conceit&mdash;you know that is my purpose here to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed
+by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at
+Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in
+the night air to cool his fevered passions.</p>
+
+<p>"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the
+Indian fishermen, far out on the lake&mdash;they are spearing
+salmon-trout&mdash;we will go see the sport."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
+
+<p>I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its
+glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a
+bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse
+before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through
+the clear, cold atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."</p>
+
+<p>"If the bare thought fills you with <i>fear</i>," he answered, "I have no
+desire for your company. The <i>dance</i> within, I see, is more to your
+mind."</p>
+
+<p>Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to
+play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered
+not how far the fit took him.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest
+negro boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen
+want wid such tings at de ball?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too hot in the ball-room," answered Victor; "myself and friend,
+therefore, wish to try a waltz on the ice."</p>
+
+<p>"Yah, yah, h-e-a-h!" shouted the negro, wonderfully tickled at the
+novelty of the idea, "well, dat is a high kick, please goodness&mdash;guess
+you can't git any ob de ladies to try dat shine wid you, <i>h-e-a-h</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"We shall not <i>invite</i> them," said Victor, through his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, dar is de poles, massa," said the negro, handing him a couple
+of saplings about twelve feet long. "You better hab a lantern wid you,
+too, else you can't see dat dance berry well."</p>
+
+<p>"A good thought," said Victor; "give us the lantern."</p>
+
+<p>It was procured, lighted, and together we descended the steep bluff to
+the lake's brink. He paused for a moment to listen&mdash;revelry sounded
+clearly out upon the air of night, nimble feet were treading gayly to
+the strains of sweet music, and high above both, yet mingling with
+them, was heard the merry laughter of the joyous guests. Ah, Victor,
+thought I, trout are not the only fish captured by brilliant lights;
+there is a pair dancing above, yonder, which even now is driving you
+to madness. I shrunk from the folly we were about to perpetrate, yet
+had not courage enough to dare my companion's sneer, and turn boldly
+back; vainly hoping he would soon tire of the exploit I followed on.</p>
+
+<p>Running one pole through the ring of our lantern, and placing
+ourselves at each end, we took up our line of march for the light
+ahead. Victor seizing the end of the other sapling slid it before him
+to feel our way. At times the beacon would blaze up as if but an
+hundred yards ahead, and again it would sink to a spark, far away in
+the distance. The night wind was now sweeping down the lake in a
+tornado, sighing and laboring in its course as if pregnant with
+evil&mdash;afar off, at one moment, heard in a low whistle, and anon
+rushing around us like an army of invisible spirits, bearing us along
+with the whirl of their advance, and yelling a fearful war-cry in our
+ears. The beacon-light still beckoned us on. My companion, as if
+rejoicing in the fury of the tempest which roared around us, burst
+into a derisive laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Thunder would be fit music, now," said he, "for this pleasant little
+party"&mdash;and the words were scarcely uttered, ere a sound of distant
+thunder appeared to shake the frozen surface of the lake. The pole he
+was sliding before him, and of which he held but a careless grip, fell
+from his hands. He stooped to pick it up, but it was gone; and holding
+up our lantern to look for it, we beheld before us a wide opening in
+the ice, where the dark tide was ruffled into mimic waves by the
+breeze. Our sapling was floating upon its surface.</p>
+
+<p>"This way," said Victor, bent in his spirit of folly to fulfill his
+purpose, and skirting the yawning pool, where the cold tide rolled
+many fathoms deep, we held on our way. We thus progressed nearly two
+miles, and yet the <i>ignus fatuus</i> which tempted us upon the mad
+journey shone as distant as ever. Our own feeble light but served to
+show, indistinctly, the dangers with which we were surrounded. I was
+young, and loved life; nay, I was even about to plead in favor of
+turning toward the shore that I might preserve it, when my companion,
+his eye burning with excitement, turned toward me, and raising his end
+of the sapling until the light of the lantern fell upon my face,
+remarked,</p>
+
+<p>"You are pale&mdash;I am sorry I frightened you thus, we will return."</p>
+
+<p>With a reckless pride that would not own my fears, even though death
+hung on my footsteps, I answered with a scornful laugh,</p>
+
+<p>"Your own fears, and not mine, counsel you to such a proceeding."</p>
+
+<p>"Say you so," says he, "then we will hold on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> until we cross the
+lake;" and with a shout he pressed forward; bending my head to the
+blast, I followed.</p>
+
+<p>I had often heard of the suddenness with which Lake St. Clair cast off
+its winter covering, when visited by a southern breeze; and whether
+the heat of my excitement, or an actual moderation of cold in the wind
+sweeping over us was the fact, I am unable to determine, but I fancied
+its puff upon my cheek had grown soft and balmy in its character; a
+few drops of rain accompanied it, borne along as forerunners of a
+storm. While we thus journeyed, a sound like the reverberation of
+distant thunder again smote upon our ears, and shook the ice beneath
+our feet. We suddenly halted.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no mistaking that," said Victor. "The ice is breaking up&mdash;we
+will pursue this folly no further."</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely ceased speaking, when a report, like that of cannon,
+was heard in our immediate neighborhood, and a wide crevice opened at
+our very feet, through which the agitated waters underneath bubbled
+up. We leaped it, and rushed forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Haste!" cried my companion, "there is sufficient time for us yet to
+reach the shore before the surface moves."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Time</i>, for us, Victor," replied I, "is near an end&mdash;if we ever reach
+the shore, it will be floating lifeless amid the ice."</p>
+
+<p>"Courage," says he, "do not despond;" and seizing my arm, we moved
+with speed in the direction where lights streamed from the gay and
+pleasant mansion which we had so madly left. Ah, how with mingled hope
+and fear our hearts beats, as with straining eyes we looked toward
+that beacon. In an instant, even as we sped along, the ice opened
+again before us, and ere I could check my impetus, I was, with the
+lantern in my hand, plunged within the flood. My companion retained
+his hold of me, and with herculean strength he dragged me from the
+dark tide upon the frail floor over which we had been speeding. In the
+struggle, the lantern fell from my grasp, and sunk within the whirling
+waters.</p>
+
+<p>"Great God!" exclaimed Victor, "the field we stand upon is
+<i>moving</i>!"&mdash;and so it was. The mass closed up the gap into which I had
+fallen; and we could hear the edges which formed the brink of the
+chasm, crushing and crumbling as they moved together in the conflict.
+We stood breathlessly clinging to each other, listening to the mad
+fury of the wind, and the awful roar of the ice which broke and surged
+around us. The wind moaned by us and above our heads like the wail of
+nature in an agony, while mingling with its voice could be distinctly
+heard the ominous reverberations which proclaimed a general breaking
+up of the whole surface of the lake. The wind and current were both
+driving the ice toward the Detroit river, and we could see by the
+lights on the shore that we were rapidly passing in that direction. A
+dark line, scarcely discernible, revealed where the distant shore
+narrowed into the straight; but the hope of ever reaching it died
+within me, as our small platform rose and sunk on the troubled waves.</p>
+
+<p>While floating thus, held tightly in the grasp of my companion, his
+deep breathing fanning my cheek, I felt my senses gradually becoming
+wrapt with a sweet dream, and so quickly did it steal upon me, that in
+a few moments all the peril of our position was veiled from my mind,
+and I was reveling in a delightful illusion. I was floating upon an
+undulating field of ice, in a triumphal car, drawn by snow-white
+steeds, and in my path glittered a myriad gems of the icy north. My
+progress seemed to be as quiet as the falling of the snow-flake, and
+swift as the wind, which appeared drawn along with my chariot-wheels.
+To add to this dreamy delight, many forms of beauty, symmetrical as
+angels, with eyes radiant as the stars of night, floated around my
+pathway. Though their forms appeared superior to earth, the tender
+expression of their eyes was altogether human. Their ethereal forms
+were clad in flowing robes, white as the wintry drift; coronets of icy
+jewels circled their brows, and glittered upon their graceful necks;
+their golden hair floated upon the sportive wind, as if composed of
+the sun's bright rays, and the effect upon the infatuated gazer at
+these spirit-like creations, was a desire not to break the spell, lest
+they should vanish from before his entranced vision. To add to the
+charm of their power they burst into music wild as the elements, but
+yet so plaintively sweet, that the senses yielded up in utter abandon
+to its soothing swell. I had neither the power nor the wish to move,
+but under the influence of this ravishing dream, floated along in
+happy silence, a blest being, attended by an angel throng, whose
+voluptuous forms delighted, and whose pleasing voices lulled into all
+the joys of fancied elysium.</p>
+
+<p>From this dream I was aroused to the most painful sensations. The
+pangs of death can bear no comparison to the agony of throwing off
+this sleep. Action was attended with torture, and every move of my
+blood seemed as if molten lead was coursing through my veins. My
+companion, by every means he could think of, was forcing me back to
+consciousness; but I clung with the tenacity of death to my sweet
+dream. He dashed my body upon our floating island; he pinched my
+flesh, fastened his fingers into my hair, and beat me into feeling
+with the power of his muscular arm. Slowly the figures of my dream
+began to change&mdash;my triumphal car vanished&mdash;dark night succeeded the
+soft light which had before floated around me, and the fair forms,
+which had fascinated my soul by their beauty, were now changed into
+furies, whose voices mingling in the howl of the elements, sounded
+like a wail of sorrow, or a chaunt of rage. They looked into my eyes
+with orbs lit by burning hatred, while they seemed to lash me with
+whips of the biting wind, until every fibre in my frame was convulsed
+with rage and madness. I screamed with anguish, and grasping the
+muscular form of my companion, amid the loud howl of the storm, amid
+the roar of the crushing ice, amid the gloom of dark night upon that
+uncertain platform of the congealed yet moving waters, I fought with
+him, and struggled for the mastery. I rained blows upon his body, and
+he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> returned them with interest. I tried to plunge with him into the
+dark waters that were bubbling around us, but he held me back as if I
+were a child; and in impotent rage I wept at my weakness. Slowly our
+perilous situation again forced itself upon my mind. I became
+conscious that a platform, brittle as the thread of life, was all that
+separated me from a watery grave; and I fancied the wind was murmuring
+our requiem as it passed. Hope died within <i>me</i>; but not so my
+companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak to me!" he cried; "arouse, and let me hear your voice! Shake
+off this stupor, or you are lost!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you wake me?" I inquired; "while in that lethargy I was
+happy."</p>
+
+<p>"While there is hope you should never yield to despair," said Victor.
+"I discovered you freezing in my arms. Come, arouse yourself more
+fully; Providence has designed us for another grave than the waters of
+Lake St. Clair, or ere this we would have been quietly resting in some
+of the chasms beneath. We are floating rapidly into the river, and
+will here find some chance to escape."</p>
+
+<p>"Here, at last," answered I, despondingly, "we are likely to find our
+resting-place."</p>
+
+<p>"Shake off this despondency!" exclaimed Victor, "it is unmanly. If we
+are to die, let it be in a struggle against death. We have now only to
+avoid being crushed between the fields of ice. Oh! that unfortunate
+lantern! if we had only retained it&mdash;but no matter, we will escape
+yet; aye, and have another dance among our friends in yonder old
+hospitable mansion. Courage!" he exclaimed, "see, lights are dancing
+opposite us upon the shore. Hark! I hear shouts."</p>
+
+<p>A murmur, as of the expiring sound of a shout rose above the roar of
+the ice and waters&mdash;but it failed to arouse me. The lights, though, we
+soon plainly discerned; and on the bluff, at the very mouth of the
+river, a column of flame began to rise, which cast a lurid light far
+over the surface of the raging lake. Some persons stood at the edge of
+the flood waving lighted torches; and I thought from their manner that
+we were discovered.</p>
+
+<p>"We are safe, thank God!" says Victor. "They have discovered us!"</p>
+
+<p>Hope revived again within me, and my muscles regained their strength.
+We were only distant about one hundred yards from shore, and rapidly
+nearing it, when a scene commenced, which, for the wildly terrific,
+exceeded aught I had ever before beheld. The force of the wind and the
+current had driven vast fields of ice into the mouth of the river,
+where it now gorged; and with frightful rapidity, and a stunning
+noise, the ice began to pile up in masses of several feet in height,
+until the channel was entirely obstructed. The dammed-up waters here
+boiled and bubbled, seeking a passage, and crumbling the barrier which
+impeded their way, dashed against it, and over it, in the mad endeavor
+to rush onward. The persons seen a few moments before were driven up
+to the bluff; and they no sooner reached there than Victor and myself,
+struggling amid the breaking ice and the rising flood, gained the
+shore; but in vain did we seek a spot upon the perpendicular sides of
+the bluff, where, for an instant, we could rest from the struggle. We
+shouted to those above, and they hailed us with a cheer, flashed their
+torches over our heads&mdash;but they had no power to aid us, for the
+ground they stood upon was thirty feet above us. Even while we were
+thus struggling, and with our arms outstretched toward heaven,
+imploring aid, the gorge, with a sound like the rumbling of an
+earth-quake, broke away, and swept us along in its dreadful course.
+Now did it seem, indeed, as if we had been tempted with hope, only
+that we might feel to its full extent of poignancy the bitterness of
+absolute despair. I yielded in hopeless inactivity to the current; my
+companion, in the meantime, was separated from me&mdash;and I felt as if
+fate had singled out me, alone, as the victim; but, while thus
+yielding to despondency, Victor again appeared at my side, and held me
+within his powerful grasp. He seized me as I was about to sink through
+exhaustion, and dragging me after him, with superhuman strength he
+leaped across the floating masses of ice, recklessly and boldly daring
+the death that menaced us. We neared the shore where it was low; and
+all at once, directly before us, shot up another beacon, and a dozen
+torches flashed up beside it. The river again gorged below us, and the
+accumulating flood and ice bore us forward full fifty feet beyond the
+river's brink&mdash;as before, the tide again swept away the barrier,
+leaving us lying among the fragments of ice deposited by the
+retreating flood, which dashed on its course, foaming, and roaring,
+and flashing in the light of the blazing beacons. Locked in each
+other's arms, and trembling with excitement, we lay collecting our
+scattered senses, and endeavoring to divest us of the terrible thought
+that we were still at the mercy of the flood. Our friends, who had
+learned from the negroes the mad adventure we had started upon, now
+gathered around us, lifted us up from our prostrate position, and
+moved toward Yesson's mansion. Victor, who through the whole struggle
+had borne himself up with that firmness which scorns to shrink before
+danger, now yielded, and sunk insensible. The excitement was at an
+end, and the strong man had become a child. I, feeble in body, and
+lacking his energy in danger, now that the peril was past, felt a
+buoyancy and strength which I did not possess at starting out.</p>
+
+<p>My companion was lifted up and borne toward his uncle's. No music
+sounded upon the air as we approached&mdash;no voice of mirth escaped from
+the portal, for all inside were hushed into grief&mdash;that grief which
+anticipates a loss but knows not the sum of it. Several who entered
+the mansion first, and myself among the number, announced the coming
+of Victor, who had fallen in a fainting fit; but they would not
+believe us&mdash;they supposed at once that we came to save them from the
+sudden shock of an abrupt announcement of his death, and Estelle, with
+a piercing cry, rushed toward the hall&mdash;those bearing his body were at
+the moment entering the house&mdash;rushing toward them she clung to his
+inanimate form, uttering the most poignant cries of anguish. A few
+restora<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>tives brought Victor to consciousness, and sweet were the
+accents of reproof which fell upon his ear with the first waking into
+life, for they betrayed to him the tender feelings of love which the
+fair Estelle had before concealed beneath her coquetry. While the
+tears of joy were bedewing her cheeks, on finding her lover safe, he
+like a skillful tactician pursued the advantage, and in a mock
+attitude of desperation threatened to rush out and cast himself amid
+the turbid waters of the lake, unless she at once promised to
+terminate his suspense by fixing the day of their marriage. The fair
+girl consented to throw around him, merely as she said for his
+preservation, the gentle authority of a wife, and I at once offered to
+seal a "quit claim" of my pretensions upon her rosy lips, but she
+preferred having Victor act as my attorney in the matter, and the
+tender negotiation was accordingly closed.</p>
+
+<p>After partaking of a fragrant cup of Mocha, about the hour day was
+breaking, I started for home, and having arrived, I plunged beneath
+the blankets to rest my wearied body. Near noon I was awakened by the
+medical attendant feeling my pulse. On opening my eyes, the first
+impulse was to hide the neglected potions, which I had carelessly left
+exposed upon the table, but a glance partially relieved my fears about
+its discovery, for I had fortunately thrown my cravat over it and hid
+it from view. As Victor predicted, the doctor attributed the healthy
+state in which he found me entirely to his prescription, and following
+up its supposed good effect, with a repetition of his advice to keep
+quiet, he departed. I could scarcely suppress a smile in his presence.
+Little did he dream of the remedy which had banished my fever&mdash;cold
+baths and excitement had produced an effect upon me far more potent
+than drugs, either vegetable or mineral.</p>
+
+<p>A month after the events here above mentioned, I made one of a gay
+assembly in that same old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair. It
+was Victor's wedding-night, about to be consummated where the
+confession was first won, and while he sat upon one side of a sofa
+holding his betrothed's hand, in all the joy of undisputed possession,
+I on the other gave her a description of the winter-spirits which hold
+their revel upon the ice of the lake. While she listened her eye
+kindled with excitement, and she clung unconsciously and with a
+convulsive shudder to the person of her lover.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right, Estelle," said I, "hold him fast, or they will steal
+him away to their deep caves beneath the waters, where their dance is,
+to mortal, a dance of death."</p>
+
+<p>Bidding me begone, for a spiteful croaker, who was trying out of
+jealousy to mar her happiness, she turned confidingly to the manly
+form beside her, and from the noble expression beaming from his eyes
+imbibed a fire which defied the whole spirit-world, so deep and so
+strong was their assurance of devoted affection. The good priest now
+bade them stand up, the words were spoken, the benediction bestowed,
+the bride and groom congratulated, and a general joy circled the
+company round.</p>
+
+<p>The causes which led to, and the incidents which befel, a "night on
+the ice," I have endeavored faithfully to rehearse, and now let me add
+the pleasing sequel. Victor Druissel, folded in the embrace of beauty,
+now pillows his head upon a bosom as fond and true as ever in its wild
+pulsations of coquetry made a manly heart to ache with doubt.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_THANKSGIVING_OF_THE_SORROWFUL" id="THE_THANKSGIVING_OF_THE_SORROWFUL"></a>THE THANKSGIVING OF THE SORROWFUL.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thanksgiving," said the preacher.<br /></span>
+<span class="i29">"What hast thou,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh heart"&mdash;I asked&mdash;"for which to render thanks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What&mdash;crushed and stricken&mdash;canst thou here recall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worthy for this rejoicing. That thy home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath suddenly been made so desolate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or that the love for which thy being yearned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through years of youth, was given but to show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How fleet are life's enjoyments? For the smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That never more shall greet thee at the dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the low, earnest blessing, which at eve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Merged thoughts of human love in dreams of Heaven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That these are taken wilt thou now rejoice?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou art censured, where thou seekest love&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all thy purest thoughts, are turned to ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soon as they knew expression? Offerest praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That such has been thy lot in earliest youth?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"<i>Thou murmurer</i>!"&mdash;thus whispered back my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Thou&mdash;of all others&mdash;shouldst this day give thanks:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thanks for the love which for a little space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made thy life beautiful, and taught thee well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By precept, and example, so to act<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That others might in turn be blessed by thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The patient love, that checked each wayward word;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The holy love, that turned thee to thy God&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fount of all pure affection! Hadst thou dwelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Longer in such an atmosphere, thy strength<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had yielded to the weakness of idolatry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forgetting Him, the <span class="smcap">Giver</span>, in his gifts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So He recalled them. Ay, for that rejoice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou hast added treasure up in Heaven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, let thy heart dwell with thy treasure there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dream shall thus become reality.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blessing may be resting on thy brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cold as it is with sorrow. Thou hast lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The love of earth&mdash;but gained an angel's care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that the world views thee with curious eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wronging the pure expression of thy thoughts,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Censure may prove to thee as finer's fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That purifies the gold."<br /></span>
+<span class="i21">Then gave I thanks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reproved by that low whisper. <span class="smcap">Father</span> hear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forgive the murmurer thus in love rebuked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And may I never cease through all to pay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This tribute to thy bounty.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 533px;">
+<img src="images/illus068.png" width="533" height="800"
+alt="Lamartine" title="" /></div>
+<h4><i>Drawn by L. Nagel&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Engraved by J. Sartain</i><br />
+Lamartine&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine</h4>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DE_LAMARTINE" id="DE_LAMARTINE"></a>DE LAMARTINE,</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+
+<h3>MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY FRANCIS J. GRUND.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h4>
+
+
+<p>Alphonse de Lamartine, the present Minister of Foreign Affairs of the
+Republic of France, was born in 1792, at Saint Pont, near M&acirc;con, in
+the Department of the Saone and Loire. His true family name is De
+Prat; but he took the name of De Lamartine from his uncle, whose
+fortune he inherited in 1820. His father and uncle were both
+royalists, and suffered severely from the Jacobins during the
+revolution. Had they lived in Paris their heads might have fallen from
+the block, but even in the province they did not escape persecution&mdash;a
+circumstance which, from the earliest youth of Lamartine, made a deep
+and indelible impression on his mind. His early education he received
+at the College of Belley, from which he returned in 1809, at the age
+of 18 years.</p>
+
+<p>The splendor of the empire under Napoleon had no attractions for him.
+Though, at that period, Napoleon was extremely desirous to reconcile
+some of the old noble families, and for that purpose employed
+confidential ladies and gentlemen to correspond with the exiles and to
+represent to them the nobility of sentiment, and the magnanimity of
+the emperor; Lamartine refused to enter the service of his country
+under the new <i>r&eacute;gime</i>. So far from taking an interest in the great
+events of that period, he devoted himself entirely to literary
+studies, and improved his time by perambulating Italy. The fall of
+Napoleon did not affect him, for he was no friend of the first
+revolution, (whose last representative Napoleon still continued to be,
+though he had tamed it;) and when, in 1814, the elder line of Bourbons
+was restored, Lamartine returned from Naples, and entered, the service
+of Louis XVIII., as an officer of the <i>garde-du-corps</i>. With the
+return of Napoleon from Elba he left the military service forever.</p>
+
+<p>A contemporary of Chateaubriand, Delavigne and Beranger, he now
+devoted himself to that species of lyric and romantic poetry which at
+first exasperated the French critics, but, in a very short time, won
+for him the European appellation of "the French Schiller." His first
+poems, "M&eacute;ditations Po&eacute;tiques," which appeared in Paris in 1820, were
+received with ten times the bitter criticism that was poured out on
+Byron by the Scotch reviewers, but with a similar result; in less than
+two months a second edition was called for and published. The spirit
+of these poems is that of a deep but undefined religion, presentiments
+and fantastic dreams of another world, and the consecration of a noble
+and disinterested passion for the beau ideal of his youth, "Elvire,"
+separated from him forever by the chilly hand of death. In the same
+year Lamartine became Secretary of the French Legation at Naples, and
+in 1822, Secretary of the Legation in London&mdash;Chateaubriand being at
+the time minister plenipotentiary.</p>
+
+<p>But the author of the <i>G&eacute;nie du Christianism</i>, <i>les Martyrs</i>, and
+<i>Bonaparte et des Bourbons</i>, "did not seem to have been much pleased
+with Lamartine, whom he treated with studied neglect, and afterward
+entirely forgot as minister of foreign affairs. Chateaubriand, shortly
+before taking the place of Mons. Decazes in London, had published his
+<i>M&eacute;moires</i>, <i>lettres</i>, <i>et pi&egrave;ces authentiques touchant la vie et la
+mort du Duc de Berri</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and was then preparing to accompany the
+Duke of Montmorency, whom, in December 1822, he followed as minister
+of foreign affairs to the Congress of Verona. It is very possible that
+Chateaubriand, who was truly devoted to the elder branch of the
+Bourbons,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> may at that time have discovered in Lamartine little of
+that political talent or devotion which could have recommended him to
+a diplomatic post. Chateaubriand was a man of positive convictions in
+politics and religion, while Lamartine, at that period, though far
+surpassing Chateaubriand in depth of feeling and imagination, had not
+yet acquired that objectiveness of thought and reflection which is
+indispensable to the statesman or the diplomatist.</p>
+
+<p>After the dismission of Chateaubriand from the ministry, in July,
+1824, Lamartine became Secretary to the French Legation at Florence.
+Here he wrote "<i>Le dernier chant du p&eacute;lerinage d'Harold</i>," (the Last
+Song of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage,) which was published in Paris in
+1825. Some allusions to Italy which occur in this poem, caused him a
+duel with Col. Pepe, a relation of General Pepe&mdash;who had commanded the
+Neapolitan Insurgents&mdash;in which he was severely wounded. In the same
+year he published <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>his "<i>Chant du Sacre</i>," (Chant of the Coronation,)
+in honor of Charles X., just about the time that his contemporary,
+Beranger, was preparing for publication his "<i>Chansons in&eacute;dittes</i>,"
+containing the most bitter sarcasm on Charles X., and for which the
+great <i>Chansonnier</i> was afterward condemned to nine month's
+imprisonment, and a fine of 10,000 francs. The career of Lamartine
+commences in 1830, after he had been made a member of the Academy,
+when Beranger's muse went to sleep, because, with Charles X.'s flight
+from France, he declared his mission accomplished. Delavigne, in 1829,
+published his <i>Marino Falieri</i>.</p>
+
+<p>While in London, Lamartine married a young English lady, as handsome
+as <i>spirituelle</i>, who had conceived a strong affection for him through
+his poems, which she appreciated far better than his compeer,
+Chateaubriand, and requited with the true <i>troubadour's</i> reward. With
+the accession of Louis Philippe, Lamartine left the public service and
+traveled through Turkey, Egypt, and Syria. Here he lost his daughter,
+a calamity which so preyed on his mind that it would have
+incapacitated him for further intellectual efforts, had he not been
+suddenly awakened to a new sphere of usefulness. The town of Bergues,
+in the Department of the North, returned him, in his absence, to the
+Chamber of Deputies. He accepted the place, and was subsequently again
+returned from his native town, M&acirc;con, which he represented at the
+period of the last Revolution, which has called him to the head of the
+provisional government.</p>
+
+<p>It is here worthy of remark, that Lamartine, from the commencement of
+his political career, did not take that interest in public affairs
+which seriously interferred with his poetical meditations; on the
+contrary, it was his muse which gave direction to his politics. He
+took a poetical view of religion, politics, morals, society, and
+state; the Chambers were to him but the medium for the realization of
+his beaux ideals. But it must not be imagined that Lamartine's beaux
+ideals had a distinct form, definitive outlines, or distinguishing
+lights and shades. His imagination has never been plastic, and his
+fancy was far better pleased with the magnitude of objects than with
+the artistical arrangement of their details. His conceptions were
+grand; but he possessed little power of elaboration; and this
+peculiarity of his intellect he carried from literature into politics.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after his becoming a member of the French Academy, he
+publishes his "<i>Harmonies politiques et religieuses.</i>"<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Between the
+publication of these "Harmonies," and the "Poetical Meditations," with
+which he commenced his literary career, lies a cycle of ten years; but
+no perceptible intellectual progress or developement. True, the first
+effusions of a poet are chiefly marked by intensity of feeling and
+depth of sentiment. (What a world of emotions does not pervade
+Schiller's "Robbers," or Goethe's "G&ouml;tz of Berlichingen, with the iron
+hand!") but the subsequent productions must show some advancement
+toward objective reality, without which it is impossible to
+individualize even genius. To <i>our</i> taste, the "Meditations" are
+superior to his "Harmonies," in other words, we prefer his pr&aelig;ludium
+to the concert. The one leaves us full of expectation, the other
+disappoints us. Lamartine's religion is but a sentiment; his politics
+at that time were but a poetical conception of human society. His
+religion never reached the culmination point of <i>faith</i>; his politics
+were never condensed into a system; his liquid sympathies for mankind
+never left a precipitate in the form of an absorbing patriotism. When
+his contemporary, Beranger, electrified the masses by his "<i>Roi
+d'Yvetot</i>," and "<i>le Senateur</i>," (in 1813,) Lamartine quietly mused in
+Naples, and in 1814 entered the body guard of Louis XVIII., when
+Cormenin resigned his place as counsellor of state, to serve as a
+volunteer in Napoleon's army.</p>
+
+<p>Lamartine's political career did not, at first, interfere with his
+literary occupation, it was merely an agreeable pastime&mdash;a respite
+from his most ardent and congenial labors. In 1835 appeared his
+"<i>Souvenirs, impressions, pens&eacute;es et paysages pendant un voyage en
+Orient, &amp;c</i>."<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> This work, though written from personal observations,
+is any thing but a description of travels, or a faithful delineation
+of Eastern scenery or character. It is all poetry, without a
+sufficient substratum of reality&mdash;a dream of the Eastern world with
+its primitive vigor and sadness, but wholly destitute of either
+antiquarian research or living pictures. Lamartine gives us a picture
+of the East by candle-light&mdash;a high-wrought picture, certainly; but
+after all nothing but canvas. Shortly after this publication, there
+appeared his "<i>Jocelyn, journal trouv&eacute; chez un cur&eacute; de village</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> a
+sort of imitation of the Vicar of Wakefield; but with scarcely an
+attempt at a faithful delineation of character. Lamartine has nothing
+to do with the village parson, who may be a very ordinary personage;
+his priest is an ideal priest, who inculcates the doctrines of ideal
+Christianity in ideal sermons without a text. Lamartine seems to have
+an aversion to all positive forms, and dislikes the dogma in religion
+as much as he did the principles of the <i>Doctrinaires</i>. It would
+fetter his genius or oblige it to take a definite direction, which
+would be destructive to its essence.</p>
+
+<p>As late as in 1838 Lamartine published his "<i>La chute d'un age</i>."<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>
+This is one of his poorest productions, though exhibiting vast powers
+of imagination and productive genius. The scene is laid in a chaotic
+antediluvian world, inhabited by Titans, and is, perhaps, descriptive
+of the author's mind, full of majestic imagery, but as yet undefined,
+vague, and without an object worthy of its efforts. Lamartine's time
+had not yet come, though he required but a few years to complete the
+fiftieth anniversary of his birth.</p>
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+
+<p>The year following, in 1839, he published his "<i>Recueillements
+po&eacute;tiques</i>," which must be looked upon as the commencement of a new
+era in his life. Mahomed was past forty when he undertook to establish
+a new religion, and built upon it a new and powerful empire; Lamartine
+was nearly fifty when he left the fantastic for the real; and from the
+inspiration without an object, returned to the only real poetry in
+this world&mdash;the life of man. Lamartine, who until that period had been
+youthful in his conceptions, and wild and <i>bizarre</i> in his fancy, did
+not, as Voltaire said of his countrymen, pass "from childhood to old
+age," but paused at a green manhood, with a definite purpose, and the
+mighty powers of his mind directed to an object large enough to afford
+it scope for its most vigorous exercise. His muse was now directed to
+the interests of humanity; he was what the French call <i>un poete
+humanitaire</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Thus far it was proper for us to follow the life of the poet to
+understand that of the statesman, orator, and tribune. Men like
+Lamartine must be judged in their totality, not by single or detached
+acts of their lives. Above all men it is the poet who is a
+self-directing agent, whose faculties receive their principal impulse
+from <i>within</i>, and who stamps his own genius on every object of his
+mental activity. Schiller, after writing the history of the most
+remarkable period preceding the French Revolution, "the thirty years'
+war," (for liberty of conscience,) and "the separation of the
+Netherlands from the crown of Spain," felt that his energies were not
+yet exhausted on the subject; but his creative genius found no theatre
+of action such as was open to Lamartine in the French Chamber, in the
+purification of the ideas engendered by the Revolution; and he had
+therefore to content himself with bringing <i>his</i> poetical conceptions
+on the <i>stage</i>. Instead of becoming an actor in the great world-drama,
+he gave us his <i>Wallenstein</i> and <i>Don Carlos</i>; Lamartine gave us
+<i>himself</i> as the best creation of his poetic genius. The poet
+Lamartine has produced the statesman. This it will be necessary to
+bear in mind, to understand Lamartine's career in the Chamber of
+Deputies, or the position he now holds at the head of the provisional
+government.</p>
+
+<p>Lamartine, as we have above observed, entered the French Chamber in
+1833, as a cosmopolite, full of love for mankind, full of noble ideas
+of human destiny, and deeply impressed with the degraded social
+condition not only of his countrymen, but of all civilized Europe. He
+knew and felt that the Revolution which had destroyed the social
+elements of Europe, or thrown them in disorder, had not reconstructed
+and arranged them; and that the re-organization of society on the
+basis of humanity and mutual obligation, was still an unfinished
+problem. Lamartine felt this; but did the French Chambers, as they
+were then organized, offer him a fair scope for the development of his
+ideas, or the exercise of his genius? Certainly not. The French
+Chamber was divided into two great dynastic interests&mdash;those of the
+younger and elder Bourbons. The Republican party (the extreme left)
+was small, and without an acknowledged leader; and the whole assembly,
+with few individual exceptions, had taken a material direction.
+During seventeen years&mdash;from 1830 to 1847&mdash;no organic principle of law
+or politics was agitated in the Chambers, no new ideas evolved. The
+whole national legislation seemed to be directed toward material
+improvements, to the exclusion of every thing that could elevate the
+soul or inspire the masses with patriotic sentiments. The government
+of Louis Philippe had at first become stationary, then reactionary;
+the mere enunciation of a general idea inspired its members with
+terror, and made the centres (right and left) afraid of the horrors of
+the guillotine. The government of Louis Philippe was not a reign of
+terror, like that of 1793, but it was a reign of prospective terror,
+which it wished to avoid. Louis Philippe had no faith in the people;
+he treated them as the keeper of a menagerie would a tame tiger&mdash;he
+knew its strength, and he feared its vindictiveness. To disarm it, and
+to change its ferocious nature, he checked the progress of political
+ideas, instead of combating them with the weapons of reason, and
+banished from his counsel those who alone could have served as
+mediators between the throne and the liberties of the nation. The
+French people seemed stupified at the <i>contre-coups</i> to all their
+hopes and aspirations. Even the more moderate complained; but their
+complaints were hushed by the immediate prospect of an improved
+material condition. All France seemed to have become industrious,
+manufacturing, mercantile, speculating. The thirst for wealth had
+succeeded to the ambition of the Republicans, the fanaticism of the
+Jacobins, and the love of distinction of the old monarchists. The
+Chamber of Deputies no longer represented the French people&mdash;its love,
+its hatred, its devotion&mdash;the elasticity of its mind, its facility of
+emotion, its capacity to sacrifice itself for a great idea. The
+Deputies had become stock-jobbers, partners in large enterprises of
+internal improvements, and <i>timidly</i> conservative, as are always the
+representatives of mere property. The Chamber, instead of representing
+the essence of the nation, represented merely the moneyed classes of
+society.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the Chamber of Deputies to which Lamartine was chosen by an
+electoral college, devoted to the Dynastic opposition. He entered it
+in 1833, not a technical politician or orator as Odillon Barrot, not
+as a skillful tactitioner like Thiers, not as a man with one idea as
+the Duke de Broglie, not as the funeral orator of departed grandeur
+like Berryer, nor as the embodiment of a legal abstraction like Dupin,
+or a man of the devouring ambition and skill in debate of Fran&ccedil;ois
+Pierre Guillaume Guizot: Lamartine was simply a <i>humanitaire</i>. Goaded
+by the sarcasm of Cormenin, he declared that he belonged to no party,
+that he sought for no parliamentary conquest&mdash;that he wished to
+triumph through the force of ideas, and through no power of
+persuasion. He was the very counterpart of Thiers, the most sterile
+orator and statesman of France. Lamartine had studied the French
+Revolution, he saw the anarchical condition of society, and the
+ineffectual attempt to compress instead of organizing it; and he
+con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>ceived the noble idea of collecting the scattered fragments, and
+uniting them into a harmonious edifice. While the extreme left were
+employed in removing the pressure from above, Lamartine was quietly
+employed in laying the foundation of a new structure, and called
+himself <i>un d&eacute;mocrate conservateur</i>.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> He spoke successfully and with
+great force against the political monopoly of real property, against
+the prohibitive system of trade, against slavery, and the punishment
+of death.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> His speeches made him at once a popular character; he
+did not address himself to the Chamber, he spoke to the French people,
+in language that sunk deep into the hearts of the masses, without
+producing a striking effect in the Legislature. At that time already
+had the king singled him out from the rest of the opposition. He
+wished to secure his talents for his dynasty; but Lamartine was not in
+search of a <i>portefeuille</i>, and escaped without effort from the
+temptation.</p>
+
+<p>In November, 1837, he was re-elected to the Chamber from Bergues and
+M&acirc;con, his native town. He decided in favor of the latter, and took
+his seat as a member for that place. He supported the Mol&eacute; ministry,
+not because he had become converted to the new dynasty, but because he
+despised the <i>Doctrinaires</i>, who, by their union with the Liberals,
+brought in the new Soult ministry. He was not satisfied with the
+purity of motives, he also wanted proper means to attain a laudable
+object. In the Oriental question, which was agitated under Soult,
+Lamartine was not felt. His opposition was too vague and undefined:
+instead of pointing to the interests of France, he pointed to the
+duties of humanity of a great nation; he read Milton in a
+counting-room, and a commercial Maclaurin asked him "what does it
+prove?"</p>
+
+<p>In 1841 his talent as an orator (he was never distinguished as a
+debater) was afforded ample scope by Thiers' project to fortify the
+capital. He opposed it vehemently, but without effect. In the
+boisterous session of 1842 he acted the part of a moderator; but still
+so far seconded the views of Thiers as to consider the left bank of
+the Rhine as the proper and legitimate boundary of France against
+Germany. This debate, it is well known, produced a perfect storm of
+popular passions in Germany. In a few weeks the whole shores of the
+Rhine were bristling with bayonets; the peasantry in the Black Forest
+began to clean and polish their rusty muskets, buried since the fall
+of Napoleon, and the princes perceiving that the spirit of nationality
+was stronger than that of freedom, encouraged this popular declaration
+against French usurpation. Nicolas Becker, a modest German, without
+pretension or poetic genius, but inspired by an honest love of country
+and national glory, then composed a war-song, commencing thus:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, never shall they have it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The free, the German Rhine;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>which was soon in every man's mouth, and being set to music, became
+for a short period the German Marseillaise. Lamartine answered the
+German with the <i>Marseillaise de paix</i>, (the Marseillaise of peace,)
+which produced a deep impression; and the fall of the Thiers' ministry
+soon calmed the warlike spirit throughout Europe.</p>
+
+<p>On the question of the Regency, Lamartine declared himself in favor of
+the Duchess of Orleans as Regent, should Louis Philippe die during the
+minority of the Count of Paris, and it is our firm belief that he
+would have accepted that Regency even in February last, if the king
+had abdicated a day sooner. Lamartine never avowed himself a
+Republican; but was left no alternative but to eclipse himself
+forever, or become its champion.</p>
+
+<p>The star of Lamartine's political destiny rose in the session of 1843,
+when, utterly disgusted with the reactionary policy of Guizot, he
+conceived the practical idea of uniting all the elements of
+opposition, of whatever shade and color, against the government. But
+he was not satisfied with this movement in the Chamber, which produced
+the coalition of the Dynastic right with the Democratic left, and for
+a moment completely paralyzed the administration of Guizot: he carried
+his new doctrine right before the people, as the legitimate source of
+the Chamber, and thus became the first political agitator of France
+since the restoration, in the legitimate, legal, English sense of the
+word. Finding that the press was muzzled, or subsidized and bought, he
+moved his countrymen through the power of his eloquence. He appealed
+from the Chamber to the sense and the virtue of the people. In
+September, 1843, he first addressed the electors of M&acirc;con on the
+necessity of extending the franchise, in order to admit of a greater
+representation of the French people&mdash;generous, magnanimous, bold and
+devoted to their country. Instead of fruitlessly endeavoring to reform
+the government, he saw that the time had come for reforming the
+Chamber.</p>
+
+<p>In the month of October, of the same year&mdash;so rapidly did his new
+political genius develop itself&mdash;he published a regular programme for
+the opposition; a thing which Thiers, up to that moment, had
+studiously avoided, not to break entirely with the king, and to render
+himself still "possible" as a minister of the crown. Lamartine knew no
+such selfish consideration, which has destroyed Thiers as a man of the
+people, and declared himself entirely independent of the throne of
+July. He advocated openly <i>the abolition of industrial feudalism, and
+the foundation of a new democratic society under a constitutional
+throne</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Thus, then, had Lamartine separated himself not only from the king and
+his ministers, but also from the ancient <i>noblesse</i> and the
+<i>bourgeoisie</i>, without approaching or identifying himself with the
+Republican left wing of the Chamber. He stood alone, admired for his
+genius, his irreproachable rectitude, his devoted patriotism, but
+considered rather as a poetical abstraction, an impracticable Utopist;
+and yet he was the only man in the Chamber who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> devised a
+practical means of regenerating the people and the government.
+Lamartine was now considered a parliamentary oddity rather than the
+leader of a faction, or the representative of a political principle;
+but he was indeed far in advance of the miserable routine of his
+colleagues. He personated, indeed, no principle represented in the
+Chamber, but he was already the Tribune of the unrepresented masses!
+The people had declared the government a fraud&mdash;the Chamber an
+embodied falsehood. At last Marrast, one of the editors of the
+National, (now a member of the provisional government,) pronounced it
+in his paper that the French people had no representation, that it was
+in vain to attempt to oppose the government in the legislature: "<i>La
+Chambre</i>," said Marrast, "<i>n'est qu' un mensonge</i>."<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p>
+
+<p>Lamartine had thus, all at once, as if by a <i>coup-de-main</i>, become "a
+popular greatness." He was the man of the people, without having
+courted popularity&mdash;that stimulus (as he himself called it) to so many
+noble acts and crimes, as the object of its caresses remains its
+conscious master or its pandering slave. Lamartine grew rapidly in
+public estimation, because he was a new man. All the great characters
+of the Chamber, beginning with Casimir Perrier, had, in contact with
+Louis Philippe, become either eclipsed or tarnished. Lamartine avoided
+the court, but openly and frankly confessed that he belonged to no
+party. He had boldly avowed his determination to oppose the government
+of Louis Philippe, not merely this or that particular direction, which
+it took in regard to its internal and external relations; but in its
+whole general tendency. He was neither the friend nor the enemy of a
+particular combination for the ministry, and had, during a short
+period, given his support to Count Mol&eacute;, not because he was satisfied
+with his administration, but because he thought the opposition and its
+objects less virtuous than the minister. In this independent position,
+supported by an ample private fortune, (inherited, as we before
+observed, by his maternal uncle, and the returns of his literary
+activity,) Lamartine became an important element of parliamentary
+combination, from the weight of his <i>personal</i> influence, while at the
+same time his "utopies," as they were termed by the tactitioners of
+Alphonse Thiers, gave but little umbrage to the ambition of his
+rivals. He alone enjoyed some credit with the masses, though his
+social position ranked with the first in the country, while, from the
+peculiar bend of his mind, and the idealization of his principles, he
+was deemed the most harmless aspirant to political power. The
+practical genius of the opposition, everlastingly occupied with
+unintellectual details of a venal class-legislature, saw in Lamartine
+a useful co-operator: they never dreamt that the day would come when
+they would be obliged to serve under him.</p>
+
+<p>And, in truth, it must be admitted that without the Revolution of
+February, Lamartine must have been condemned to a comparative
+political inactivity. With the exception of a few friends, personally
+devoted to him, he had no party in the Chamber. The career which he
+had entered, as the people's Tribune, placed him, in a measure, in
+<i>opposition</i> to all existing parties; but it was even this singular
+position of parliamentary impotence, which confirmed and strengthened
+his reputation as an honest man, in contradistinction to a notoriously
+corrupt legislature. His eloquence in the Chamber had no particular
+direction; but it was the sword of justice, and was, as such, dreaded
+by all parties. As a statesman his views were tempered by humanity,
+and so little specific as to be almost anti-national. In his views as
+regards the foreign policy of France he was alike opposed to Guizot
+and Thiers; and, perhaps, to a large portion of the French people. He
+wished the external policy of France governed by a general principle,
+as the internal politics of the country, and admitted openly the
+solidarity of interests of the different states of Europe. He thus
+created for himself allies in Germany, in Italy, in Spain; but he
+lacked powerful supporters at home; and became the most impracticable
+man to carry out the aggressive views of the fallen Dynasty. Thiers
+never considered him a rival; for he considered him incapable of ever
+becoming the exponent of a leading popular passion: neither the
+present nor the future seemed to present a chance for Lamartine's
+accession to power. <i>L'homme positive</i>, as Thiers was pleased to call
+himself at the tribune of the Chamber, almost commiserated the poet
+statesman and orator.</p>
+
+<p>Lamartine never affected, in his manner or in his mode of living, that
+"republican simplicity" which is so often nothing but the frontispiece
+of demagoguism. He despised to flatter the people, for whom he
+cherished a generous sentiment, by vulgar appeal to their ignoble
+prejudices. He gratified his tastes where they did not come in
+conflict with morality or justice, and thus preserved his
+individuality and his friends, in the midst of the swelling tide of
+popular commotion and conflicting opinions. Guizot affected in his
+<i>d&eacute;hors</i> that severity and simplicity of style, which won for him the
+<i>soubriquet</i> of "the Puritan;" bestowed by the sarcasm of the
+Parisians, to punish his egotism, his craving ambition and his love of
+power. While Guizot was penetrating the mysteries of European
+diplomacy, under the guidance of Princess Lieven, Lamartine's h&ocirc;tel,
+in the <i>Rue de l'Universit&eacute;</i> was the <i>r&eacute;union</i> of science, literature,
+wit, elegance and grace. His country-seat near Paris was as elegantly
+furnished and artistically arranged as his palace in the Faubourg St.
+Germain; and his weekly receptions in Paris were as brilliant as they
+were attractive by the intelligence of those who had the honor to
+frequent them. The <i>&eacute;lite</i> of the old nobility, the descendants of the
+notabilities of the Empire, the historical remnants of the Gironde and
+the Jacobins, the versatility of French genius in every department,
+and distinguished strangers from all parts of the world were his
+guests; excluded were only the men of mere accidental position&mdash;the
+mob in politics, literature and the arts.</p>
+
+<p>But the time for Lamartine had not yet come, though the demoralization
+of the government, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> sordid impulses given by it to the
+national legislature were fast preparing that anarchy of passions
+which no government has the power to render uniform, though it may
+compress it. The ministry in the session of 1845 was defeated by the
+coalition; but the defection of Emil de Girardin saved it once more
+from destruction. Meanwhile Duch&acirc;tel, the Minister of the Interior,
+had found means, by a gigantic system of internal improvement, (by a
+large number of concessions for new rail-ways and canals,) to obtain
+from the same Chamber a ministerial majority, which toward the close
+of the session amounted to nearly eighty members. Under such auspices
+the new elections were ushered in, and the result was an overwhelming
+majority for the administration. The government was not to be shaken
+in the Chambers, but its popular ascendancy had sunk to zero. The
+opposition from being parliamentary had become organic. The
+opposition, seeing all hopes of success vanish in the Chambers, now
+embraced Lamartine's plan of agitating the people. They must either
+fall into perfect insignificance or dare to attack the very basis of
+the government. The party of Thiers and Odillon Barrot joined the
+movement, and by that means gave it a practical direction; while
+Lamartine, Marrast, Louis Blanc, and Ledru Rollin were operating on
+the masses, Thiers and Odillon Barrot indoctrinated the National
+Guards. While Thiers was willing to stake his life to dethrone Guizot,
+the confederates of Lamartine aimed at an organic change of the
+constitution.</p>
+
+<p>Was Lamartine a conspirator? may here be asked. We answer most
+readily, no! Lamartine is what himself says of Robespierre, "a man of
+general ideas;" but not a man of a positive system; and hence,
+incapable of devising a plan for attaining a specific political
+object. His opposition to Louis Philippe's government was general; but
+it rested on a noble basis, and was free from individual passions. He
+may have been willing to batter it, but he did not intend its
+demolition. The Republic of France was proclaimed in the streets,
+partly as the consequence of the king's cowardice. Lamartine accepted
+its first office, because he had to choose between it and anarchy, and
+he has thus far nobly discharged his trust. If he is not a statesman
+of consummate ability, who would devise means of extricating his
+country from a difficult and perilous situation, he will not easily
+plunge it into danger; if he be not versed in the intrigues of
+cabinets, his straight forward course commands their respect, and the
+confidence of the French people. This is not the time for Europe to
+give birth to new ideas&mdash;the old Revolution has done that
+sufficiently&mdash;but the period has arrived for elaborating them, with a
+view to a new and lasting organization of society. The present
+revolution in Europe need not forcibly overthrow any established
+political creed; for there is no established political conviction in
+Europe. The people have arrived at a period of universal political
+scepticism, which, like scepticism in religion, always prepares the
+soil for the reception of the seed of a new faith. The great work of
+the revolution is done, if the people will but seize and perpetuate
+its consequences. Such, at least, are the views of Lamartine, and with
+him of a majority of European writers, as expressed in the literature
+of the day.</p>
+
+<p>The history of the Girondists contains Lamartine's political faith. It
+is not without its poetry and its Utopian visions; but it is full of
+thought and valuable reflections, and breathes throughout the loftiest
+and most noble sentiments. Lamartine, in that history, becomes the
+panegyrist and the censor of the French Revolution. He vindicates with
+a powerful hand the ideas which it evolved; while he castigates, and
+depicts with poetic melancholy its mournful errors and its tragic
+character. He makes Vergniaud, the chief of the Girondists, say before
+his execution&mdash;"In grafting the tree, my friend, we have killed it. It
+was too old. Robespierrie cuts it. Will he be more successful than
+ourselves? No. This soil is too unsteady to nourish the roots of civil
+liberty; this people is too childish to handle its laws without
+wounding itself. It will come back to its kings as children come back
+to their rattle. We made a mistake in our births, in being born and
+dying for the liberty of the world. We imagined that we were in Rome,
+and we were in Paris. But revolutions are like those crises which, in
+a single night, turn men's hair gray. They ripen the people fast. The
+blood in our veins is warm enough to fecundate the soil of the
+Republic. Let us not take with us the future, and let us bequeath to
+the people our hope in return for the death which it gives us."<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p>
+
+<p>It is impossible that Lamartine should not have felt as a poet what he
+expressed as a historian, and his character is too sincere to prevent
+him from acting out his conviction. In describing the death of the
+founders of the first French Republic, Lamartine employs the whole
+pathos of his poetic inspiration.</p>
+
+<p>"They (the Girondists) possessed three virtues which in the eyes of
+posterity atone for many faults. They worshiped liberty; they founded
+the Republic&mdash;this precautions truth of future governments;&mdash;at last,
+they died, because they refused blood to the people. Their time has
+condemned them to death, the future has judged them to glory and
+pardon. They died because they did not allow Liberty to soil itself,
+and posterity will yet engrave on their memory the inscription which
+Vergniaud, their oracle, has, with his own hand, engraved on the wall
+of his dungeon: 'Rather death than crime!' '<i>Potius mori quam
+foedari!</i>'"</p>
+
+<p>Lamartine is visibly inclined in favor of the Girondists&mdash;the founders
+of the Republic; but his sense of justice does not permit him to
+condemn the Jacobins without vindicating their memory from that
+crushing judgment which their contemporaries pronounced upon them. He
+thus describes, in a few masterly strokes, the character of
+Robespierre:</p>
+
+<p>"Robespierre's refusal of the supreme power was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>sincere in the
+motives which he alleged. But there were other motives which caused
+him to reject the sole government. These motives he did not yet avow.
+The fact is that he had arrived at the end of his thoughts, and that
+himself did not know what form was best suited to revolutionary
+institutions. More a man of ideas than of action, Robespierre had the
+sentiment of the Revolution rather than the political formula. The
+soul of the institutions of the future was in his dreams, but he
+lacked the mechanism of a popular government. His theories, all taken
+from books, were brilliant and vague as perspectives, and cloudy as
+the far distance. He contemplated them daily; he was dazzled by them;
+but he never touched them with the firm and precise hand of practice.
+He forgot that Liberty herself requires the protection of a strong
+power, and that this power must have a head to conceive, and hands to
+execute. He believed that the words Liberty, Equality,
+Disinterestedness, Devotion, Virtue, incessantly repeated, were
+themselves a government. He took philosophy for politics, and became
+indignant at his false calculations. He attributed continually his
+deceptions to the conspiracies of aristocrats and demagogues. He
+thought that in extinguishing from society the aristocrats and
+demagogues, he would be able to suppress the vices of humanity, and
+the obstacles to the work of liberal institutions. His notion of the
+people was an illusion, not a reality. He became irritated to find the
+people often so weak, so cowardly, so cruel, so ignorant, so
+changeable, so unworthy the rank which nature has assigned them. He
+became irritated and soured, and challenged the scaffold to extricate
+him from his difficulties. Then, indignant at the excesses of the
+scaffold, he returned to words of justice and humanity. Then once more
+he seized upon the scaffold, invoked virtue and suscitated death.
+Floating sometimes on clouds, sometimes in human gore, he despaired of
+mankind and became frightened at himself. 'Death, and nothing but
+death!' he cried, in conversation with his intimate friends, 'and the
+villains charge it upon me. What memory shall I leave behind me if
+this goes on? Life is a burthen to me!'"</p>
+
+<p>Once, says Lamartine, the truth became manifest. He (Robespierre)
+exclaimed, with a gesture of despair, "<i>No, I was not made to govern,
+I was made to combat the enemies of the people!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>These meditations on the character of Robespierre, show sufficiently
+that Lamartine, though he may not as yet have taken a positive
+direction in politics, has at least, from his vague poetical
+conceptions, returned to a sound state of political criticism, the
+inevitable precursor of sound theories. His views on the execution of
+the royal family are severe but just.</p>
+
+<p>"Had the French nation a right to judge Louis XVI. as a legal
+tribunal?" demands Lamartine. "No! Because the judge ought to be
+impartial and disinterested&mdash;and the nation was neither the one nor
+the other. In this terrible but inevitable combat, in which, under the
+name of revolution, royalty and liberty were engaged for emancipating
+or enslaving the citizen, Louis XVI. personified the throne, the
+nation personified liberty. This was not their fault, it was their
+nature. All attempts at a mutual understanding were in vain. Their
+natures warred against each other in spite of their inclination toward
+peace. Between these two adversaries, the king and the people, of whom
+the one, by instinct, was prompted to retain, the other to wrest from
+its antagonist the rights of the nation, there was no tribunal but
+combat, no judge but victory. We do not mean to say that there was not
+above the parties a moral of the case, and acts which judge even
+victory itself. This justice never perishes in the eclipse of the law,
+and the ruin of empires; but it has no tribunal before which it can
+legally summon the accused; it is the justice of state, the justice
+which has neither regularly appointed judges, nor written laws, but
+which pronounces its sentences in men's consciences, and whose code is
+equity."</p>
+
+<p>"Louis XVI. could not be judged in politics or equity, but by a
+process of state. Had the nation a right to judge him thus? As well
+might we demand whether she had a right to fight and conquer, in other
+words, as well might we ask whether despotism is inviolable&mdash;whether
+liberty is a revolt&mdash;whether there is no justice here below but for
+kings&mdash;whether there is, for the people, no other right than to serve
+and obey? The mere doubt is an act of impiety toward the people."</p>
+
+<p>So far the political philosophy of Lamartine, the legal argument
+against the king, strikes us as less logical and just. We may agree
+with him in principle, but we cannot assent to the abstract justice of
+his conclusions.</p>
+
+<p>"The nation," says the head of the present provisional government of
+France, "possessing within itself the inalienable sovereignty which
+rests in reason, in the right and the will of each citizen, the
+aggregate of which constitutes the people, possesses certainly the
+faculty of modifying the exterior form of its sovereignty, to level
+its aristocracy, to dispossess its church of its property, to lower or
+even to suppress the throne, and to govern themselves through their
+proper magistrates. But as the nation had a right to combat and
+emancipate itself, she also had a right to watch over and consolidate
+the fruits of its victories. If, then, Louis XVI., a king too recently
+dispossessed of sovereign power&mdash;a king in whose eyes all restitution
+of power to the people was tantamount to a forfeiture&mdash;a king ill
+satisfied with what little of government remained in his hands,
+aspiring to reconquer the part he had lost&mdash;torn in one direction by a
+usurping assembly, and in another by a restless queen or humble
+nobility, and a clergy which made Heaven to intervene in his cause, by
+implacable emigrants, by his brothers running all over Europe to drum
+up enemies to the Revolution; if, in one word, Louis XVI., KING,
+appeared to the nation a living conspiracy against her liberty; if the
+nation suspected him of regretting in his soul too much the loss of
+supreme power&mdash;of causing the new constitution to stumble, in order to
+profit by its fall&mdash;of conducting liberty into snares to rejoice in
+anarchy&mdash;of disarming the country be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>cause he secretly wished it to be
+defeated&mdash;then the nation had a right to make him descend from the
+throne, and to call him to her bar, and to depose him in the name of
+her own dictatorship, and for her own safety. If the nation had not
+possessed this right, the right to betray the people with impunity,
+would, in the new constitution, have been one of the prerogatives of
+the crown."</p>
+
+<p>This is a pretty fair specimen of revolutionary reasoning; but it is
+rather a definition of Democracy, as Lamartine understands it, than a
+constitutional argument in favor of the decapitation of "<i>Louis
+Capet</i>." Lamartine is, indeed, a "Conservative Democrat," that is,
+ready to immolate the king to preserve the rights of the people; but
+he does not distinguish in his mind a justifiable act from a righteous
+one. But it is a peculiarity of the French mind to identify itself so
+completely with the object of its reflection, that it is impossible
+for a French mind to be impartial, or as they will have it, not to be
+an enthusiast. The French are partisans even in science; the Academy
+itself has its factions.</p>
+
+<p>We have thus quoted the most important political opinions expressed in
+his "Girondists," because these are his <i>latest</i> political
+convictions, and he has subscribed to them his name. We look upon this
+his last work, as a public confession of his faith&mdash;as a declaration
+of the principles which will guide him in the administration of the
+new government. Lamartine has been indoctrinated with the spirit of
+revolution; but it is not the spirit of his youth or early manhood.
+Liberty in his hands becomes something poetical&mdash;perhaps a lyric
+poem&mdash;but we respectfully doubt his capacity to give her a practical
+organization, and a real existence. High moral precepts and sublime
+theories may momentarily elevate a people to the height of a noble
+devotion; but laws and institutions are made for ordinary men, and
+must be adapted to their circumstances. Herein consists the specific
+talent of the statesman, and his capacity to govern. Government is not
+an ideal abstraction&mdash;a blessing showered from a given height on the
+abiding masses, or a scourge applied to mortify their passions; it is
+something natural and spontaneous, originating in and coeval with the
+people, and must be adapted to their situation, their moral and
+intellectual progress, and to their national peculiarities. It
+consists of details as well as of general forms, and requires labor
+and industry as well as genius. The majority of the people must not
+only yield the laws a ready submission, but they must find, or at
+least believe, it their interest to do so, or the government becomes
+coercion. The great problem of Europe is to discover the laws of
+labor, not to invent them, for without this question being practically
+settled in some feasible manner, all fine spun theories will not
+suffice to preserve the government.</p>
+
+<p>Lamartine closes his history of the Girondists with the following
+sublime though mystic reflection: "A nation ought, no doubt, to weep
+her dead, and not to console itself in regard to a single life that
+has been unjustly and odiously sacrificed; but it ought not to regret
+its blood when it was shed to reveal eternal truths. God has put this
+price on the germination and maturation of all His designs in regard
+to man. Ideas vegetate in human blood; revolutions descend from the
+scaffold. All religions become divine through martyrdom. Let us, then,
+pardon each other, sons of combatants and victims. Let us become
+reconciled over their graves to take up the work which they have left
+undone. Crime has lost every thing in introducing itself into the
+ranks of the republic. To do battle is not to immolate. Let us take
+away the crime from the cause of the people, as a weapon which has
+pierced their hands and changed liberty into despotism. Let us not
+seek to justify the scaffold with the cause of our country, and
+proscriptions by the cause of liberty. Let us not pardon the spirit of
+our age by the sophism of revolutionary energy, let humanity preserve
+its heart; it is the safest and most infallible of its principles, and
+<i>let us resign ourselves to the condition of human things</i>. The
+history of the Revolution is glorious and sad as the day after the
+victory, or the eve of another combat. But if this history is full of
+mourning, it is also full of faith. It resembles the antique drama
+where, while the narrator recites his story, the chorus of the people
+shouts the glory, weeps for the victims and raises a hymn of
+consolation and hope to God."</p>
+
+<p>All this is very beautiful, but it does not increase our stock of
+historical information. It teaches the people resignation, instead of
+pointing to their errors, and the errors of those who claimed to be
+their deliverers. Lamartme has made an apotheosis of the Revolution,
+instead of treating it as the unavoidable consequence of
+misgovernment. To an English or American reader the allusion to "the
+blood sacrifice," which is necessary in politics as in religion, would
+border on impiety; with the French it is probably a proof of religious
+faith. Lamartine, in his views and conceptions, in his mode of
+thinking and philosophizing, is much more nearly allied to the German
+than to the English schools; only that, instead of a philosophical
+system, carried through with a rigorous and unsparing logic, he
+indulges in philosophical reveries. As a statesman Lamartine lacks
+speciality, and for this reason we think that his administration will
+be a short one.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p><p>With respect to character, energy, and courage, Lamartine has few
+equals. He has not risen to power by those crafty combinations which
+destroy a man's moral greatness in giving him distinction. "Greatness"
+was, indeed, "thrust upon him," and thus far he has nobly and
+courageously sustained it. He neither courted power, nor declined it.
+When it was offered, he did not shrink from assuming the
+responsibility of accepting it. He has no vulgar ambition to gratify,
+no insults to revenge, no devotion to reward. He stands untrammeled
+and uncommitted to any faction whatever. He may not be able to solve
+the social problem of the age; but will, in that case, surrender his
+command untarnished as he received it, and serve once more in the
+ranks.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SIR_HUMPHREY_GILBERT" id="SIR_HUMPHREY_GILBERT"></a>SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>[When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough, the admiral
+was seen constantly sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On
+the 9th of September he was seen for the last time, and was heard by
+the people of the Hind to say, "We are as near Heaven by sea as by
+land." In the following night the lights of the ship suddenly
+disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good look out for
+him during the remainder of the voyage. On the 22d of September they
+arrived, through much tempest and peril; at Falmouth. But nothing more
+was seen or heard of the admiral. <i>Belknap's American Biography</i>, I.
+203.]
+</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Southward with his fleet of ice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sailed the Corsair Death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild and fast, blew the blast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the east-wind was his breath.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His lordly ships of ice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Glistened in the sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On each side, like pennons wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flashing crystal streamlets run.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His sails of white sea-mist<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dripped with silver rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But where he passed there were cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leaden shadows o'er the main.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Eastward from Campobello<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three days or more seaward he bore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then, alas! the land wind failed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! the land wind failed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ice-cold grew the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nevermore, on sea or shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should Sir Humphrey see the light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He sat upon the deck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The book was in his hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Do not fear! Heaven is as near,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He said "by water as by land!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the first watch of the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without a signal's sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out of the sea, mysteriously,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fleet of Death rose all around.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The moon and the evening star<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were hanging in the shrouds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every mast, as it passed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seemed to rake the passing clouds.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They grappled with their prize,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At midnight black and cold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As of a rock was the shock;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heavily the ground-swell rolled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Southward through day and dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They drift in close embrace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With mist and rain to the Spanish main;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet there seems no change of place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Southward, forever southward,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They drift through dark and day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sinking vanish all away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_NIGHT" id="THE_NIGHT"></a>THE NIGHT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The day, the bitter day, divides us, sweet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tears from our souls the wings with which we soar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Heaven. All things are cruel. We may meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only by stealth, to sigh&mdash;and all is o'er:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We part&mdash;the world is dark again, and fleet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The phantoms of despair and doubt once more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pursue our hearts and look into our eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Memory grows dismayed, and sweet Hope dies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the still night, with all its fiery stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sleep, within her world of dreams apart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These, these are ours! Then no rude tumult mars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy image in the fountain of my heart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then the faint soul her prison-gate unbars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And springs to life and thee, no more to part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till cruel day our rapture disenchants,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stills with waking each fond bosom's pants. <span class="smcap">M. E. T.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_BOB_O_LINK" id="THE_BOB_O_LINK"></a>THE BOB-O-LINK.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Merrily sings the fluttering Bob-o-link,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose trilling song above the meadow floats;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eager air speeds tremulous to drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bubbling sweetness of the liquid notes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose silver cadences arise and sink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shift, glide and shiver, like the trembling motes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the full gush of sunset. One might think<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some potent charm had turned the auroral flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the night-kindling north to melody,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That in one gurgling rush of sweetness came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mocking the ear, as once it mocked the eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With varying beauties twinkling fitfully;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Low hovering in the air, his song he sings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if he shook it from his trembling wings.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MY_AUNT_POLLY" id="MY_AUNT_POLLY"></a>MY AUNT POLLY.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>Every body has had an Aunt Peggy&mdash;an Aunt Patty&mdash;an Aunt Penelope, or
+an aunt something else; but every body hasn't had an Aunt <span class="smcap">Polly</span>&mdash;i. e.
+<i>such</i> an Aunt Polly as mine! Most Aunt Pollies have been the
+exemplars and promulgators of "single blessedness"&mdash;not such was
+<i>she</i>! But more of this anon. Aunt Polly was the only sister of my
+father, who often spoke of her affectionately; but would end his
+remark with "poor Polly! so nervous&mdash;so unlike her self-possessed and
+beautiful mother"&mdash;whose memory he devoutly revered. Children are not
+destitute of the curiosity native to the human mind, and we often
+teased papa about a visit from Aunt Polly, who, he replied, never left
+home; but not enlightening us on the <i>why</i>, his replies only served to
+whet the edge of curiosity more and more. I never shall forget the
+surprise that opened my eye-lids early and wide one morning, when it
+was announced to me that Aunt Polly and her spouse had unexpectedly
+arrived at the homestead. It would be difficult to analyze the nature
+of that eagerness which hastily dressed and sent me down stairs. But
+unfortunately did I enter the breakfast-room just as the good book was
+closing, and the family circle preparing to finish its devotions on
+the knee; however, a glance of the eye takes but little time, and a
+penetrating look was returned me by Aunt Polly, in which the beaming
+affection of her sanguine nature, and the scowl of scarce restrained
+impatience to get hold of me, were mixed so strangely as to give her
+naturally sharp black eyes an expression almost fearful to a child;
+but on surveying her unique apparel, and indescribably uneasy position
+on the chair&mdash;for she remained seated while the rest of us knelt,
+giving me thus an opportunity to scrutinize her through the
+interstices of my chair-back&mdash;so excited my girlish risibilities, that
+fear became stifled in suppressed laughter. "Amen" was scarce
+pronounced, when a shrill voice called out&mdash;"Come here, you little
+good-for-nothing&mdash;<i>what's</i> your name?" The inviting smile conveyed to
+me with these startling tones left no doubt who was addressed, and I
+instantly obeyed the really fervent call. Both the stout arms of my
+aunt were opened to receive me, but held me at their length,
+while&mdash;with a nervous sensibility that made the tears gush from her
+eyes&mdash;she hurriedly exclaimed&mdash;"<i>What</i> shall I do with you? Do you
+love to be <i>squeezed</i>? When, suiting the action to the question, she
+embraced me with a tenacity that almost choked my breath. From that
+moment I loved Aunt Polly! The fervid outpouring of her affection had
+mingled with the well-springs of a heart that&mdash;despite its
+mischievousness&mdash;was ever brimming with love. The first gush of
+feeling over, Aunt Polly again held me at arm's distance, while she
+surveyed intently my features, and traced in the laughing eye and
+golden ringlets the likeness of her "<i>dearest</i> brother in the world!"
+Poor aunty had but one! Nor was my opportunity lost of looking right
+into the face I had so often desired to see. It would be hard to draw
+a picture of Aunt Polly in words, so good as the reader's fancy will
+supply. There was nothing peculiar in her tall, stout figure; in her
+well developed features&mdash;something between the Grecian and the
+Roman&mdash;in her complexion, which one could see had faded from a glowing
+brunette to a pale Scotch snuff color. But her eyes, they <i>were</i>
+peculiar&mdash;so black&mdash;so rapid in their motions&mdash;so penetrating when
+looking forward&mdash;so flashing when she laughed, that really&mdash;I never
+saw such eyes!</p>
+
+<p>It would be still more puzzling to describe her dress. She wore a real
+chintz of the olden time, filled with nosegays, as unlike to Nature's
+flowers as the fashion of her gown was to the dresses of modern dames
+of her sixty years. Though I don't believe Aunt Polly's attire looked
+like any body else's at the time it was made; at any rate, it was put
+on in a way that differed from the pictures I had seen of the
+old-school ladies. Her cap was indeed the crowner! but let that pass,
+for the old lady had these dainty articles so carefully packed in what
+had been a sugar-box, that no doubt they were <i>sweet</i> to any <i>taste</i>
+but mine. I said that Aunt Polly was not a spinster. A better idea of
+her lord cannot be given than in her own words to my eldest sister,
+who declared in her hearing that she would never marry a minister.
+"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Aunt Polly, "I remember saying, when I was
+a girl, that whatever faults my husband might have, he should never be
+younger than myself&mdash;have red hair, or stammer in his speech: all
+these objections were united in the man I married!"</p>
+
+<p>One more fact will convey to the imagination all that I need say of
+Aunt Polly's husband. Late one evening came a thundering knock at my
+father's door, and as all the servants had retired, a youth who
+happened to be staying with us at the time, started, candle in hand,
+to answer it: Now the young man was of a credulous turn, and had just
+awakened from a snooze in his chair. Presently a loud shriek called
+all who were up in the house to the door, where, lying prostrate and
+faint, was found the youth, and standing over him, with eye-balls
+distended&mdash;making ineffectual efforts to speak&mdash;was the husband of
+Aunt Polly. When the lad recovered, all that he could tell of his
+mishap was, that on opening the street-door a man, wrapped in a large
+over-coat, with glassy eyes staring straight at him, opened and shut
+his mouth four times without utter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>ing a syllable&mdash;when the candle
+fell from his hands, and he to the floor! Aunt Polly's spouse was the
+prince of stammerers! But if he could seldom <i>begin</i> a sentence, so
+Aunt Polly could seldom <i>finish</i> one: indeed the most noticeable
+<i>point</i> in her conversation was, that it had <i>no</i> point, or was made
+up of sentences broken off in the middle. This may have been
+physiologically owing to the velocity with which the nervous fluid
+passed through her brain, giving uncommon rapidity to her thoughts,
+and correspondingly to the motions of her body. It soon became a
+wonder to my girlish mind how Aunt Polly ever kept still long enough
+to listen to a declaration of love&mdash;especially from a stutterer&mdash;or
+even to respond to the marriage ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>My wonder now is, how the functions of her system ever had time to
+fulfill their offices, or the flesh to accumulate, as it did, to a
+very respectable consistency; for she never, to my knowledge, finished
+a meal while under our roof; nor do I believe that she ever slept
+<i>out</i> a nap in her life. As she became a study well fitted to interest
+one of my novel, fun-loving age, I used often to steal out of bed at
+different times in the night and peep from my own apartment into hers,
+which adjoined it, where a night lamp was always burning; for she
+insisted on having the door between left open. I invariably found
+those eyes of hers wide awake, and my own room being dark, took
+pleasure in watching her unobserved, as she fidgeted now with her
+ample-bordered night-cap, and now with the bed-clothes. Once was I
+caught by a sudden cough on my part, which brought Aunt Polly to her
+feet before I had time to slip back to bed; and the only plea that my
+guiltiness could make her kind remonstrance on my being up in the
+cold, was the very natural and very wicked fib, that I heard her move
+and thought she might want something. Unsuspecting old lady! May her
+ashes at least rest in peace! How she caught me in her arms, kissed
+and carried me to bed, tucking in the blankets so effectually that all
+attempts to get up again that night were vain! Oh, she was a love of
+an aunt! The partiality of her attachment to me might have been
+accounted for by her having had no children of her own; or to the
+evident interest which she excited in me, causing my steps to follow
+her wherever she went; though all the family endeavored to make her
+first and last visit as agreeable as possible. But every attempt to
+fasten her attention to an object of interest or curiosity long enough
+to understand it, was unavailing. Sometimes I sallied out with her
+into the street, and while rather pleased than mortified by the
+observation which her grotesque costume and nervous, irregular gait
+attracted, it was different with me when she attempted to shop; as
+more often than otherwise, she would begin to pay for articles
+purchased, and putting her purse abruptly in her pocket, hurry toward
+the door, as if on purpose to avoid a touch on the elbow, which
+sometimes served to jog her memory also, and sometimes the very
+purchases were forgotten, till I became their witness.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, Aunt Polly's visit was a source of more amusement to me
+than all the visits of all my school-mates put together. When we
+parted&mdash;for I truly loved her&mdash;I forgave the squeeze&mdash;a screw-turn
+tighter than that at our meeting&mdash;and promised through my tears to
+make her a visit whenever my parents would consent to it. The
+homestead was as still for a week after her departure, as a ball-room
+after the waltzers have all whirled themselves home. Hardly had the
+family clock-work commenced its methodical revolutions again, when a
+letter arrived; and who that knew Aunt Polly, could have mistaken its
+characteristic superscription.</p>
+
+<p>My father was well-known at the post office, or the
+half-written-out-name would never have found its way into his box.
+Internally, the letter was made up of broken sentences, big with love,
+like the large, fragmentary drops of rain from a passing summer cloud.
+By dint of patient perseverance we "gathered up the fragments, so that
+nothing was lost" of Aunt Polly's itinerant thoughts or wishes.</p>
+
+<p>Among the latter was an invitation for me to visit her, on which my
+father looked silently and negatively; but I was not thus to be denied
+a desire of the heart, and insisted on having an audible response to
+my request of permission to fulfill the parting promise to Aunt Polly.
+In vain did my father give first an evasive answer, and then hint at
+the disappointment likely to await such a step&mdash;recall to my mind the
+eccentricities of his "worthy sister"&mdash;endeavor by all gentle means of
+persuasion to deter me from my purpose, and finally try to frighten me
+out of it. I was incorrigible.</p>
+
+<p>Not long after, a gentleman who resided in the town with my aunt, came
+to visit us, and being alone in a comfortable one-horse vehicle, was
+glad enough to accept my offered company on his way home; so, gaining
+the reluctant consent of my mother, I started, full of an indefinite
+sort of pleasurable expectation, nourished by the changing diorama of
+a summer afternoon's ride through a cultivated part of the country.</p>
+
+<p>Arriving at the verge of a limpid stream, my companion turned the
+horse to drink, so suddenly, that the wheels became cramped, and we
+were precipitated into the water, the wagon turning a summerset
+directly over our heads. Strange to say, neither of us were hurt, and
+the stream was shallow, though deep enough to give us a thorough cold
+bath, and to deluge the trunk containing my clothes, the lock of which
+flew open in the fall. My mortified protector crept from under our
+capsized ark as soon as he could, and let me out at the window; when I
+felt myself to be in rather a worse condition than was Noah's dove,
+who "found no rest for the sole of her foot;" for beside dripping from
+all my garments, like a surcharged umbrella, my soul, too, found no
+foothold of excuse on which to stand justified before my father for
+exposing myself to such an <i>emergence</i> without his knowledge. However,
+<i>return</i> we must. Nor was the situation of my conductor's body or mind
+very enviable, being obliged to present me to my parents, drooping
+like a water-lily. But if ill-luck had pursued us, good luck awaited
+our return; for we found that my father had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> not yet arrived from his
+business, and my mother's conscience kept our secret; so that
+frustration in my first attempt to visit Aunt Polly, was all the evil
+that came out of the adventure. Notwithstanding my ardor had been so
+damped with cold water, it was yet warm enough for another effort;
+though it must be confessed, that for a few days subsequent to the
+accident, my animal spirits were something in the state of
+over-night&mdash;uncorked champagne.</p>
+
+<p>The first sign of their renewed vitality was the again expressed
+desire to visit Aunt Polly. I, however, learned obedience by the
+things I had suffered, and resolved not to venture on another
+expedition without the approval and protection of my father, who,
+because of my importunity, at length consented to accompany me,
+provided I would not reveal to Aunt Polly the proposed length of my
+visit until I had spent a day and night under her roof. This I readily
+consented to, thinking only at the time what a strange proviso it was.
+Accordingly, arrangements were soon completed for the long coveted
+journey; but not until I had remonstrated with my mother on her
+limited provision for my wardrobe, furnishing me only with what a
+small carpet-bag would contain.</p>
+
+<p>After a ride of some forty miles, through scenery that gave fresh
+inspiration to my hopes, we arrived at the witching hour of sunset,
+before a venerable-looking farm-house. Its exterior gave no signs in
+the form of shrubbery or flowers of the decorating, refining hand of
+woman; but the sturdy oak and sycamore were there to give shade, and
+the life-scenes that surrounded the farm-yard were plenty in promise
+of eggs and poultry for the keen appetites of the travelers.</p>
+
+<p>As we drove into the avenue leading to a side-door of the mansion, I
+caught a glimpse of Aunt Polly's unparalleled cap through a window,
+and the next moment she stood on the steps, wringing her hands and
+crying for joy. An involuntary dread of another <i>squeezing</i> came over
+me, which had scarce time to be idealized ere it was realized almost
+to suffocation. My father's more graduated look of pleasure, called
+from Aunt Polly an out-bursting&mdash;"<i>Forgive</i> me, <i>forgive</i> me! It's my
+only brother in the world! It's my dear little puss all over again!
+<i>Forgive</i> me, <i>forgive</i> me!" But during these ejaculations I was
+confirmed in a discovery that had escaped all my vigilance while Aunt
+Polly sojourned with us. She was a snuff-taker! That she took snuff,
+as she did every thing else, by <i>snatches</i>, I had also ascertained, on
+seeing her in the door, when she thought herself yet beyond the reach
+of our vision, forgetting that young eyes can see further than old
+eyes; <i>mine</i> could not be deceived in the convulsive motion that
+carried her fore-finger and thumb to the tip of her olfactory organ,
+which drew up one snuff of the fragrant weed&mdash;as hurriedly as a
+porpoise puts his head out of water for a snuff of the sweet air of
+morning&mdash;when scattering the rest of the pinch to the four winds, she
+forgot, in her excitement, for once, to wipe the traces from her upper
+lip. Had I only suspected before, the hearty sneeze on my part that
+followed close upon her kiss, would have made that suspicion a
+certainty. Aunt Polly was, indeed, that inborn abhorrence of mine, a
+snuff-taker! Thus my rosy prospects began to assume a yellowish tinge
+before entering the house; what color they took afterward it would be
+difficult to tell; for the wild confusion of its interior, gave to my
+fancy as many and as mixed hues as one sees in a kaleidoscope.</p>
+
+<p>The old-fashioned parlor had a corner cupboard, which appeared to be
+put to any use but the right one, while the teacups and saucers&mdash;no
+whole set alike&mdash;were indiscriminately arranged <i>on</i> the side-board,
+and <i>in</i> it I saw, as the door stood ajar, Aunt Polly's bonnet and
+shawl; a drawer, too, being half open, disclosed one of her <i>sweetish</i>
+caps, side by side with a card of gingerbread. The carpet was woven of
+every color, in every form, but without any definite <i>figure</i>, and
+promised to be another puzzle for my curious eyes to unravel; it
+seemed to have been just <i>thrown</i> down with here and there a tack in
+it, only serving to make it look more awry. While amusing myself with
+this carpet, it recalled an incident that a roguish cousin of mine
+once related to me after he had been to see Aunt Polly, connected with
+this parlor, which she always called her "<i>square</i>-room!" One day
+during his visit the old lady having occasion to step into a
+neighbor's house, while a pot of lard was trying over the kitchen
+fire, and not being willing to trust her half-trained servants to
+watch it, she gave the precious oil in charge to this youth, who was
+one of her favorites, bidding him, after a stated time, remove it from
+the chimney to a cooling-place; now not finishing her directions, the
+lad indulged his mischievous propensities by attempting to place the
+kettle of boiling lard to cool in the square-room fire-place; but
+finding it heavier than his strength could carry, its contents were
+suddenly deposited on the carpet, save such sprinklings as served to
+brand his face and hands as the culprit of the mischief.</p>
+
+<p>The terrified boy hearing Aunt Polly's step on the threshold, took the
+first way that was suggested to him of escaping her wrath, which led
+out at the window. Scarce had his agile limbs landed him safe on
+<i>terra firma</i>, when the door opened, and, preceded by a shriek that
+penetrated his hiding-place, he heard Aunt Polly's lamentable
+lamentation&mdash;"It's my <i>square</i>-room! my square-room <i>carpet</i>! Oh! that
+<i>I</i> should live to see it come to this!" and again, and again, were
+these heart-thrilling exclamations reiterated. The lad, finding that
+all the good lady's excitement was likely to be spent on the
+square-room&mdash;though, alas! all wouldn't exterminate the
+grease&mdash;recovered courage and magnanimity enough to reveal himself as
+the author of the catastrophe, which he did with such contrition,
+showing at the same time his wounds, that Aunt Polly soon began "to
+take on" about her dear boy, to the seeming forgetfulness, while
+anointing his burns, of the kettle of lard and her unfortunate
+square-room.</p>
+
+<p>But I must take up again the broken thread of my own adventures in
+this square-room, where I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> left Aunt Polly flourishing about in joy at
+our unexpected arrival.</p>
+
+<p>A large, straight-backed rocking-chair stood in one corner of this
+apartment, and on its cushion&mdash;stuffed with feathers, and covered with
+blazing chintz&mdash;lay a large gray cat curled up asleep&mdash;decidedly the
+most comfortable looking object in the room&mdash;till Aunt Polly
+unceremoniously shook her out of her snug quarters to give my father
+the chair. I then discovered that poor puss was without a tail! On
+expressing my surprise, aunt only replied&mdash;"Oh, <i>my</i> cats are all so!"
+And, true enough, before we left, I saw some half dozen round the
+house, all deficient in this same graceful appendage of the feline
+race. The human domestics of the family were only half-grown&mdash;but half
+did their work, and seemed altogether naturalized to the whirligig
+spirit of their mistress. The reader may anticipate the consequences
+to the culinary and table arrangements. For supper we had, not
+unleavened bread, but that which contained "the little leaven," that
+having had no time to "leaven the whole lump," rendered it still
+heavier of digestion; butter half-worked, tea made of water that did
+not get time to boil, and slack-baked cakes. I supped on cucumbers,
+and complaining of fatigue, was conducted by my kind aunt to the
+sleeping apartment next her own, as it would seem like old times to
+have me so near. What was wanting to make my bed comfortable, might
+have been owing to the fact, that the feathers under me had been only
+half-baked, or were picked from geese of Aunt Polly's raising; at any
+rate, I was as restless as the good lady herself until daylight, when
+I fell into as uneasy dreams&mdash;blessing the ducking that saved me a
+more lingering fate before. After a brief morning-nap I arose, and
+seeing fresh eggs brought in from the farm-yard, confidently expected
+to have my appetite appeased, knowing that they could be cooked in
+"less than no time;" but here again disappointment awaited me. For
+once, Aunt Polly's mis-hit was in <i>over</i>-doing. The coffee sustained
+in part her reputation, being half-roasted, half-ground, half-boiled,
+and, I may add, half-swallowed. After this breakfast&mdash;or keepfast&mdash;my
+father archly inquired of me aside, how long I wished him to leave me
+with Aunt Polly, as he must return immediately home. Horror at the
+idea of being left at all overcame the mortification that my reaction
+of feeling naturally occasioned, and throwing my arms around his neck,
+I implored him to take me back with him. This reply he took as coolly
+as if he were prepared for it. Not so did Aunt Polly receive the
+announcement of my departure. She insisted that I had promised her a
+<i>visit</i>, and this was no visit at all. My father humored her fondness
+with his usual tact; but on telling her that it was really necessary
+for me to return to school, the kind woman relinquished at once her
+selfish claims, in view of a greater good to me.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Aunt Polly! if my affection for her was less disinterested than
+her own, it was none the less in quantity; and I never loved her more
+than when she gave me that cruelest of squeezes at our parting, which
+proved to be the last&mdash;for I never saw her again. But in proof that
+she loved me to the end, I was remembered in her will; and did I not
+believe that if living, her generous affection, that was the precious
+oil through which floated her eccentricities like "flies as big as
+bumble-bees," would smooth over all appearance of ridicule in these
+reminiscences, they should never amuse any one save myself. But
+really, I cannot better carry out her restless desire of pleasing
+others, than by reproducing the merriment which throughout a long life
+was occasioned by her, who of all the Aunt Pollies that ever lived,
+was <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Aunt Polly</span>!</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="STUDY" id="STUDY"></a>STUDY. (<span class="smcap">Extract</span>.)</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Life, like the sea, hath yet a few green isles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Amid the waste of waters. If the gale<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has tossed your bark, and many weary miles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stretch yet before you, furl the battered sail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fling out the anchor, and with rapture hail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pleasant prospect&mdash;storms will come too soon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They are but suicides, at best, who fail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To seize when'er they can Joy's fleeting boon&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fools, who exclaim "'tis night," yet always shun the noon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Live not as though you had been born for naught.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Save like the brutes to perish. What do they<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But crop the grass and die? Ye have been taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A nobler lesson&mdash;that within the clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon the minds high altar, burns a ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flashed from Divinity&mdash;and shall it shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fitful and feebly? Shall it die away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because, forsooth, no priest is at the shrine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go ye with learning's lamp and tend the fire divine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Pore o'er the classic page, and turn again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The leaf of History&mdash;ye will not heed<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The noisy revel and the shouts of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The jester and the mime, for ye can feed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Deep, deep, on these; and if your bosoms bleed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At tales of treachery and death they tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The land that gave you birth will never need<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tarpeian rock, that rock from which there fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He who loved Rome and Rome's, yet loved himself too well.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">And she, the traitress, who beneath the weight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Sabine shields and bracelets basely sank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Stifled and dying, at the city-gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lies buried there&mdash;and now the long weeds, dank<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With baneful dews, bend o'er her, and the rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Entangled grass, the timid lizard's home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Covers the sepulchre&mdash;the wild flower shrank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To plant its roots in that polluted loam&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pity that such a tomb should look o'er ruined Rome.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Rome! lovely in her ruins! Can they claim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Common humanity who never feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The pulse beat higher at the very name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The brain grow wild, and the rapt senses reel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Drunken with happiness? O'er us should steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Feelings too big for utt'rance&mdash;I should prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such joy above all earthly wealth and weal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor barter it for love&mdash;when Beauty dies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love spreads his silken wings. The happy are the wise.<br /></span>
+</div></div><br />
+<p class="right">HENRY S. HAGERT.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_FANE_BUILDER" id="THE_FANE_BUILDER"></a>THE FANE-BUILDER.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY EMMA C. EMBURY.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A poet's memory thy most far renown. <span class="smcap">Lament of Tasso.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>In the olden time of the world there stood on the ocean-border a large
+and flourishing city, whose winged ships brought daily the costly
+merchandise of all nations to its overflowing store-houses. It was a
+place of busy, bustling, turbulent life. Men were struggling fiercely
+for wealth, and rank, and lofty name. The dawn of day saw them
+striving each for his own separate and selfish schemes; the stars of
+midnight looked down in mild rebuke upon the protracted labor of men
+who gave themselves no time to gaze upon the quiet heavens. One only
+of all this busy crowd mingled not in their toil&mdash;one only idler
+sauntered carelessly along the thronged mart, or wandered listlessly
+by the seashore; Adonais alone scorned to bind himself by fetters
+which he could not fling aside at his own wild will. Those who loved
+the stripling grieved to see him waste the spring-time of life in thus
+aimlessly loitering by the way-side; while the old men and sages would
+fain have taken from him his ill-used freedom, and shut him up in the
+prison-house where they bestowed their madmen, lest his example should
+corrupt the youth of the city.</p>
+
+<p>But for all this Adonais cared little. In vain they showed him the
+craggy path which traversed the hill of Fame; in vain they set him in
+the foul and miry roads which led to the temple of Mammon. He bowed
+before their solemn wisdom, but there was a lurking mischief in his
+glance as he pointed to his slender limbs, and feigned a shudder of
+disgust at the very sight of these rugged and distasteful ways. So at
+last he was suffered to wend his own idle course, and save that
+careful sires sometimes held him up as a warning to their children,
+his fellow-townsmen almost forgot his existence.</p>
+
+<p>Years passed on, and then a beautiful and stately Fane began to rise
+in the very heart of the great city. Slowly it rose, and for a while
+they who toiled so intently at their daily business, marked not the
+white and polished stones which were so gradually and silently piled
+together in their midst. It grew, that noble temple, as if by magic.
+Every morning dawn shed its rose-tints upon another snowy marble which
+had been fixed in its appointed place beneath the light of the quiet
+stars. Men wondered somewhat, but they had scarce time to observe, and
+none to inquire. So the superb fabric had nearly reached its summit
+ere they heard, with unbelieving ears, that the builder of this noble
+fane, was none other than Adonais, the idler.</p>
+
+<p>Few gave credence to the tale, for whence could he, the vagrant, and
+the dreamer, have drawn those precious marbles, encrusted as they were
+with sculpture still more precious, and written over with characters
+as inscrutable as they were immortal? Some set themselves to watch for
+the Fane-builder, but their eyes were heavy, and at the magic hour
+when the artist took up his labors, their senses were fast locked in
+slumber. Yet silently, even as the temple of the mighty Solomon, in
+which was never heard the sound of the workman's tool, so rose that
+mystic fane. Not until it stood in grand relief against the clear blue
+sky; not until its lofty dome pierced the clouds even a mountain-top;
+not until its polished walls were fashioned within and without, to
+surpassing beauty, did men learn the truth, and behold in the despised
+Adonais, the wonder-working Fane-builder. In his wanderings the
+dreamer had lighted on the entrance to that exhaustless mine, whence
+men of like soul have drawn their riches for all time. The hidden
+treasures of poesy had been given to his grasp, and he had built a
+temple which should long outlast the sand-heaps which the worshipers
+of Mammon had gathered around them.</p>
+
+<p>But even then, when pilgrims came from afar to gaze upon the noble
+fane, the men of his own kindred and people stood aloof. They cared
+not for this adornment of their birth-place&mdash;they valued not the
+treasures that had there been gathered together. Only the few who
+entered the vestibule, and saw the sparkle of jewels which decked the
+inner shrine, or they to whom the pilgrims recounted the priceless
+value of these gems in other lands&mdash;only they began to look with
+something like pride upon the dreamer Adonais.</p>
+
+<p>But not without purpose had the Fane-builder reared this magnificent
+structure. Within those costly walls was a veiled and jeweled
+sanctuary. There had he enshrined an idol&mdash;the image of a bright
+divinity which he alone might worship. Willingly and freely did he
+admit the pilgrim and the wayfarer to the outer courts of his temple;
+gladly did he offer them refreshing draughts from the fountain of
+living water which gushed up in its midst; but never did he suffer
+them to enter that "Holy of holies;" never did their eyes rest on that
+enshrined idol, in whose honor all these treasures were gathered
+together.</p>
+
+<p>In progress of time, when Adonais had lavished all his wealth upon his
+temple, and when with the toil of gathering and shaping out her
+treasures, his strength had well-nigh failed him, there came a troop
+of revilers and slanderers&mdash;men of evil tongue, who swore that the
+Fane-builder was no better than a midnight robber, and had despoiled
+other temples of all that adorned his own. The tale was as false and
+foul as they who coined it; but when they pointed to many pigmy fanes
+which now began to be reared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> about the city, and when men saw that
+they were built of like marbles as those which glittered in the temple
+of Adonais, they paused not to mark that the fairest stones in these
+new structures were but the imperfect sculptures which the true artist
+had scorned to employ, or perhaps the chippings of some rare gem which
+in his affluence he could fling aside. So the tale was hearkened unto
+and believed. They whose dim perceptions had been bewildered by this
+new uncoined and uncoinable wealth, were glad to think that it had
+belonged to some far off time, or some distant region. The envious,
+the sordid, the cold, all listened well-pleased to the base slander;
+and they who had cared little for his glory made themselves strangely
+busy in spreading the story of his shame.</p>
+
+<p>Patiently and unweariedly had the dreamer labored at his pleasant
+task, while the temple was gradually growing up toward the heavens;
+skillfully had he polished the rich marbles, and graven upon them the
+ineffaceable characters of truth. But the jeweled adornments of the
+inner shrine had cost him more than all his other toil, for with his
+very heart's blood had he purchased those costly gems that sparkled on
+his soul's idol. Now wearied and worn with by-gone suffering he had no
+strength to stand forth and defy his revilers. Proudly and silently he
+withdrew from the world, and entered into his own beautiful fane.
+Presently men beheld that a heavy stone had been piled against the
+door of the inner sanctuary, and upon its polished surface was
+inscribed these words: "To Time the Avenger!"</p>
+
+<p>From that day no one ever again beheld the dreamer. Pilgrims came as
+before, and rested within the vestibule, and drank of the springing
+fountain, but they no longer saw the dim outline of the veiled goddess
+in the distant shrine, only the white and ghastly glitter of that
+threatening stone, which seemed like the portal of a tomb, met their
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Thus years passed on, and men had almost forgotten the name of him who
+had wasted himself in such fruitless toil. At length there came one
+from a country far beyond the seas, who had set forth to explore the
+wonders of all lands. He lacked the pious reverence of the pilgrims,
+but he also lacked the cold indifference of those who dwelt within the
+shadow of the temple. He entered the mystic fane, he gazed with
+unsated eye upon the treasures it contained, and his soul sought for
+greater beauty. With daring hand he and his companions thrust aside
+the marble portal which guarded the sanctuary. At first they shrunk
+back, dazzled and awe-stricken as the blaze of rich light met their
+unhallowed gaze. Again they went forward, and then what saw they?
+Surrounded by the sheen of jewels&mdash;glowing in the gorgeous light of
+the diamond, the chrysolite, the beryl, the ruby, they found an image
+fashioned but of common clay, while extended at its feet lay the
+skeleton of the Fane-builder.</p>
+
+<p>Worn with toil, and pain, and disappointment, he had perished at the
+feet of his idol. It may be that the scorn of the world had opened his
+eyes to behold of what mean materials was shapen the divinity he had
+so honored. It may be that the glitter of the gems he had heaped
+around it had perpetuated the delusion which had first charmed him,
+and he had thus been saved the last, worst pang of wasted idolatry. It
+matters not. He died&mdash;as all such men must die&mdash;in sorrow and in
+loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>But the fane he has reared is as indestructible as the soul of him who
+lifted its lofty summit to the skies. "Time, the Avenger," has
+redeemed the builder's fame; and even the men of his own nation now
+believe that a prophet and a seer once dwelt among them.</p>
+
+<p>When that great city shall have shared the fortunes of the Babylons
+and Ninevahs of olden time, that snow-white fane, written all over
+with characters of truth, and graven with images of beauty, will yet
+endure; and men of new times and new states shall learn lessons of
+holier and loftier existence from a pilgrimage to that glorious
+temple, built by spirit-toil, and consecrated by spirit-worship and
+spirit-suffering.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="DREAM_MUSIC" id="DREAM_MUSIC"></a>DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-FLUTE.</h2>
+
+<h3>A BALLAD.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There&mdash;Pearl of Beauty! lightly press,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With yielding form, the yielding sand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while you lift the rosy shells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within your dear and dainty hand,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or toss them to the heedless waves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That reck not how your treasures shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As oft you waste on careless hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your fancies, touched with light divine,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'll sing a lay&mdash;more wild than gay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The story of a magic flute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as I sing, the waves shall play<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An ordered tune, the song to suit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In silence flowed our grand old Rhine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For on his breast a picture burned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loveliest of all scenes that shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where'er his glorious course has turned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That radiant morn the peasants saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A wondrous vision rise in light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They gazed, with blended joy and awe&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A castle crowned the beetling height!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Far up amid the amber mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That softly wreathes each mountain-spire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sky its clustered columns kissed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And touched their snow with golden fire;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The vapor parts&mdash;against the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In delicate tracery on the blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those graceful turrets lightly rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if to music there they grew!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And issuing from its portal fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A youth descends the dizzy steps;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sunrise gilds his waving hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From rock to rock he lightly leaps&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He comes&mdash;the radiant, angel-boy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He moves with more than human grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eyes are filled with earnest joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Heaven is in his beauteous face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And whether bred the stars among,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or in that luminous palace born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around his airy footsteps hung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The light of an immortal morn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From steep to steep he fearless springs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now he glides the throng amid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So light, as if still played the wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A fairy flute is in his hand&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He parts his bright, disordered hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And smiles upon the wondering band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Anon, his blue, celestial eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He bent upon a youthful maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose looks met his in still surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The while a low, glad tune he played&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her heart beat wildly&mdash;in her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lovely rose-light went and came;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She clasped her hands with timid grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In mute appeal, in joy and shame!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then slow he turned&mdash;more wildly breathed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pleading flute, and by the sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all the throng her steps she wreathed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if a chain were o'er her wound.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All mute and still the group remained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And watched the charm, with lips apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While in those link&eacute;d notes enchained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The girl was led, with listening heart:&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The youth ascends the rocks again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in his steps the maiden stole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While softer, holier grew the strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till rapture thrilled her yearning soul!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And fainter fell that fairy tune;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its low, melodious cadence wound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most like a rippling rill at noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through delicate lights and shades of sound;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And with the music, gliding slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far up the steep, their garments gleam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now through the palace gate they go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now&mdash;it vanished like a dream!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still frowns above thy waves, oh Rhine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mountain's wild terrific height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But where has fled the work divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That lent its brow a halo-light?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! springing arch and pillar pale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had melted in the azure air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she&mdash;the darling of the dale&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She too had gone&mdash;but how&mdash;and where?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<hr style='width: 45%;' /><br />
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long years rolled by&mdash;and lo! one morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Again o'er regal Rhine it came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That picture from the dream-land borne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That palace built of frost and flame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Behold! within its portal gleams<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A heavenly shape&mdash;oh! rapturous sight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For lovely as the light of dreams<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She glides adown the mountain height!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in her hand the charm&eacute;d flute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere its mystic tune was played<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She spake&mdash;the peasants listened mute&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She told how in that instrument<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was chained a world of wing&eacute;d dreams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how the notes that from it went<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Revealed them as with lightning gleams;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And how its music's magic braid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O'er the unwary heart it threw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he or she whose dream it played<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was forced to follow where it drew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She told how on that marvelous day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within its changing tune she heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A forest-fountain's plaintive play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A silver trill from far-off bird;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And how the sweet tones, in her heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had changed to promises as sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That if she dared with them depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then she played a joyous lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And to her side a fair child springs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wildly cries&mdash;"Oh! where are they?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those singing-birds, with diamond wings?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Anon a loftier strain is heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A princely youth beholds his dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by the thrilling cadence stirred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would follow where its wonders gleam.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still played the maid&mdash;and from the throng&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Receding slow&mdash;the music drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A choice and lovely band along&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The brave&mdash;the beautiful&mdash;the true!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sordid&mdash;worldly&mdash;cold&mdash;remained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To watch that radiant troop ascend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear the fading fairy strain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see with Heaven the vision blend!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And ne'er again, o'er glorious Rhine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That sculptured dream rose calm and mute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! would that now once more 't would shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I could play the fairy flute!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'd play, Mari&eacute;, the dream I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep in those changeful eyes of thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thou perforce should'st follow <i>me</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up&mdash;up where life is all divine!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="RISING_IN_THE_WORLD" id="RISING_IN_THE_WORLD"></a>RISING IN THE WORLD.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY P. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+
+<h4>"This is the house that Jack built."</h4>
+
+
+<p>Whether it was cotton or tallow that laid the foundations of Mr.
+Fairchild's fortunes we forget&mdash;for people have no right now-a-days to
+such accurate memories&mdash;but it was long ago, when Mrs. Fairchild was
+contented and humble, and Mr. Fairchild happy in the full stretch of
+his abilities to make the two ends meet&mdash;days which had long passed
+away. A sudden turn of fortune's wheel had placed them on new ground.
+Mr. Fairchild toiled, and strained, and struggled to follow up
+fortune's favors, and was successful. The springs of life had
+well-nigh been consumed in the eager and exhausting contest; and now,
+breathless and worn, he paused to be happy. One half of life he had
+thus devoted to the one object, meaning when that object was obtained
+to enjoy the other half, supposing that happiness, like every thing
+else, was to be bought.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild's ideas had jumped with her husband's fortunes. Once
+she only wanted additional pantries and a new carpet for her front
+parlor, to be perfectly happy. Now, a grand house in a grand avenue
+was indispensable. Once, she only wished to be a little finer than
+Mrs. Simpkins; now, she ardently desired to forget she ever knew Mrs.
+Simpkins; and what was harder, to make Mrs. Simpkins forget she had
+ever known <i>her</i>. In short, Mrs. Fairchild had grown <i>fine</i>, and meant
+to be fashionable. And why not? Her house was as big as any body's.
+Her husband gave her <i>carte blanche</i> for furniture, and the mirrors,
+and gilding, and candelabras, were enough to put your eyes out.</p>
+
+<p>She was very busy, and talked very grand to the shopmen, who were very
+obsequious, and altogether was very happy.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to do with this room, or how to furnish it," she
+said to her husband one day, as they were going through the house.
+There are the two drawing-rooms, and the dining-room&mdash;but this fourth
+room seems of no use&mdash;I would make a <i>keeping</i>-room of it, but that it
+has only that one large window that looks back&mdash;and I like a cheerful
+look-out where I sit&mdash;why did you build it so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," he replied, "it's just like Ashfield's house next
+door, and so I supposed it must be right, and I told the workmen to
+follow the same plan as his."</p>
+
+<p>"Ashfield's!" said Mrs. Fairchild, looking up with a new idea, "I
+wonder what use they put it to."</p>
+
+<p>"A library, I believe. I think the head carpenter told me so."</p>
+
+<p>"A library! Well, then, let's <i>us</i> have a library," she said.
+"Book-cases would fill those walls very handsomely."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her for a moment, and said,</p>
+
+<p>"But the books?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we can get those," she replied. "I'll go this very morning to
+Metcalf about the book-cases."</p>
+
+<p>So forthwith she ordered the carriage, and drove to the
+cabinet-maker's.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Metcalf," she said with her grandest air, (for as at present she
+had to confine her grandeur to her trades-people, she gave them full
+measure, for which, however, they charged her full price,) "I want new
+book-cases for my library&mdash;I want your handsomest and most expensive
+kind."</p>
+
+<p>The man bowed civilly, and asked if she preferred the Gothic or
+Egyptian pattern.</p>
+
+<p>Gothic or Egyptian! Mrs. Fairchild was nonplused. What did he mean by
+Gothic and Egyptian? She would have given the world to ask, but was
+ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not made up my mind," she replied, after some hesitation, (her
+Egyptian ideas being drawn from the Bible, were not of the latest
+date, and so she thought of Pharaoh) and added, "but Gothic, I
+believe"&mdash;for Gothic at least was untrenched ground, and she had no
+prejudices of any kind to combat there&mdash;"which, however, are the most
+fashionable?" she continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Why I make as many of the one as the other," he replied. "Mr.
+Ashfield's are Egyptian, Mr. Campden's Gothic."</p>
+
+<p>Now the Ashfields were her grand people. She did not know them, but
+she meant to. They lived next door, and she thought nothing would be
+easier. They were not only rich, but fashionable. He was a man of
+talent and information, (but that the Fairchilds knew nothing about,)
+head of half the literary institutions, a person of weight and
+influence in all circles. She was very pretty and very
+elegant&mdash;dressing beautifully, and looking very animated and happy;
+and Mrs. Fairchild often gazed at her as she drove from the door, (for
+the houses joined,) and made up her mind to be very intimate as soon
+as she was "all fixed."</p>
+
+<p>"The Ashfields have Egyptian," she repeated, and Pharaoh faded into
+insignificance before such grand authority&mdash;and so she ordered
+Egyptian too.</p>
+
+<p>"Not there," said Mrs. Fairchild, "you need not measure there," as the
+cabinet-maker was taking the dimensions of her rooms. "I shall have a
+looking-glass there."</p>
+
+<p>"A mirror in a library!" said the man of rule and inches, with a tone
+of surprise that made Mrs. Fairchild color. "Did you wish a mirror
+here, ma'am," he added, more respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she replied quickly, "go on"&mdash;for she felt at once that he
+had seen the inside of more libraries than she had.</p>
+
+<p>Her ideas received another illumination from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> upholsterer, as she
+was looking at blue satin for a curtain to the one large window which
+opened on a conservatory, who said,</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's for a library window; then cloth, I presume, madam, is the
+article you wish."</p>
+
+<p>"Cloth!" she repeated, looking at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he replied; "we always furnish libraries with cloth. Heavy,
+rich materials is considered more suitable for such a purpose than
+silk."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild was schooled again. However, Mr. Ashfield was again the
+model.</p>
+
+<p>And now the curtains were up, and the cases home, and all but the
+books there, which being somewhat essential to a library, Mrs.
+Fairchild said to her husband,</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you must buy some books. I want to fill these cases and get
+this room finished."</p>
+
+<p>"I will," he replied. "There's an auction to-night. I'll buy a lot."</p>
+
+<p>"An auction," she said, hesitatingly. "Is that the best place? I don't
+think the bindings will be apt to be handsome of auction books."</p>
+
+<p>"I can have them rebound," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"But you cannot tell whether they will fit these shelves," she
+continued, anxiously. "I think you had better take the measure of the
+shelves, and go to some book-store, and then you can choose them
+accordingly."</p>
+
+<p>"I see Ashfield very often at book auctions," he persisted, to which
+she innocently replied,</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;but he knows what he is buying, we don't;" to which
+unanswerable argument Mr. Fairchild had nothing to say. And so they
+drove to a great book importers, and ordered the finest books and
+bindings that would suit their measurements.</p>
+
+<p>And now they were at last, as Mrs. Fairchild expressed it, "<i>all
+fixed</i>." Mr. Fairchild had paid and dismissed the last workman&mdash;she
+had home every article she could think of&mdash;and now they were to sit
+down and enjoy.</p>
+
+<p>The succeeding weeks passed in perfect quiet&mdash;and, it must be
+confessed, profound <i>ennui</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish people would begin to call," said Mrs. Fairchild, with an
+impatient yawn. "I wonder when they will."</p>
+
+<p>"There seems to be visiting enough in the street," said Mr. Fairchild,
+as he looked out at the window. "There seems no end of Ashfield's
+company."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish some of them would call here," she replied sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"We are not fine enough for them, I suppose," he answered, half
+angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Not fine enough!" she ejaculated with indignant surprise. "<i>We</i> not
+fine enough! I am sure this is the finest house in the Avenue. And I
+don't believe there is such furniture in town."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fairchild made no reply, but walked the floor impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know Mr. Ashfield?" she presently ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he replied; "I meet him on 'change constantly."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder, then, why <i>she</i> does not call," she said, indignantly.
+"It's very rude in her, I am sure. We are the last comers."</p>
+
+<p>And the weeks went on, and Mr. Fairchild without business, and Mrs.
+Fairchild without gossip, had a very quiet, dull time of it in their
+fine house.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish somebody would call," had been repeated again and again in
+every note of <i>ennui</i>, beginning in impatience and ending in despair.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fairchild grew angry. His pride was hurt. He looked upon himself
+as especially wronged by his neighbor Ashfield. The people opposite,
+too&mdash;"who were they, that the Ashfields were so intimate with them?
+The Hamiltons! Why he could buy them over and over again! Hamilton's
+income was nothing."</p>
+
+<p>At last Mrs. Fairchild took a desperate resolution, "Why should not
+<i>we</i> call first? We'll never get acquainted in this way," which
+declaration Mr. Fairchild could not deny. And so she dressed one
+morning in her finest and drove round with a pack of cards.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow she found every body "out." But that was not much, for, to
+tell the truth, her heart did beat a little at the idea of entering
+strange drawing-rooms and introducing herself, and she would be sure
+to be at home when they returned her calls; and that would be less
+embarrassing, and suit her views quite as well.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of a few days cards were left in return.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Lawrence, I told you to say I was at home." said Mrs. Fairchild,
+impatiently, as the servant handed her half a dozen cards.</p>
+
+<p>"I did, ma'am," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"You did," she said, "then how is this?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, ma'am," he replied, "but the foot-man gave me the cards
+and said all was right."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild flushed and looked disconcerted.</p>
+
+<p>Before a fortnight had elapsed she called again; but this time her
+cards remained unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>"Who on earth is this Mrs. Fairchild?" said Mrs. Leslie Herbert to
+Mrs. Ashfield, "who is forever leaving her cards."</p>
+
+<p>"The people who built next to us," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "I don't
+know who they are."</p>
+
+<p>"What an odd idea," pursued the other, "to be calling once a week in
+this way. I left my card after the first visit; but if the little
+woman means to call every other day in this way, I shall not call
+again."</p>
+
+<p>And so Mrs. Fairchild was dismissed from the minds of her new
+neighbors, while she sat in anxious wonderment at their not calling
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Though Mr. Fairchild was no longer in business, yet he had property to
+manage, and could still walk down town and see some business
+acquaintances, and inquire into stocks, and lots, and other
+interesting matters; but poor Mrs. Fairchild had fairly nothing to do.
+She was too rich to sew. She could buy every thing she wanted. She had
+but two children, and they could not occupy all her time; and her
+house and furniture were so new, and her servants so many, that
+housekeeping was a mere name. As to reading, that never formed any
+part of either<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> her or Mr. Fairchild's pleasures. They did not even
+know the names of half the books they had. He read the papers, which
+was more than she did beyond the list of deaths and marriages&mdash;and so
+she felt as if she would die in her grandeur for something to do, and
+somebody to see. We are not sure but that Mrs. Simpkins would have
+been most delightedly received if she had suddenly walked in upon her.
+But this Mrs. Simpkins had no idea of doing. The state of wrath and
+indignation in which Mrs. Fairchild had left her old friends and
+acquaintances is not easily to be described.</p>
+
+<p>"She had begun to give herself airs," they said, "even before she left
+---- street; and if she had thought herself a great lady then, in that
+little box, what must she be now?" said Mrs. Thompson, angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"I met her not long ago in a store, and she pretended not to see me,"
+replied Mrs Simpkins. "So I shall not trouble myself to call," she
+continued, with considerable dignity of manner; not telling, however,
+that she <i>had</i> called soon after Mrs. Fairchild moved, and her visit
+had never been returned.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am sure," said the other, "I don't want to visit her if she
+don't want to visit me;" which, we are sorry to say, Mrs. Thompson,
+was a story, for you know you were dying to get in the house and see
+and "hear all about it."</p>
+
+<p>To which Mrs. Simpkins responded,</p>
+
+<p>"That, for her part, she did not care about it&mdash;there was no love lost
+between them;" and these people, who had once been kind and neighborly
+friends, would not have been sorry to hear that Mr. Fairchild had
+failed&mdash;or rather would have been glad (which people mean when they
+say, "they would not be sorry,") to see them humbled in any way.</p>
+
+<p>So much for Mrs. Fairchild's first step in prosperity.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild pined and languished for something to do, and somebody
+to see. The memory of early habits came strongly over her at times,
+and she longed to go in the kitchen and make a good batch of pumpkin
+pies, by way of amusement; but she did not dare. Her stylish pampered
+menials already suspected she was "nobody," and constantly quoted the
+privileges of Mrs. Ashfield's servants, and the authority of other
+fashionable names, with the impertinence and contempt invariably felt
+by inferiors for those who they instinctively know to be ignorant and
+vulgar, and "not to the manor born."</p>
+
+<p>She accidently, to her great delight, came across a young mantuamaker,
+who occasionally sewed at Mrs. Ashfield's; and she engaged her at once
+to come and make her some morning-dresses; not that she wanted them,
+only the opportunity for the gossip to be thence derived. And to those
+who know nothing of the familiarity with which ladies can sometimes
+condescend to question such persons, it would be astonishing to know
+the quantity of information she extracted from Miss Hawkins. Not only
+of Mrs. Ashfield's mode of living, number of dresses, &amp;c., but of many
+other families of the neighborhood, particularly the Misses Hamilton,
+who were described to be such "nice young ladies," and for whom she
+chiefly sewed, as "Mrs. Ashfield chiefly imported most of her
+dresses," but she lent all her patterns to the Miss Hamiltons; and
+Miss Hawkins made up all their dresses after hers, only not of such
+expensive materials. And thus she found out all the Hamiltons'
+economies, which filled her with contempt and indignation&mdash;contempt
+for their poverty, and indignation at their position in society, and
+the company they saw notwithstanding.</p>
+
+<p>She could not understand it. Her husband sympathized with her most
+fully on this score, for, like all ignorant, purse-proud men, he could
+comprehend no claims not based in money.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden light broke in, however, upon the Fairchild's dull life. A
+great exertion was being made for a new Opera company, and Mr.
+Fairchild's money being as good as any body else's, the subscription
+books were taken to him. He put down his name for as large a sum as
+the best of them, and felt himself at once a patron of music, fashion,
+and the fine arts.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild was in ecstasies. She had chosen seats in the midst of
+the Ashfields, Harpers, and others, and felt now "that they would be
+all together."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fairchild came home one day very indignant with a young Mr.
+Bankhead, who had asked him if he would change seats with him, saying
+his would probably suit Mr. Fairchild better than those he had
+selected, as they were front places, &amp;c., that his only object in
+wishing to change was to be next to the Ashfields, "as it would be a
+convenience to his wife, who could then go often with them when he was
+otherwise engaged."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fairchild promptly refused in what Mr. Bankhead considered a rude
+manner, who rather haughtily replied "that he should not have offered
+the exchange if he had supposed it was a favor, his seats being
+generally considered the best. It was only on his wife's account, who
+wished to be among her friends that he had asked it, as he presumed
+the change would be a matter of indifference to Mr. Fairchild."</p>
+
+<p>The young man had no idea of the sting conveyed in these words. Mrs.
+Fairchild was very angry when her husband repeated it to her. "It was
+<i>not</i> a matter of indifference at all. Why should not <i>we</i> wish to be
+among the Ashfields and Harpers as well as anybody?" she said,
+indignantly. "And who is this Mrs. Bankhead, I should like to know,
+that I am to yield my place to <i>her</i>;" to which Mr. Fairchild replied,
+with his usual degree of angry contempt when speaking of people of no
+property,</p>
+
+<p>"A pretty fellow, indeed! He's hardly worth salt to his porridge!
+Indeed, I wonder how he is able to pay for his seats at all!"</p>
+
+<p>While on the Bankhead's side it was,</p>
+
+<p>"We cannot change our places, Mrs. Ashfield. Those Fairchilds
+refused."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how provoking!" was the reply. "We should have been such a nice
+little set by ourselves. And so disagreeable, too, to have people one
+don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> know right in the midst of us so! Why what do the creatures
+mean&mdash;your places are the best?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know. He 's a vulgar, purse-proud man. My husband was
+quite sorry he had asked him, for he seemed to think it was a great
+favor, and made the most of the opportunity to be rude."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am sorry. It's not pleasant to have such people near one; and
+then I am so very, very sorry, not to have you and Mr. Bankhead with
+us. The Harpers were saying how delightful it would be for us all to
+be together; and now to have those vulgar people instead&mdash;too
+provoking!"</p>
+
+<p>Ignorant, however, of the disgust, in which her anticipated proximity
+was held, Mrs. Fairchild, in high spirits, bought the most beautiful
+of white satin Opera cloaks, and ordered the most expensive
+paraphernalia she could think of to make it all complete, and
+determined on sporting diamonds that would dazzle old acquaintances,
+(if any presumed to be there,) and make even the fashionables stare.</p>
+
+<p>The first night opened with a very brilliant house. Every body was
+there, and every body in full dress. Mrs. Fairchild had as much as she
+could do to look around. To be sure she knew nobody, but then it was
+pleasant to see them all. She learnt a few names from the conversation
+that she overheard of the Ashfields and Harpers, as they nodded to
+different acquaintances about the house. And then, during the
+intervals, different friends came and chatted a little while with
+them, and the Bankheads leaned across and exchanged a few animated
+words; and, in short, every body seemed so full of talk, and so
+intimate with every body, except poor Mrs. Fairchild, who sat, loaded
+with finery, and no one to speak to but her husband, who was by this
+time yawning wearily, well-nigh worn out with the fatigue of hearing
+two acts of a grand Italian Opera.</p>
+
+<p>As Mrs. Fairchild began to recover self-possession enough to
+comprehend what was going on among them, she found to her surprise,
+from their conversation, that the music was not all alike; that one
+singer was "divine," another "only so so;" the orchestra admirable,
+and the choruses very indifferent. She could not comprehend how they
+could tell one from another. "They all sang at the same time; and as
+for the chorus and orchestra, she did not know 'which was which.'"</p>
+
+<p>Then there was a great deal said about "<i>contraltos</i>" and
+"<i>sopranos</i>;" and when her husband asked her what they meant, she
+replied, "she did not know, it was <i>French</i>!" They talked, too, of
+Rossini and Bellini, and people who <i>read</i> and <i>wrote</i> music, and that
+quite passed her comprehension. She thought "music was only played and
+sung;" and what they meant by reading and writing it, she could not
+divine. Had they talked of eating it, it would have sounded to her
+about as rational.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally one of the Hamiltons sat with some of the set, for it
+seemed they had no regular places of their own. "Of course not," said
+Mrs Fairchild, contemptuously. "They can't afford it," which
+expressive phrase summed up, with both husband and wife, the very
+essence of all that was mean and contemptible, and she was only
+indignant at their being able to come there at all. The Bankheads were
+bad enough; but to have the Hamiltons there too, and then to hear them
+all talking French with some foreigners who occasionally joined them,
+really humbled her.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, she conceived was the secret of success. "They <i>know</i>
+French," she would reply in a voice of infinite mortification, when
+her husband expressed his indignant astonishment at finding these
+"nobodies" on 'change, "somebodies" at the Opera. To "<i>know</i> French,"
+comprehended all her ideas of education, information, sense, and
+literature. This, then, she thought was the "Open Sesame" of "good
+society," the secret of enjoyment at the Opera; for, be it understood,
+all foreign languages were "French" to Mrs. Fairchild.</p>
+
+<p>She was beginning to find the Opera a terrible bore, spite of all the
+finery she sported and saw around her, with people she did not know,
+and music she did not understand. As for Mr. Fairchild, the fatigue
+was intolerable; and he would have rebelled at once, if he had not
+paid for his places for the season, and so chose to have his money's
+worth, if it was only in tedium.</p>
+
+<p>A bright idea, a bold resolution occurred to Mrs. Fairchild. She would
+learn French.</p>
+
+<p>So she engaged a teacher at once, at enormous terms, who was to place
+her on a level with the best of them.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little woman! and poor teacher, too! what work it was! How he
+groaned in spirit at the thick tongue that <i>could not</i> pronounce the
+delicate vowels, and the dull apprehension that knew nothing of moods
+and tenses.</p>
+
+<p>And she, poor little soul, who was as innocent of English Grammar as
+of murder, how was she to be expected to understand the definite and
+indefinite when it was all indefinite; and as for the participle past,
+she did not believe <i>any</i> body understood it. And so she worked and
+puzzled, and sometimes almost cried, for a week, and then went to the
+Opera and found she was no better off than before.</p>
+
+<p>In despair, and angry with her teacher, she dismissed him. "She did
+not believe any body ever learnt it that way out of books;" and "so
+she would get a French maid, and she'd learn more hearing her talk in
+a month, than Mr. A. could teach her, if she took lessons forever."
+And so she got a maid, who brought high recommendations from some
+grand people who had brought her from France, and then she thought
+herself quite set up.</p>
+
+<p>But the experiment did not succeed. She turned out a saucy thing, who
+shrugged her shoulders with infinite contempt when she found "madame"
+did not comprehend her; and soon Mrs. Fairchild was very glad to take
+advantage of a grand flare-up in the kitchen between her and the cook,
+in which the belligerent parties declared that "one or the other must
+leave the house," to dismiss her.</p>
+
+<p>In deep humility of spirit Mrs. Fairchild placed her little girl at
+the best French school in the city, almost grudging the poor child her
+Sundays at home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> when she must hear nothing but English. She was
+determined that she should learn French young; for she now began to
+think it must be taken like measles or whooping-cough, in youth, or
+else the attack must be severe, if not dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Fairchild made no acquaintances, as she fondly hoped, at the
+Opera. A few asked, "Who is that dressy little body who sits in front
+of you, Mrs. Ashfield?"</p>
+
+<p>"A Mrs. Fairchild. I know nothing about them except that they live
+next door to us."</p>
+
+<p>"What a passion the little woman seems to have for jewelry," remarked
+the other. "It seems to me she has a new set of something once a week
+at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said one of the Hamiltons, laughing, "she's as good as a
+jeweler's window. It's quite an amusement to me to see the quantity of
+bracelets and chains she contrives to hang around her."</p>
+
+<p>"I would gladly have dispensed with that amusement, Ellen," replied
+Mrs. Ashfield, "for they have the places the Bankheads wanted; and he
+is so clever and well-informed, and she such a bright, intelligent
+little creature, that it would have added so much to our pleasure to
+have had them with us."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, to be sure! the Bankheads are jewels of the first water. And how
+they enjoy every thing. What a shame it is they have not those
+Fairchilds' money."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Ellen, that is not fair," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "Let Mrs.
+Fairchild have her finery&mdash;it's all, I suppose, the poor woman has.
+The Bankheads don't require wealth for either enjoyment or
+consequence. They are bright and flashing in their own lustre, and
+like all pure brilliants, are the brighter for their simple setting."</p>
+
+<p>"May be," replied the gay Ellen, "but I do love to see some people
+have every thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Ellen," said Mrs. Ashfield, "Is that quite just? Be satisfied
+with Mrs. Bankhead's having so much more than Mrs. Fairchild, without
+robbing poor Mrs. Fairchild of the little she has."</p>
+
+<p>Could Mrs. Fairchild have believed her ears had she heard this? Could
+she have believed that little Mrs. Bankhead, whose simple book-muslin
+and plainly braided dark hair excited her nightly contempt, was held
+in such respect and admiration by those who would not know her. And
+Bankhead, whom her husband spoke of with such infinite contempt, as
+having "nothing at all," "not salt to his porridge." And yet as Mrs.
+Fairchild saw them courted and gay, she longed for some of their
+porridge, "for they knew French."</p>
+
+<p>And thus the season wore on in extreme weariness and deep
+mortification. The Fairchilds made no headway at all. She made no
+acquaintances at all at the opera, as she had fondly hoped. She even
+regretted that her husband had refused their seats to the Bankheads.
+Had he yielded them a favor may be they would have spoken to them.</p>
+
+<p>Desperate, at last, she determined she would do something. She would
+give a party. But who to ask?</p>
+
+<p>Not old friends and acquaintance. That was not to be thought of. But
+who else? She knew nobody.</p>
+
+<p>"It was not necessary to know them," she told her husband. "She would
+send her card and invitations to all those fine people, and they'd be
+glad enough to come. The Bankheads, too, and the Hamiltons, she would
+ask them."</p>
+
+<p>"You are sure of them, at any rate," said her husband contemptuously.
+"Poor devils! it's not often they get such a supper as they'll get
+here."</p>
+
+<p>But somehow the Hamiltons and Bankheads were not as hungry as Mr.
+Fairchild supposed, for very polite regrets came in the course of a
+few days, to Mrs. Fairchild's great wrath and mortification.</p>
+
+<p>This was but the beginning, however. Refusals came pouring in thick
+and fast from all quarters.</p>
+
+<p>The lights were prepared, the music sounding, and some half dozen
+ladies, whose husbands had occasionally a business transaction with
+Mr. Fairchild, looked in on their way to a grand fashionable party
+given the same evening by one of their own <i>clique</i>, and then
+vanished, leaving Mrs. Fairchild with the mortified wish that they had
+not come at all, to see the splendor of preparations and the beggary
+of guests. Some few young men dropped in and took a look, and bowed
+themselves out as soon as the Fairchilds gave them a chance; and so
+ended this last and most desperate effort.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Fairchild one day to her husband in perfect
+desperation, "let us go to Europe."</p>
+
+<p>"To Europe," he said, looking up in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she replied, with energy. "That's what all these fine people
+have done, and that's the way they know each other so well. All the
+Americans are intimate in Paris, and then when they come back they are
+all friends together."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fairchild listened and pondered. He was as tired as his wife with
+nothing to do; and moreover deeply mortified, though he said less
+about it, at not being admitted among those with whom he had no tastes
+or associations in common, and he consented.</p>
+
+<p>The house was shut up and the Fairchilds were off.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"Who are those Fairchilds," asked somebody in Paris, "that one sees
+every where, where money can gain admittance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied Miss Rutherford. "They traveled down the
+Rhine with us last summer, and were our perfect torment. We could not
+shake them off."</p>
+
+<p>"What sort of people are they?" was the next question.</p>
+
+<p>"Ignorant past belief: but that would not so much matter if she were
+not such a spiteful little creature. I declare I heard more gossip and
+ill-natured stories from her about Americans in Paris than I ever
+heard in all the rest of my life put together."</p>
+
+<p>"And rich?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I suppose so&mdash;for they spent absurdly. They are just those
+ignorant, vulgar people that one only meets in traveling, and that
+make us blush for our country and countrymen. Such people should not
+have passports."</p>
+
+<p>"Fairchild," said Mrs. Castleton. "The name is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> familiar to me. Oh,
+now I remember. But they can't be the same. The Fairchilds I knew were
+people in humble circumstances. They lived in &mdash;&mdash; street."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I dare say they are the very people," replied Miss Rutherford.
+"He has made money rapidly within a few years."</p>
+
+<p>"But she was the best little creature I ever knew," persisted Mrs.
+Castleton. "My baby was taken ill while we were in the country
+boarding at the same house, and this Mrs. Fairchild came to me at
+once, and helped me get a warm bath, and watched and nursed the child
+with me as if it had been her own. I remember I was very grateful for
+her excessive kindness and attention."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I dare say," replied Miss Rutherford. "But that was when she
+was poor, and, as you say, humble, Mrs. Castleton. Very probably she
+may have been kind-hearted originally. She does love her children
+dearly. She has that merit; but now that she is rich, and wants to be
+fine and fashionable, and don't know how to manage it, and can't
+succeed, you never knew any body so spiteful and jealous as she is of
+all those she feels beyond her reach."</p>
+
+<p>"Pity," said Mrs. Castleton almost sorrowfully. "She was such a good
+little creature. How prosperity spoils some people."</p>
+
+<p>And so Mrs. Fairchild traveled and came home again.</p>
+
+<p>They had been to Paris, and seen more things and places than they
+could remember, and did not understand what they could remember, and
+were afraid of telling what they had seen, lest they should
+mispronounce names, whose spelling was beyond their most ambitious
+flights.</p>
+
+<p>They had gone to the ends of the earth to be in society at home. But
+ignorant they went and ignorant they returned.</p>
+
+<p>"Edward and Fanny shall know every thing," said Mrs. Fairchild, and
+teachers without end were engaged for the young Fairchilds, who, to
+their parents' great delight were not only chatting in "unknown
+tongues," but becoming quite intimate with the little Ashfields and
+other baby sprigs of nobility.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is that pretty boy dancing with your Helen, Mrs. Bankhead?" asked
+some one at a child's party.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Fairchild," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Fairchild! What, a son of that overdressed little woman you used to
+laugh at so at the opera?" said the other.</p>
+
+<p>"The same," replied Mrs. Bankhead laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"And here's an incipient flirtation between your girl and her boy,"
+continued the other archly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's no leveler like Education. The true democrat after
+all," she pursued.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," replied Mrs. Bankhead. "Intelligence puts us all on a
+footing. What other distinction can or should we have?"</p>
+
+<p>"I doubt whether Mrs. Fairchild thinks so," replied her friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you are mistaken," replied Mrs. Bankhead earnestly. "She would
+not perhaps express it in those words: but her humble reverence for
+education is quite touching. They are giving these children every
+possible advantage, and in a few years, when they are grown up," she
+continued, laughing, "We mothers will be very glad to admit the young
+Fairchilds in society, even if they must bring the mother with them."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," said the other. "And old people are inoffensive even
+if they are ignorant. Old age is in itself a claim to respect."</p>
+
+<p>"True enough," returned Mrs. Bankhead; "and when you see them
+engrossed and happy in the success of their children, you forgive them
+a good deal. That is the reward of such people."</p>
+
+<p>"They have fought through a good deal of mortification though to
+attain it," rejoined the other. "I wonder whether the end is worth
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! that's a question hard to settle," replied Mrs. Bankhead
+seriously. "Society at large is certainly improved, but I doubt
+whether individuals are the happier. No doubt the young Fairchilds
+will be happier for their parents' rise in the world&mdash;but I should say
+the 'transition state' had been any thing but a pleasant one to the
+parents. The children will have the tastes as well as the means for
+enjoyment; the one Mrs. Fairchild having found to be quite as
+necessary as the other."</p>
+
+<p>"This is the march of intellect, the progress of society, exemplified
+in the poor Fairchilds," replied the other laughing. "Well, thank
+Heaven my mission has not been to <i>rise</i> in the world."</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TWILIGHT_TO_MARY" id="TWILIGHT_TO_MARY"></a>TWILIGHT.&mdash;TO MARY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh! how I love this time of ev'n,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When day in tender twilight dies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the parting sun, as it falls from heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leaves all its beauty on the skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all of rash and restless Nature,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Passion&mdash;impulse&mdash;meekly sleeps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loveliness, the soul's sweet teacher,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seems like religion in its deeps.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now is trembling through my senses<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The melting music of the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the near and rose-crowned fences<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Comes the balm and fragrant breeze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from the bowers, not yet shrouded<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the coming gloom of night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaks the bird-song, clear, unclouded.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In trembling tones of deep delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not for this alone I prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This witching time of ev'n,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The murmuring breeze, the blushing skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And day's last smile on heaven.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thoughts of thee, and such as thou art.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That mingle with these sacred hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give deeper pleasure to my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than song of birds arid breath of flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then welcome the hour when the last smile of day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just lingers at the portal of ev'n,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When so much of life's tumults are passing away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And earth seems exalted to heaven. H. D. G.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_SAGAMORE_OF_SACO" id="THE_SAGAMORE_OF_SACO"></a>THE SAGAMORE OF SACO.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+
+<h3>A LEGEND OF MAINE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Land of the forest and the rock&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of dark blue lake and mighty river&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of mountains reared aloft to mock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The storms career, the lightning's shock&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My own green land forever. <span class="smcap">Whittier.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>Never was country more fruitful than our own with rich materials of
+romantic and tragic interest, to call into exercise the finest talents
+of the dramatist and novelist. Every cliff and headland has its
+aboriginal legend; the village, now thrifty and quiet, had its days of
+slaughter and conflagration, its tale of devoted love or cruel
+treachery; while the city, now tumultuous with the pressure of
+commerce, in its "day of small things," had its bombardment and
+foreign army, and its handful of determined freemen, who achieved
+prodigies of single handed valor. Now that men are daily learning the
+worth of humanity, its hopes and its trials coming nearer home to
+thought and affection; now that the complicated passions of refined
+and artificial life are becoming less important than the broad, deep,
+genuine manifestations of the common mind, we may hope for a bolder
+and more courageous literature: we may hope to see the drama free
+itself from sensualism and frivolity, and rise to the Shaksperian
+dignity of true passion; while the romance will learn better its true
+ground, and will create, rather than portray&mdash;delineate, rather than
+dissect human sentiment and emotion.</p>
+
+<p>The State of Maine is peculiarly rich in its historically romantic
+associations. Settled as it was prior to the landing of the Pilgrims,
+first under Raleigh Gilbert, and subsequently by Sir Ferdinando
+Gorges, whose colony it is fair, in the absence of testimony, to infer
+never left the country after 1616, but continued to employ themselves
+in the fisheries, and in some commerce with the West Indies, up to the
+time of their final incorporation with the Plymouth settlement. Indeed
+the correspondence of Sir Richard Vines, governor of the colony under
+Sir Ferdinando Gorges, with the Governor of Plymouth, leaves no doubt
+upon this head; and it is a well known fact that the two settlements
+of De Aulney and De la Tour at the mouths of the Penobscot and
+Kennebec rivers, even at this early age, were far from being
+contemptible, both in a commercial and numeric point of view. Added to
+these was the handful of Jesuits at Mont Desert, and we might say a
+colony of Swedes on the sea-coast, between the two large rivers just
+named, the memory of which is traditional, and the vestiges of which
+are sometimes turned up by the ploughshare. These people probably fell
+beneath some outbreak of savage vengeance, which left no name or
+record of their existence.</p>
+
+<p>Subsequently to these was the dispersion of the Acadians, that
+terrible and wanton piece of political policy, which resulted in the
+extinction and denationalizing of a simple and pious people. The
+fugitive Acadians found their way through a wilderness of forests,
+suffering and dying as they went, some landing in distant states,
+(five hundred having been consigned to Governor Oglethorpe of
+Georgia,) and others, lonely and bereft, found a home with the humble
+and laborious farmers of this hardy state, whose finest quality is an
+open-handed hospitality. These intermarrying with our people here,
+have left traces of their blood and fine moral qualities to enhance
+the excellence of a pure and healthful population.</p>
+
+<p>Then followed the times of the Revolution, when Maine did her part
+nobly in the great and perilous work. Our own Knox was commandant of
+the artillery, and the bosom friend of Washington: our youth sunk into
+unknown graves in the sacred cause of freedom; and our people, poor as
+they were, for the resources of the state were then undeveloped, cast
+their mite of wealth into the national treasury. Northerly and
+isolated as she is, her cities were burned, and her frontiers
+jealously watched by an alert and cruel enemy. Here, too, Arnold sowed
+his last seeds of virtue and patriotism, in his arduous march through
+the wilderness of Maine to the capital of the Canadas, an exploit
+which, considering the season, the poverty of numbers and resources,
+combined with the wild, unknown, and uncleared state of the country,
+may compete with the most heroic actions of any great leader of any
+people.</p>
+
+<p>A maritime state, Maine suffers severely from the fluctuations of
+commerce, but is the first to realize the reactions of prosperity. Her
+extended seaboard, her vast forests, her immense mineral resources,
+together with a population hardy, laborious, virtuous, and
+enterprising; a population less adulterated by foreign admixture than
+any state in the Union, all point to a coming day of power and
+prosperity which shall place her foremost in the ranks of the states,
+in point of wealth, as she is already in that of intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>We have enumerated but a tithe of the intellectual resources of
+Maine&mdash;have given but a blank sheet as it were of the material which
+will hereafter make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> her renowned in story, and must confine ourselves
+to but a single point of historic and romantic interest, connected
+with the earlier records of the country. We have alluded to the first
+governor, Sir Richard Vines, a right worthy and chivalric gentleman,
+the friend and agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, of Walter Raleigh, and
+other fine spirits of the day. His residence was at the Pool, as it is
+now called, or "Winter Harbor," from the fact that the winter of
+1616-17 was passed by Vines and his followers at this place. After a
+residence of eighteen or twenty years, devoted to the interests of the
+colony, the death of his patron, the transfer of the Maine plantation
+to the Plymouth proprietors, together with domestic and pecuniary
+misfortunes, induced Sir Richard Vines to retire to the Island of
+Barbadoes, where we find him prosperous and respected, and still
+mindful of the colony for which he had done and suffered so much.</p>
+
+<p>Prior to his departure, and probably not altogether unconnected with
+it, he had incurred the deadly hatred of John Bonyton, a young man of
+the colony, who in after years was called, and is still remembered in
+tradition as the "Sagamore of Saco." The cause of this hatred was in
+some way connected with the disappearance of Bridget Vines, the
+daughter of the governor, for whom John Bonyton had conceived a wild
+and passionate attachment. Years before our story she had been
+suddenly missing, to the permanent grief and dismay of the family, and
+the more terrible agony of John Bonyton, who had conceived the idea
+that Bridget had been sent to a European convent, to save her from his
+presence. This idea he would never abandon, notwithstanding the most
+solemn denials of Sir Richard, and the most womanly and sympathizing
+asseverations of Mistress Vines. The youth listened with compressed
+lip, his large, remarkable eye fixed with stern and searching scrutiny
+upon the face of the speaker, and when he was done the reply was
+always the same, "God knows if this be true; but, true or false, my
+hand shall be against every man till she be found."</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly we find the youth, who seems to have been possessed of
+those rare and strong points of character which go to make the hero,
+in constant collision with the people of the times. Moody and
+revengeful, he became an alien to his father's house, and with gun and
+dog passed months in the wildest regions of that wild country. With
+the savage he slept in his wigwam, he threaded the forest and stood
+upon the verge of the cataract; or penetrated up to the stormy regions
+of the White Mountains; and anon, hushed the tumultuous beatings of
+his heart in accordance with the stroke of his paddle, as he and his
+red companions glided over that loveliest of lakes, Winn&eacute;pis&oacute;g&eacute;, or
+"the smile of the Great Spirit."</p>
+
+<p>There seemed no rest for the unhappy man. Unable to endure the
+formalities and intermedlings, which so strongly mark the period, he
+spent most of his time on the frontiers of the settlement, admitting
+of little companionship, and yielding less of courtesy. When he
+appeared in the colony, the women regarded his fine person, his
+smile, at once sorrowful and tender, and his free, noble bearing with
+admiration, not unmingled with terror; while men, even in that age of
+manly physique looked upon his frame, lithe yet firm as iron, athletic
+and yet graceful, with eyes of envious delight. Truth to say, John
+Bonyton had never impaired a fine development by any useful
+employment, or any elaborate attempts at book-knowledge. He knew all
+that was essential for the times, or the mode of life which he had
+adopted, and further he cared not. His great power consisted in a
+passionate yet steady will, by which all who came within his sphere
+found themselves bent to his purposes.</p>
+
+<p>The Pilgrims even, unflinching and uncompromising as they were, felt
+the spell of his presence, and were content to spurn, to persecute,
+and set a price upon the head of a man whom they could not control.
+Yet for all this John Bonyton died quietly in his bed, no one daring
+to do to him even what the law would justify. He slept in perfect
+security, for he knew this, and knew, too, that the woods were alive
+with ardent and devoted adherents, who would have deluged the soil
+with blood had but a hair of his head been injured. The Sagamore of
+Saco was no ordinary man; and the men of the times, remarkable as they
+were, felt this; and hence is it, that even to this day his memory is
+held in remembrance with an almost superstitious awe, and people point
+out a barrow where lie the ashes of the "Sagamore," and show the
+boundaries of his land, and tell marvelous tales of his hardihood and
+self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>They tell of a time when a price had been set upon his head, how, when
+the people were assembled in the little church for worship, John
+Bonyton walked in with gun in hand, and stood through the whole
+service, erect and stern as a man of iron, and no one dared scarcely
+look upon him, much less lift a finger against him; and how he waited
+till all had gone forth, even the oracle of God, pale and trembling,
+and then departed in silence as he came. Surely there was greatness in
+this&mdash;the greatness of a Napoleon, needing but a field for its
+exercise.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Methought, within a desert cave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cold, dark, and solemn as the grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I suddenly awoke.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed of sable night the cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, save when from the ceiling fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An oozing drop, her silent spell<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">No sound had ever broke.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Allston.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Among the great rivers of Maine the Penobscot and Kennebec stand
+pre&euml;minent, on account of their maritime importance, their depth and
+adaptability to the purposes of internal navigation; but there are
+others less known, yet no less essential to the wealth of the country,
+which, encumbered with falls and rapids, spurn alike ship and steamer,
+but are invaluable for the great purposes of manufacture. The
+Androscoggin is one of these, a river, winding, capricious and most
+beautiful; just the one to touch the fancy of the poet, and tempt the
+cupidity of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> millwright. It abounds with scenery of the most lovely
+and romantic interest, and falls already in bondage to loom and
+shuttle. Lewiston Falls, or Pe-jip-scot, as the aboriginals called
+this beautiful place, are, perhaps, among the finest water plunges in
+the country. It is not merely the beauty of the river itself, a broad
+and lengthened sheet of liquid in the heart of a fine country, but the
+whole region is wild and romantic. The sudden bends of the river
+present headlands of rare boldness, beneath which the river spreads
+itself into a placid bay, till ready to gather up its skirts again,
+and thread itself daintily amid the hills. The banks present slopes
+and savannas warm and sheltered, in which nestle away finely
+cultivated farms, and from whence arise those rural sounds of flock
+and herd so grateful to the spirit, and that primitive blast of horn,
+winding itself into a thousand echoes, the signal of the in-gathering
+of a household. Cliffs, crowned with fir, overhang the waters; hills,
+rising hundreds of feet, cast their dense shadows quite across the
+stream; and even now the "slim canoe" of the Indian may be seen poised
+below, while some stern relic of the woods looks upward to the ancient
+hunting sites of his people, and recalls the day when, at the verge of
+this very fall, a populous village sent up its council smoke day and
+night, telling of peace and the uncontested power of his tribe.</p>
+
+<p>But in the times of our story the region stood in its untamed majesty;
+the whirling mass of waters tumbling and plunging in the midst of an
+unbroken forest, and the great roar of the cataract booming through
+the solitude like the unceasing voice of the eternal deep. Men now
+stand with awe and gaze upon those mysterious falls, vital with
+traditions terribly beautiful, and again and again ask, "Can they be
+true? Can it be that beneath these waters, behind that sheet of foam
+is a room, spacious and vast, and well known, and frequented by the
+Indian?"</p>
+
+<p>An old man will tell you that one morning as he stood watching the
+rainbows of the fall, he was surprised at the sudden appearance of an
+Indian from the very midst of the foam. He accosted him, asked whence
+he came, and how he escaped the terrible plunge of the descending
+waves. The Indian, old and white-headed, with the eye of an eagle, and
+the frame of a Hercules, raised the old man from the ground, shook him
+fiercely, and then cast him like a reptile to one side. A moment more
+and the measured stroke of a paddle betrayed the passage of the stout
+Red Man adown the stream.</p>
+
+<p>Our story must establish the fact in regard to this cave&mdash;a fact well
+known in the earlier records of the country, more than one white man
+having found himself sufficiently athletic to plunge behind the sheet
+of water and gain the room.</p>
+
+<p>It was mid-day, and the sun, penetrating the sheet of the falls, cast
+a not uncheerful light into the cave, the size and gloom of which were
+still further relieved by a fire burning in the centre, and one or
+more torches stuck in the fissures of the rocks. Before this fire
+stood a woman of forty or fifty years of age, gazing intently upon the
+white, liquid, and tumultuous covering to the door of her home, and
+yet the expression of her eye showed that her thoughts were far beyond
+the place in which she stood.</p>
+
+<p>She was taller than the wont of Indian women, more slender than is
+customary with them at her period of life, and altogether, presented a
+keenness and springiness of fibre that reminded one of Arab more than
+aboriginal blood. Her brow was high, retreating, and narrow, with
+arched and contracted brows, beneath which fairly burned a pair of
+intense, restless eyes.</p>
+
+<p>At one side, stretched upon skins, appeared what might have been
+mistaken for a white veil, except that a draft of air caused a portion
+of it to rise and fall, showing it to be a mass of human hair. Yet so
+motionless was the figure, so still a tiny moccasoned foot, just
+perceptible, and so ghastly the hue and abundance of the covering,
+that all suggested an image of death.</p>
+
+<p>At length the tall woman turned sharply round and addressed the object
+upon the mats.</p>
+
+<p>"How much longer will you sleep, Skoke? Get up, I tell thee."</p>
+
+<p>At this ungracious speech&mdash;for Skoke<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>means snake&mdash;the figure
+started slightly, but did not obey. After some silence she spoke
+again, "Wa-ain (white soul) get up and eat, our people will soon be
+here." Still no motion nor reply. At length the woman, in a sharper
+accent, resumed,</p>
+
+<p>"Bridget Vines, I bid thee arise!" and she laughed in an under tone.</p>
+
+<p>The figure slowly lifted itself up and looked upon the speaker.
+"Asc&aacute;she,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> I will answer only to my own name."</p>
+
+<p>"As you like," retorted the other. "Skoke is as good a name as
+Asc&aacute;she." A truism which the other did not seem disposed to
+question&mdash;the one meaning a snake, the other a spider, or
+"net-weaver."</p>
+
+<p>Contrary to what might have been expected from the color of the hair,
+the figure from the mat seemed a mere child in aspect, and yet the
+eye, the mouth, and the grasp of the hand, indicated not only maturity
+of years, but the presence of deep and intense passions. Her size was
+that of a girl of thirteen years in our northern climate, yet the fine
+bust, the distinct and slender waist, and the firm pressure of the
+arched foot, revealed maturity as well as individualism of character.</p>
+
+<p>Rising from her recumbent posture, she approached the water at the
+entrance of the cave till the spray mingled with her long, white
+locks, and the light falling upon her brow, revealed a sharp beautiful
+outline of face scarcely touched by years, white, even teeth, and eyes
+of blue, yet so deeply and sadly kindling into intensity, that they
+grew momentarily darker and darker as you gazed upon them.</p>
+
+<p>"Water, still water, forever water," she mur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>mured. Suddenly turning
+round, she darted away into the recesses of the cave, leaping and
+flying, as it were, with her long hair tossed to and fro about her
+person. Presently she emerged, followed by a pet panther, which leaped
+and bounded in concert with his mistress. Seizing a bow, she sent the
+arrow away into the black roof of the cavern, waited for its return,
+and then discharged it again and again, watching its progress with
+eager and impatient delight. This done, she cast herself again upon
+the skins, spread her long hair over her form, and lay motionless as
+marble.</p>
+
+<p>Asc&aacute;she again called, "Why do you not come and eat, Skoke?"</p>
+
+<p>Having no answer, she called out, "Wa-ain, come and eat;" and then
+tired of this useless teasing, she arose, and shaking the white girl
+by the arm, cried, "Bridget Vines, I bid you eat."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, Asc&aacute;she," answered the other, taking corn and dried fish,
+which the other presented.</p>
+
+<p>"The spider caught a bad snake when she wove a net for Bridget Vines,"
+muttered the tall woman. The other covered her face with her hands,
+and the veins of her forehead swelled above her fingers; yet when she
+uncovered her eyes they were red, not with tears, but the effort to
+suppress their flow.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a long, long time, that I have been here, Asc&aacute;she," answered
+Bridget, sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you never been out since Samoret left you here?" asked the
+net-weaver; and she fixed her eyes searchingly upon the face of the
+girl, who never quailed nor changed color beneath her gaze, but
+replied in the same tone, "How should little Hope escape&mdash;where should
+she go?" Hope being the name by which Mistress Vines had called her
+child in moments of tenderness, as suggesting a mother's yearning hope
+that she would at some time be less capricious, for Bridget had always
+been a wayward, incoherent, and diminutive creature, and treated with
+great gentleness by the family.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember what I once told you?" continued the other. "You had
+a friend&mdash;you have an enemy."</p>
+
+<p>This time Bridget Vines started, and gave utterance to a long, low,
+plaintive cry, as if her soul wailed, as it flitted from its frail
+tenement, for she fell back as if dead upon the skins.</p>
+
+<p>The woman muttered, "The white boy and girl shouldn't have scorned the
+red woman," and she took her to the verge of the water and awaited her
+recovery; when she opened her eyes, she continued, "Asc&aacute;she is
+content&mdash;she has been very, very wretched, but so has been her enemy.
+Look, my hair is black; Wa-ain's is like the white frost."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it would be so," answered the other, gently, "but it is
+nothing. Tell me where you have been, Asc&aacute;she, and how came you here?
+O-ya-ah died the other day." She alluded to an old squaw, who had been
+her keeper in the cave.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment a shadow darkened the room, another, and another, and
+three stalwart savages stood before the two women. Each, as he passed,
+patted the head of Bridget, who shook them off with moody impatience.</p>
+
+<p>They gathered about the coals in the centre, talking in under tones,
+while the women prepared some venison which was to furnish forth the
+repast.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And she who climbed the storm-swept steep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She who the foaming wave would dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So oft love's vigil here to keep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stranger, albeit, thou think'st I dote;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know, I know, she watches there.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Hoffman.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>That night the men sat long around the fire, and talked of a deadly
+feud and a deadly prospect of revenge. Asc&aacute;she listened and counseled,
+and her suggestions were often hailed with intimations of
+approval&mdash;for the woman was possessed of a keen and penetrating mind,
+heightened by passions at once powerful and malevolent. Had the group
+observed the white occupant of the skins, they would have seen a pair
+of dark, bright eyes peering through those snowy locks, and red lips
+parted, in the eagerness of the intent ear.</p>
+
+<p>"How far distant are they now?" asked the woman.</p>
+
+<p>"A three hours walk down stream," was the answer. "To-morrow they will
+ascend the falls to surprise our people, and burn the village.
+To-night, when the moon is down, we are to light a fire at still-water
+<i>above</i> the falls, and the Terrentines will join us at the signal,
+leave their canoes in the care of the women, and descend upon our
+foes. The fire will warn our people how near to approach the falls,
+for the night will be dark." This was told at intervals, and to the
+questionings of the woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the Sagamore of Saco," asked Asc&aacute;she.</p>
+
+<p>"John Bonyton heads our foes, but to-night is the last one to the
+Sagamore."</p>
+
+<p>At this name the white hair stirred violently, and then a low wail
+escaped from beneath. The group started, and one of the men, with
+Asc&aacute;she, scanned the face of the girl, who seemed to sleep in perfect
+unconsciousness; but the panther rolled itself over, stretched out its
+claws, and threw back his head, showing his long, red tongue, and
+uttered a yawn so nearly a howl, that the woman declared the sounds
+must have been the same.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the group disposed themselves to sleep till the moon should
+set, when they must once more be upon the trail. Previous to this,
+many were the charges enjoined upon the woman in regard to Bridget.</p>
+
+<p>"Guard her well," said the leader of the band. "In a few suns more she
+will be a great medicine woman, foretelling things that shall come to
+the tribes."</p>
+
+<p>We must now visit the encampment of John Bonyton, where he and his
+followers slept, waiting till the first dawn of day should send them
+on their deadly path. The moon had set; the night was intensely dark,
+for clouds flitted over the sky, now and then disburdening themselves
+with gusts of wind, which swayed the old woods to and fro,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> while big
+drops of rain fell amid the leaves and were hushed.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a white figure stood over the sleeping chief, so slight, so
+unearthly in its shroud of wet, white hair, that one might well be
+pardoned a superstitious tremor. She wrung her hands and wept bitterly
+as she gazed&mdash;then she knelt down and looked more closely; then, with
+a quick cry, she flung herself into his bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, John Bonyton, did I not tell you this? Did I not tell you, years
+ago, that little Hope stood in my path, with hair white as snow?"</p>
+
+<p>The man raised himself up, he gathered the slight figure in his
+arms&mdash;he uncovered a torch and held it to her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my God! my God!" he cried&mdash;and his strength departed, and he was
+helpless as a child. The years of agony, the lapse of thirty years
+were concentrated in that fearful moment. Bridget, too, lay motionless
+and silent, clinging to his neck. Long, long was that hour of
+suffering to the two. What was life to them! stricken and changed,
+living and breathing, they only felt that they lived and breathed by
+the pangs that betrayed the beating pulse. Oh, life! life! thou art a
+fearful boon, and thy love not the least fearful of thy gifts.</p>
+
+<p>At length Bridget raised herself up, and would have left his arms; but
+John Bonyton held her fast.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Hope, never again. My tender, my beautiful bird, it has fared
+ill with thee;" and smoothing her white locks, the tears gushed to the
+eyes of the strong man. Indeed, he, in his full strength and manhood,
+she, diminutive and bleached by solitude and grief, contrasted so
+powerfully in his mind, that a paternal tenderness grew upon him, and
+he kissed her brow reverently, saying,</p>
+
+<p>"How have I searched for thee, my birdie, my child; I have been
+haunted by the furies, and goaded well nigh to murder&mdash;but thou art
+here&mdash;yet not thou. Oh, Hope! Hope!"</p>
+
+<p>The girl listened intent and breathless.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it would be so, John Bonyton; I knew if parted we could never
+be the same again&mdash;the same cloud returns not to the sky; the same
+blossom blooms not twice; human faces wear never twice the same look;
+and, alas! alas! the heart of to-day is not that of to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Say on, Hope&mdash;years are annihilated, and we are children again,
+hoping, loving children."</p>
+
+<p>But the girl only buried her face in his bosom, weeping and sobbing.
+At this moment a red glare of light shot up into the sky, and Bridget
+sprung to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I had forgotten. Come, John Bonyton, come and see the only work that
+poor little Hope could do to save thee;" and she darted forward with
+the eager step which Bonyton so well remembered. As they approached
+the falls, the light of the burning tree, kindled by the hands of
+Bridget <i>below</i> the falls, flickered and glared upon the waters; the
+winds had died away; the stars beamed forth, and nothing mingled with
+the roar of waters, save an occasional screech of some nocturnal
+creature prowling for its prey.</p>
+
+<p>Ever and ever poured on the untiring flood, till one wondered it did
+not pour itself out; and the heart grew oppressed at the vast images
+crowding into it, swelling and pressing, as did the tumultuous waves
+over their impediment of granite&mdash;water, still water, till the nerves
+ached from weariness at the perpetual flow, and the mind questioned if
+the sound itself were not silence, so lonely was the spell&mdash;questioned
+if it were stopped if the heart would not cease to beat, and life
+become annihilate.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the girl stopped with hand pointing to the falls. A black
+mass gleamed amid the foam&mdash;one wild, fearful yell arose, even above
+the roar of waters, and then the waves flowed on as before.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, what is this?" cried John Bonyton, seizing the hand of
+Bridget, and staying her flight with a strong grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Asc&aacute;she did not know I could plunge under the falls&mdash;she did not know
+the strength of little Hope, when she heard the name of John Bonyton.
+She then went on to tell how she had escaped the cave&mdash;how she had
+kindled a signal fire <i>below</i> the falls in advance of that to be
+kindled above&mdash;and how she had dared, alone, the terrors of the
+forest, and the black night, that she might once more look upon the
+face of her lover. When she had finished, she threw her arms tenderly
+around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, and then, with a
+gentleness unwonted to her nature, would have disengaged herself from
+his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you leave me, Hope&mdash;where will you go?" asked the Sagamore.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up with a face so pale, so hopeless, so mournfully tender,
+as was most affecting to behold. "I will go under the falls, and there
+sleep&mdash;oh! so long will I sleep, John Bonyton.</p>
+
+<p>He folded her like a little child to his bosom. "You must not leave
+me, Hope&mdash;do you not love me?"</p>
+
+<p>She answered only by a low wail, that was more affecting than any
+words; and when the Sagamore pressed her again to his heart, she
+answered, calling him John Bonyton, as she used to call him in the
+days of her childhood.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Hope is a terror to herself, John Bonyton. Her heart is all
+love&mdash;all lost in yours; but she is a child, a child just as she was
+years ago; but you, you are not the same&mdash;more beautiful&mdash;greater;
+poor little Hope grows fearful before you;" and again her voice was
+lost in tears.</p>
+
+<p>The sun now began to tinge the sky with his ruddy hue; the birds
+filled the woods with an out-gush of melody; the rainbow, as ever,
+spanned the abyss of waters, while below, drifting in eddies, were
+fragments of canoes, and still more ghastly fragments telling of the
+night's destruction. The stratagem of the girl had been entirely
+successful&mdash;deluded by the false beacon, the unhappy savages had
+drifted on with the tide, unconscious of danger, till the one terrible
+pang of danger, and the terrible plunge of death came at the one and
+same moment.</p>
+
+<p>Upon a headland overlooking the falls stood the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> group of the cavern,
+stirred with feelings to which words give no utterance, and which find
+expression only in some deadly act. Asc&aacute;she descended stealthily along
+the bank, watching intently the group upon the opposite shore, in the
+midst of which floated the white, abundant locks of Bridget Vines,
+visible at a great distance. She now stood beside the Sagamore,
+saying,</p>
+
+<p>"Forget poor little Hope, John Bonyton, or only remember that her life
+was one long, long thought of thee."</p>
+
+<p>She started&mdash;gave one wild look of love and grief at the Sagamore&mdash;and
+then darted down the bank, marking her path with streams of blood, and
+disappeared under the falls. The aim of the savage had done its work.</p>
+
+<p>"Asc&aacute;she is revenged, John Bonyton," cried a loud voice&mdash;and a dozen
+arrows stopped it in its utterance. Fierce was the pursuit, and
+desperate the flight of the few surviving foes. The "Sagamore of Saco"
+never rested day nor night till he and his followers had cut off the
+last vestige of the Terrantines, and avenged the blood of the unhappy
+maiden. Then for years did he linger about the falls in the vain hope
+of seeing once more her wild spectral beauty&mdash;but she appeared no more
+in the flesh; though to this, men not romantic nor visionary declare
+they have seen a figure, slight and beautiful, clad in robe of skin,
+with moccasoned feet, and long, white hair, nearly reaching to the
+ground, hovering sorrowfully around the falls; and this strange figure
+they believe to be the wraith of the lost Bridget Vines.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_SACHEMS_HILL" id="THE_SACHEMS_HILL"></a>THE SACHEM's HILL.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'T was a green towering hill-top: on its sides<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">June showered her red delicious strawberries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spotting the mounds, and in the hollows spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her pink brier roses, and gold johnswort stars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The top was scattered, here and there, with pines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making soft music in the summer wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And painting underneath each other's boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spaces of auburn from their withered fringe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Below, a scene of rural loveliness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was pictured, vivid with its varied hues;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The yellow of the wheat&mdash;the fallow's black&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The buckwheat's foam-like whiteness, and the green<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of pasture-field and meadow, whilst amidst<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wound a slim, snake-like streamlet. Here I oft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have come in summer days, and with the shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cast by one hollowed pine upon my brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have couched upon the grass, and let my eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roam o'er the landscape, from the green hill's foot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where the hazy distance wrapped the scene.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath this pine a long and narrow mound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaves up its grassy shape; the silver tufts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the wild clover richly spangle it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breathe such fragrance that each passing wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is turned into an odor. Underneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Mohawk Sachem sleeps, whose form had borne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A century's burthen. Oft have I the tale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard from a pioneer, who, with a band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of comrades, broke into the unshorn wilds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That shadowed then this region, and awoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The echoes with their axes. By the stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They found this Indian Sachem in a hut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of bark and boughs. One of the pioneers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had lived a captive 'mid the Iroquois.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knew their language, and he told the chief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How they had come to mow the woods away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And change the forest earth to meadows green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the tall trees to dwellings. Rearing up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His aged form, the Sachem proud replied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he had seen a hundred winters pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over this spot; that here his tribe had died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Parents and children, braves, old men and all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until he stood a withered tree amidst<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His prostrate kind; that he had hoped he ne'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would see the race, whose skin was like the flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the spring dogwood, blasting his old sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that beholding them amidst his haunts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He called on Hah-wen-ne-yo to bear off<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His spirit to the happy hunting-grounds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shrouding his face within his deer-skin robe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chanting the low death-song of his tribe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He then with trembling footsteps left the hut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sought the hill-top; here he sat him down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his back placed within this hollowed tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fixing his dull eye upon the scene<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of woods below him, rocked with guttural chant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The livelong day, whilst plyed the pioneers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their axes round him. Sunset came, and still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There rocked his form. The twilight glimmered gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then kindled to the moon, and still he rocked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till stretched the pioneers upon the earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their wearied limbs for sleep. One, wakeful, left<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His plump moss couch, and strolling near the tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw in the pomp of moonlight that old form<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still rocking, and, with deep awe at his heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hastened to join his comrades. Morn awoke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the first light discovered to their eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That weird shape rocking still. The pioneers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With kindly hands, took food and at his side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Placed it, and tried to rouse him, but in vain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He fixed his eye still dully down the hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when they took their hands from off his frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It still renewed its rocking. Morning went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And noon and sunset. Often had they glanced<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From their hard toil as passed the hours away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon that rocking form, and wondered much;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the sunset vanished they approached<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their kindness to renew; but suddenly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As came they near, they saw the rocking cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the head drop upon his naked breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Close came they, and the shorn head lifting up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the glazed eye and fallen jaw beheld<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death's awful presence. With deep sorrowing hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They scooped a grave amidst the soft black mould,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid the old Sachem in its narrow depth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then heaped the sod above, and left him there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hallow the green hill-top with his name<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="VISIT_TO_GREENWOOD_CEMETERY" id="VISIT_TO_GREENWOOD_CEMETERY"></a>VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">City of marble! whose lone structures rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In pomp of sculpture beautifully rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On thy still brow a mournful shadow lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For round thy haunts no busy feet repair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No curling smoke ascends from roof-tree fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor cry of warning time the clock repeats&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No voice of Sabbath-bell doth call to prayer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There are no children playing in thy streets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor sounds of echoing toil invade thy green retreats.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Rich vines around thy graceful columns wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Young buds unfold, the dewy skies to bless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet no fresh wreaths thine inmates wake to bind&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prune no wild spray, nor pleasant garden dress&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From no luxuriant flower its fragrance press&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The golden sunsets through enwoven trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Tremble and flash, but they no praise express&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They lift no casement to the balmy breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fairest scenes of earth have lost their power to please.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">A ceaseless tide of emigration flows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On through thy gates, for thou forbiddest none<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In thy close-curtained couches to repose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or lease thy narrow tenements of stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It matters not where first the sunbeam shone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon their cradle&mdash;'neath the foliage free<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where dark palmettos fleck the torrid zone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or 'mid the icebergs of the Arctic sea&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou dost no questions ask; all are at home with thee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">One pledge alone they give, before their name<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is with thy peaceful denizens enrolled&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The vow of silence thou from each dost claim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More strict and stern than Sparta's rule of old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bidding no secrets of thy realm be told,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor slightest whisper from its precincts spread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Sealing each whitened lip with signet cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To stamp the oath of fealty, ere they tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy never-echoing halls, oh city of the dead!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">'Mid scenes like thine, fond memories find their home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For sweet it was to me, in childhood's hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Neath every village church-yard's shade to roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where humblest mounds were decked with grassy flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I have roamed where dear Mount Auburn towers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where Laurel-Hill a cordial welcome gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To the rich tracery of its hallowed bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And where, by quiet Lehigh's crystal wave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The meek Moravian smooths his turf-embroidered grave:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Where too, in Scotia, o'er the Bridge of Sighs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Clyde's Necropolis uprears its head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or that old abbey's sacred turrets rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose crypts contain proud Albion's noblest dead,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And where, by leafy canopy o'erspread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lyre of Gray its pensive descant made&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And where, beside the dancing city's tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Famed P&egrave;re La Chaise all gorgeously displayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its meretricious robes, with chaplets overlaid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">But thou, oh Greenwood! sweetest art to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Enriched with tints of ocean, earth and sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Solemn and sweet, to meditation free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Most like a mother, who with pleading eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dost turn to Him who for the lost did die&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with thy many children at thy breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Invoke His aid, with low and prayerful sigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To bless the lowly pillow of their rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shield them, when the tomb no longer guards its guest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Calm, holy shades! we come to you for health,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sickness is with the living&mdash;wo and pain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And dire diseases thronging on, by stealth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the worn heart its vital flood to drain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or smite with sudden shaft the reeling brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till lingering on, with nameless ills distrest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We find the healer's vaunted armor vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The undrawn spear-point in our bleeding breast,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fain would we hide with you, and win the boon of rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Sorrow is with the living! Youth doth fade&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Joy unclasp its tendril green, to die&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The mocking tares our harvest-hopes invade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On wrecking blasts our garnered treasures fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Our idols shame the soul's idolatry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unkindness gnaws the bosom's secret core,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Long-trusted friendship turns an altered eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When, helpless, we its sympathies implore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh! take us to your arms, that we may weep no more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_HALL_OF_INDEPENDENCE" id="THE_HALL_OF_INDEPENDENCE"></a>THE HALL OF INDEPENDENCE.</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY GEO. W. DEWEY.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the sacred fane wherein assembled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fearless champions on the side of Right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men, at whose declaration empires trembled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Moved by the truth's immortal might.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here stood the patriot band&mdash;one union folding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Eastern, Northern, Southern sage and seer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within that living bond which truth upholding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Proclaims each man his fellow's peer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here rose the anthem, which all nations hearing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In loud response the echoes backward hurled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reverberating still the ceaseless cheering,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Our continent repeats it to the world.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the hallowed spot where first, unfurling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair Freedom spread her blazing scroll of light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here, from oppression's throne the tyrant hurling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She stood supreme in majesty and might!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_LAST_OF_THE_BOURBONS" id="THE_LAST_OF_THE_BOURBONS"></a>THE LAST OF THE BOURBONS.</h2>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+
+<h3>A FRENCH PATRIOTIC SONG,</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>WRITTEN BY ALEXANDRE PANTOL&Eacute;ON,<br />
+THE MUSIC COMPOSED AND DEDICATED TO THE NATIONAL GUARD OF FRANCE, BY</h4>
+
+<h2><b>J. C. N. G.</b></h2>
+
+<h5>Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chesnut Street, Philad'a.&mdash;Copyright secured.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 625px;">
+<img src="images/music1.png" width="625" height="900"
+alt="sheet music 1" title="" /></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 855px;">
+<img src="images/music2.png" width="855" height="900"
+alt="sheet music 2" title="" /></div>
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh thou spirit of lightning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That movest the French<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the hands of the tyrant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sceptre to wrench.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou no more wilt be cheated<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But keep under arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the sway thou upholdest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is free from alarms!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hurrah! hurrah! &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">J'entends gronder la foudre<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Des braves Fran&ccedil;ais<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ils ont r&eacute;duit en poudre<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Le si&eacute;ge des forfaits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leurs &eacute;clairs &eacute;pouvantent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Les rois &eacute;trangers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dont les glaives tourmentent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Des coeurs opprim&eacute;s.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Vive, vive, &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tis too late for an Infant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To govern a land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which a tyrant long practiced<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has failed to command.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the men of fair Gallia<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At home will be free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And extend independence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lands o'er the sea!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hurrah! hurrah! &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">D&eacute;sormais soyez sages<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Restez tous arm&eacute;s<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prot&eacute;geant vos suffrages<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Et vos droits sacr&eacute;s.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comblez l'espoir unique<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">De France! en avant!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vive la R&eacute;publique!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bas les tyrans!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Vive, vive, &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="TO_AN_ISLE_OF_THE_SEA" id="TO_AN_ISLE_OF_THE_SEA"></a>TO AN ISLE OF THE SEA.</h2>
+<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bright Isle of the Ocean, and gem of the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art stately and fair as an island can be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thy clifts tow'ring upward, thy valleys outspread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy fir-crested hills, where the mountain deer tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So crowned with rich verdure, so kissed by each ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the day-god that mounts on and upward his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While thy wild rushing torrent, thy streams in their flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reflect the high archway of heaven below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose clear azure curtains, so cloudless and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are here ever tinged with the red gold at night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then with one burst of glory the sun sinks to rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the stars they shine out on the land that is blest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy foliage is fadeless, no chilling winds blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No frost has embraced thee, no mantle of snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then hail to each sunbeam whose swift airy flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speeds on for thy valleys each hill-top and height!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To clothe them in glory then die 'mid the roar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the sea-waves which echo far up from the shore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will rest for a day, as if bound by a spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will noiselessly fall where the beautiful dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will beam on thy summits so lofty and lone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where nature hath sway and her emerald throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then each pearly dew-drop descending at even,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At morn they will bear to the portals of Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou art rich in the spoils of the deep sounding sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art blest in thy clime, (of all climates for me,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast wealth on thy bosom, where orange-flowers blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy groves with their golden-hued fruit bending low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thy broad-leafed banana, thy fig and the lime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And grandeur and beauty, in palm-tree and vine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast wreaths on thy brow, and gay flowers ever bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wafting upward and onward a deathless perfume,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While round thee the sea-birds first circle, then rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then sink to the wave and then glance tow'rd the skies!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While their bright plumage glows 'neath the sun's burning light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And their screams echo back in a song of delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast hearts that are noble, and doubtless are brave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast altars to bow at, for worship and praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou hast light when night's curtains around thee are driven<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the Cross which beams out in the far southern heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet one spot of darkness remains on thy breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As a cloud in the depth of a calm sky at rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like a queen that is crowned, or a king on his throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In grandeur thou sittest majestic and lone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the power of thy beauty is breathed on each gale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As it sweeps o'er thy hills or descends to the vale;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And homage is offered most boundless and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, Isle of the Ocean, in gladness to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So circled with waters, so dashed by the spray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the waves which leap upward then stop in their way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And lo! thou art loved by a child of the West,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the beauty and bloom of thy tropical breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet dearer by far is that land where the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though colder bends o'er it and bleak winds arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the broad chart of Nature is boldly unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a light from the free beameth out o'er the world.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, dearer that land where the eagle on high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spreads his wings to the wind as he cleaves the cold sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where mountain, and torrent, and forest and vale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are swept by the path of the storm-ridden gale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each rock is an altar, each heart is a shrine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Freedom is worshiped in Liberty clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her banners float out on the breath of the gale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright symbols of glory which proudly we hail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her bulwarks are reared where the heart of the brave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Refused to be subject, and scorned to be slave.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SONNET_TO_ARABELLA" id="SONNET_TO_ARABELLA"></a>SONNET:&mdash;TO ARABELLA,</h2>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h4>BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.</h4>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a pathos in those azure eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Touching, and beautiful, and strange, fair child!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the fringed lids upturn, such radiance mild<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beams out as in some brimming lakelet lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which undisturbed reflects the cloudless skies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No tokens glitter there of passion wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That into ecstasy with time shall rise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But in the deep of those clear orbs are signs&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which Poesy's prophetic eye divines&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of woman's love, enduring, undefiled!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If, like the lake at rest, through life we see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy face reflect the heaven that in it shines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No <i>idol</i> to thy worshipers thou'lt be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For he will worship <span class="smcap">Heaven</span>, who worships <i>thee</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="PROTESTATION" id="PROTESTATION"></a>PROTESTATION.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, I will not forget thee. Hearts may break<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Around us, as old lifeless trees are snapt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the swift breath of whirlwinds as they wake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their path amid the forest. Lightning-wrapt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(For love is fire from Heaven,) we calmly stand&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heart pressed to answering heart&mdash;hand linked with hand.<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_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst. Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor
+&amp; Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>It was Goethe, we believe, who objected to some poet, that he put too
+much water in his ink. This objection would apply to the uncounted
+host of our amateur versifiers, and poets by the grace of verbiage. If
+an idea, or part of an idea, chances to stray into the brain of an
+American gentleman, he quickly apparels it in an old coat from his
+wardrobe of worn phrases, and rushes off in mad haste to the first
+magazine or newspaper, in order that the public may enjoy its
+delectable beauty at once. We have on hand enough MSS. of this kind,
+which we never intend to print, to freight the navy of Great Britain.
+But mediocrity and stupidity are not the only sinners in respect to
+this habit of writing carelessly. Hasty composition is an epidemic
+among many of our writers, whose powers, if disciplined by study, and
+directed to a definite object, would enable them to produce beautiful
+and permanent works. So general is the mental malady to which we have
+alluded, that it affects the judgments of criticism, and if a
+collection of lines, going under the name of a poem, contains fine
+passages, or felicitous flashes of thought, it commonly passes muster
+as satisfying the requirements of the critical code. Careless writers,
+therefore, are sustained by indulgent critics, and between both good
+literature is apt to be strangled in its birth.</p>
+
+<p>Now it is due to Mr. Hirst to say that his poem belongs not to the
+class we have described. It is no transcript of chance conceptions,
+expressed in loose language, and recklessly huddled together, without
+coherence and without artistic form, but a true and consistent
+creation, with a central principle of vitality and a definite shape.
+He has, in short, produced an original poem on a classic subject,
+written in a style of classic grace, sweetness and simplicity,
+rejecting all superfluous ornament and sentimental prettinesses, and
+conveying one clear and strong impression throughout all its variety
+of incident, character and description. It is no conglomeration of
+parts, but an organic whole. This merit alone should give him a high
+rank among the leading poets of the country, for it evidences that he
+has a clear notion of what the word poem means.</p>
+
+<p>We have neither time nor space to analyze the poem, and indicate its
+merits as a work of art. It displays throughout great force and
+delicacy of conception, a fine sense of harmony, and a power and
+decision of expression which neither overloads nor falls short of the
+thought. In tone it is half way between Shelley and Keats, neither so
+ideal as the one nor so sensuous as the other. Keat's Endymion is so
+thick with fancies, and verbal daintinesses, and sweet sensations,
+that with all its wonderful affluence of beautiful things it lacks
+unity of impression. The mind of the poet is so possessed by his
+subject that, in an artistic sense, he becomes its victim, and wanders
+in metaphor, and revels in separate images, and gets entangled in a
+throng of thoughts, until, at the end, we have a sense of a beautiful
+confusion of "flowers of all hues, and weeds of glorious feature," and
+applaud the fertility at the expense of the force of his mind. The
+truth is that will is an important element of genius, and without it
+the spontaneous productions of the mind must lack the highest quality
+of poetic art. True intellectual creation is an <i>effort</i> of the
+imagination, not its result, and without force of will to guide it, it
+does not obey its own laws, and gives little impression of real
+power. Art is not the prize of luck or the effect of chance, but of
+conscious combination of vital elements. Mr. Hirst, though he does
+give evidence of Keats' fluency of fancy and expression, has really
+produced a finer work of art. We think it is so important that a poem,
+to be altogether worthy of the name, should be deeply meditated and
+carefully finished, that we hazard this last opinion at the expense of
+being berated by all the undeveloped geniuses of the land, as having
+no true sense of the richness of Keats' mind, or the great capacity
+implied, rather than fully expressed, in his Endymion.</p>
+
+<p>Mere extracts alone can give no fair impression of the beauty of Mr.
+Hirst's poem as a whole, but we cannot leave it without quoting a few
+passages illustrative of the author's power of spiritualizing the
+voluptuous, and the grace, harmony and expressiveness of his verse:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And still the moon arose, serenely hovering,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dove-like, above the horizon. Like a queen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She walked in light between<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stars&mdash;her lovely handmaids&mdash;softly covering<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Valley and wold, and mountain-side and plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With streams of lucid rain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She saw not Eros, who on rosy pinion<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hung in the willow's shadow&mdash;did not feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His subtle searching steel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Piercing her very soul, though his dominion<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her breast had grown: and what to her was heaven<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If from Endymion riven?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing; for love flowed in her, like a river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Flooding the banks of wisdom; and her soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Losing its self-control,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waved with a vague, uncertain, tremulous quiver,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And like a lily in the storm, at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She sunk 'neath passion's blast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Flowing the fragrance rose&mdash;as though each blossom<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Breathed out its very life&mdash;swell over swell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like mist along the dell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wooing his wondering heart from out his bosom&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His heart, which like a lark seemed slowly winging<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its way toward heaven, singing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dian looked on; she saw her spells completing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sighing, bade the sweetest nightingale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That ever in Carian vale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sang to her charms, rise, and with softest greeting<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Woo from its mortal dreams and thoughts of clay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Endymion's soul away.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br />
+
+<p>From the conclusion of the poem we take a few stanzas, describing the
+struggle of Dian with her passion, when Endymion asserts his love for
+Chromia:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The goddess gasped for breath, with bosom swelling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her lips unclosed, while her large, luminous eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blazing like Stygian skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With passion, on the audacious youth were dwelling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She raised her angry hand, that seemed to clasp<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Jove's thunder in its grasp.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then she stood in silence, fixed and breathless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But presently the threatening arm slid down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fierce, destroying frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Departed from her eyes, which took a deathless<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Expression of despair, like Niobe's&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her dead ones at her knees.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Slowly her agony passed, and an Elysian,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Majestic fervor lit her lofty eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now dwelling on the skies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meanwhile, Endymion stood, cheek, brow and vision,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Radiant with resignation, stern and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In conscious virtue bold,<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br />
+
+<p>In conclusion, we cannot but congratulate Mr. Hirst on his success in
+producing a poem conceived with so much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> force and refinement of
+imagination, and finished with such consummate art, as the present. It
+is a valuable addition to the permanent poetical literature of the
+country.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Memoir of William Ellery Channing. With Extracts from His
+Correspondence and Manuscripts. Boston: Crosby &amp; Nichols. 3 vols.
+12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This long expected work has at last been published, and we think it
+will realize the high expectations raised by its announcement two or
+three years ago. It is mostly composed of extracts from the letters,
+journals, and unpublished sermons of Dr. Channing, and is edited by
+his nephew, Wm. H. Channing, who has also supplied a memoir. It
+conveys a full view of Dr. Channing's interior life from childhood to
+old age, and apart from its great value and interest, contains, in the
+exhibition of the steps of his intellectual and spiritual growth, as
+perfect a specimen of psychological autobiography as we have in
+literature. Such a work subjects its author to the severest tests
+which can be applied to a human mind in this life, and we have risen
+from its perusal with a new idea of the humility, sincerity, and
+saintliness of Dr. Channing's character. In him self-distrust was
+admirably blended with a sublime conception of the capacity of man,
+and a sublime confidence in human nature. He was not an egotist, as
+passages in his writings may seem to indicate, for he was more severe
+upon himself than upon others, and numberless remarks in the present
+volumes show how sharp was the scrutiny to which he subjected the most
+elusive appearances of pride and vanity. But with his high and living
+sense of the source and destiny of every human mind, and his almost
+morbid consciousness of the deformity of moral evil, he reverenced in
+himself and in others the presence of a spirit which connected
+humanity with its Maker, and by unfolding the greatness of the
+spiritual capacities of men, he hoped to elevate them above the
+degradation of sensuality and sin. He was not a teacher of spiritual
+pride, conceit and self-worship, but of those vital principles of love
+and reverence which elevate man only by directing his aspirations to
+God.</p>
+
+<p>The present volumes give a full length portrait of Dr. Channing in all
+the relations of life, and some of the minor details regarding his
+opinions and idiosyncrasies are among the most interesting portions of
+the book. We are glad to perceive that he early appreciated
+Wordsworth. The Excursion he eagerly read on its first appearance, and
+while so many of the Pharisees of taste were scoffing at it, he
+manfully expressed his sense of its excellence. This poem he recurred
+to oftener than to any other, and next to Shakspeare, Wordsworth seems
+to have been the poet he read with the most thoughtful delight. When
+he went to Europe, in 1822, he had an interview with Wordsworth, and
+of the impression he himself made on the poet there can be no more
+pertinent illustration, than the fact that, twenty years afterward,
+Wordsworth mentioned to an American gentleman that one observation of
+Channing, respecting the connection of Christianity with progress, had
+stamped itself ineffaceably upon his mind. Coleridge he appears to
+have profoundly impressed. In a letter to Washington Allston,
+Coleridge says of him&mdash;"His affection for the good as the good, and
+his earnestness for the true as the true&mdash;with that harmonious
+subordination of the latter to the former, without encroachment on the
+absolute worth of either&mdash;present in him a character which in my
+heart's heart I believe to be the very rarest on earth. . . . . Mr.
+Channing is a philosopher in both the possible renderings of the word.
+He has the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love. . . . . I am
+confident that the few differences of opinion between him and myself
+not only are, but would by him be found to be apparent, not real&mdash;the
+same truth seen in different relations. Perhaps I have been more
+absorbed in the depth of the mystery of the spiritual life, he more
+engrossed by the loveliness of its manifestations."</p>
+
+<p>In nothing is Dr. Channing's humility better seen than in his
+relations to literature. He became an author almost unconsciously. All
+his intellectual convictions were so indissolubly woven into the
+texture of his life, so vitalized by his heart and imagination, that
+writing with him was never an end but a means. Literary fame followed
+him; he did not follow it. When, however, he found that his reputation
+not only rung through his own country but was reverberated from
+Europe, he appears to have feared that it might corrupt his motives
+for composition. He studiously avoided reading all eulogistic notices
+of his works or character, though they were interesting to him as
+indications of the influence his cherished opinions were exerting. The
+article in the Westminster Review, which exceeded all others in
+praise, he never read. Dr. Dewey's criticism in the Christian Examiner
+he only knew as far as related to its objections, and his only
+disappointment was in finding them so few. Brougham's criticism on his
+style provoked in him no retort. Hazlitt's coarse attack on him in the
+Edinburgh Review he considered as an offset to the undue praise he had
+received from other quarters. "The author of the article," he says, in
+one of his letters, "is now dead; and as I did not feel a moment's
+anger toward him during his life, I have no reproach for him now. He
+was a man of fine powers, and wanted nothing but pure and fixed
+principles to make him one of the lights of the age."</p>
+
+<p>It would be impossible in our limits to convey an adequate impression
+of the beauty, value, or interest of the present volumes. They are
+full of matter. The letters are admirable specimens of epistolary
+composition, considered as the spontaneous expression of a grave, high
+and warm nature, to the friends of his heart and mind. They are
+exceedingly original of their kind, and while they bear no resemblance
+to those of Cowper, Burns, Byron, or Mackintosh, they are on that very
+account a positive addition to the literature of epistolary
+composition. Few biographies have been published within a century
+calculated to make so deep an impression as this of Dr. Channing, and
+few could have admitted the reader to so close a communion with the
+subject, without sacrificing that delicacy in the treatment of
+frailties due to the character of the departed.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire. Philadelphia:
+Carey &amp; Hart. 2 vols. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>The present work is to some extent an attempt "to head" Mr. Headley.
+For our part, we profess to have as much patience as any of the
+descendants of Job, but we must acknowledge that we have broken down
+in every effort to master the merits of the quarrel between the
+publishers of the present volumes and the Author of Napoleon and his
+Marshals. Accordingly we can give no opinion on that matter. In
+respect to the value of the volumes under consideration, as compared
+with a similar work by Mr. Headley, there can be little hesitation of
+judgment. It is idle to say, as some have said, that a work which has
+run through fifteen editions, as Mr. Headley's has done, is a mere
+humbug. On the contrary, it is a book evincing a mind as shrewd as it
+is strong, aiming, it is true, rather at popularity than excellence,
+but obtaining the former by possessing the sagacity to perceive that
+accounts of battles, to be generally apprehended, must be addressed to
+the eye and blood rather than to the understanding; and this power<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+of producing vivid pictures of events Mr. Headley has in large
+measure. Hence the success of his book, in spite of its exaggerations
+of statement, sentiment and language.</p>
+
+<p>The present work evinces a merit of another kind. It is a keen,
+accurate, well-written production, devoid of all tumult in its style
+and all exaggeration in its matter, and giving close and consistent
+expositions of the characters, and a clear narrative of the lives, of
+Napoleon and his Marshals. It is evidently the work of a person who
+understands military operations, and conveys a large amount of
+knowledge which we have seen in no other single production on the
+subject of the wars springing out of the French Revolution. The
+portraits of fifteen of the marshals, in military costume, are very
+well executed.</p>
+
+<p>The portion of the work devoted to Napoleon, about one third of the
+whole, is very able. Its defect consists in the leniency of its
+judgment on that gigantic public criminal. Napoleon was a grand
+example of a great man, who demonstrated, on a wide theatre of action,
+what can be done in this world by a colossal intellect and an iron
+will without any moral sense. In his disregard of humanity, and his
+reliance on falsehood and force, he was the architect at once of his
+fortune and his ruin. No man can be greatly and wisely politic who is
+incapable of grasping those universal sentiments which underlie all
+superficial selfishness in mankind, and of discerning the action of
+the moral laws of the universe. Without this, events cannot be read in
+their principles. The only defect in Napoleon's mind was a lack of
+moral insight, the quality of perceiving the moral character and
+relations of objects, and, wanting this, he must necessarily have been
+in the long run unsuccessful. It is curious that of all the great men
+which the Revolution called forth, Lafayette was almost the only one
+who never violated his conscience, and the only one who came out well
+in the end. Intellectually he was below a hundred of his
+contemporaries, but his instinctive sense of right pushed him blindly
+in the right direction, when all the sagacity and insight of the
+masters in intrigue and comprehensive falsehood signally failed.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Romance of the History of Louisiana. A Series of Lectures
+By Charles Gayarre. New York: D. Appleton &amp; Co.
+1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>The romantic element in historical events is that which takes the
+strongest hold upon the imagination and sensibility; and it puts a
+certain degree of life into the fleshless forms of even the
+commonplace historian. The incidents of a nation's annals cannot be
+narrated in a style sufficiently dry and prosaic to prevent the soul
+of poetry from finding some expression, however short of the truth. It
+seems to us that there is much error in the common notions regarding
+matters of fact. Starting from the unquestionable axiom that
+historians should deal with facts and principles, not with fictions
+and sentimentalities, most people have illogically concluded that
+those histories are the worthiest of belief which address the
+understanding alone, and studiously avoid all the arts of
+representation. Now this is false in two respects&mdash;such histories not
+only giving imperfect and partial views of facts, but disabling the
+memory from retaining even them. Facts and events, whether we regard
+them singly or in their relations, can be perceived and remembered
+only as they are presented to the whole nature. They must be realized
+as well as generalized. The sensibility and imagination, as well as
+the understanding are to be addressed. As far as possible they should
+be made as real to the mind as any event which experience has stamped
+on the memory. History thus written, is written close to the truth of
+things, and conveys real knowledge. Far from departing from facts, or
+exaggerating them, it is the only kind of history which thoroughly
+comprehends them. We should never forget that the events which have
+occurred in the world, are expressions of the nature of man under a
+variety of circumstances and conditions, and that these events must be
+interpreted in the light of that common humanity which binds all men
+together. History, therefore, differs from true poetry, not so much in
+intensity and fullness of representation; not so much in the force,
+vividness and distinctness with which things are brought home to the
+heart and brain, as in difference of object. The historian and the
+poet are both bound to deal with human nature, but one gives us its
+actual development, the other its possible; one shows us what man has
+done, the other what man can do. The annalist who does not enable us
+to see mankind in real events, is as unnatural as the poetaster who
+substitutes monstrosities for men in fictitious events.</p>
+
+<p>We accordingly welcome with peculiar heartiness all attempts at
+realizing history, by evolving its romantic element, and thus
+demonstrating to the languid and lazy readers of ninepenny nonsense,
+that the actual heroes and heroines of the world have surpassed in
+romantic daring the fictitious ones who swell and swagger in most
+novels and poems. Mr. Gayarre's work is more interesting, both as
+regards its characters and incidents, than Jane Eyre or James's
+"last," for, in truth, it requires a mind of large scope to imagine as
+great things as many men, in every country, have really performed. The
+History of Louisiana affords a rich field to the poet and romancer,
+who is content simply to reproduce in their original life some of its
+actual scenes and characters; and Mr. Gayarre has, to a considerable
+extent, succeeded in this difficult and delicate task. The work
+evinces a mind full of the subject; and if defective at all, the
+defect is rather in style than matter. The author evidently had two
+temptations to hasty composition&mdash;a copious vocabulary and complete
+familiarity with his subject. There is an occasional impetuosity and
+recklessness in his manner, and a general habit of tossing off his
+sentences with an air of disdainful indifference, which characterizes
+a large class of amateur southern writers. Such a style is often rapid
+from heedlessness rather than force, and animated from caprice rather
+than fire. The timid correctness of an elegant diction is not more
+remote from beauty than the defiant carelessness of a reckless one is
+from power; and to avoid Mr. Prettyman, it is by no means necessary to
+"fraternize" with Sir Forcible Feeble. Mr. Gayarre has produced so
+pleasant a book, and gives evidence of an ability to do so much toward
+familiarizing American history to the hearts and imaginations of the
+people, that we trust he will not only give us more books, but subject
+their style to a more scrupulous examination than he has the present.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Universal and Critical Dictionary of the
+English Language By Joseph E. Worcester. Boston: Wilkins, Carter,
+&amp; Co. 1 vol. 8vo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>The present century has been distinguished above all others in the
+history of English lexicography, for the number and excellence of its
+dictionaries. It is a matter of pride to Americans that so far the
+United States are in advance of England, in regard to the sagacity and
+labor devoted to the English language. Of those who have done most in
+this department, the pre-eminence belongs to Dr. Webster and Dr.
+Worcester. Each has published a Dictionary of great value; and that of
+the latter is now before us. It bears on every page marks of the most
+gigantic labor, and must have been the result of many long years of
+thought and investigation. Its arrangement is admirable, and its
+definitions clear, concise, critical, and ever to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> purpose. The
+introduction, devoted to the principles of pronunciation, orthography,
+English Grammar, the origin, formation, and etymology of the English
+language; and the History of English Lexicography is laden with
+important information, drawn from a wide variety of sources. Dr.
+Worcester has also, in the appendix, enlarged and improved Walker's
+Key to the Classical Pronunciation of Greek, Latin, and Scripture
+Names, and added the pronunciation of modern geographical names. Taken
+as a whole, we think the dictionary one which not even the warmest
+admirers of Dr. Webster can speak of without respect. The advantage
+which Dr. Worcester's dictionary holds over Dr. Webster's may be
+compressed in one word&mdash;objectiveness. The English language, as a
+whole, is seen through a more transparent medium in the former than in
+the latter. Dr. Webster, with all his great merits as a lexicographer,
+loved to meddle with the language too much. Dr. Worcester is content
+to take it as it is, without any intrusion of his own idiosyncracies.
+We think that both dictionaries are honorable to the country, and that
+each has its peculiar excellencies. Perhaps the student of
+lexicography could spare neither.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha. From the
+Spanish of Cervantes. With Illustrations by Schoff.
+Boston: Charles H. Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This is a very handsome edition of one of the most wonderful creations
+of the human intellect, elegantly illustrated with appropriate
+engravings. It is to a certain extent a family edition, omitting only
+those portions of the original which would shock the modesty of modern
+times. We know that there is a great opposition among men of letters
+to the practice of meddling with a work of genius, and suppressing any
+portion of it. To a considerable extent we sympathize with this
+feeling. But when the question lies between a purified edition and the
+withdrawal of the book from popular circulation, we go for the former.
+Don Quixote is a pertinent instance. It is not now a book generally
+read by many classes of people, especially young women, and the
+younger branches of a family. The reason consists in the coarseness of
+particular passages and sentences. Strike these out, and there remains
+a body of humor, pathos, wisdom, humanity, expressed in characters and
+incidents of engrossing interest, which none can read without benefit
+and pleasure. The present volume, which might be read by the fireside
+of any family, is so rich in all the treasures of its author's
+beautiful and beneficent genius, that we heartily wish it an extensive
+circulation. It is got up with great care by one who evidently
+understands Cervantes; and the unity of the work, with all its
+beautiful episodes, is not broken by the omissions.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Wurthuring heights. New York: Harper &amp; Brothers
+1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This novel is said to be by the author of Jane Eyre, and was eagerly
+caught at by a famished public, on the strength of the report. It
+afforded, however, but little nutriment, and has universally
+disappointed expectation. There is an old saying that those who eat
+toasted cheese at night will dream of Lucifer. The author of Wuthuring
+Heights has evidently eat toasted cheese. How a human being could have
+attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before
+he had finished a dozen chapters, is a mystery. It is a compound of
+vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors, such as we might suppose a
+person, inspired by a mixture of brandy and gunpowder, might write for
+the edification of fifth-rate blackguards. Were Mr. Quilp alive we
+should be inclined to believe that the work had been dictated by him
+to Lawyer Brass, and published by the interesting sister of that legal
+gentleman.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A Discourse on ther Life, Character, and Public Services of
+James Kent, late Chancellor of the State of New York.
+By John Duer. New York: D. Appleton &amp; Co.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This discourse was originally delivered before the Judiciary and Bar
+of the city and State of New York. In a style of unpretending
+simplicity it gives a full length portrait of the great chancellor,
+doing complete justice to his life and works, and avoiding all the
+vague commendations and meaningless generalities of commonplace
+eulogy. One charm of the discourse comes from its being the testimony
+of a surviving friend to the intellectual and moral worth of a great
+man, without being marred by the exaggeration of personal attachment.
+Judge Kent's mind and character needed but justice, and could dispense
+with charity, even when friendship was to indicate the grasp of the
+one and the excellence of the other.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Memorials of the Introduction of methodism
+into the Eastern States. By Rev. A. Stevens, A. M. Boston: Charles H.
+Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>Mr. Stevens takes a high rank among the leading minds of his
+denomination. The present work shows that he combines the power of
+patient research with the ability to express its results in a lucid,
+animated, and elegant style. His biographies of the Methodist
+preachers have the interest of a story. Indeed, out of the Catholic
+Church, there is no religious chivalry whose characters and actions
+partake so much of heroism, and of that fine enthusiasm which almost
+loses its own identity in the objects it contemplates, as the
+Methodist priests.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Inundation; or Pardon and Peace. A Christmas
+Story. By Mrs. Gore. With Illustrations by Geo.
+Cruikshank. Boston: C. H. Peirce. 1 vol. 18mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This is a delightful little story, interesting from its incidents and
+characters, and conveying excellent morality and humanity in a
+pleasing dress. The illustrations are those of the London edition, and
+are admirably graphic. Cruikshank's mode of making a face expressive
+of character by caricaturing it, is well exhibited in his sketches in
+the present volume.</p>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Book of Visions, being a Transcript
+of the Record of the Secret Thoughts of a Variety of Individuals while
+attending Church.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>The design of this little work is original and commendable. It is
+written to do good, and we trust may answer the expectations of its
+author. It enters the bosoms of members of the cabinet, members of
+congress, bankers, lawyers, editors, &amp;c., and reports the secret
+meditations of those who affect to be worshipers. It is published by
+<span class="smcap">J. W. Moore</span> of this city.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h4>DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE.</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Toilette de Ville.</span>&mdash;Dress of Nankin silk, ornamented in the front of
+the skirt with bias trimming of the same stuff, fastened by silk
+buttons; corsage plain, with a rounded point, ornamented at the skirt;
+sleeves half long, with bias trimming; under sleeves of puffed muslin;
+capote of white crape, ornamented with two plumes falling upon the
+side.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Sur le Cote.</span>&mdash;Dress of blue glac&eacute; taffetas, trimmed with two puffs
+alike, disposed (en tablier;) corsage plain, low in the neck, and
+trimmed with puffs from the shoulder to the point, and down the side
+seam; sleeves short, and puffed; stomacher of plaited muslin, (under
+sleeves of puffed muslin;) cap of lace, lower part puffed, without
+trimming, ornamented with two long lappets, fastened with some bows of
+yellow ribbon.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+<h4>FOOTNOTES:</h4>
+<br />
+<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> Bird-voices.</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>
+The Indians cut holes in the ice, and holding a torch over the
+opening, spear the salmon-trout which are attracted to the surface by
+the blaze.</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>
+Memoirs, Letters and Authentic Papers Touching the Life and Death
+of the Duke de Berry.</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>
+He followed them in 1815 into exile; and in 1830, after
+the Revolution of July, spoke with fervor in defence of the rights of
+the Duke of Bordeaux. Chateaubriand refused to pledge the oath of
+allegiance to Louis Philippe, and left in consequence the Chamber of
+Peers, and a salary of 12,000 francs. From this period he devoted
+himself entirely to the service of the unfortunate duchess and her
+son. Against the exclusion of the elder branch of Bourbons he wrote
+"<i>De la nouvelle proposition relative au banissement de Charles X. et
+de sa famille</i>." (On the New Proposition in regard to the Banishment
+of Charles X. and his Family,) and "<i>De la restoration et de la
+monarchie elective</i>." (On the Restoration and on the Elective
+Monarchy,) and several other pamphlets, which, after the apprehension
+of the duchess in France, caused his own imprisonment.
+</p><p>
+Chateaubriand, in fact, was a <i>political</i> writer as well as a poet.
+His "Genius of Christianity", published in 1802, reconciled Napoleon
+with the clergy, and his work, "Bonaparte and the Bourbons," was by
+Louis XVIII. himself pronounced "equal to an army."</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>
+Political and Religious Harmonies. Paris, 1830. 2 vols.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
+Souvenirs, Impressions, Thoughts and Landscapes, during a Voyage in
+the East. Paris, 1835. 4 vols.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>
+Jocelyn, a Journal found at the House of a Village Priest. Paris,
+1836. 2 vols.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>
+The Fall of an Angel. Paris, 1838. 2 vols.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>
+A conservative Democrat.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>
+He had already, in 1830, published a pamphlet, <i>Contre
+la peine de mort au peuple du 19 Octobre, 1830</i>. (Against the
+Punishment of Death to the People of the 19th October, 1830.)</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>
+The Chamber is but a lie.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>
+This and the following versions of Lamartine are our own; for we have
+not as yet had time to look into the published translation. We mention
+this to prevent our own mistakes, if we should have committed any, f
+rom being charged to the American translator of
+the work.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>
+I do not know how general is the use of this word amongst the Indians.
+The writer found it in use amongst the Penobscot tribe.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>
+As-nob-a-c&aacute;-she, contracted to Asc&aacute;she, is literally a
+net-weaver, the name for spider. This term is from Schoolcraft.</p></div>
+<br />
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a>
+<a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Santa Cruz.</p></div>
+<br />
+</div>
+<br /><br />
+
+<p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p>
+
+<p>Small errors in punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been
+corrected silently. Minor irregularities in spelling have been
+maintained as in the original.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1
+July 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
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+</pre>
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+ </body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 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 XXXIII No. 1 July 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+ Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: August 20, 2009 [EBook #29741]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GRAHAM'S
+
+AMERICAN MONTHLY
+
+MAGAZINE
+
+Of Literature and Art.
+
+EMBELLISHED WITH
+
+MEZZOTINT AND STEEL ENGRAVINGS, MUSIC, ETC.
+
+WILLIAM C. BRYANT, J. FENIMORE COOPER, RICHARD H. DANA, JAMES K. PAULDING,
+HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, N. P. WILLIS, CHARLES F. HOFFMAN, J. R. LOWELL.
+
+MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, MISS C. M. SEDGWICK, MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD, MRS.
+EMMA C. EMBURY, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY,
+MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN, ETC.
+
+PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.
+
+G. R. GRAHAM, J. R. CHANDLER AND J. B. TAYLOR, EDITORS.
+
+VOLUME XXXIII.
+
+PHILADELPHIA:
+SAMUEL D. PATTERSON & CO. 98 CHESTNUT STREET.
+
+1848.
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+OF THE
+
+THIRTY-THIRD VOLUME.
+
+JUNE, 1848, TO JANUARY, 1849.
+
+
+
+A Night on the Ice. By Solitaire, 18
+
+Aunt Mable's Love Story. By Susan Pindar, 107
+
+Angila Mervale. By F. E. F., 121
+
+A Written Leaf of Memory. By Fanny Lee, 137
+
+An Indian-Summer Ramble. By A. B. Street, 147
+
+A Leaf in the Life of Ledyard Lincoln. By Mary Spencer Pease, 197
+
+A Pic-Nic in Olden Time. By G. G. Foster, 229
+
+A Dream Within a Dream. By C. A. Washburn, 233
+
+A Scene on the Susquehanna. By Joseph R. Chandler, 275
+
+A Legend of Clare. By J. Gerahty M'teague, 278
+
+A Day or Two in the Olden Time. By A New Contributor, 287
+
+De Lamartine. By Francis J. Grund, 25
+
+Edith Maurice. By T. S. Arthur, 284
+
+Fiel a la Muerte, or True Loves Devotion. By Henry W. Herbert, 4, 84, 153
+
+Going to Heaven. By T. S. Arthur, 13
+
+Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost, 291
+
+Gems from Late Readings, 295
+
+Game-Birds of America. By Prof. Frost, 357
+
+Gems from Late Readings, 364
+
+My Aunt Polly. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 34
+
+Mexican Jealousy. By Ecolier, 172
+
+Mary Dunbar. By the Author of "The Three Calls", 268
+
+Mildred Ward. By Caroline H. Butler, 301
+
+Mrs. Tiptop. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 325
+
+Overboard in the Gulf. By C. J. Peterson, 337
+
+Rising in the World, By F. E. F., 41
+
+Reflections on Some of the Events of the Year 1848.
+ By Joseph R. Chandler, 318
+
+Rochester's Return. By Joseph A. Nunes, 341
+
+Sam Needy. By Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro, 204
+
+Scouting Near Vera Cruz. By Ecolier, 211
+
+The Fane-Builder. By Emma C. Embury, 38
+
+The Sagamore of Saco. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith, 47
+
+The Late Maria Brooks. By R. W. Griswold, 61
+
+The Cruise of the Raker. By Henry A. Clark, 69, 129, 188, 257
+
+The Maid of Bogota. By W. Gilmore Simms, 75
+
+The Departure. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 93
+
+The Man Who Was Never Humbugged. By A Limner, 112
+
+The Christmas Garland. By Emma Wood, 163
+
+The Unmarried Belle. By Enna Duval, 181
+
+The Humbling of a Fairy. By G. G. Foster, 214
+
+The Will. By Miss E. A. Dupuy, 220
+
+The Bride of Fate. By W. Gilmore Simms, 241
+
+The Knights of the Ringlet. By Giftie, 253
+
+The Sailor's Life-Tale. By Sybil Sutherland, 311
+
+The Exhausted Topic. By Caroline C----, 330
+
+The Early Called. By Mrs. Frances B. M. Brotherson, 347
+
+The Lady of Fernheath. By Mary Spencer Pease, 349
+
+
+POETRY.
+
+
+A New England Legend. By Caroline F. Orne, 126
+
+A Farewell to a Happy Day. By Frances S. Osgood, 203
+
+A Night Thought. By T. Buchanan Read, 219
+
+A Voice for Poland. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 228
+
+An Evening Song. By Prof. Wm. Campbell, 235
+
+A Requiem in the North. By J. B. Taylor, 256
+
+A Vision. By E. Curtiss Hine, 267
+
+A Lay. By Grace Greenwood, 310
+
+Angels on Earth. By Blanche Bennairde, 324
+
+Brutus in His Tent. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 115
+
+Death. By Thomas Dunn English, 3
+
+Dream-Music. By Frances S. Osgood, 39
+
+Description of a Visit to Niagara. By Professor James Moffat, 106
+
+Dreams. By E. O. H, 196
+
+Death. By George S. Burleigh, 256
+
+Erin Waking. By Wm. H. C. Hosmer, 360
+
+Gold. By R. H. Stoddart, 3
+
+Gautama's Song of Rest By J. B. Taylor, 361
+
+Heads of the Poets. By W. Gilmore Simms, 170
+
+Hope On--Hope Ever. By E. Curtiss Hine, 171
+
+I Want to Go Home. By Richard Coe, Jr., 213
+
+Korner's Sister. By Elizabeth J. Eames, 111
+
+Life. By A. J. Requier, 294
+
+Love Thy Mother, Little One. By Richard Coe, Jr., 346
+
+Lines to a Sketch of J. Bayard Taylor, in His Alpine
+ Costume. By Geo. W. Dewey, 360
+
+My Bird. By Mrs. Jane C. Campbell, 252
+
+My Love. By J. Ives Pease, 294
+
+My Native Isle. By Mary G. Horsford, 340
+
+My Father's Grave. By S. D. Anderson, 361
+
+Ornithologoi. By J. M. Legare, 1
+
+Ode to the Moon. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 251
+
+One of the "Southern Tier of Counties." By Alfred B. Street, 329
+
+Passed Away. By W. Wallace Shaw, 234
+
+Pedro and Inez. By Elizabeth J. Eames, 277
+
+Sir Humphrey Gilbert. By Henry W. Longfellow, 33
+
+Study. By Henry S. Hagert, 37
+
+Summer. By E. Curtiss Hine, U.S.N., 105
+
+Sonnet. By Caroline F. Orne, 106
+
+Song of Sleep. By G. G. Foster, 128
+
+Sunshine and Rain. By George S. Burleigh, 162
+
+Supplication. By Fayette Robinson, 267
+
+Stanzas. By S. S. Hornor, 286
+
+Sonnet. By Elizabeth Oakes Smith, 340
+
+The Land of the West. By T. Buchanan Read, 12
+
+To Lydia. By G. G. Foster, 17
+
+The Thanksgiving of the Sorrowful. By Mrs. Joseph C. Neal, 24
+
+The Night. By M. E. T., 33
+
+The Bob-o-link. By George S. Burleigh, 33
+
+Twilight. By H. D. G., 46
+
+The Sachem's Hill. By Alfred B. Street, 52
+
+The Hall of Independence. By G. W. Dewey, 53
+
+To an Isle of the Sea. By Mrs. J. W. Mercur, 56
+
+To Arabella. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 56
+
+The Soul's Dream. By George H. Boker, 74
+
+To the Eagle. By Mrs. E. C. Kinney, 83
+
+The Block-House. By Alfred B. Street, 92
+
+To Erato. By Thomas Buchanan Read, 110
+
+The Laborer's Companions. By George S. Burleigh, 110
+
+The Enchanted Knight. By J. B. Taylor, 111
+
+The Sisters. By G. G. Foster, 114
+
+To Violet. By Jerome A. Maby, 115
+
+The Prayer of the Dying Girl. By Samuel D. Patterson, 136
+
+The Spanish Princess to the Moorish Knight. By Grace Greenwood, 146
+
+The Light of our Home. By Thomas Buchanan Read, 146
+
+The Lost Pet. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney, 152
+
+The Poet's Heart. By Charles E. Trail, 161
+
+The Return to Scenes of Childhood. By Gretta, 162
+
+To Guadalupe. By Mayne Reid, 174
+
+The Faded Rose. By G. G. Foster, 174
+
+The Child's Appeal. By Mary G. Horsford, 175
+
+The Old Farm-House. By Mary L. Lawson, 175
+
+Temper Life's Extremes. By G. S. Burleigh, 187
+
+The Deformed Artist. By Mrs. E. N. Horsford, 202
+
+The Angel of the Soul. By J. Bayard Taylor, 210
+
+The Bard. By S. Anna Lewis, 219
+
+To Her Who Can Understand It. By Mayne Reid, 228
+
+To the Violet. By H. T. Tuckerman, 232
+
+They May Tell of a Clime. By C. E. Trail, 232
+
+The Battle of Life. By Anne C. Lynch, 266
+
+The Prophet's Rebuke. By Mrs. Juliet H. L. Campbell, 274
+
+The Mourners. By Rev. T. L. Harris, 317
+
+The Gardener. By George S. Burleigh, 328
+
+The Record of December. By H. Morford, 335
+
+The Christian Hero's Epitaph. By B., 348
+
+The City of Mexico. By M. E. Thropp, 356
+
+To a Rose-Bud. By Y. S., 359
+
+Visit to Greenwood Cemetery. By Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney, 53
+
+Zenobia. By L. Mason, 185
+
+
+REVIEWS.
+
+
+Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst, 57
+
+Memoir of William Ellery Channing, 58
+
+Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire, 58
+
+Romance of the History of Louisiana. By Charles Gayarre, 59
+
+The Life of Oliver Cromwell. By J. T. Headley, 118
+
+A Supplement to the Plays of Shakspeare. By Wm. Gilmore Simms, 119
+
+Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. By Alphonse de Lamartine, 119
+
+Hawkstone: A Tale of and for England in 184- 178
+
+The Planetary and Stellar Worlds, 178
+
+Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings, 179
+
+Calaynos. A Tragedy. By George H. Boker, 238
+
+Literary Sketches and Letters, 238
+
+Vanity Fair. By W. M. Thackerway, 297
+
+Life, Letters and Literary Remains of Keats, 297
+
+Principles of Political Economy. By John Stuart Mill, 367
+
+
+MUSIC.
+
+
+The Last of the Bourbons. A French Patriotic
+Song. Written by Alexandre Pantoleon.
+Music by J. C. N. G. 54
+
+"Think Not that I Love Thee." A Ballad.
+Music by J. L. Milner, 116
+
+"'Tis Home where the Heart is." Words by
+Miss L. M. Brown. Music by Karl W. Petersilie, 176
+
+The Ocean-Buried. Composed by Miss Agnes H. Jones, 236
+
+Voices from the Spirit-Land. Words
+by John S. Adams. Music by Valentine Dister, 362
+
+
+ENGRAVINGS.
+
+
+Ornithologoi, engraved by W. E. Tucker.
+
+Lamartine, engraved by Sartain.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+The Departure, engraved by Ellis.
+
+The Portrait of Mrs. Brooks, engraved by Parker.
+
+The Sisters, engraved by Thompson.
+
+Angila Mervale, engraved by J. Addison.
+
+The Lost Pet, engraved by Ellis.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+A Pic-Nic in Olden Time, engraved by Tucker.
+
+The Unmarried Belle, engraved by A. B. Ross.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+Edith Maurice, engraved by J. Addison.
+
+Supplication, engraved by Ellis.
+
+Mildred Ward, engraved by A. B. Ross.
+
+Overboard in the Gulf, engraved by J. D. Gross.
+
+Portrait of J. B. Taylor, engraved by G. Jackman.
+
+Paris Fashions, from Le Follet.
+
+
+
+[Illustration: ORNITHOLOGOI
+
+ "Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,
+ Dost see the far hills disappear
+ In autumn smoke, and all the air
+ Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
+ Are yellow harvests rich in bread
+ For winter use."]
+
+
+
+
+GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
+
+VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1848. NO. 1.
+
+
+ORNITHOLOGOI.[1]
+
+BY J. M. LEGARE.
+
+[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]
+
+ Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,
+ Dost see the far hills disappear
+ In Autumn smoke, and all the air
+ Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread
+ Are yellow harvests, rich in bread
+ For winter use; while over-head
+ The jays to one another call,
+ And through the stilly woods there fall,
+ Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er
+ The squirrel, perched in upper air,
+ From tree-top barks at thee his fear;
+ His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,
+ Do spy at thee around the tree;
+ Then, prompted by a sudden whim,
+ Down leaping on the quivering limb,
+ Gains the smooth hickory, from whence
+ He nimbly scours along the fence
+ To secret haunts.
+
+ But oftener,
+ When Mother Earth begins to stir,
+ And like a Hadji who hath been
+ To Mecca, wears a caftan green;
+ When jasmines and azalias fill
+ The air with sweets, and down the hill
+ Turbid no more descends the rill;
+ The wonder of thy hazel eyes,
+ Soft opening on the misty skies--
+ Dost smile within thyself to see
+ Things uncontained in, seemingly,
+ The open book upon thy knee,
+ And through the quiet woodlands hear
+ Sounds full of mystery to ear
+ Of grosser mould--the myriad cries
+ That from the teeming world arise;
+ Which we, self-confidently wise,
+ Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn
+ From thy weak babyhood to learn
+ Arcana of creation; turn
+ Thy eyes on things intangible
+ To mortals; when the earth was still.
+ Hear dreamy voices on the hill,
+
+[Footnote 1: Bird-voices.]
+
+ In wavy woods, that sent a thrill
+ Of joyousness through thy young veins.
+ Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains
+ All that thou lovest, man disdains
+ A sympathy in joys and pains
+ With dwellers in the long, green lanes,
+ With wings that shady groves explore,
+ With watchers at the torrent's roar,
+ And waders by the reedy shore;
+ For thou, through purity of mind,
+ Dost hear, and art no longer blind.
+
+ CROAK! croak!--who croaketh over-head
+ So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,
+ Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?
+ Croak! croak!--a raven's curse on him,
+ The giver of this shattered limb!
+ Albeit young, (a hundred years,
+ When next the forest leaved appears,)
+ Will Duskywing behold this breast
+ Shot-riddled, or divide my nest
+ With wearer of so tattered vest?
+ I see myself, with wing awry,
+ Approaching. Duskywing will spy
+ My altered mien, and shun my eye.
+ With laughter bursting, through the wood
+ The birds will scream--she's quite too good
+ For thee. And yonder meddling jay,
+ I hear him chatter all the day,
+ "He's crippled--send the thief away!"
+ At every hop--"don't let him stay."
+ I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;
+ For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing
+ Another song!
+
+ Is't not enough
+ The carrion festering we snuff,
+ And gathering down upon the breeze,
+ Release the valley from disease;
+ If longing for more fresh a meal,
+ Around the tender flock we wheel,
+ A marksman doth some bush conceal.
+ This very morn, I heard an ewe
+ Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,
+ With lazy wing slow circling round,
+ Until I spied unto the ground
+ A lamb by tangled briars bound.
+ The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,
+ Bleat to her young--so loudly cried,
+ She heard it not when it replied.
+ Ho, ho!--a feast! I 'gan to croak,
+ Alighting straightway on an oak;
+ Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant
+ The little trembler lie and pant.
+ Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;
+ Down its white nostril bubbled red
+ A gush of blood; ere life had fled,
+ My beak was buried in its eyes,
+ Turned tearfully upon the skies--
+ Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.
+
+ No longer couldst thou sit and hear
+ This demon prate in upper air--
+ Deeds horrible to maiden ear.
+ Begone, thou spokest. Over-head
+ The startled fiend his pinion spread,
+ And croaking maledictions, fled.
+
+ But, hark! who at some secret door
+ Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore?
+ Thou seest how around the tree,
+ With scarlet head for hammer, he
+ Probes where the haunts of insects be.
+ The worm in labyrinthian hole
+ Begins his sluggard length to roll;
+ But crafty Rufus spies the prey,
+ And with his mallet beats away
+ The loose bark, crumbling to decay;
+ Then chirping loud, with wing elate,
+ He bears the morsel to his mate.
+ His mate, she sitteth on her nest,
+ In sober feather plumage dressed;
+ A matron underneath whose breast
+ Three little tender heads appear.
+ With bills distent from ear to ear,
+ Each clamors for the bigger share;
+ And whilst they clamor, climb--and, lo!
+ Upon the margin, to and fro,
+ Unsteady poised, one wavers slow.
+ Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek,
+ Too late; for venturesome, yet weak,
+ His frail legs falter under him;
+ He falls--but from a lower limb
+ A moment dangles, thence again
+ Launched out upon the air, in vain
+ He spread his little plumeless wing,
+ A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.
+
+ But thou, who all didst see and hear,
+ Young, active, wast already there,
+ And caught the flutterer in air.
+ Then up the tree to topmost limb,
+ A vine for ladder, borest him.
+ Against thy cheek his little heart
+ Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art,
+ Thou spokest smiling; comfort thee!
+ With joyous cries the parents flee
+ Thy presence none--confidingly
+ Pour out their very hearts to thee.
+ The mockbird sees thy tenderness
+ Of deed; doth with melodiousness,
+ In many tongues, thy praise express.
+ And all the while, his dappled wings
+ He claps his sides with, as he sings,
+ From perch to perch his body flings:
+ A poet he, to ecstasy
+ Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say.
+
+ Stay, stay!--I hear a flutter now
+ Beneath yon flowering alder bough.
+ I hear a little plaintive voice
+ That did at early morn rejoice,
+ Make a most sad yet sweet complaint,
+ Saying, "my heart is very faint
+ With its unutterable wo.
+ What shall I do, where can I go,
+ My cruel anguish to abate.
+ Oh! my poor desolated mate,
+ Dear Cherry, will our haw-bush seek,
+ Joyful, and bearing in her beak
+ Fresh seeds, and such like dainties, won
+ By careful search. But they are gone
+ Whom she did brood and dote upon.
+ Oh! if there be a mortal ear
+ My sorrowful complaint to hear;
+ If manly breast is ever stirred
+ By wrong done to a helpless bird,
+ To them for quick redress I cry."
+ Moved by the tale, and drawing nigh,
+ On alder branch thou didst espy
+ How, sitting lonely and forlorn,
+ His breast was pressed upon a thorn,
+ Unknowing that he leant thereon;
+ Then bidding him take heart again,
+ Thou rannest down into the lane
+ To seek the doer of this wrong,
+ Nor under hedgerow hunted long,
+ When, sturdy, rude, and sun-embrowned,
+ A child thy earnest seeking found.
+ To him in sweet and modest tone
+ Thou madest straight thy errand known.
+ With gentle eloquence didst show
+ (Things erst he surely did not know)
+ How great an evil he had done;
+ How, when next year the mild May sun
+ Renewed its warmth, this shady lane
+ No timid birds would haunt again;
+ And how around his mother's door
+ The robins, yearly guests before--
+ He knew their names--would come no more;
+ But if his prisoners he released,
+ Before their little bosoms ceased
+ To palpitate, each coming year
+ Would find them gladly reappear
+ To sing his praises everywhere--
+ The sweetest, dearest songs to hear.
+ And afterward, when came the term
+ Of ripened corn, the robber worm
+ Would hunt through every blade and turn,
+ Impatient thus his smile to earn.
+
+ At first, flushed, angrily, and proud,
+ He answered thee with laughter loud
+ And brief retort. But thou didst speak
+ So mild, so earnestly did seek
+ To change his mood, in wonder first
+ He eyed thee; then no longer durst
+ Raise his bold glances to thy face,
+ But, looking down, began to trace,
+ With little, naked foot and hand,
+ Thoughtful devices in the sand;
+ And when at last thou didst relate
+ The sad affliction of the mate,
+ When to the well-known spot she came,
+ He hung his head for very shame;
+ His penitential tears to hide,
+ His face averted while he cried;
+ "Here, take them all, I've no more pride
+ In climbing up to rob a nest--
+ I've better feelings in my breast."
+
+ Then thanking him with heart and eyes,
+ Thou tookest from his grasp the prize,
+ And bid the little freedmen rise.
+ But when thou sawest how too weak
+ Their pinions were, the nest didst seek,
+ And called thy client. Down he flew
+ Instant, and with him Cherry too;
+ And fluttering after, not a few
+ Of the minuter feathered race
+ Filled with their warbling all the place.
+ From hedge and pendent branch and vine,
+ Recounted still that deed of thine;
+ Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er,
+ Gladly--more heartily, be sure,
+ Were praises never sung before.
+
+ Beholding thee, they understand
+ (These Minne-singers of the land)
+ How thou apart from all dost stand,
+ Full of great love and tenderness
+ For all God's creatures--these express
+ Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct
+ All things that are, to thee are linked
+ By subtle ties; and none so mean
+ Or loathsome hast thou ever seen,
+ But wonderous in make hath been.
+ Compassionate, thou seest none
+ Of insect tribes beneath the sun
+ That thou canst set thy heel upon.
+ A sympathy thou hast with wings
+ In groves, and with all living things.
+ Unmindful if they walk or crawl,
+ The same arm shelters each and all;
+ The shadow of the Curse and Fall
+ Alike impends. Ah! truly great,
+ Who strivest earnestly and late,
+ A single atom to abate,
+ Of helpless wo and misery.
+ For very often thou dost see
+ How sadly and how helplessly
+ A pleading face looks up to thee.
+ Therefore it is, thou canst not choose,
+ With petty tyranny to abuse
+ Thy higher gifts; and justly fear
+ The feeblest worm of earth or air,
+ In thy heart's judgment to condemn,
+ Since God made thee, and God made them.
+
+
+
+
+DEATH:--AN INVOCATION.
+
+BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
+
+
+ Thou art no king of terrors--sweet Death!
+ But a maiden young and fair;
+ Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight,
+ And golden is thy hair;
+ While the smile that flickers thy lips upon
+ Has a light beyond compare.
+
+ Come then, Death, from the dark-brown shades
+ Where thou hast lingered long;
+ Come to the haunts where sins abound
+ And troubles thickly throng,
+ And lay thy bridal kiss on the lips
+ Of a child of sorrow and song.
+
+ For I can gaze with a rapture deep
+ Upon thy lovely face;
+ Many a smile I find therein,
+ Where another a frown would trace--
+ As a lover would clasp his new-made bride
+ I will take thee to my embrace.
+
+ Come, oh, come! I long for thy look;
+ I weary to win thy kiss--
+ Bear me away from a world of wo
+ To a world of quiet bliss--
+ For in that I may kneel to God alone,
+ Which I may not do in this.
+
+ For woman and wealth they woo pursuit,
+ And a winning voice has fame;
+ Men labor for love and work for wealth
+ And struggle to gain a name;
+ Yet find but fickleness, need and scorn,
+ If not the brand of shame.
+
+ Then carry me hence, sweet Death--_my_ Death!
+ Must I woo thee still in vain?
+ Come at the morn or come at the eve,
+ Or come in the sun or rain;
+ But come--oh, come! for the loss of life
+ To me is the chiefest gain.
+
+
+
+
+GOLD.
+
+BY R. H. STODDARD.
+
+
+ Alas! my heart is sick when I behold
+ The deep engrossing interest of wealth,
+ How eagerly men sacrifice their health,
+ Love, honor, fame and truth for sordid gold;
+ Dealing in sin, and wrong, and tears, and strife,
+ Their only aim and business in life
+ To gain and heap together shining store;--
+
+ Alchemists, mad as e'er were those of yore.
+ Transmuting every thing to glittering dross,
+ Wasting their energies o'er magic scrolls,
+ Day-books and ledgers leaden, gain and loss--
+ Casting the holiest feelings of their souls
+ High hopes, and aspirations, and desires,
+ Beneath their crucibles to feed th' accursed fires!
+
+
+
+
+FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.
+
+A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE.
+
+BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE
+WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC.
+
+
+There was a mighty stir in the streets of Paris, as Paris' streets
+were in the olden time. A dense and eager mob had taken possession, at
+an early hour of the day, of all the environs of the Bastile, and
+lined the way which led thence to the Place de Greve in solid and
+almost impenetrable masses.
+
+People of all conditions were there, except the very highest; but the
+great majority of the concourse was composed of the low populace, and
+the smaller bourgeoisie. Multitudes of women were there, too, from the
+girl of sixteen to the beldam of sixty, nor had mothers been ashamed
+to bring their infants in their arms into that loud and tumultuous
+assemblage.
+
+Loud it was and tumultuous, as all great multitudes are, unless they
+are convened by purposes too resolutely dark and solemn to find any
+vent in noise. When that is the case, let rulers beware, for peril is
+at hand--perhaps the beginning of the end.
+
+But this Parisian mob, although long before this period it had learned
+the use of barricades, though noisy, turbulent, and sometimes even
+violent in the demonstrations of its impatience, was any thing but
+angry or excited.
+
+On the contrary, it seemed to be on the very tip-toe of pleasurable
+expectation, and from the somewhat frequent allusions to _notre bon
+roi_, which circulated among the better order of spectators, it would
+appear that the government of the Fifteenth Louis was for the moment
+in unusually good odor with the good folks of the metropolis.
+
+What was the spectacle to which they were looking forward with so much
+glee--which had brought forth young delicate girls, and tender
+mothers, into the streets at so early an hour--which, as the day
+advanced toward ten o'clock of the morning, was tempting forth laced
+cloaks, and rapiers, and plumed hats, and here and there, in the
+cumbrous carriages of the day, the proud and luxurious ladies of the
+gay metropolis?
+
+One glance toward the centre of the Place de Greve was sufficient to
+inform the dullest, for there uprose, black, grisly, horrible, a tall
+stout pile of some thirty feet in height, with a huge wheel affixed
+horizontally to the summit.
+
+Around this hideous instrument of torture was raised a scaffold hung
+with black cloth, and strewed with saw-dust, for the convenience of
+the executioners, about three feet lower than the wheel which
+surmounted it.
+
+Around this frightful apparatus were drawn up two companies of the
+French guard, forming a large hollow-square facing outwards, with
+muskets loaded, and bayonets fixed, as if they apprehended an attempt
+at rescue, although from the demeanor of the people nothing appeared
+at that time to be further from their thoughts than any thing of the
+kind.
+
+Above was the executioner-in-chief, with two grim, truculent-looking
+assistants, making preparations for the fearful operation they were
+about to perform, or leaning indolently on the instruments of
+slaughter.
+
+By and bye, as the day wore onward, and the concourse kept still
+increasing both in numbers and in the respectability of those who
+composed it, something of irritation began to show itself, mingled
+with the eagerness and expectation of the populace, and from some
+murmurs, which ran from time to time through their ranks, it would
+seem that they apprehended the escape of their victim.
+
+By this time the windows of all the houses which overlooked the
+precincts of that fatal square on which so much of noble blood has
+been shed through so many ages, were occupied by persons of both
+sexes, all of the middle, and some even of the upper classes, as eager
+to behold the frightful and disgusting scene, which was about to
+ensue, as the mere rabble in the open streets below.
+
+The same thing was manifest along the whole line of the thoroughfare
+by which the fatal procession would advance, with this difference
+alone, that many of the houses in that quarter belonging to the high
+nobility, and all with few exceptions being the dwellings of opulent
+persons, the windows, instead of being let like seats at the opera, to
+any who would pay the price, were occupied by the inhabitants, coming
+and going from their ordinary avocations to look out upon the noisy
+throng, when any louder outbreak of voices called their attention to
+the busy scene.
+
+Among the latter, in a large and splendid mansion, not far from the
+Porte St. Antoine, and commanding a direct view of the Place de la
+Bastille, with its esplanade, drawbridge, and principal entrance, a
+group was collected at one of the windows, nearly overlooking the gate
+itself, which seemed to take the liveliest interest in the proceedings
+of the day, although that interest was entirely unmixed with any thing
+like the brutal expectation, and morbid love of horrible excitement
+which characterized the temper of the multitude.
+
+The most prominent person of this group was a singularly noble-looking
+man, fast verging to his fiftieth year, if he had not yet attained it.
+His countenance, though resolute and firm, with a clear, piercing eye,
+lighted up at times, for a moment, by a quick, fiery flash, was calm,
+benevolent, and pensive in its ordinary mood, rather than energetical
+or active. Yet it was easy to perceive that the mind, which informed
+it, was of the highest capacity both of intellect and imagination.
+
+The figure and carriage of this gentleman would have sufficiently
+indicated that, at some period of his life, he had borne arms and led
+the life of a camp--which, indeed, at that day was only to say that he
+was a nobleman of France--but a long scar on his right brow, a little
+way above the eye, losing itself among the thick locks of his fine
+waving hair, and a small round cicatrix in the centre of his cheek,
+showing where a pistol ball had found entrance, proved that he had
+been where blows were falling thickest, and that he had not spared his
+own person in the _melee_.
+
+His dress was very rich, according to the fashion of the day, though
+perhaps a fastidious eye might have objected that it partook somewhat
+of the past mode of the Regency, which had just been brought to a
+conclusion as my tale commences, by the resignation of the witty and
+licentious Philip of Orleans.
+
+If, however, this fine-looking gentleman was the most prominent, he
+certainly was not the most interesting person of the company, which
+consisted, beside himself, of an ecclesiastic of high rank in the
+French church, a lady, now somewhat advanced in years, but showing the
+remains of beauty which, in its prime, must have been extraordinary,
+and of a boy in his fifteenth or sixteenth year.
+
+For notwithstanding the eminent distinction, and high intellect of the
+elder nobleman, the dignity of the abbe, not unsupported by all which
+men look for as the outward and visible signs of that dignity, and the
+grace and beauty of the lady, it was upon the boy alone that the eye
+of every spectator would have dwelt, from the instant of its first
+discovering him.
+
+He was tall of his age, and very finely made, of proportions which
+gave promise of exceeding strength when he should arrive at maturity,
+but strength uncoupled to any thing of weight or clumsiness. He was
+unusually free, even at this early period, from that heavy and
+ungraceful redundance of flesh which not unfrequently is the
+forerunner of athletic power in boys just bursting into manhood; for
+he was already as conspicuous for the thinness of his flanks, and the
+shapely hollow of his back, as for the depth and roundness of his
+chest, the breadth of his shoulders, and the symmetry of his limbs.
+
+His head was well set on, and his whole bearing was that of one who
+had learned ease, and grace, and freedom, combined with dignity of
+carriage, in no school of practice and mannerism, but from the example
+of those with whom he had been brought up, and by familiar intercourse
+from his cradle upward with the high-born and gently nurtured of the
+land.
+
+His long rich chestnut hair fell down in natural masses, undisfigured
+as yet by the hideous art of the court hair-dresser, on either side
+his fine broad forehead, and curled, untortured by the crisping-irons,
+over the collar of his velvet jerkin. His eyes were large and very
+clear, of the deepest shade of blue, with dark lashes, yet full of
+strong, tranquil light. All his features were regular and shapely, but
+it was not so much in the beauty of their form, or in the harmony of
+their coloring that the attractiveness of his aspect consisted, as in
+the peculiarity and power of his expression.
+
+For a boy of his age, the pensiveness and composure of that expression
+were indeed almost unnatural, and they combined with a calm firmness
+and immobility of feature, which promised, I know not what of
+resolution and tenacity of purpose. It was not gravity, much less
+sternness, or sadness, that lent so powerful an expression to that
+young face; nor was there a single line which indicated coldness or
+hardness of heart, or which would have led to a suspicion that he had
+been schooled by those hard monitors, suffering and sorrow. No, it was
+pure thoughtfulness, and that of the highest and most intellectual
+order, which characterized the boy's expression.
+
+Yet, though it was so thoughtful, there was nothing in the aspect
+whence to forebode a want of the more masculine qualifications. It was
+the thoughtfulness of a worker, not of a dreamer--the thoughtfulness
+which prepares, not unfits a man for action.
+
+If the powers portrayed in that boy's countenance were not deceptive
+to the last degree, high qualities were within, and a high destiny
+before him.
+
+But who, from the foreshowing and the bloom of sixteen years, may
+augur of the finish and the fruit of the three-score and ten, which
+are the sum of human toil and sorrow?
+
+It was now nearly noon, when the outer drawbridge of the Bastile was
+lowered and its gate opened, and forth rode, two a-breast, a troop of
+the mousquetaires, or life-guard, in the bright steel casques and
+cuirasses, with the musquetoons, from which they derived their name,
+unslung and ready for action. As they issued into the wider space
+beyond the bridge, the troopers formed themselves rapidly into a sort
+of hollow column, the front of which, some eight file deep, occupied
+the whole width of the street, two files in close order composing each
+flank, and leaving an open space in the centre completely surrounded
+by the horsemen.
+
+Into this space, without a moment's delay, there was driven a low
+black cart, or hurdle as it was technically called, of the rudest
+construction, drawn by four powerful black horses, a savage-faced
+official guiding them by the ropes which supplied the place of reins.
+On this ill-omened vehicle there stood three persons, the prisoner,
+and two of the armed wardens of the Bastile, the former ironed very
+heavily, and the latter bristling with offensive weapons.
+
+Immediately in the rear of this car followed another troop of the
+life-guard, which closed up in the densest and most serried order
+around and behind the victim of the law, so as to render any attempt
+at rescue useless.
+
+The person, to secure whose punishment so strong a military force had
+been produced, and to witness whose execution so vast a multitude was
+collected, was a tall, noble-looking man of forty or forty-five years,
+dressed in a rich mourning-habit of the day, but wearing neither hat
+nor mantle. His dark hair, mixed at intervals with thin lines of
+silver, was cut short behind, contrary to the usage of the times, and
+his neck was bare, the collar of his superbly laced shirt being folded
+broadly back over the cape of his pourpoint.
+
+His face was very pale, and his complexion being naturally of the
+darkest, the hue of his flesh, from which all the healthful blood had
+receded, was strangely livid and unnatural in its appearance. Still it
+did not seem that it was fear which had blanched his cheeks, and
+stolen all the color from his compressed lip, for his eye was full of
+a fierce, scornful light, and all his features were set and steady
+with an expression of the calmest and most iron resolution.
+
+As the fatal vehicle which bore him made its appearance on the
+esplanade without the gates of the prison, a deep hum of satisfaction
+ran through the assembled concourse, rising and deepening gradually
+into a savage howl like that of a hungry tiger.
+
+Then, then blazed out the haughty spirit, the indomitable pride of the
+French noble! Then shame, and fear, and death itself, which he was
+looking even now full in the face, were all forgotten, all absorbed in
+his overwhelming scorn of the people!
+
+The blood rushed in a torrent to his brow, his eye seemed to lighten
+forth actual fire, as he raised his right hand aloft, loaded although
+it was with such a mass of iron, as a Greek Athlete might have shunned
+to lift, and shook it at the clamorous mob, with a glare of scorn and
+fury that showed how, had he been at liberty, he would have dealt with
+the revilers of his fallen state.
+
+"_Sacre canaille!_" he hissed through his hard-set teeth, "back to
+your gutters and your garbage, or follow, if you can, in silence, and
+learn, if ye lack not courage to look on, how a man should die."
+
+The reproof told; for, though at the contemptuous tone and fell insult
+of the first words the clamor of the rabble route waxed wilder, there
+was so much true dignity in the last sentiment he uttered, and the
+fate to which he was going was so hideous, that a key was struck in
+the popular heart, and thenceforth the tone of the spectators was
+changed altogether.
+
+It was the exultation of the people over the downfall and disgrace of
+a noble that had found tongue in that savage conclamation--it was the
+apprehension that his dignity, and the interest of his great name,
+would win him pardon from the partial justice of the king, that had
+rendered them pitiless and savage--and now that their own cruel will
+was about to be gratified, as they beheld how dauntlessly the proud
+lord went to a death of torture, they were stricken with a sort of
+secret shame, and followed the dread train in sullen silence.
+
+As the black car rolled onward, the haughty criminal turned his eyes
+upward, perchance from a sentiment of pride, which rendered it painful
+to him to meet the gaze, whether pitiful or triumphant, of the
+Parisian populace, and as he did so, it chanced that his glance fell
+on the group which I have described, as assembled at the windows of a
+mansion which he knew well, and in which, in happier days, he had
+passed gay and pleasant hours. Every eye of that group, with but one
+exception, was fixed upon himself, as he perceived on the instant; the
+lady alone having turned her head away, as unable to look upon one in
+such a strait, whom she had known under circumstances so widely
+different. There was nothing, however, in the gaze of all these
+earnest eyes that seemed to embarrass, much less to offend the
+prisoner. Deep interest, earnestness, perhaps horror, was expressed by
+one and all; but that horror was not, nor in anywise partook of, the
+abhorrence which appeared to be the leading sentiment of the populace
+below.
+
+As he encountered their gaze, therefore, he drew himself up to his
+full height, and laying his right hand upon his heart bowed low and
+gracefully to the windows at which his friends of past days were
+assembled.
+
+The boy turned his eye quickly toward his father as if to note what
+return he should make to that strange salutation. If it were so, he
+did not remain in doubt a moment, for that nobleman bowed low and
+solemnly to his brother peer with a very grave and sad aspect; and
+even the ecclesiastic inclined his head courteously to the condemned
+criminal.
+
+The boy perhaps marveled, for a look of bewilderment crossed his
+ingenuous features; but it passed away in an instant, and following
+the example of his seniors, he bent his ingenuous brow and sunny locks
+before the unhappy man, who never was again to interchange a salute
+with living mortal.
+
+It would seem that the recipient of that last act of courtesy was
+gratified even beyond the expectation of those who offered it, for a
+faint flush stole over his livid features, from which the momentary
+glow of indignation had now entirely faded, and a slight smile played
+upon his pallid lip, while a tear--the last he should ever
+shed--twinkled for an instant on his dark lashes. "True," he muttered
+to himself approvingly--"the nobles are true ever to their order!"
+
+The eyes of the mob likewise had been attracted to the group above, by
+what had passed, and at first it appeared as if they had taken umbrage
+at the sympathy showed to the criminal by his equals in rank; for
+there was manifested a little inclination to break out again into a
+murmured shout, and some angry words were bandied about, reflecting on
+the pride and party spirit of the proud lords.
+
+But the inclination was checked instantly, before it had time to
+render itself audible, by a word which was circulated, no one knew
+whence or by whom, through the crowded ranks--"Hush! hush! it is the
+good Lord of St. Renan." And therewith every voice was hushed, so
+fickle is the fancy of a crowd, although it is very certain that four
+fifths of those present knew not, nor had ever heard the name of St.
+Renan, nor had the slightest suspicion what claims he who bore it, had
+either on their respect or forbearance.
+
+The death-train passed on its way, however, unmolested by any further
+show of temper on the part of the crowd, and the crowd itself
+following the progress of the hurdle to the place of execution, was
+soon out of sight of the windows occupied by the family of the Count
+de St. Renan.
+
+"Alas! unhappy Kerguelen!" exclaimed the count, with a deep and
+painful sigh, as the fearful procession was lost to sight in the
+distance. "He knows not yet half the bitterness of that which he has
+to undergo."
+
+The boy looked up into his father's face with an inquiring glance,
+which he answered at once, still in the same subdued and solemn voice
+which he had used from the first.
+
+"By the arrangement of his hair and dress I can see that he imagines
+he is to die as a nobleman, by the axe. May Heaven support him when he
+sees the disgraceful wheel."
+
+"You seem to pity the wretch, Louis," cried the lady, who had not
+hitherto spoken, nor even looked toward the criminal as he was passing
+by the windows--"and yet he was assuredly a most atrocious criminal. A
+cool, deliberate, cold-blooded poisoner! Out upon it! out upon it! The
+wheel is fifty times too good for him!"
+
+"He was all that you say, Marie," replied her husband gravely; "and
+yet I do pity him with all my heart, and grieve for him. I knew him
+well, though we have not met for many years, when we were both young,
+and there was no braver, nobler, better man within the limits of fair
+France. I know, too, how he loved that woman, how he trusted that
+man--and then to be so betrayed! It seems to me but yesterday that he
+led her to the altar, all tears of happiness, and soft maiden blushes.
+Poor Kerguelen! He was sorely tried."
+
+"But still, my son, he was found wanting. Had he submitted him as a
+Christian to the punishment the good God laid upon him--"
+
+"The world would have pronounced him a spiritless, dishonored slave,
+father," said the count, answering the ecclesiastic's speech before it
+was yet finished, "and gentlemen would have refused him the hand of
+fellowship."
+
+"Was he justified then, my father?" asked the boy eagerly, who had
+been listening with eager attention to every word that had yet been
+spoken. "Do you think, then, that he was in the right; that he could
+not do otherwise than to slay her? I can understand that he was bound
+to kill the man who had basely wronged his honor--but a woman!--a
+woman whom he had once loved too!--that seems to me most horrible; and
+the mode, by a slow poison! living with her while it took effect!
+eating at the same board with her! sleeping by her side! that seems
+even more than horrible, it was cowardly!"
+
+"God forbid, my son," replied the elder nobleman, "that I should say
+any man was justified who had murdered another in cold blood;
+especially, as you have said, a woman, and by a method so terrible as
+poison. I only mean exactly what I said, that he was tried very
+fearfully, and that under such trial the best and wisest of us here
+below cannot say how he would act himself. Moreover, it would seem
+that mistaken as he was perhaps in the course which he seems to have
+imagined that honor demanded at his hands, he was much mistaken in the
+mode which he took of accomplishing his scheme of vengeance. It was
+made very evident upon his trial that he did nothing, even to that
+wretched traitress, in rage or revenge, but all as he thought in
+honor. He chose a drug which consumed her by a mild and gradual decay,
+without suffering or spasm; he gave her time for repentance, nay, it
+is clearly proved that he convinced her of her sin, reconciled her to
+the part he had taken in her death, and exchanged forgiveness with her
+before she passed away. I do not think myself that to commit a crime
+himself can clear one from dishonor cast upon him by another's act,
+but at the same time I cannot look upon Kerguelen's guilt as of that
+brutal and felonious nature which calls for such a punishment as
+his--to be broken alive on the wheel, like a hired stabber--much less
+can I assent to the stigma which is attached to him on all sides,
+while that base, low-lived, treacherous, cogging miscreant, who fell
+too honorably by his honorable sword, meets pity--God defend us from
+such justice and sympathy!--and is entombed with tears and honors,
+while the avenger is crushed, living, out of the very shape of
+humanity by the hands of the common hangman."
+
+The churchman's lips moved for a moment, as if he were about to speak
+in reply to the false doctrines which he heard enunciated by that
+upright and honorable man, and good father, but, ere he spoke, he
+reflected that those doctrines were held at that time, throughout
+Christian Europe, unquestioned, and confirmed by prejudice and pride
+beyond all the power of argument or of religion to set them aside, or
+invalidate them. The law of chivalry, sterner and more inflexible than
+that Mosaic code requiring an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,
+which demanded a human life as the sacrifice for every rash word, for
+every wrongful action, was the law paramount of every civilized land
+in that day, and in France perhaps most of all lands, as standing
+foremost in what was then deemed civilization. And the abbe well knew
+that discussion of this point would only tend to bring out the
+opinions of the Count de St. Renan, in favor of the sanguinary code of
+honor, more decidedly, and consequently to confirm the mind of the
+young man more effectually in what he believed himself to be a fatal
+error.
+
+The young man, who was evidently very deeply interested in the matter
+of the conversation, had devoured every word of his father, as if he
+had been listening to the oracles of a God; and, when he ceased, after
+a pause of some seconds, during which he was pondering very deeply on
+that which he had heard, he raised his intelligent face and said in an
+earnest voice.
+
+"I see, my father, all that you have alleged in palliation of the
+count's crime, and I fully understand you--though I still think it the
+most terrible thing I ever have heard tell of. But I do not perfectly
+comprehend wherefore you ransack our language of all its deepest terms
+of contempt which to heap upon the head of the Chevalier de la
+Rochederrien? He was the count's sworn friend, she was the count's
+wedded wife; they both were forsworn and false, and both betrayed him.
+But in what was the chevalier's fault the greater or the viler?"
+
+Those were strange days, in which such a subject could have been
+discussed between two wise and virtuous parents and a son, whom it was
+their chiefest aim in life to bring up to be a good and honorable
+man--that son, too, barely more than a boy in years and understanding.
+But the morality of those times was coarser and harder, and, if there
+was no more real vice, there was far less superficial delicacy in the
+manners of society, and the relations between men and women, than
+there is nowadays.
+
+Perhaps the true course lies midway; for certainly if there was much
+coarseness then, there is much cant and much squeamishness now, which
+could be excellently well dispensed with.
+
+Beside this, boys were brought into the great world much earlier at
+that period, and were made men of at an age when they would have been
+learning Greek and Latin, had their birth been postponed by a single
+century.
+
+Then, at fifteen, they held commissions, and carried colors in the
+battle's front, and were initiated into all the license of the court,
+the camp, and the forum.
+
+So it came that the discussion of a subject such as that which I have
+described, was very naturally introduced even between parents and a
+beloved and only son by the circumstances of the day. Morals, as
+regards the matrimonial contract, and the intercourse between the
+sexes, have at all times been lower and far less rigid among the
+French, than in nations of northern origin; and never at any period of
+the world was the morality of any country, in this respect, at so low
+an ebb as was France under the reign of the Fifteenth Louis.
+
+The Count de St. Renan replied, therefore, to his son with as little
+restraint as if he had been his equal in age, and equally acquainted
+with the customs and vices of the world, although intrigue and crime
+were the topics of which he had to treat.
+
+"It is quite true, Raoul," replied the count, "that so far as the
+unhappy Lord of Kerguelen was concerned, the guilt of the Chevalier de
+la Rochederrien was, as you say, no deeper, perhaps less deep than
+that of the miserable lady. He was, indeed, bound to Kerguelen by
+every tie of friendship and honor; he had been aided by his purse,
+backed by his sword, nay, I have heard and believe, that he owed his
+life to him. Yet for all that he seduced his wife; and to make it
+worse, if worse it could be, Kerguelen had married her from the
+strongest affection, and till the chevalier brought misery, and
+dishonor, and death upon them, there was no wedded couple in all
+France so virtuous or so happy."
+
+"Indeed, sir!" replied Raoul, in tones of great emotion, staring with
+his large, dark eyes as if some strange sight had presented itself to
+him on a sudden.
+
+"I know well, Raoul, and if you have not heard it yet, you will soon
+do so, when you begin to mingle with men, that there are those in
+society, _those_ whom the world regards, moreover, as honorable men,
+who affect to say that he who loves a woman, whether lawfully or
+sinfully, is at once absolved from all considerations except how he
+most easily may win--or in other words--ruin her; and consequently
+such men would speak slightly of the chevalier's conduct toward his
+friend, Kerguelen, and affect to regard it as a matter of course, and
+a mere affair of gallantry! But I trust you will remember this, my
+son, that there is nothing _gallant_, nor can be, in lying, or deceit,
+or treachery of any kind. And further, that to look with eyes of
+passion on the wife of a friend, is in itself both a crime, and an act
+of deliberate dishonor."
+
+"I should not have supposed, sir," replied the boy, blushing very
+deeply, partly it might be from the nature of the subject under
+discussion, and partly from the strength of his emotions, "that any
+cavalier could have regarded it otherwise. It seems to me that to
+betray a friend's honor is a far blacker thing than to betray his
+life--and surely no man with one pretension to honor, would attempt to
+justify that."
+
+"I am happy to see, Raoul, that you think so correctly on this point.
+Hold to your creed, my dear boy, for there are who shall try ere long
+to shake it. But be sure that is the creed of honor. But, although I
+think La Rochederrien disgraced himself even in this, it was not for
+this only that I termed him, as I deem him, the very vilest and most
+infamous of mankind. For when he had led that poor lady into sin; when
+she had surrendered herself up wholly to his honor; when she had
+placed the greatest trust--although a guilty trust, I admit--in his
+faith and integrity that one human being can place in another, the
+base dog betrayed her. He boasted of her weakness, of Kerguelen's
+dishonor, of his own infamy."
+
+"And did not they to whom he boasted of it," exclaimed the noble boy,
+his face flushing fiery red with excitement and indignation, "spurn
+him at once from their presence, as a thing unworthy and beyond the
+pale of law."
+
+"No, Raoul, they laughed at him, applauded his gallant success, and
+jeered at the Lord of Kerguelen."
+
+"Great heaven! and these were gentlemen!"
+
+"They were called such, at least; gentlemen by name and descent they
+were assuredly, but as surely not right gentlemen at heart. Many of
+them, however, in cooler moments, spoke of the traitor and the
+braggart with the contempt and disgust he merited. Some friend of
+Kerguelen's heard what had passed, and deemed it his duty to inform
+him. The most unhappy husband called the seducer to the field, wounded
+him mortally, and--to increase yet more his infamy--even in the agony
+of death the slave confessed the whole, and craved forgiveness like a
+dog. Confessed the _woman's crime_--you mark me, Raoul!--had he died
+mute, or died even with a falsehood in his mouth, as I think he was
+bound to do in such extremity, affirming her innocence with his last
+breath, he had saved her, and perhaps spared her wretched lord the
+misery of knowing certainly the depth of his dishonor."
+
+The boy pondered for a moment or two without making any answer; and
+although he was evidently not altogether satisfied, probably would not
+have again spoken, had not his father, who read what was passing in
+his mind, asked him what it was that he desired to know further.
+
+Raoul smiled at perceiving how completely his father understood him,
+and then said at once, without pause or hesitation--
+
+"I understand you to say, sir, that you thought the wretched man of
+whom we spoke was bound, under the extremity in which he stood, to die
+with a falsehood in his mouth. Can a gentleman ever be justified in
+saying the thing that is not? Much more can it be his bounden duty to
+do so?"
+
+"Unquestionably, as a rule of general conduct, he cannot. Truth is the
+soul of honor; and without truth, honor cannot exist. But this is a
+most intricate and tangled question. It never can arise without
+presupposing the commission of one guilty act--one act which no good
+or truly moral man would commit at all. It is, therefore, scarcely
+worth our while to examine it. But I do say, on my deliberate and
+grave opinion, that if a woman, previously innocent and pure, have
+sacrificed her honor to a man, that man is bound to sacrifice every
+thing, his life without a question, and I think his truth also, in
+order to preserve her character, so far as he can, scathless. But we
+will speak no more of this. It is an odious subject, and one of which,
+I trust, you, Raoul, will never have the sad occasion to consider."
+
+"Oh! never, father, never! I," cried the ingenuous boy, "I must first
+lose my senses, and become a madman."
+
+"All men are madmen, Raoul," said the church-man, who stood in the
+relation of maternal uncle to the youth, "who suffer their passions to
+have the mastery of them. You must learn, therefore, to be their
+tyrant, for if you be not, be well assured that they will be
+yours--and merciless tyrants they are to the wretches who become their
+subjects."
+
+"I will remember what you say, sir," answered the boy, "and, indeed, I
+am not like to forget it, for, altogether, this is the saddest day I
+ever have passed; and this is the most horrible and appalling story
+that I ever have heard told. It was but just that the Lord of
+Kerguelen should die, for he did a murder; and since the law punishes
+that in a peasant, it must do so likewise with a noble. But to break
+him upon the wheel!--it is atrocious! I should have thought all the
+nobles of the land would have applied to the king to spare him that
+horror."
+
+"Many of them did apply, Raoul; but the king, or his ministers in his
+name, made answer, that during the Regency the Count Horn was broken
+on the wheel for murder, and therefore that to behead the Lord of
+Kerguelen for the same offence, would be to admit that the Count was
+wrongfully condemned."
+
+"Out on it! out on it! what sophistry. Count Horn murdered a banker,
+like a common thief, for his gold, and this unhappy lord hath done the
+deed for which he must suffer in a mistaken sense of honor, and with
+all tenderness compatible with such a deed. There is nothing similar
+or parallel in the two cases; and if there were, what signifies it now
+to Count Horn, whether he were condemned rightfully or no; are these
+men heathen, that they would offer a victim to the offended manes of
+the dead? But is there no hope, my father, that his sentence may be
+commuted?"
+
+"None whatsoever. Let us trust, therefore, that he has died penitent,
+and that his sufferings are already over; and let us pray, ere we lay
+us down to sleep, that his sins may be forgiven to him, and that his
+soul may have rest."
+
+"Amen!" replied the boy, solemnly, at the same moment that the
+ecclesiastic repeated the same word, though he did so, as it would
+seem, less from the heart, and more as a matter of course.
+
+Nothing further was said on that subject, and in truth the
+conversation ceased altogether. A gloom was cast over the spirits of
+all present, both by the imagination of the horrors which were in
+progress at that very moment, and by the recollection of the preceding
+enormities of which this was but the consummation; but the young
+Viscount Raoul was so completely engrossed by the deep thoughts which
+that conversation had awakened in his mind, that his father, who was a
+very close observer, and correct judge of human nature, almost
+regretted that he had spoken, and determined, if possible, to divert
+him from the gloomy revery into which he had fallen.
+
+"Viscount," said he, after a silence which had endured now for many
+minutes, "when did you last wait upon Mademoiselle Melanie
+d'Argenson?"
+
+Raoul's eyes, brightened at the name, and again the bright blush,
+which I noticed before, crossed his ingenuous features; but this time
+it was pleasure, not embarrassment, which colored his young face so
+vividly.
+
+"I called yesterday, sir;" he answered, "but she was abroad with the
+countess, her mother. In truth, I have not seen her since Friday
+last."
+
+"Why that is an age, Raoul! are you not dying to see her again by this
+time. At your age, I was far more gallant."
+
+"With your permission, sir, I will go now and make my compliments to
+her."
+
+"Not only my permission, Raoul, but my advice to make your best haste
+thither. If you go straight-ways, you will be sure to find her at
+home, for the ladies are sure not to have ventured abroad with all
+this uproar in the streets. Take Martin, the equerry, with you, and
+three of the grooms. What will you ride? The new Barb I bought for you
+last week? Yes! as well him as any; and, hark you, boy, tell them to
+send Martin to me first, I will speak to him while you are beautifying
+yourself to please the _beaux yeux_ of Mademoiselle Melanie."
+
+"I am not sure that you are doing wisely, Louis," said the lady, as
+her son left the saloon, her eye following him wistfully, "in bringing
+Raoul up as you are doing."
+
+"Nor I, Marie," replied her husband, gravely. "We poor, blind mortals
+cannot be sure of any thing, least of all of any thing the ends of
+which are incalculably distant. But in what particular do you doubt
+the wisdom of my method?"
+
+"In talking to him as you do, as though he were a man already; in
+opening his eyes so widely to the sins and vices of the world; in
+discussing questions with him such as those you spoke of with him but
+now. He is a mere boy, you will remember, to hear tell of such
+things."
+
+"Boys hear of such things early enough, I assure you--far earlier than
+you ladies would deem possible. For the rest, he must hear of them one
+day, and I think it quite as well that he should hear of them, since
+hear he must, with the comments of an old man, and that old man his
+best friend, than find them out by the teachings, and judge of them
+according to the light views of his young and excitable associates. He
+who is forewarned is fore-weaponed. I was kept pure, as it is
+termed--or in other words, kept ignorant of myself and of the world I
+was destined to live in, until one fine day I was cut loose from the
+apron-strings of my lady mother, and the tether of my abbe tutor, and
+launched head-foremost into that vortex of temptation and iniquity,
+the world of Paris, like a ship without a chart or a compass. A
+precious race I ran in consequence, for a time; and if I had not been
+so fortunate as to meet you, Marie, whose bright eyes brought me out,
+like a blessed beacon, safe from that perilous ocean, I know not but I
+should have suffered shipwreck, both in fortune, which is a trifle,
+and in character, which is every thing. No, no; if that is all in
+which you doubt, your fears are causeless."
+
+"But that is not all. In this you may be right--I know not; at all
+events you are a fitter judge than I. But are you wise in encouraging
+so very strongly his fancy for Melanie d'Argenson?"
+
+"I'faith, it is something more than a fancy, I think; the boy loves
+her."
+
+"I see that, Louis, clearly; and you encourage it."
+
+"And wherefore should I not. She is a good girl--as good as she is
+beautiful."
+
+"She is an angel."
+
+"And her mother, Marie, was your most intimate, your bosom friend."
+
+"And now a saint in Heaven!"
+
+"Well, what more; she is as noble as a De Rohan, or a Montmorency. She
+is an heiress with superb estates adjoining our own lands of St.
+Renan. She is, like our Raoul, an only child. And what is the most of
+all, I think, although it is not the mode in this dear France of ours
+to attach much weight to that, it is no made-up match, no cradle
+plighting between babes, to be made good, perhaps, by the breaking of
+hearts, but a genuine, natural, mutual affection between two young,
+sincere, innocent, artless persons--and a splendid couple they will
+make. What can you see to alarm you in that prospect?"
+
+"Her father."
+
+"The Sieur d'Argenson! Well, I confess, he is not a very charming
+person; but we all have our own faults or weaknesses; and, after all,
+it is not he whom Raoul is about to marry."
+
+"I doubt his good faith, very sorely."
+
+"I should doubt it too, Marie, did I see any cause which should lead
+him to break it. But the match is in all respects more desirable for
+him than it is for us. For though Mademoiselle d'Argenson is noble,
+rich, and handsome, the Viscount de Douarnez might be well justified
+in looking for a wife far higher than the daughter of a simple Sieur
+of Bretagne. Beside, although the children loved before any one spoke
+of it--before any one saw it, indeed, save I--it was d'Argenson
+himself who broke the subject. What, then, should induce him to play
+false?"
+
+"I do not know, yet I doubt--I fear him."
+
+"But that, Marie, is unworthy of your character, of your mind."
+
+"Louis, she is _too_ beautiful."
+
+"I do not think Raoul will find fault with her on that score."
+
+"Nor would one greater than Raoul."
+
+"Whom do you mean?" cried the count, now for the first time startled.
+
+"I have seen eyes fixed upon her in deadly admiration, which never
+admire but they pollute the object of their admiration."
+
+"The king's, Marie?"
+
+"The king's."
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"And then I have heard it whispered that the Baron de Beaulieu has
+asked her hand of the Sieur d'Argenson."
+
+"The Baron de Beaulieu! and who the devil is the Baron de Beaulieu,
+that the Sieur d'Argenson should doubt for the nine hundredth part of
+a minute between him and the Viscount de Douarnez for the husband of
+his daughter?"
+
+"The Baron de Beaulieu, count, is the very particular friend, the
+right hand man, and most private minister of his most Christian
+Majesty King Louis the Fifteenth!"
+
+"Ha! is it possible? Do you mean that?--"
+
+"I mean even _that_. If, by that, you mean all that is most infamous
+and loathsome on the part of Beaulieu, all that is most licentious on
+the part of the king. I believe--nay, I am well nigh sure, that there
+is such a scheme of villany on foot against that sweet, unhappy child;
+and therefore would I pause ere I urged too far my child's love toward
+her, lest it prove most unhappy and disastrous."
+
+"And do you think d'Argenson capable--" exclaimed her husband--
+
+"Of any thing," she answered, interrupting him, "of any thing that may
+serve his avarice or his ambition."
+
+"Ah! it may be so. I will look to it, Marie; I will look to it
+narrowly. But I fear that if it be as you fancy, it is too late
+already--that our boy's heart is devoted to her entirely--that any
+break now, in one word, would be a heart-break."
+
+"He loves her very dearly, beyond doubt," replied the lady; "and she
+deserves it all, and is, I think, very fond of him likewise."
+
+"And can you suppose for a moment that she will lend herself to such a
+scheme of infamy?"
+
+"Never. She would die sooner."
+
+"I do not apprehend, then, that there will be so much difficulty as
+you seem to fear. This business which brought all of us Bretons up to
+Paris, as claimants of justice for our province, or counters of the
+king's grace, as they phrase it, is finished happily; and there is
+nothing to detain any of us in this great wilderness of stone and
+mortar any longer. D'Argenson told me yesterday that he should set out
+homeward on Wednesday next; and it is but hurrying our own
+preparations a little to travel with them in one party. I will see him
+this evening and arrange it."
+
+"Have you ever spoken with him concerning the contract, Louis?"
+
+"Never, directly, or in the form of a solemn proposal. But we have
+spoken oftentimes of the evident attachment of the children, and he
+has ever expressed himself gratified, and seemed to regard it as a
+matter of course. But hush, here comes the boy; leave us awhile and I
+will speak with him."
+
+Almost before his words were ended the door was thrown open, and young
+Raoul entered, splendidly dressed, with his rapier at his side, and
+his plumed hat in his hand, as likely a youth to win a fair maid's
+heart as ever wore the weapon of a gentleman.
+
+"Martin is absent, sir. He went out soon after breakfast, they tell
+me, to look after a pair of fine English carriage horses for the
+countess my mother, and has not yet returned. I ordered old Jean
+Francois to attend me with the four other grooms."
+
+"Very well, Raoul. But look you, your head is young, and your blood
+hot. You will meet, it is very like, all this canaille returning from
+the slaughter of poor Kerguelen. Now mark me, boy, there must be no
+vaporing on your part, or interfering with the populace; and even if
+they should, as very probably may, be insolent, and utter outcries and
+abuse against the nobility, even bear with them. On no account strike
+any person, nor let your servants do so, nor encroach upon their
+order, unless, indeed, they should so far forget themselves as to
+throw stones, or to strike the first."
+
+"And then, my father?"
+
+"Oh, then, Raoul, you are at liberty to let your good sword feel the
+fresh air, and to give your horse a taste of those fine spurs you
+wear. But even in that case, I should advise you to use your edge
+rather than your point. There is not much harm done in wiping a saucy
+burgher across the face to mend his manners, but to pink him through
+the body makes it an awkward matter. And I need not tell you by no
+means to fire, unless you should be so beset and maltreated that you
+cannot otherwise extricate yourself--yet you must have your pistols
+loaded. In these times it is necessary always to be provided against
+all things. I do not, however, tell you these things now because you
+are likely to be attacked but such events are always possible, and one
+cannot provide against such too early."
+
+"I will observe what you say, my father. Have I your permission now to
+depart?"
+
+"Not yet, Raoul, I would speak with you first a few words. This
+Mademoiselle Melanie is very pretty, is she not?"
+
+"She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen," replied the youth,
+not without some embarrassment.
+
+"And as amiable and gentle as she is beautiful?"
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. She is all gentleness and sweetness, yet is
+full of mirth, too, and graceful merriment."
+
+"In one word, then, she seems to you a very sweet and lovely
+creature."
+
+"Doubtless she does, my father."
+
+"And I beseech you tell me, viscount, in what light do you appear in
+the eyes of this very admirable young lady?"
+
+"Oh, sir!" replied the youth, now very much embarrassed, and blushing
+actually from shame.
+
+"Nay, Raoul, I did not ask the question lightly, I assure you, or in
+the least degree as a jest. It becomes very important that I should
+know on what terms you and this fair lady stand together. You have
+been visiting her now almost daily, I think, during these three months
+last past. Do you conceive that you are very disagreeable to her?"
+
+"Oh! I hope not, sir. It would grieve me much if I thought so."
+
+"Well, I am to understand, then, that you think she is not blind to
+your merits, sir."
+
+"I am not aware, my dear father, that I have any merits which she
+should be called to observe."
+
+"Oh, yes, viscount! That is an excess of modesty which touches a
+little, I am afraid, on hypocrisy. You are not altogether without
+merits. You are young, not ill-looking, nobly born, and will, in God's
+good time, be rich. Then you can ride well, and dance gracefully, and
+are not generally ill-educated or unpolished. It is quite as
+necessary, my dear son, that a young man should not undervalue
+himself, as that he should not think of his deserts too highly. Now
+that you have some merits is certain--for the rest I desire frankness
+of you just now, and beg that you will speak out plainly. I think you
+love this young girl. Is it not so, Raoul?"
+
+"I do love, sir, very dearly; with my whole heart and spirit."
+
+"And do you feel sure that this is not a mere transient liking--that
+it will last, Raoul?"
+
+"So long as life lasts in my heart, so long will my love for her last,
+my father."
+
+"And you would wish to marry her?"
+
+"Beyond all things in this world, my dear father."
+
+"And do you think that, were her tastes and views on the subject
+consulted, she would say likewise?"
+
+"I hope she would, sir. But I have never asked her."
+
+"And her father, is he gracious when you meet him?"
+
+"Most gracious, sir, and most kind. Indeed, he distinguishes me above
+all the other young gentlemen who visit there."
+
+"You would not then despair of obtaining his consent?"
+
+"By no means, my father, if you would be so kind as to ask it."
+
+"And you desire that I should do so?"
+
+"You will make me the happiest man in all France, if you will."
+
+"Then go your way, sir, and make the best you can of it with the young
+lady. I will speak myself with the Sieur d'Argenson to-night; and I do
+not despair any more than you do, Raoul. But look you, boy, you do not
+fancy, I hope, that you are going to church with your lady-love
+to-morrow or the next day. Two or three years hence, at the earliest,
+will be all in very good time. You must serve a campaign or two first,
+in order to show that you know how to use your sword."
+
+"In all things, my dear father, I shall endeavor to fulfill your
+wishes, knowing them to be as kindly as they are wise and prudent. I
+owe you gratitude for every hour since I was born, but for none so
+much as for this, for indeed you are going to make me the happiest of
+men."
+
+"Away with you, then, Sir Happiness! Betake yourself on the wings of
+love to your bright lady, and mind the advice of your favorite Horace,
+to pluck the pleasures of the passing hour, mindful how short is the
+sum of mortal life."
+
+The young man embraced his father gayly, and left the room with a
+quick step and a joyous heart; and the jingling of his spurs, and the
+quick, merry clash of his scabbard on the marble staircase, told how
+joyously he descended its steps.
+
+A moment afterward his father heard the clear, sonorous tones of his
+fine voice calling to his attendants, and yet a few seconds later the
+lively clatter of his horse's hoofs on the resounding pavement.
+
+"Alas! for the happy days of youth, which are so quickly flown,"
+exclaimed the father, as he participated the hopeful and exulting mood
+of his noble boy. "And, alas! for the promise of mortal happiness,
+which is so oft deceitful and a traitress." He paused for a few
+moments, and seemed to ponder, and then added with a confident and
+proud expression, "But I see not why one should forebode aught but
+success and happiness to this noble boy of mine. Thus far, every
+thing has worked toward the end as I would wish it. They have fallen
+in love naturally and of their own accord, and d'Argenson, whether he
+like it or no, cannot help himself. He must needs accede, proudly and
+joyfully, to my proposal. He knows his estates to be in my power far
+too deeply to resist. Nay, more, though he be somewhat selfish, and
+ambitious, and avaricious, I know nothing of him that should justify
+me in believing that he would sell his daughter's honor, even to a
+king, for wealth or title! My good wife is all too doubtful and
+suspicious. But, hark! here comes the mob, returning from that
+unfortunate man's execution. I wonder how he bore it."
+
+And with the words he moved toward the window, and throwing it open,
+stepped out upon the spacious balcony. Here he learned speedily from
+the conversation of the passing crowd, that, although dreadfully
+shocked and startled by the first intimation of the death he was to
+undergo, which he received from the sight of the fatal wheel, the Lord
+of Kerguelen had died as becomes a proud, brave man, reconciled to the
+church, forgiving his enemies, without a groan or a murmur, under the
+protracted agonies of that most horrible of deaths, the breaking on
+the wheel.
+
+Meanwhile the day passed onward, and when evening came, and the last
+and most social meal of the day was laid on the domestic board, young
+Raoul had returned from his visit to the lady of his love, full of
+high hopes and happy anticipations. Afterward, according to his
+promise, the Count de St. Renan went forth and held debate until a
+late hour of the night with the Sieur d'Argenson. Raoul had not
+retired when he came home, too restless in his youthful ardor even to
+think of sleep. His father brought good tidings, the father of the
+lady had consented, and on their arrival in Britanny the marriage
+contract was to be signed in form.
+
+That was to Raoul an eventful day; and never did he forget it, or the
+teachings he drew from it. That day was his fate.
+
+[_To be continued_.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LAND OF THE WEST.
+
+BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+ Thou land whose deep forest was wide as the sea,
+ And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
+ Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
+ Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
+ The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
+ Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
+
+ Thou land whose dark streams, like a hurrying horde
+ Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
+ Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
+ Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:--
+ Oh grand were thy waters which spurned as they ran
+ The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
+
+ Thou land whose bright blossoms, like shells of the sea,
+ Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
+ Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
+ And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid:--
+ Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
+ To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
+
+ Thou land whose last hamlets were circled with maize,
+ And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
+ While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
+ The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:--
+ Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home
+ And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
+
+ Thou land where the eagle of Freedom looked down
+ From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
+ Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
+ The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:--
+ Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
+ Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
+
+
+
+
+GOING TO HEAVEN.
+
+BY T. S. ARTHUR.
+
+Whatever our gifts may be, the love of imparting them for the good of
+others brings HEAVEN into the soul. MRS. CHILD.
+
+
+An old man, with a peaceful countenance, sat in a company of twelve
+persons. They were conversing, but he was silent. The theme upon which
+they were discoursing was Heaven; and each one who spoke did so with
+animation.
+
+"Heaven is a place of rest," said one--"rest and peace. Oh! what sweet
+words! rest and peace. Here, all is labor and disquietude. There we
+shall have rest and peace."
+
+"And freedom from pain," said another, whose pale cheeks and sunken
+eyes told many a tale of bodily suffering. "No more pain; no more
+sickness--the aching head will be at rest--the weary limbs find
+everlasting repose."
+
+"Sorrow and sighing shall forever flee away," spoke up a third one of
+the company. "No more grief, no more anguish of spirit. Happy, happy
+change!"
+
+"There," added a fourth, "the wounded spirit that none can bear is
+healed. The reed long bruised and bent by the tempests of life, finds
+a smiling sky, and a warm, refreshing, and healing sunshine. Oh! how
+my soul pants to escape from this world, and, like a bird fleeing to
+the mountains, get home again from its dreary exile."
+
+"My heart expands," said another, "whenever I think of Heaven; and I
+long for the wings of a dove, that I may rise at once from this low,
+ignorant, groveling state, and bathe my whole soul in the sunlight of
+eternal felicity. What joy it will be to cast off this cumbersome
+clay; to leave this poor body behind, and spread a free wing upon the
+heavenly atmosphere. I shall hail with delight the happy moment which
+sets me free."
+
+Thus, one after another spoke, and each one regarded Heaven as a state
+of happiness into which he was to come after death; but the old man
+still sat silent, and his eyes were bent thoughtfully upon the floor.
+Presently one said,
+
+"Our aged friend says nothing. Has he no hope of Heaven? Does he not
+rejoice with us in the happy prospect of getting there when the silver
+chord shall be loosened, and the golden bowl broken at the fountain?"
+
+The old man, thus addressed, looked around upon his companions. His
+face remained serene, and his eye had a heavenly expression.
+
+"Have you not a blessed hope of Heaven? Does not your heart grow warm
+with sweet anticipations?" continued the last speaker.
+
+"I never think of going to Heaven," the old man said, in a mild, quiet
+tone.
+
+"Never think of going to Heaven!" exclaimed one of the most ardent of
+the company, his voice warming with indignation. "Are you a heathen?"
+
+"I am one who is patiently striving to fill my allotted place in
+life," replied the old man, as calmly as before.
+
+"And have you no hopes beyond the grave?" asked the last speaker.
+
+"If I live right here, all will be right there." The old man pointed
+upward. "I have no anxieties about the future--no impatience--no
+ardent longings to pass away and be at rest, as some of you have said.
+I already enjoy as much of Heaven as I am prepared to enjoy, and this
+is all that I can expect throughout eternity. You all, my friends,
+seem to think that men come into Heaven when they die. You look ahead
+to death with pleasure, because then you think you will enter the
+happy state you anticipate--or rather _place_; for it is clear you
+regard Heaven as a place full of delights, prepared for those who may
+be fitted to become inhabitants thereof. But in this you are mistaken.
+If you do not enter Heaven before you die, you will never do so
+afterward. If Heaven be not formed within you, you will never find it
+out of you--you will never _come into it_."
+
+These remarks offended the company, and they spoke harshly to the old
+man, who made no reply, but arose and retired, with a sorrowful
+expression on his face. He went forth and resumed his daily
+occupations, and pursued them diligently. Those who had been assembled
+with him, also went forth--one to his farm, another to his
+merchandize, each one forgetting all he had thought about Heaven and
+its felicities, and only anxious to serve natural life and get gain.
+Heaven was above the world to them, and, therefore, while in the
+world, they could only act upon the principle that governed the world;
+and prepare for Heaven by pious acts on the Sabbath. There was no
+other way to do, they believed--to attempt to bring religion down into
+life would only, in their view, desecrate it, and expose it to
+ridicule and contempt.
+
+The old man, to whom allusion has been made, kept a store for the sale
+of various useful articles; those of the pious company who needed
+these articles as commodities of trade, or for their own use, bought
+of him, because they believed that he would sell them only what was of
+good quality. One of the most ardent of these came into the old man's
+store one day, holding a small package in his hand; his eye was
+restless, his lip compressed, and he seemed struggling to keep down a
+feeling of excitement.
+
+"Look at that," he said, speaking with some sternness, as he threw the
+package on the old man's counter.
+
+The package was taken up, opened, and examined.
+
+"Well?" said the old man, after he had made the examination, looking
+up with a steady eye and a calm expression of countenance.
+
+"Well? Don't you see what is the matter?"
+
+"I see that this article is a damaged one," was replied.
+
+"And yet you sold it to me for good." The tone in which this was said
+implied a belief that there had been an intention of wrong.
+
+A flush warmed the pale cheek of the old man at this remark. He
+examined the sample before him more carefully, and then opened a
+barrel of the same commodity and compared its contents with the
+sample. They agreed. The sample from which he had bought and by which
+he had sold was next examined--this was in good condition and of the
+best quality.
+
+"Are you satisfied?" asked the visitor with an air of triumph.
+
+"Of what?" the old man asked.
+
+"That you sold me a bad article for a good one."
+
+"Intentionally?"
+
+"You are the best judge. That lies with God and your own conscience."
+
+"Be kind enough to return every barrel you purchased of me, and get
+your money."
+
+There was a rebuke in the way this was said, which was keenly felt. An
+effort was made to soften the aspersion tacitly cast upon the old
+man's integrity, but it was received without notice.
+
+In due time the damaged article was brought back, and the money which
+had been paid for it returned.
+
+"You will not lose, I hope?" said the merchant, with affected
+sympathy.
+
+"I shall lose what I paid for the article."
+
+"Why not return it, as I have done?"
+
+"The man from whom _I_ purchased is neither honest nor responsible, as
+I have recently learned. He left the city last week in no very
+creditable manner, and no one expects to see him back again."
+
+"That is hard; but I really don't think you ought to lose."
+
+"The article is not merchantable. Loss is, therefore, inevitable."
+
+"You can, of course, sell at some price."
+
+"Would it be right to sell, at any price, an article known to be
+useless--nay, worse than useless, positively injurious to any one who
+might use it?"
+
+"If any one should see proper to buy from you the whole lot, knowing
+that it was injured, you would certainly sell. For instance, if I were
+to offer you two cents a pound for what I bought from you at six
+cents, would you not take me at my offer?"
+
+"Will you buy at that price?"
+
+"Yes. I will give you two cents."
+
+"What would you do with it?"
+
+"Sell it again. What did you suppose I would do with it? Throw it in
+the street?"
+
+"To whom would you sell?"
+
+"I'd find a purchaser."
+
+"At an advance?"
+
+"A trifle."
+
+The inquiries of the old man created a suspicion that he wished to
+know who was to be the second purchaser, in order that he might go to
+him and get a better price than was offered. This was the cause of the
+brief answers given to his questions. He clearly comprehended what was
+passing in the other's mind, but took no notice of it.
+
+"For what purpose would the individual who purchased from you buy?" he
+pursued.
+
+"To sell again."
+
+"At a further advance, of course?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"And to some one, in all probability, who would be deceived into
+purchasing a worthless article."
+
+"As likely as not; but with that I have no concern. I sell it for what
+it is, and ask only what it is worth."
+
+"Is it worth anything?"
+
+"Why--yes--I can't say--no." The first words were uttered with
+hesitation; the last one with a decided emphasis. "But then it has a
+market value, as every article has."
+
+"I cannot sell it to you, my friend," said the old man firmly.
+
+"Why not?" I am sure you can't do better."
+
+"I am not willing to become a party in wronging my neighbors. That is
+the reason. The article has no real value, and it would be wrong for
+me to take even a farthing per pound for it. You might sell it at an
+advance, and the purchaser from you at a still further advance, but
+some one would be cheated in the end, for the article never could be
+used."
+
+"But the loss would be divided. It isn't right that one man should
+bear all. In the end it would be distributed amongst a good many, and
+the loss fall lightly upon each."
+
+The good old man shook his head. "My friend," he said, laying his hand
+gently upon his arm--"Not very long since I heard you indulging the
+most ardent anticipations of Heaven. You expected to get there one of
+these days. Is it by acts of over-reaching your neighbor that you
+expect to merit Heaven? Will becoming a party to wrong make you more
+fitted for the company of angels who seek the good of others, and love
+others more than themselves? I fear you are deceiving yourself. All
+who come into Heaven love God: and I would ask with one of the
+apostles, 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he
+love God whom he hath not seen?' You have much yet to learn, my
+friend. Of that true religion by which Heaven is formed in man, you
+have not yet learned the bare rudiments."
+
+There was a calm earnestness in the manner of the old man, and an
+impressiveness in the tone of his voice, that completely subdued his
+auditor. He felt rebuked and humbled, and went away more serious than
+he had come. But though serious, his mind was not free from anger, his
+self-love had been too deeply wounded.
+
+After he had gone away, the property about which so much had been
+said, was taken and destroyed as privately as it could be done. The
+fact, however, could not be concealed. A friend of a different order
+from the pious one last introduced, inquired of the old man why he had
+done this. His answer was as follows:
+
+"No man should live for himself alone. Each one should regard the
+common good, and act with a view to the common good. If all were to do
+so, you can easily see that we should have Heaven upon earth, from
+whence, alas! it has been almost entirely banished. Our various
+employments are means whereby we can serve others--our own good being
+a natural consequence. If the merchant sent out his ships to distant
+parts to obtain the useful commodities of other countries, in order to
+benefit his fellow citizens, do you not see that he would be far
+happier when his ships came in laden with rich produce, than if he had
+sought only gain for himself? And do you not also see that he would
+obtain for himself equal, if not greater advantages. If the builder
+had in view the comfort and convenience of his neighbors while
+erecting a house, instead of regarding only the money he was to
+receive for his work, he would not only perform that work more
+faithfully, and add to the common stock of happiness, but would lay up
+for himself a source of perennial satisfaction. He would not, after
+receiving the reward of his labor in a just return of this world's
+goods, lose all interest in the result of that labor; but would,
+instead, have a feeling of deep interior pleasure whenever he looked
+at a human habitation erected by his hands, arising from a
+consciousness that his skill had enabled him to add to the common
+good. The tillers of the soil, the manufacturers of its products into
+useful articles, the artisans of every class, the literary and
+professional man, all would, if moved by a regard for the welfare of
+the whole social body, not only act more efficiently in their
+callings, but would derive therefrom a delight now unimagined except
+by a very few. Believing thus, I could not be so blind as not to see
+that the only right course for me to pursue was to destroy a worthless
+and injurious commodity, rather than sell it at any price to one who
+would, for gain, either himself defraud his neighbor, or aid another
+in doing it. The article was not only useless, it was worse than
+useless. How, then, could I, with a clear conscience sell it? No--no,
+my friend. I am not afraid of poverty; I am not afraid of any worldly
+ill--but I am afraid of doing wrong to my neighbors; or of putting it
+in the power of any one else to do wrong. As I have said before, if
+every man were to look to the good of the whole, instead of turning
+all his thoughts in upon himself, his own interests would be better
+served and he would be far happier."
+
+"That is a beautiful theory," remarked the friend, "but never can be
+realized in actual life. Men are too selfish. They would find no
+pleasure in contemplating the enjoyments of others, but would, rather,
+be envious of others' good. The merchant, so little does he care for
+the common welfare, that unless he receives the gain of his
+adventures, he will let his goods perish in his ware-house--to
+distribute them, even to the suffering, would not make him happier.
+And so with the product of labor in all the various grades of
+society. Men turn their eyes inward upon the little world of self,
+instead of outward upon the great social world. Few, if any,
+understand that they are parts of a whole, and that any disease in any
+other part of that whole, must affect the whole, and consequently
+themselves. Were this thoroughly understood, even selfishness would
+lead men to act less selfishly. We should indeed have Heaven upon
+earth if your pure theories could be brought out into actual life."
+
+"Heaven will be found nowhere else by man," was replied to this.
+
+"What!" said the friend, in surprise. "Do you mean to say that there
+is no Heaven for the good who bravely battle with evil in this life?
+Is all the reward of the righteous to be in this world?"
+
+One of the pious company, at first introduced, came up at this moment,
+and hearing the last remark, comprehended, to some extent, its
+meaning. He was one who hoped, from pious acts of prayer, fastings,
+and attendance upon all the ordinances of the church, to get to Heaven
+at last. In the ordinary pursuits of life he was eager for gain, and
+men of the world dealt warily with him--they had reason; for he
+separated his religious from his business life.
+
+"A most impious doctrine," he said, with indignant warmth. "Heaven
+upon earth! A man had better give all his passions the range, and
+freely enjoy the world, if there is to be no hereafter. Pain, and
+sorrow, and self-denial make a poor kind of Heaven, and these are all
+the Christian man meets here. Far better to live while we do live, say
+I, if our Heaven is to be here."
+
+"What makes Heaven, my friend?" calmly asked the old man.
+
+"Happiness. Freedom from care, and pain, and sorrow, and all the ills
+of this wretched life--to live in the presence of God and sing his
+praises forever--to make one of the blessed company who, with the
+four-and-twenty elders forever bow before the throne of God and the
+Lamb--to have rest, and peace, and unspeakable felicity forever."
+
+"How do you expect to get into Heaven? How do you expect to unlock the
+golden gates of the New Jerusalem?" pursued the old man.
+
+"By faith," was the prompt reply. "Faith unlocks these gates."
+
+The old man shook his head, and turning to the individual with whom he
+had first been conversing, remarked--
+
+"You asked me if I meant to say that there was no Heaven for the good
+who bravely battle with evil in this life? If all the reward of the
+righteous was to be in this world? God forbid! For then would I be of
+all men most miserable. What I said was, that Heaven would be _found_
+no where else but in this world, by man. Heaven must be entered into
+here, or it never can be entered into when men die."
+
+"You speak in a strange language," said the individual who had joined
+them, in a sneering tone. "No one can understand what you mean.
+Certainly I do not."
+
+"I should not think you did," quietly replied the old man. "But I
+will explain my meaning more fully--perhaps you will be able to
+comprehend something of what I say. Men talk a great deal about
+Heaven, but few understand what it means. All admit that in this life
+they must prepare for Heaven; but nearly all seem to think that this
+preparation consists in the _doing_ of something as a means by which
+they will be entitled to enter Heaven after death, when there will be
+a sudden and wonderful change in all their feelings and perceptions."
+
+"And is not that true?" asked the one who had previously spoken.
+
+"I do not believe that it is, in the commonly understood sense."
+
+"And pray what do you believe?"
+
+"I believe that all in heavenly societies are engaged in doing good,
+and that heavenly delight is the delight which springs from a
+gratified love of benefiting others. And I also believe, that the
+beginning of Heaven with every one is on this earth, and takes place
+when he first makes the effort to renounce self and seek from a true
+desire to benefit them, the good of others. If this coming into
+Heaven, as I call it, does not take place here, it can never take
+place, for '_As the tree falls so it lies_.' Whatever is a man's
+internal quality when he dies that it must remain forever. If he have
+been a lover of self, and sought only his own good, he will remain a
+lover of self in the next life. But, if he have put away self-love
+from his heart and shunned the evils to which it would prompt him, as
+sins, then he comes into Heaven while still upon earth, and when he
+lays aside his mortal body, his heavenly life is continued. Thus you
+can see, that if a man do not find Heaven while in this world, he will
+never find it in the next. He must come into heavenly affections here,
+or he will never feel their warmth hereafter. Hundreds and thousands
+live on from day to day, thinking only of themselves, and caring only
+for themselves, who insanely cherish the hope that they shall get into
+Heaven at last. Some of these are church-going people, and partakers
+of its ordinances; while others expect, some time before they die, to
+become pious, and thus, by a 'saving faith,' secure an entrance into
+Heaven. Their chances of finding Heaven, at last, are about equal. And
+if they should be permitted to come into a heavenly society they would
+soon seek to escape from it. Where all were unselfish, how could one
+who was utterly selfish dwell? Where all sought the good of others,
+how could one who cared simply for his own good, remain and be happy?
+It could not be. If you wish to enter Heaven, my friend, you must
+bring heavenly life into your daily occupations."
+
+"How can that be? Religion is too tender a plant for the world."
+
+"Your error is a common one," replied the old man, "and arises from
+the fact that you do not know what religion is. Mere piety is not
+religion. There is a life of charity as well as a life of piety, and
+the latter without the former is like sounding brass and tinkling
+cymbal."
+
+"All know that," was replied.
+
+"All profess to know it, but all do not know what is meant by
+charity."
+
+"It is love. That every Christian man admits."
+
+"It is love for the neighbor in activity; not a mere idle emotion of
+the heart. Now, how can a man best promote the good of his
+neighbor?--love, you know, always seeks the good of its object; in no
+way, it is clear, so well as by faithfully and diligently performing
+the duties of his office, no matter what it may be. If a judge, let
+him administer justice with equity and from a conscientious principle;
+if a physician, a lawyer, a soldier, a merchant, or an artisan, let
+him with all diligence do the works that his hands find to do, not
+merely for gain, but because it is his duty to serve the public good
+in that calling by which he can most efficiently do it. If he act from
+this high motive, from this religious principle, all that he does will
+be well and faithfully done. No wrong to his neighbor can result from
+his act. True charity is not that feeling which prompts merely to the
+bestowment of worldly goods for the benefit of others--in fact, true
+charity has very little to do with alms-giving and public
+benefactions. It is not a mere 'love for the brethren' only, as many
+religious denominations think, but it is a love that embraces all
+mankind, and regards good as its brother wherever and in whomever it
+is seen."
+
+"That every one admits."
+
+"Admission and practice, my friend, are not always found walking in
+the same path. But I am not at all sure that every one admits that
+charity consists in a man's performing his daily uses in life with
+justice and judgment. By most minds charity, as well as religion, is
+viewed as separate from the ordinary business of man; while the truth
+is, there can be neither religion nor charity apart from a man's
+business life. If he be not charitable and religious here, he has
+neither charity nor religion; if he love not his neighbor whom he hath
+seen; if he do not deal justly and conscientiously with his neighbor
+whom he hath seen, how can he love God, or act justly and
+conscientiously toward God whom he hath not seen? How blind and
+foolish is more than half of mankind on this subject! They seem to
+think, that if they only read the Bible and attend to the ordinances
+of the church, and lead very pious lives on the Sabbath, that this
+service will be acceptable to God, and save them; while, at the same
+time, in their business pursuits, they seek to gain this world's goods
+so eagerly, that they trample heedlessly upon the rights and interests
+of all around them; in fact, act from the most selfish, and,
+consequently, infernal principles. You call R---- a very pious man, do
+you not?"
+
+"I believe him to be so. We are members of the same church, and I see
+a good deal of him. He is superintendent of our Sabbath-school, and is
+active in all the various secular uses of the church."
+
+"Do you know any thing of his business life?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I do. Men of the world call him a shark, so eager is he for gain. He
+will not steal, nor commit murder, nor break any one of the
+commandments so far as the laws of the state recognize these divine
+laws to be laws of common society. But, in his heart, and in act, so
+far as the law cannot reach him, he violates them daily. He will
+overreach you in a bargain, and think it all right. If your business
+comes in contact with his, he will use every means in his power to
+break you down, even to the extent of secretly attacking your credit.
+He will lend his money on usury, and when he has none to lend, will
+play the jackal to some money-lion, and get a large share of the spoil
+for himself. And further, if you differ in faith from him, in his
+heart will send you to hell with as much pleasure as he would derive
+from cheating you out of a dollar."
+
+"You are too severe on R----. I cannot believe him to be what you
+say."
+
+"A man's reputation among business men gives the true impression of
+his character, for, in business, the eagerness with which men seek
+their ends causes them to forget their disguises. Go and ask any man
+who knows R---- in business, and he will tell you that he is a
+sharper. That if you have any dealings with him you must keep your
+eyes open. I could point you to dozens of men who are as pious as he
+is on the Sabbath, who, in their ordinary life are no better than
+swindlers. The Christian religion is disgraced by thousands of such,
+who are far worse than those who never saw the inside of a church."
+
+"I am afraid that you, in the warmth of your indignation against false
+professors, are led into the extreme of setting aside all religion; or
+of making it to consist alone in mere honesty and integrity of
+character--your moral man is all; it is morality that opens Heaven.
+Now mere morality, mere good works, are worth nothing, and cannot
+bring a man into Heaven."
+
+"There is a life of piety, and a life of charity, my friend, as I have
+before said," replied the old man, "and they cannot be separated. The
+life of charity regards man, and the life of piety God. A man's
+prayers, and fastings, and pious duties on the Sabbath are nothing, if
+love to the neighbor, showing itself in a faithful performance of all
+life's varied uses that come within his sphere of action, is not
+operative through the week, vain hopes are all those which are built
+upon so crumbling a foundation as the mere life of piety. Morality,
+as you call it, built upon man's pride, is of little use, but
+morality, which is based upon a sincere desire to do good, is worth a
+thousand prayers from the lips of a man who inwardly hates his
+neighbor."
+
+"Then I understand you to mean that religious, or pious duties are
+useless"--was remarked with a good deal of bitterness.
+
+"I said," was mildly returned, "that the life of piety and the life of
+charity could not be separated. If a man truly loves his neighbor and
+seeks his good, he will come into heavenly states of mind, and will
+have his heart elevated, and from a consciousness that every good and
+perfect gift comes from God, worship him in a thankful spirit. His
+life of piety will make one with his life of charity. The Sabbath to
+him will be a day of true, not forced, spiritual life. He will rest
+from all natural labors, and gain strength from that rest to
+recommence those labors in a true spirit."
+
+Much more was said, that need not be repeated here. The closing
+remarks of the old man were full of truth. It will do any one good to
+remember them:
+
+"Our life is twofold. We have a natural life and a spiritual life," he
+said. "Our natural life delights in external things, and our spiritual
+life in things internal. The first regards the things of time and
+sense, the latter involves states and qualities of the soul. Heaven is
+a state of mutual love from a desire to benefit others, and whenever
+man's spiritual life corresponds with the life of Heaven, he is in
+Heaven so far as his spirit is concerned, notwithstanding his body
+still remains upon the earth. His heavenly life begins here, and is
+perfected after death. If, therefore, a man does not enter Heaven
+here, he cannot enter it when he dies. His state of probation is
+closed, and he goes to the place for which he is prepared. The means
+whereby man enters Heaven here, are very simple. He need only shun as
+sin every thing that would in any way injure his neighbors, either
+naturally or spiritually, and look above for the power to do this.
+This will effect an entrance through the straight gate. After that,
+the way will be plain before him, and he will walk in it with a daily
+increasing delight."
+
+
+
+
+TO LYDIA--WITH A WATCH.
+
+BY G. G. FOSTER.
+
+
+ So well has time kept you, my love,
+ Unfaded in your prime,
+ That you would most ungrateful prove,
+ If you did not keep time.
+
+ Then let this busy monitor
+ Remind you how the hours
+ Steal, brook-like, over golden sands,
+ Whose banks love gems with flowers.
+
+ And when the weary day grows dark,
+ And skies are overcast,
+ Watch well this token--it will bring
+ The morning true and fast.
+
+ This little diamond-fooled sprite,
+ How soft he glides along!
+ How quaint, yet merry, singeth he
+ His never-ending song!
+
+ So smoothly pass thine hours and years,
+ So calmly beat thy heart--
+ While both our souls, in concert tuned,
+ Nor hope nor dream apart!
+
+
+
+
+A NIGHT ON THE ICE.
+
+BY SOLITAIRE.
+
+
+A love for amusement is one of those national peculiarities of the
+French people which neither time nor situation will ever eradicate,
+for, be their lot cast where it may, amid the brilliant _salons_ of
+Paris, or on the outskirts of civilization on the western continent,
+they will set apart seasons for innocent mirth, in which they enter
+into its spirit with a joyousness totally devoid of calculation or of
+care. I love this trait in their character, because, perhaps, my own
+spirits incline to the volatile. I like not that puritanical coldness
+of intercourse which acts upon men as the winter winds do upon the
+surface of the mountain streams, freezing them into immovable
+propriety; and less do I delight in that festivity where calculation
+seems to wait on merriment. Joy at such a board can never rise to
+blood heat, for the jingle in the mind of cent. per cent., which rises
+above the constrained mirth of the assembly, will hold the guests so
+anchored to the consideration of profit and loss, that in vain they
+spread a free sail--the tide of gayety refuses to float their barks
+from the shoal beside which they are moored. In their seasons of
+gayety the French are philosophers, for while they imbibe the mirth
+they discard the wassail, and wine instead of being the body of their
+feasts, as with other nations, it is but the spice used to add a
+flavor to the whole. I know not that these remarks of mine have aught
+to do with my story, but I throw them out by way of a prelude to--some
+will say excuse for--what may follow.
+
+In the winter of 1830 it was my good fortune to be the guest of an old
+French resident upon the north-western frontier, and while enjoying
+his hospitality I had many opportunities of mingling with the
+_habitans_ of Detroit, a town well known as one of the early French
+settlements on the American continent. At the period of which I write,
+the stranger met a warm welcome in the habitation of the simple
+residents--time, progress and speculation, I am told, have somewhat
+marred those friendly feelings. The greedy adventurer, by making his
+passport to their hospitality a means of profit, has planted distrust
+in their bosoms, and the fire of friendship no longer flashes up at
+the sound of an American's voice beneath their roof. To the all
+absorbing spirit of Mammon be ascribed the evil change.
+
+While residing with my friend Morell, I received many invitations to
+join sleighing parties upon the ice, which generally terminated on the
+floor of some old settler's dwelling upon the borders of the Detroit,
+Rouge, or Ecorse rivers; where, after a merry jaunt over the frozen
+river, we kept the blood in circulation by participating in the
+pleasures of the dance. At one of these parties upon the Rouge I
+formed two very interesting acquaintances, one of them a beautiful
+girl named Estelle Beaubien, the other, Victor Druissel. Estelle was
+one of those dark-eyed lively brunettes formed by nature for the
+creation of flutterings about the hearts of the sterner sex. She was
+full of naive mischief, and coquetry, and having been petted into
+imperial sway by the flattery of her courtiers, she punished them by
+wielding her sceptre with autocratic despotism--tremble, heart, that
+owned her sway yet dared disobey her behests! In the dance she was the
+nimblest, in mirth the most gleeful, and in beauty peerless. Victor
+Druissel was a tall, dark haired young man, of powerful frame,
+intelligent countenance, quiet easy manners, and possessed of a bold,
+dark eye, through which the quick movings of his impassioned nature
+were much sooner learned than through his words. He appeared to be
+devoid of fear, and in either expeditions of pleasure or daring, with
+a calmness almost unnatural he led the way. He loved Estelle with all
+that fervor so inherent in men of his peculiar temperament, and when
+others fluttered around her, seemingly winning lasting favor in her
+eyes, he would vainly try to hide the jealousy of his nature.
+
+When morning came Druissel insisted that I should take a seat in his
+cutter, as he had come alone. He would rather have taken Estelle as
+his companion to the city, but her careful aunt, who always
+accompanied her, would not trust herself behind the heels of the
+prancing pair of bays harnessed to Victor's sliding chariot. The
+sleighs were at length filled with their merry passengers, and my
+companion shouting _allons!_ led the cavalcade. We swept over the
+chained tide like the wind, our horses' hoofs beating time to the
+merry music of their bells, and our laughter ringing out on the clear,
+cold air, free and unrestrained as the thoughts of youth.
+
+"I like this," said Victor, as he leaned back and nestled in the furry
+robes around us. "This is fun in the old-fashioned way; innocent,
+unconstrained, and full of real enjoyment. A fashionable ball is all
+well enough in its way, but give me a dance where there is no
+formality continually reminding me of my 'white kids,' or where my
+equanimity is never disturbed by missing a figure; there old Time
+seldom croaks while he lingers, for the heart merriment makes him
+forget his mission."
+
+On dashed our steeds over the glassy surface of the river, and soon
+the company we had started with was left far behind. We in due time
+reached Detroit, and as I leaped from the sleigh at the door of my
+friend's residence, Victor observed:
+
+"To-morrow night we are invited to a party at my uncle Yesson's, at
+the foot of Lake St. Clair, and if you will accept a seat with me, I
+shall with pleasure be your courier. I promise you a night of rare
+enjoyment."
+
+"You promise then," said I, "that Estelle Beaubien will be there."
+
+He looked calmly at me for a moment.
+
+"What, another rival?" he exclaimed. "Now, by the mass one would think
+Estelle was the only fair maiden on the whole frontier. Out of pity
+for the rest of her sex I shall have to bind her suddenly in the bonds
+of Hymen, for while she is free the young men will sigh after no other
+beauty, and other maids must pine in neglect."
+
+"You flatter yourself," said I. "Give me but a chance, and I will
+whisper a lay of love in the fair beauty's ear that will obliterate
+the image you have been engraving on her heart. She has listened to
+you, no other splendid fellow being by, but when I enter the lists
+look well to your seat in her affections, for I am no timid knight
+when a fair hand or smile is to be won."
+
+"Come on," cried he, laughing, "I scorn to break lance with any other
+knight. The lists shall be free to you, the fair Estelle shall be the
+prize, and I dare you to a tilt at Cupid's tourney."
+
+With this challenge he departed, and as his yet unwearied steeds bore
+him away, I could hear his laugh of conscious triumph mingling with
+the music of his horses' bells.
+
+After a troubled sleep that day, I awoke to a consciousness of
+suffering. I had lost my appetite, was troubled with vertigo, and
+obstructed breathing, which were sure indications that the sudden
+change from heated rooms to the clear, cold air, sweeping over the
+ice-bound river, had given me a severe influenza. My promise of a tilt
+with Victor, or participation in further festivity, appeared
+abrogated, for a time at least. I kept my bed during the day, and at
+night applied the usual restoratives. Sleep visited my pillow, but it
+was of that unrefreshing character which follows disease. I tossed
+upon my couch in troubled dreams, amid which I fancied myself a knight
+of the olden time, fighting in the lists for a wreath or glove from a
+tourney queen. In the contest I was conscious of being overthrown, and
+raised myself up from the inglorious earth upon which I had been
+rolled, a bruised knight from head to heel. When I awoke in the
+morning the soreness of every joint made me half think, for a moment,
+that I had suffered some injury while in sleeping unconsciousness;
+but, waking recollection assigned a natural cause, and I bowed my
+fevered head to the punishment of my imprudence. An old and dignified
+physician was summoned to my bed-side, who felt my pulse, ordered
+confinement to my room, and the swallowing of a horrible looking
+potion, which nearly filled a common-sized tumbler. A few days care,
+he said, would restore me, and with his own hands he mixed my dose,
+placed it beside me upon a table, and departed. I venerate a kind and
+skillful physician; but, like all the rest of the human family, his
+nauseous doses I abhor. I looked at the one before me until, in
+imagination, I tasted its ingredients. In my fevered vision the vessel
+grew into a monster goblet, and soon after it assumed the shape of a
+huge glass tun. Methought I commenced swallowing, fearful that if I
+longer hesitated it would grow more vast, and then it seemed as if the
+dose would never be exhausted, and that my body would not contain the
+whole of the dreadful compound. I dropped off again from this
+half-dreamy state into the oblivion of deep sleep, and remained
+unconscious of every thing until awoke in the evening by the chiming
+of bells beneath my window. I had scarcely changed my position before
+Victor, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, walked into my room.
+
+"Why, my dear fellow," cried he, on seeing me nestled beneath the
+cover, with a towel round my head by way of a night-cap, "what is all
+this? Nothing serious, I hope?"
+
+"Oh no," answered I, "only sore bones, and an embargo on the
+respiratory organs. That mixture"--calling his attention to the
+tumbler--"will no doubt set all right again."
+
+"_Pah!_" he exclaimed, twisting his face as if he had tasted it, "I
+hope you don't resort to such restoratives."
+
+"So goes the doctor's orders," said I.
+
+"Oh, a pest on his drugs," says Victor. "Why didn't you call me in?
+I'm worth a dozen _regular_ practitioners in such cases, especially
+where I am the patient. Come, up and dress, and while you are about it
+I will empty this potion out of the window, we will then take a seat
+behind the 'tinklers,' and before the night is over, I will put you
+through a course of exercise which has won more practice among the
+young than ever the wisest practitioner has been able to obtain for
+his most skillfully concocted healing draughts."
+
+"I can't, positively, Victor," said I. "It would cost me my life."
+
+"Then I will lend you one of mine, without interest," said he. "Along
+you must go, any how, so up at once. Think, my dear boy, of the beauty
+gathering now in the old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair."
+
+"Think," said I, "of my sore bones."
+
+"And then," he continued, unmindful of my remark, "think of the dash
+along the ice, the moon lighting your pathway, while a cluster of
+star-bright eyes wait to welcome your coming."
+
+"Oh, _nonsense_" said I, "and by that I mean _your_ romance. If
+through my imprudence I should have the star of my existence quenched,
+the lustre of those eyes would fail in any effort to light me up
+again, and that is a matter worth consideration."
+
+Even while I talked to him I felt my health rapidly improving.
+
+"What would the doctor say, Victor," inquired I, "if he came here and
+_found me out_? Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a hoax,
+shamelessly played off upon his old age, and he would never forgive
+me."
+
+"Not so," says Victor, "you can take my prescription without his
+knowing it, and it is as follows: First and foremost, toss his
+medicine out of the window, visit uncle's with me and dance until
+morning, get back by daylight, go to bed and take a nap before he
+comes, and take my word for it he will pronounce your improved state
+the effect of _his_ medicine."
+
+"It would be madness, and I cannot think of it," replied I, half
+disposed at the same time to yield.
+
+"Then I pronounce you no true knight," said he, "I will report to
+Estelle the challenge that passed between us, and be sure she will set
+you down in her memory as a _timid gentleman_!"
+
+"Oh, stop," said I, "and I will save you that sneer. I know that out
+of pure dread of my power you wish to kill me off; but I will go,
+nevertheless, if it is to death, in the performance of my duty."
+
+"What _duty_ do you speak of," inquired he.
+
+"Taking the conceit out of a coxcomb," said I.
+
+"Bravo!" he shouted, "your blood is already in circulation, and there
+are hopes of you. I will now look to the horses." Indulging in a quiet
+laugh at his success, he descended the staircase.
+
+It was a work of some labor to perform the toilet for my journey, but
+at length Dr. B.'s patient, well muffled up, placed himself beneath a
+load of buffalo robes, and reversing the doctor's orders, which were
+peremptory to keep quiet, he was going like mad, in the teeth of a
+strong breeze, over the surface of Detroit river.
+
+The moon was yet an hour high above the dark forest line of the
+American shore, and light fleecy clouds were chasing each other across
+her bright disc, dimming her rays occasionally, but not enough to make
+traveling doubtful. A south wind swept down from the lake, along the
+bright line of the river, but it was not the balmy breeze which
+southern poets breathe of in their songs. True it had not the piercing
+power of the northern blast, but in passing over those frozen regions
+it had encountered its adversary and been chilled by his embrace. It
+was the first breath of spring combating with the strongly posted
+forces of old winter, and as they mingled, the mind could easily
+imagine it heard the roar of elemental strife. Now the south wind
+would sound like the murmur of a myriad of voices, as it rustled and
+roared through the dark woods lining the shore, and then it would pipe
+afar off as if a reserve were advancing to aid in holding the ground
+already occupied; anon the echo of a force would be heard close in by
+the bluff bordering the stream, and in a moment more, it was sweeping
+with all its strength and pride of power down the broad surface of the
+glittering ice, as if the rightfulness of its invasion scorned
+resistance. Sullen old winter with his frosty beard and snow-wreathed
+brow, sat with calm firmness at his post, sternly resolved to yield
+only when his power _melted_ before the advancing tide of the enemy.
+
+"Our sport on the ice is nearly at an end," remarked Victor. "This
+south wind, if it continues a few days, will set our present pathway
+afloat. Go along!" he shouted, excitedly, to his horses, following the
+exclamation by the lash of his whip. They dashed ahead with the speed
+of lightning, while the ice cracked in a frightful manner beneath the
+runners of our sleigh for several rods. I held my breath with
+apprehension, but soon we were speeding along as before.
+
+"That was nigh being a cold bath," quietly observed Victor.
+
+"What do you mean?" inquired I.
+
+"Did you not see the air-hole we just passed?" he inquired in turn.
+
+"It was at least ten yards long, and we came within six inches of
+being emptied into it before I noticed the opening."
+
+I could feel my pores open--moisture was quickly forced to the surface
+of my skin at this announcement, and I inwardly breathed a prayer of
+thanks for our escape.
+
+But a short time elapsed ere the hospitable mansion of Victor's uncle
+appeared in sight, with lights dancing from every window, and our good
+steeds, like couriers of the air, scudded over the polished surface
+toward these pleasant beacons. We were soon able to descry forms
+flitting before the window, and as we turned up the road leading from
+the lake to the dwelling, Victor whispered--
+
+"I recognize the person of Estelle standing by yonder window, remember
+our challenge."
+
+"I shall not forget it," said I, as we drew up before the portal.
+
+Consigning our panting steeds to two negro boys, and divesting
+ourselves of extra covering, we were soon mingling in the "merrie
+companie." Estelle was there in all her beauty, her dark eyes beaming
+mischief, her graceful actions inviting attention, and her merry laugh
+infecting all with its gleeful cadences. Victor was deep in the toils,
+and willingly he yielded to the bondage of the gay coquette. Now she
+smiled winningly upon him, and again laughed at his tender speeches.
+He besought her to dance with him, and she refused, but with such an
+artless grace, such witching good humor, and playful cruelty, that he
+could not feel offended. I addressed her and she turned away from him.
+I had not presumption enough to suppose I could win a maiden's heart
+where he was my rival, but I thought that, aided by the coquetry of
+Estelle, I could help to torture the victim--and I set about it; nay,
+further, I confess that as she leaned her little ear, which peeped out
+from a cluster of dark curls, toward my flattering whisper, I fancied
+that she inclined it with pleasure; but, then, the next moment my
+hopes were dissipated, for she as fondly smiled on my rival.
+
+A flourish of the music, and with one accord the company moved forward
+to the dance. Estelle consented to be my partner. Victor was not left
+alone, but his companion in the set might as well have been, for she
+frequently had to call his attention to herself and the figure--his
+eye was continually wandering truant to the next set, where he was one
+moment scanning with a lover's jealousy a rival's enjoyment, and the
+next gazing with wrapt admiration upon the beautiful figure and
+graceful movements of his mistress. The set was ended, and the second
+begun--Victor being too slow in his request for her hand, she yielded
+it to another eager admirer. The third set soon followed, and
+laughingly she again took my arm. The fourth, and she was dancing with
+a stranger guest. As she wound through the mazes of the dance, arching
+her graceful neck with a proud motion, her eye, maliciously sportive,
+watched the workings of jealousy which clouded Victor's brow. He did
+not solicit her hand again, but stood with fixed eye and swelling
+throat, looking out upon the lake. I rallied him upon his moodiness,
+and told him he did not bear defeat with philosophy.
+
+"Your dancing," said he, "would win the admiration of an angel;" and
+his lip curled with a slight sneer.
+
+I did not feel flattered much, that he attributed my success to my
+_heels_ instead of my _head_, and I carelessly remarked that perhaps
+he felt inclined to test my superior powers in some other method. He
+looked at me firmly for a moment, his large, dark eye blazing, and
+then burst into a laugh.
+
+"Yes," said he, "I should like to try a waltz with you upon the icy
+surface of the lake."
+
+"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of
+conceit--you know that is my purpose here to-night."
+
+Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed
+by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at
+Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in
+the night air to cool his fevered passions.
+
+"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the
+Indian fishermen, far out on the lake--they are spearing
+salmon-trout--we will go see the sport."[2]
+
+I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its
+glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a
+bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse
+before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through
+the clear, cold atmosphere.
+
+"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."
+
+"If the bare thought fills you with _fear_," he answered, "I have no
+desire for your company. The _dance_ within, I see, is more to your
+mind."
+
+Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to
+play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered
+not how far the fit took him.
+
+"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.
+
+"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest
+negro boy.
+
+"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen
+want wid such tings at de ball?"
+
+"It is too hot in the ball-room," answered Victor; "myself and friend,
+therefore, wish to try a waltz on the ice."
+
+"Yah, yah, h-e-a-h!" shouted the negro, wonderfully tickled at the
+novelty of the idea, "well, dat is a high kick, please goodness--guess
+you can't git any ob de ladies to try dat shine wid you, _h-e-a-h_!"
+
+"We shall not _invite_ them," said Victor, through his teeth.
+
+"Well, dar is de poles, massa," said the negro, handing him a couple
+of saplings about twelve feet long. "You better hab a lantern wid you,
+too, else you can't see dat dance berry well."
+
+"A good thought," said Victor; "give us the lantern."
+
+[Footnote 2: The Indians cut holes in the ice, and holding a torch
+over the opening, spear the salmon-trout which are attracted to the
+surface by the blaze.]
+
+It was procured, lighted, and together we descended the steep bluff to
+the lake's brink. He paused for a moment to listen--revelry sounded
+clearly out upon the air of night, nimble feet were treading gayly to
+the strains of sweet music, and high above both, yet mingling with
+them, was heard the merry laughter of the joyous guests. Ah, Victor,
+thought I, trout are not the only fish captured by brilliant lights;
+there is a pair dancing above, yonder, which even now is driving you
+to madness. I shrunk from the folly we were about to perpetrate, yet
+had not courage enough to dare my companion's sneer, and turn boldly
+back; vainly hoping he would soon tire of the exploit I followed on.
+
+Running one pole through the ring of our lantern, and placing
+ourselves at each end, we took up our line of march for the light
+ahead. Victor seizing the end of the other sapling slid it before him
+to feel our way. At times the beacon would blaze up as if but an
+hundred yards ahead, and again it would sink to a spark, far away in
+the distance. The night wind was now sweeping down the lake in a
+tornado, sighing and laboring in its course as if pregnant with
+evil--afar off, at one moment, heard in a low whistle, and anon
+rushing around us like an army of invisible spirits, bearing us along
+with the whirl of their advance, and yelling a fearful war-cry in our
+ears. The beacon-light still beckoned us on. My companion, as if
+rejoicing in the fury of the tempest which roared around us, burst
+into a derisive laugh.
+
+"Thunder would be fit music, now," said he, "for this pleasant little
+party"--and the words were scarcely uttered, ere a sound of distant
+thunder appeared to shake the frozen surface of the lake. The pole he
+was sliding before him, and of which he held but a careless grip, fell
+from his hands. He stooped to pick it up, but it was gone; and holding
+up our lantern to look for it, we beheld before us a wide opening in
+the ice, where the dark tide was ruffled into mimic waves by the
+breeze. Our sapling was floating upon its surface.
+
+"This way," said Victor, bent in his spirit of folly to fulfill his
+purpose, and skirting the yawning pool, where the cold tide rolled
+many fathoms deep, we held on our way. We thus progressed nearly two
+miles, and yet the _ignus fatuus_ which tempted us upon the mad
+journey shone as distant as ever. Our own feeble light but served to
+show, indistinctly, the dangers with which we were surrounded. I was
+young, and loved life; nay, I was even about to plead in favor of
+turning toward the shore that I might preserve it, when my companion,
+his eye burning with excitement, turned toward me, and raising his end
+of the sapling until the light of the lantern fell upon my face,
+remarked,
+
+"You are pale--I am sorry I frightened you thus, we will return."
+
+With a reckless pride that would not own my fears, even though death
+hung on my footsteps, I answered with a scornful laugh,
+
+"Your own fears, and not mine, counsel you to such a proceeding."
+
+"Say you so," says he, "then we will hold on until we cross the
+lake;" and with a shout he pressed forward; bending my head to the
+blast, I followed.
+
+I had often heard of the suddenness with which Lake St. Clair cast off
+its winter covering, when visited by a southern breeze; and whether
+the heat of my excitement, or an actual moderation of cold in the wind
+sweeping over us was the fact, I am unable to determine, but I fancied
+its puff upon my cheek had grown soft and balmy in its character; a
+few drops of rain accompanied it, borne along as forerunners of a
+storm. While we thus journeyed, a sound like the reverberation of
+distant thunder again smote upon our ears, and shook the ice beneath
+our feet. We suddenly halted.
+
+"There is no mistaking that," said Victor. "The ice is breaking up--we
+will pursue this folly no further."
+
+He had scarcely ceased speaking, when a report, like that of cannon,
+was heard in our immediate neighborhood, and a wide crevice opened at
+our very feet, through which the agitated waters underneath bubbled
+up. We leaped it, and rushed forward.
+
+"Haste!" cried my companion, "there is sufficient time for us yet to
+reach the shore before the surface moves."
+
+"_Time_, for us, Victor," replied I, "is near an end--if we ever reach
+the shore, it will be floating lifeless amid the ice."
+
+"Courage," says he, "do not despond;" and seizing my arm, we moved
+with speed in the direction where lights streamed from the gay and
+pleasant mansion which we had so madly left. Ah, how with mingled hope
+and fear our hearts beats, as with straining eyes we looked toward
+that beacon. In an instant, even as we sped along, the ice opened
+again before us, and ere I could check my impetus, I was, with the
+lantern in my hand, plunged within the flood. My companion retained
+his hold of me, and with herculean strength he dragged me from the
+dark tide upon the frail floor over which we had been speeding. In the
+struggle, the lantern fell from my grasp, and sunk within the whirling
+waters.
+
+"Great God!" exclaimed Victor, "the field we stand upon is
+_moving_!"--and so it was. The mass closed up the gap into which I had
+fallen; and we could hear the edges which formed the brink of the
+chasm, crushing and crumbling as they moved together in the conflict.
+We stood breathlessly clinging to each other, listening to the mad
+fury of the wind, and the awful roar of the ice which broke and surged
+around us. The wind moaned by us and above our heads like the wail of
+nature in an agony, while mingling with its voice could be distinctly
+heard the ominous reverberations which proclaimed a general breaking
+up of the whole surface of the lake. The wind and current were both
+driving the ice toward the Detroit river, and we could see by the
+lights on the shore that we were rapidly passing in that direction. A
+dark line, scarcely discernible, revealed where the distant shore
+narrowed into the straight; but the hope of ever reaching it died
+within me, as our small platform rose and sunk on the troubled waves.
+
+While floating thus, held tightly in the grasp of my companion, his
+deep breathing fanning my cheek, I felt my senses gradually becoming
+wrapt with a sweet dream, and so quickly did it steal upon me, that in
+a few moments all the peril of our position was veiled from my mind,
+and I was reveling in a delightful illusion. I was floating upon an
+undulating field of ice, in a triumphal car, drawn by snow-white
+steeds, and in my path glittered a myriad gems of the icy north. My
+progress seemed to be as quiet as the falling of the snow-flake, and
+swift as the wind, which appeared drawn along with my chariot-wheels.
+To add to this dreamy delight, many forms of beauty, symmetrical as
+angels, with eyes radiant as the stars of night, floated around my
+pathway. Though their forms appeared superior to earth, the tender
+expression of their eyes was altogether human. Their ethereal forms
+were clad in flowing robes, white as the wintry drift; coronets of icy
+jewels circled their brows, and glittered upon their graceful necks;
+their golden hair floated upon the sportive wind, as if composed of
+the sun's bright rays, and the effect upon the infatuated gazer at
+these spirit-like creations, was a desire not to break the spell, lest
+they should vanish from before his entranced vision. To add to the
+charm of their power they burst into music wild as the elements, but
+yet so plaintively sweet, that the senses yielded up in utter abandon
+to its soothing swell. I had neither the power nor the wish to move,
+but under the influence of this ravishing dream, floated along in
+happy silence, a blest being, attended by an angel throng, whose
+voluptuous forms delighted, and whose pleasing voices lulled into all
+the joys of fancied elysium.
+
+From this dream I was aroused to the most painful sensations. The
+pangs of death can bear no comparison to the agony of throwing off
+this sleep. Action was attended with torture, and every move of my
+blood seemed as if molten lead was coursing through my veins. My
+companion, by every means he could think of, was forcing me back to
+consciousness; but I clung with the tenacity of death to my sweet
+dream. He dashed my body upon our floating island; he pinched my
+flesh, fastened his fingers into my hair, and beat me into feeling
+with the power of his muscular arm. Slowly the figures of my dream
+began to change--my triumphal car vanished--dark night succeeded the
+soft light which had before floated around me, and the fair forms,
+which had fascinated my soul by their beauty, were now changed into
+furies, whose voices mingling in the howl of the elements, sounded
+like a wail of sorrow, or a chaunt of rage. They looked into my eyes
+with orbs lit by burning hatred, while they seemed to lash me with
+whips of the biting wind, until every fibre in my frame was convulsed
+with rage and madness. I screamed with anguish, and grasping the
+muscular form of my companion, amid the loud howl of the storm, amid
+the roar of the crushing ice, amid the gloom of dark night upon that
+uncertain platform of the congealed yet moving waters, I fought with
+him, and struggled for the mastery. I rained blows upon his body, and
+he returned them with interest. I tried to plunge with him into the
+dark waters that were bubbling around us, but he held me back as if I
+were a child; and in impotent rage I wept at my weakness. Slowly our
+perilous situation again forced itself upon my mind. I became
+conscious that a platform, brittle as the thread of life, was all that
+separated me from a watery grave; and I fancied the wind was murmuring
+our requiem as it passed. Hope died within _me_; but not so my
+companion.
+
+"Speak to me!" he cried; "arouse, and let me hear your voice! Shake
+off this stupor, or you are lost!"
+
+"Why did you wake me?" I inquired; "while in that lethargy I was
+happy."
+
+"While there is hope you should never yield to despair," said Victor.
+"I discovered you freezing in my arms. Come, arouse yourself more
+fully; Providence has designed us for another grave than the waters of
+Lake St. Clair, or ere this we would have been quietly resting in some
+of the chasms beneath. We are floating rapidly into the river, and
+will here find some chance to escape."
+
+"Here, at last," answered I, despondingly, "we are likely to find our
+resting-place."
+
+"Shake off this despondency!" exclaimed Victor, "it is unmanly. If we
+are to die, let it be in a struggle against death. We have now only to
+avoid being crushed between the fields of ice. Oh! that unfortunate
+lantern! if we had only retained it--but no matter, we will escape
+yet; aye, and have another dance among our friends in yonder old
+hospitable mansion. Courage!" he exclaimed, "see, lights are dancing
+opposite us upon the shore. Hark! I hear shouts."
+
+A murmur, as of the expiring sound of a shout rose above the roar of
+the ice and waters--but it failed to arouse me. The lights, though, we
+soon plainly discerned; and on the bluff, at the very mouth of the
+river, a column of flame began to rise, which cast a lurid light far
+over the surface of the raging lake. Some persons stood at the edge of
+the flood waving lighted torches; and I thought from their manner that
+we were discovered.
+
+"We are safe, thank God!" says Victor. "They have discovered us!"
+
+Hope revived again within me, and my muscles regained their strength.
+We were only distant about one hundred yards from shore, and rapidly
+nearing it, when a scene commenced, which, for the wildly terrific,
+exceeded aught I had ever before beheld. The force of the wind and the
+current had driven vast fields of ice into the mouth of the river,
+where it now gorged; and with frightful rapidity, and a stunning
+noise, the ice began to pile up in masses of several feet in height,
+until the channel was entirely obstructed. The dammed-up waters here
+boiled and bubbled, seeking a passage, and crumbling the barrier which
+impeded their way, dashed against it, and over it, in the mad endeavor
+to rush onward. The persons seen a few moments before were driven up
+to the bluff; and they no sooner reached there than Victor and myself,
+struggling amid the breaking ice and the rising flood, gained the
+shore; but in vain did we seek a spot upon the perpendicular sides of
+the bluff, where, for an instant, we could rest from the struggle. We
+shouted to those above, and they hailed us with a cheer, flashed their
+torches over our heads--but they had no power to aid us, for the
+ground they stood upon was thirty feet above us. Even while we were
+thus struggling, and with our arms outstretched toward heaven,
+imploring aid, the gorge, with a sound like the rumbling of an
+earth-quake, broke away, and swept us along in its dreadful course.
+Now did it seem, indeed, as if we had been tempted with hope, only
+that we might feel to its full extent of poignancy the bitterness of
+absolute despair. I yielded in hopeless inactivity to the current; my
+companion, in the meantime, was separated from me--and I felt as if
+fate had singled out me, alone, as the victim; but, while thus
+yielding to despondency, Victor again appeared at my side, and held me
+within his powerful grasp. He seized me as I was about to sink through
+exhaustion, and dragging me after him, with superhuman strength he
+leaped across the floating masses of ice, recklessly and boldly daring
+the death that menaced us. We neared the shore where it was low; and
+all at once, directly before us, shot up another beacon, and a dozen
+torches flashed up beside it. The river again gorged below us, and the
+accumulating flood and ice bore us forward full fifty feet beyond the
+river's brink--as before, the tide again swept away the barrier,
+leaving us lying among the fragments of ice deposited by the
+retreating flood, which dashed on its course, foaming, and roaring,
+and flashing in the light of the blazing beacons. Locked in each
+other's arms, and trembling with excitement, we lay collecting our
+scattered senses, and endeavoring to divest us of the terrible thought
+that we were still at the mercy of the flood. Our friends, who had
+learned from the negroes the mad adventure we had started upon, now
+gathered around us, lifted us up from our prostrate position, and
+moved toward Yesson's mansion. Victor, who through the whole struggle
+had borne himself up with that firmness which scorns to shrink before
+danger, now yielded, and sunk insensible. The excitement was at an
+end, and the strong man had become a child. I, feeble in body, and
+lacking his energy in danger, now that the peril was past, felt a
+buoyancy and strength which I did not possess at starting out.
+
+My companion was lifted up and borne toward his uncle's. No music
+sounded upon the air as we approached--no voice of mirth escaped from
+the portal, for all inside were hushed into grief--that grief which
+anticipates a loss but knows not the sum of it. Several who entered
+the mansion first, and myself among the number, announced the coming
+of Victor, who had fallen in a fainting fit; but they would not
+believe us--they supposed at once that we came to save them from the
+sudden shock of an abrupt announcement of his death, and Estelle, with
+a piercing cry, rushed toward the hall--those bearing his body were at
+the moment entering the house--rushing toward them she clung to his
+inanimate form, uttering the most poignant cries of anguish. A few
+restoratives brought Victor to consciousness, and sweet were the
+accents of reproof which fell upon his ear with the first waking into
+life, for they betrayed to him the tender feelings of love which the
+fair Estelle had before concealed beneath her coquetry. While the
+tears of joy were bedewing her cheeks, on finding her lover safe, he
+like a skillful tactician pursued the advantage, and in a mock
+attitude of desperation threatened to rush out and cast himself amid
+the turbid waters of the lake, unless she at once promised to
+terminate his suspense by fixing the day of their marriage. The fair
+girl consented to throw around him, merely as she said for his
+preservation, the gentle authority of a wife, and I at once offered to
+seal a "quit claim" of my pretensions upon her rosy lips, but she
+preferred having Victor act as my attorney in the matter, and the
+tender negotiation was accordingly closed.
+
+After partaking of a fragrant cup of Mocha, about the hour day was
+breaking, I started for home, and having arrived, I plunged beneath
+the blankets to rest my wearied body. Near noon I was awakened by the
+medical attendant feeling my pulse. On opening my eyes, the first
+impulse was to hide the neglected potions, which I had carelessly left
+exposed upon the table, but a glance partially relieved my fears about
+its discovery, for I had fortunately thrown my cravat over it and hid
+it from view. As Victor predicted, the doctor attributed the healthy
+state in which he found me entirely to his prescription, and following
+up its supposed good effect, with a repetition of his advice to keep
+quiet, he departed. I could scarcely suppress a smile in his presence.
+Little did he dream of the remedy which had banished my fever--cold
+baths and excitement had produced an effect upon me far more potent
+than drugs, either vegetable or mineral.
+
+A month after the events here above mentioned, I made one of a gay
+assembly in that same old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair. It
+was Victor's wedding-night, about to be consummated where the
+confession was first won, and while he sat upon one side of a sofa
+holding his betrothed's hand, in all the joy of undisputed possession,
+I on the other gave her a description of the winter-spirits which hold
+their revel upon the ice of the lake. While she listened her eye
+kindled with excitement, and she clung unconsciously and with a
+convulsive shudder to the person of her lover.
+
+"You are right, Estelle," said I, "hold him fast, or they will steal
+him away to their deep caves beneath the waters, where their dance is,
+to mortal, a dance of death."
+
+Bidding me begone, for a spiteful croaker, who was trying out of
+jealousy to mar her happiness, she turned confidingly to the manly
+form beside her, and from the noble expression beaming from his eyes
+imbibed a fire which defied the whole spirit-world, so deep and so
+strong was their assurance of devoted affection. The good priest now
+bade them stand up, the words were spoken, the benediction bestowed,
+the bride and groom congratulated, and a general joy circled the
+company round.
+
+The causes which led to, and the incidents which befel, a "night on
+the ice," I have endeavored faithfully to rehearse, and now let me add
+the pleasing sequel. Victor Druissel, folded in the embrace of beauty,
+now pillows his head upon a bosom as fond and true as ever in its wild
+pulsations of coquetry made a manly heart to ache with doubt.
+
+
+
+
+THE THANKSGIVING OF THE SORROWFUL.
+
+BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.
+
+
+ "Thanksgiving," said the preacher.
+ "What hast thou,
+ Oh heart"--I asked--"for which to render thanks!
+ What--crushed and stricken--canst thou here recall
+ Worthy for this rejoicing. That thy home
+ Hath suddenly been made so desolate;
+ Or that the love for which thy being yearned
+ Through years of youth, was given but to show
+ How fleet are life's enjoyments? For the smile
+ That never more shall greet thee at the dawn,
+ Or the low, earnest blessing, which at eve
+ Merged thoughts of human love in dreams of Heaven;
+ That these are taken wilt thou now rejoice?
+ That thou art censured, where thou seekest love--
+ And all thy purest thoughts, are turned to ill
+ Soon as they knew expression? Offerest praise
+ That such has been thy lot in earliest youth?
+ "_Thou murmurer_!"--thus whispered back my heart,
+ "Thou--of all others--shouldst this day give thanks:
+ Thanks for the love which for a little space
+ Made thy life beautiful, and taught thee well
+ By precept, and example, so to act
+ That others might in turn be blessed by thee.
+ The patient love, that checked each wayward word;
+ The holy love, that turned thee to thy God--
+ Fount of all pure affection! Hadst thou dwelt
+ Longer in such an atmosphere, thy strength
+ Had yielded to the weakness of idolatry,
+ Forgetting Him, the GIVER, in his gifts.
+ So He recalled them. Ay, for that rejoice,
+ That thou hast added treasure up in Heaven;
+ O, let thy heart dwell with thy treasure there;
+ The dream shall thus become reality.
+ The blessing may be resting on thy brow
+ Cold as it is with sorrow. Thou hast lost
+ The love of earth--but gained an angel's care.
+ And that the world views thee with curious eyes,
+ Wronging the pure expression of thy thoughts,--
+ Censure may prove to thee as finer's fire,
+ That purifies the gold."
+ Then gave I thanks,
+ Reproved by that low whisper. FATHER hear!
+ Forgive the murmurer thus in love rebuked;
+ And may I never cease through all to pay
+ This tribute to thy bounty.
+
+
+[Illustration: _Drawn by L. Nagel Engraved by J. Sartain_
+Lamartine Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine]
+
+
+
+
+DE LAMARTINE,
+
+MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE.
+
+BY FRANCIS J. GRUND.
+
+[SEE ENGRAVING.]
+
+
+Alphonse de Lamartine, the present Minister of Foreign Affairs of the
+Republic of France, was born in 1792, at Saint Pont, near Macon, in
+the Department of the Saone and Loire. His true family name is De
+Prat; but he took the name of De Lamartine from his uncle, whose
+fortune he inherited in 1820. His father and uncle were both
+royalists, and suffered severely from the Jacobins during the
+revolution. Had they lived in Paris their heads might have fallen from
+the block, but even in the province they did not escape persecution--a
+circumstance which, from the earliest youth of Lamartine, made a deep
+and indelible impression on his mind. His early education he received
+at the College of Belley, from which he returned in 1809, at the age
+of 18 years.
+
+The splendor of the empire under Napoleon had no attractions for him.
+Though, at that period, Napoleon was extremely desirous to reconcile
+some of the old noble families, and for that purpose employed
+confidential ladies and gentlemen to correspond with the exiles and to
+represent to them the nobility of sentiment, and the magnanimity of
+the emperor; Lamartine refused to enter the service of his country
+under the new _regime_. So far from taking an interest in the great
+events of that period, he devoted himself entirely to literary
+studies, and improved his time by perambulating Italy. The fall of
+Napoleon did not affect him, for he was no friend of the first
+revolution, (whose last representative Napoleon still continued to be,
+though he had tamed it;) and when, in 1814, the elder line of Bourbons
+was restored, Lamartine returned from Naples, and entered, the service
+of Louis XVIII., as an officer of the _garde-du-corps_. With the
+return of Napoleon from Elba he left the military service forever.
+
+A contemporary of Chateaubriand, Delavigne and Beranger, he now
+devoted himself to that species of lyric and romantic poetry which at
+first exasperated the French critics, but, in a very short time, won
+for him the European appellation of "the French Schiller." His first
+poems, "Meditations Poetiques," which appeared in Paris in 1820, were
+received with ten times the bitter criticism that was poured out on
+Byron by the Scotch reviewers, but with a similar result; in less than
+two months a second edition was called for and published. The spirit
+of these poems is that of a deep but undefined religion, presentiments
+and fantastic dreams of another world, and the consecration of a noble
+and disinterested passion for the beau ideal of his youth, "Elvire,"
+separated from him forever by the chilly hand of death. In the same
+year Lamartine became Secretary of the French Legation at Naples, and
+in 1822, Secretary of the Legation in London--Chateaubriand being at
+the time minister plenipotentiary.
+
+But the author of the _Genie du Christianism_, _les Martyrs_, and
+_Bonaparte et des Bourbons_, "did not seem to have been much pleased
+with Lamartine, whom he treated with studied neglect, and afterward
+entirely forgot as minister of foreign affairs. Chateaubriand, shortly
+before taking the place of Mons. Decazes in London, had published his
+_Memoires_, _lettres_, _et pieces authentiques touchant la vie et la
+mort du Duc de Berri_,"[3] and was then preparing to accompany the
+Duke of Montmorency, whom, in December 1822, he followed as minister
+of foreign affairs to the Congress of Verona. It is very possible that
+Chateaubriand, who was truly devoted to the elder branch of the
+Bourbons,[4] may at that time have discovered in Lamartine little of
+that political talent or devotion which could have recommended him to
+a diplomatic post. Chateaubriand was a man of positive convictions in
+politics and religion, while Lamartine, at that period, though far
+surpassing Chateaubriand in depth of feeling and imagination, had not
+yet acquired that objectiveness of thought and reflection which is
+indispensable to the statesman or the diplomatist.
+
+[Footnote 3: Memoirs, Letters and Authentic Papers Touching the Life
+and Death of the Duke de Berry.]
+
+[Footnote 4: He followed them in 1815 into exile; and in 1830, after
+the Revolution of July, spoke with fervor in defence of the rights of
+the Duke of Bordeaux. Chateaubriand refused to pledge the oath of
+allegiance to Louis Philippe, and left in consequence the Chamber of
+Peers, and a salary of 12,000 francs. From this period he devoted
+himself entirely to the service of the unfortunate duchess and her
+son. Against the exclusion of the elder branch of Bourbons he wrote
+"_De la nouvelle proposition relative au banissement de Charles X. et
+de sa famille_." (On the New Proposition in regard to the Banishment
+of Charles X. and his Family,) and "_De la restoration et de la
+monarchie elective_." (On the Restoration and on the Elective
+Monarchy,) and several other pamphlets, which, after the apprehension
+of the duchess in France, caused his own imprisonment.
+
+Chateaubriand, in fact, was a _political_ writer as well as a poet.
+His "Genius of Christianity", published in 1802, reconciled Napoleon
+with the clergy, and his work, "Bonaparte and the Bourbons," was by
+Louis XVIII. himself pronounced "equal to an army."]
+
+After the dismission of Chateaubriand from the ministry, in July,
+1824, Lamartine became Secretary to the French Legation at Florence.
+Here he wrote "_Le dernier chant du pelerinage d'Harold_," (the Last
+Song of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage,) which was published in Paris in
+1825. Some allusions to Italy which occur in this poem, caused him a
+duel with Col. Pepe, a relation of General Pepe--who had commanded the
+Neapolitan Insurgents--in which he was severely wounded. In the same
+year he published his "_Chant du Sacre_," (Chant of the Coronation,)
+in honor of Charles X., just about the time that his contemporary,
+Beranger, was preparing for publication his "_Chansons inedittes_,"
+containing the most bitter sarcasm on Charles X., and for which the
+great _Chansonnier_ was afterward condemned to nine month's
+imprisonment, and a fine of 10,000 francs. The career of Lamartine
+commences in 1830, after he had been made a member of the Academy,
+when Beranger's muse went to sleep, because, with Charles X.'s flight
+from France, he declared his mission accomplished. Delavigne, in 1829,
+published his _Marino Falieri_.
+
+While in London, Lamartine married a young English lady, as handsome
+as _spirituelle_, who had conceived a strong affection for him through
+his poems, which she appreciated far better than his compeer,
+Chateaubriand, and requited with the true _troubadour's_ reward. With
+the accession of Louis Philippe, Lamartine left the public service and
+traveled through Turkey, Egypt, and Syria. Here he lost his daughter,
+a calamity which so preyed on his mind that it would have
+incapacitated him for further intellectual efforts, had he not been
+suddenly awakened to a new sphere of usefulness. The town of Bergues,
+in the Department of the North, returned him, in his absence, to the
+Chamber of Deputies. He accepted the place, and was subsequently again
+returned from his native town, Macon, which he represented at the
+period of the last Revolution, which has called him to the head of the
+provisional government.
+
+It is here worthy of remark, that Lamartine, from the commencement of
+his political career, did not take that interest in public affairs
+which seriously interferred with his poetical meditations; on the
+contrary, it was his muse which gave direction to his politics. He
+took a poetical view of religion, politics, morals, society, and
+state; the Chambers were to him but the medium for the realization of
+his beaux ideals. But it must not be imagined that Lamartine's beaux
+ideals had a distinct form, definitive outlines, or distinguishing
+lights and shades. His imagination has never been plastic, and his
+fancy was far better pleased with the magnitude of objects than with
+the artistical arrangement of their details. His conceptions were
+grand; but he possessed little power of elaboration; and this
+peculiarity of his intellect he carried from literature into politics.
+
+Shortly after his becoming a member of the French Academy, he
+publishes his "_Harmonies politiques et religieuses._"[5] Between the
+publication of these "Harmonies," and the "Poetical Meditations," with
+which he commenced his literary career, lies a cycle of ten years; but
+no perceptible intellectual progress or developement. True, the first
+effusions of a poet are chiefly marked by intensity of feeling and
+depth of sentiment. (What a world of emotions does not pervade
+Schiller's "Robbers," or Goethe's "Goetz of Berlichingen, with the iron
+hand!") but the subsequent productions must show some advancement
+toward objective reality, without which it is impossible to
+individualize even genius. To _our_ taste, the "Meditations" are
+superior to his "Harmonies," in other words, we prefer his praeludium
+to the concert. The one leaves us full of expectation, the other
+disappoints us. Lamartine's religion is but a sentiment; his politics
+at that time were but a poetical conception of human society. His
+religion never reached the culmination point of _faith_; his politics
+were never condensed into a system; his liquid sympathies for mankind
+never left a precipitate in the form of an absorbing patriotism. When
+his contemporary, Beranger, electrified the masses by his "_Roi
+d'Yvetot_," and "_le Senateur_," (in 1813,) Lamartine quietly mused in
+Naples, and in 1814 entered the body guard of Louis XVIII., when
+Cormenin resigned his place as counsellor of state, to serve as a
+volunteer in Napoleon's army.
+
+[Footnote 5: Political and Religious Harmonies. Paris, 1830. 2 vols.]
+
+Lamartine's political career did not, at first, interfere with his
+literary occupation, it was merely an agreeable pastime--a respite
+from his most ardent and congenial labors. In 1835 appeared his
+"_Souvenirs, impressions, pensees et paysages pendant un voyage en
+Orient, &c_."[6] This work, though written from personal observations,
+is any thing but a description of travels, or a faithful delineation
+of Eastern scenery or character. It is all poetry, without a
+sufficient substratum of reality--a dream of the Eastern world with
+its primitive vigor and sadness, but wholly destitute of either
+antiquarian research or living pictures. Lamartine gives us a picture
+of the East by candle-light--a high-wrought picture, certainly; but
+after all nothing but canvas. Shortly after this publication, there
+appeared his "_Jocelyn, journal trouve chez un cure de village_,"[7] a
+sort of imitation of the Vicar of Wakefield; but with scarcely an
+attempt at a faithful delineation of character. Lamartine has nothing
+to do with the village parson, who may be a very ordinary personage;
+his priest is an ideal priest, who inculcates the doctrines of ideal
+Christianity in ideal sermons without a text. Lamartine seems to have
+an aversion to all positive forms, and dislikes the dogma in religion
+as much as he did the principles of the _Doctrinaires_. It would
+fetter his genius or oblige it to take a definite direction, which
+would be destructive to its essence.
+
+As late as in 1838 Lamartine published his "_La chute d'un age_."[8]
+This is one of his poorest productions, though exhibiting vast powers
+of imagination and productive genius. The scene is laid in a chaotic
+antediluvian world, inhabited by Titans, and is, perhaps, descriptive
+of the author's mind, full of majestic imagery, but as yet undefined,
+vague, and without an object worthy of its efforts. Lamartine's time
+had not yet come, though he required but a few years to complete the
+fiftieth anniversary of his birth.
+
+[Footnote 6: Souvenirs, Impressions, Thoughts and Landscapes, during a
+Voyage in the East. Paris, 1835. 4 vols.]
+
+[Footnote 7: Jocelyn, a Journal found at the House of a Village
+Priest. Paris, 1836. 2 vols.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The Fall of an Angel. Paris, 1838. 2 vols.]
+
+The year following, in 1839, he published his "_Recueillements
+poetiques_," which must be looked upon as the commencement of a new
+era in his life. Mahomed was past forty when he undertook to establish
+a new religion, and built upon it a new and powerful empire; Lamartine
+was nearly fifty when he left the fantastic for the real; and from the
+inspiration without an object, returned to the only real poetry in
+this world--the life of man. Lamartine, who until that period had been
+youthful in his conceptions, and wild and _bizarre_ in his fancy, did
+not, as Voltaire said of his countrymen, pass "from childhood to old
+age," but paused at a green manhood, with a definite purpose, and the
+mighty powers of his mind directed to an object large enough to afford
+it scope for its most vigorous exercise. His muse was now directed to
+the interests of humanity; he was what the French call _un poete
+humanitaire_.
+
+Thus far it was proper for us to follow the life of the poet to
+understand that of the statesman, orator, and tribune. Men like
+Lamartine must be judged in their totality, not by single or detached
+acts of their lives. Above all men it is the poet who is a
+self-directing agent, whose faculties receive their principal impulse
+from _within_, and who stamps his own genius on every object of his
+mental activity. Schiller, after writing the history of the most
+remarkable period preceding the French Revolution, "the thirty years'
+war," (for liberty of conscience,) and "the separation of the
+Netherlands from the crown of Spain," felt that his energies were not
+yet exhausted on the subject; but his creative genius found no theatre
+of action such as was open to Lamartine in the French Chamber, in the
+purification of the ideas engendered by the Revolution; and he had
+therefore to content himself with bringing _his_ poetical conceptions
+on the _stage_. Instead of becoming an actor in the great world-drama,
+he gave us his _Wallenstein_ and _Don Carlos_; Lamartine gave us
+_himself_ as the best creation of his poetic genius. The poet
+Lamartine has produced the statesman. This it will be necessary to
+bear in mind, to understand Lamartine's career in the Chamber of
+Deputies, or the position he now holds at the head of the provisional
+government.
+
+Lamartine, as we have above observed, entered the French Chamber in
+1833, as a cosmopolite, full of love for mankind, full of noble ideas
+of human destiny, and deeply impressed with the degraded social
+condition not only of his countrymen, but of all civilized Europe. He
+knew and felt that the Revolution which had destroyed the social
+elements of Europe, or thrown them in disorder, had not reconstructed
+and arranged them; and that the re-organization of society on the
+basis of humanity and mutual obligation, was still an unfinished
+problem. Lamartine felt this; but did the French Chambers, as they
+were then organized, offer him a fair scope for the development of his
+ideas, or the exercise of his genius? Certainly not. The French
+Chamber was divided into two great dynastic interests--those of the
+younger and elder Bourbons. The Republican party (the extreme left)
+was small, and without an acknowledged leader; and the whole assembly,
+with few individual exceptions, had taken a material direction.
+During seventeen years--from 1830 to 1847--no organic principle of law
+or politics was agitated in the Chambers, no new ideas evolved. The
+whole national legislation seemed to be directed toward material
+improvements, to the exclusion of every thing that could elevate the
+soul or inspire the masses with patriotic sentiments. The government
+of Louis Philippe had at first become stationary, then reactionary;
+the mere enunciation of a general idea inspired its members with
+terror, and made the centres (right and left) afraid of the horrors of
+the guillotine. The government of Louis Philippe was not a reign of
+terror, like that of 1793, but it was a reign of prospective terror,
+which it wished to avoid. Louis Philippe had no faith in the people;
+he treated them as the keeper of a menagerie would a tame tiger--he
+knew its strength, and he feared its vindictiveness. To disarm it, and
+to change its ferocious nature, he checked the progress of political
+ideas, instead of combating them with the weapons of reason, and
+banished from his counsel those who alone could have served as
+mediators between the throne and the liberties of the nation. The
+French people seemed stupified at the _contre-coups_ to all their
+hopes and aspirations. Even the more moderate complained; but their
+complaints were hushed by the immediate prospect of an improved
+material condition. All France seemed to have become industrious,
+manufacturing, mercantile, speculating. The thirst for wealth had
+succeeded to the ambition of the Republicans, the fanaticism of the
+Jacobins, and the love of distinction of the old monarchists. The
+Chamber of Deputies no longer represented the French people--its love,
+its hatred, its devotion--the elasticity of its mind, its facility of
+emotion, its capacity to sacrifice itself for a great idea. The
+Deputies had become stock-jobbers, partners in large enterprises of
+internal improvements, and _timidly_ conservative, as are always the
+representatives of mere property. The Chamber, instead of representing
+the essence of the nation, represented merely the moneyed classes of
+society.
+
+Such was the Chamber of Deputies to which Lamartine was chosen by an
+electoral college, devoted to the Dynastic opposition. He entered it
+in 1833, not a technical politician or orator as Odillon Barrot, not
+as a skillful tactitioner like Thiers, not as a man with one idea as
+the Duke de Broglie, not as the funeral orator of departed grandeur
+like Berryer, nor as the embodiment of a legal abstraction like Dupin,
+or a man of the devouring ambition and skill in debate of Francois
+Pierre Guillaume Guizot: Lamartine was simply a _humanitaire_. Goaded
+by the sarcasm of Cormenin, he declared that he belonged to no party,
+that he sought for no parliamentary conquest--that he wished to
+triumph through the force of ideas, and through no power of
+persuasion. He was the very counterpart of Thiers, the most sterile
+orator and statesman of France. Lamartine had studied the French
+Revolution, he saw the anarchical condition of society, and the
+ineffectual attempt to compress instead of organizing it; and he
+conceived the noble idea of collecting the scattered fragments, and
+uniting them into a harmonious edifice. While the extreme left were
+employed in removing the pressure from above, Lamartine was quietly
+employed in laying the foundation of a new structure, and called
+himself _un democrate conservateur_.[9] He spoke successfully and with
+great force against the political monopoly of real property, against
+the prohibitive system of trade, against slavery, and the punishment
+of death.[10] His speeches made him at once a popular character; he
+did not address himself to the Chamber, he spoke to the French people,
+in language that sunk deep into the hearts of the masses, without
+producing a striking effect in the Legislature. At that time already
+had the king singled him out from the rest of the opposition. He
+wished to secure his talents for his dynasty; but Lamartine was not in
+search of a _portefeuille_, and escaped without effort from the
+temptation.
+
+In November, 1837, he was re-elected to the Chamber from Bergues and
+Macon, his native town. He decided in favor of the latter, and took
+his seat as a member for that place. He supported the Mole ministry,
+not because he had become converted to the new dynasty, but because he
+despised the _Doctrinaires_, who, by their union with the Liberals,
+brought in the new Soult ministry. He was not satisfied with the
+purity of motives, he also wanted proper means to attain a laudable
+object. In the Oriental question, which was agitated under Soult,
+Lamartine was not felt. His opposition was too vague and undefined:
+instead of pointing to the interests of France, he pointed to the
+duties of humanity of a great nation; he read Milton in a
+counting-room, and a commercial Maclaurin asked him "what does it
+prove?"
+
+[Footnote 9: A conservative Democrat.]
+
+[Footnote 10: He had already, in 1830, published a pamphlet, _Contre
+la peine de mort au peuple du 19 Octobre, 1830_. (Against the
+Punishment of Death to the People of the 19th October, 1830.)]
+
+In 1841 his talent as an orator (he was never distinguished as a
+debater) was afforded ample scope by Thiers' project to fortify the
+capital. He opposed it vehemently, but without effect. In the
+boisterous session of 1842 he acted the part of a moderator; but still
+so far seconded the views of Thiers as to consider the left bank of
+the Rhine as the proper and legitimate boundary of France against
+Germany. This debate, it is well known, produced a perfect storm of
+popular passions in Germany. In a few weeks the whole shores of the
+Rhine were bristling with bayonets; the peasantry in the Black Forest
+began to clean and polish their rusty muskets, buried since the fall
+of Napoleon, and the princes perceiving that the spirit of nationality
+was stronger than that of freedom, encouraged this popular declaration
+against French usurpation. Nicolas Becker, a modest German, without
+pretension or poetic genius, but inspired by an honest love of country
+and national glory, then composed a war-song, commencing thus:
+
+ No, never shall they have it,
+ The free, the German Rhine;
+
+which was soon in every man's mouth, and being set to music, became
+for a short period the German Marseillaise. Lamartine answered the
+German with the _Marseillaise de paix_, (the Marseillaise of peace,)
+which produced a deep impression; and the fall of the Thiers' ministry
+soon calmed the warlike spirit throughout Europe.
+
+On the question of the Regency, Lamartine declared himself in favor of
+the Duchess of Orleans as Regent, should Louis Philippe die during the
+minority of the Count of Paris, and it is our firm belief that he
+would have accepted that Regency even in February last, if the king
+had abdicated a day sooner. Lamartine never avowed himself a
+Republican; but was left no alternative but to eclipse himself
+forever, or become its champion.
+
+The star of Lamartine's political destiny rose in the session of 1843,
+when, utterly disgusted with the reactionary policy of Guizot, he
+conceived the practical idea of uniting all the elements of
+opposition, of whatever shade and color, against the government. But
+he was not satisfied with this movement in the Chamber, which produced
+the coalition of the Dynastic right with the Democratic left, and for
+a moment completely paralyzed the administration of Guizot: he carried
+his new doctrine right before the people, as the legitimate source of
+the Chamber, and thus became the first political agitator of France
+since the restoration, in the legitimate, legal, English sense of the
+word. Finding that the press was muzzled, or subsidized and bought, he
+moved his countrymen through the power of his eloquence. He appealed
+from the Chamber to the sense and the virtue of the people. In
+September, 1843, he first addressed the electors of Macon on the
+necessity of extending the franchise, in order to admit of a greater
+representation of the French people--generous, magnanimous, bold and
+devoted to their country. Instead of fruitlessly endeavoring to reform
+the government, he saw that the time had come for reforming the
+Chamber.
+
+In the month of October, of the same year--so rapidly did his new
+political genius develop itself--he published a regular programme for
+the opposition; a thing which Thiers, up to that moment, had
+studiously avoided, not to break entirely with the king, and to render
+himself still "possible" as a minister of the crown. Lamartine knew no
+such selfish consideration, which has destroyed Thiers as a man of the
+people, and declared himself entirely independent of the throne of
+July. He advocated openly _the abolition of industrial feudalism, and
+the foundation of a new democratic society under a constitutional
+throne_.
+
+Thus, then, had Lamartine separated himself not only from the king and
+his ministers, but also from the ancient _noblesse_ and the
+_bourgeoisie_, without approaching or identifying himself with the
+Republican left wing of the Chamber. He stood alone, admired for his
+genius, his irreproachable rectitude, his devoted patriotism, but
+considered rather as a poetical abstraction, an impracticable Utopist;
+and yet he was the only man in the Chamber who had devised a
+practical means of regenerating the people and the government.
+Lamartine was now considered a parliamentary oddity rather than the
+leader of a faction, or the representative of a political principle;
+but he was indeed far in advance of the miserable routine of his
+colleagues. He personated, indeed, no principle represented in the
+Chamber, but he was already the Tribune of the unrepresented masses!
+The people had declared the government a fraud--the Chamber an
+embodied falsehood. At last Marrast, one of the editors of the
+National, (now a member of the provisional government,) pronounced it
+in his paper that the French people had no representation, that it was
+in vain to attempt to oppose the government in the legislature: "_La
+Chambre_," said Marrast, "_n'est qu' un mensonge_."[11]
+
+Lamartine had thus, all at once, as if by a _coup-de-main_, become "a
+popular greatness." He was the man of the people, without having
+courted popularity--that stimulus (as he himself called it) to so many
+noble acts and crimes, as the object of its caresses remains its
+conscious master or its pandering slave. Lamartine grew rapidly in
+public estimation, because he was a new man. All the great characters
+of the Chamber, beginning with Casimir Perrier, had, in contact with
+Louis Philippe, become either eclipsed or tarnished. Lamartine avoided
+the court, but openly and frankly confessed that he belonged to no
+party. He had boldly avowed his determination to oppose the government
+of Louis Philippe, not merely this or that particular direction, which
+it took in regard to its internal and external relations; but in its
+whole general tendency. He was neither the friend nor the enemy of a
+particular combination for the ministry, and had, during a short
+period, given his support to Count Mole, not because he was satisfied
+with his administration, but because he thought the opposition and its
+objects less virtuous than the minister. In this independent position,
+supported by an ample private fortune, (inherited, as we before
+observed, by his maternal uncle, and the returns of his literary
+activity,) Lamartine became an important element of parliamentary
+combination, from the weight of his _personal_ influence, while at the
+same time his "utopies," as they were termed by the tactitioners of
+Alphonse Thiers, gave but little umbrage to the ambition of his
+rivals. He alone enjoyed some credit with the masses, though his
+social position ranked with the first in the country, while, from the
+peculiar bend of his mind, and the idealization of his principles, he
+was deemed the most harmless aspirant to political power. The
+practical genius of the opposition, everlastingly occupied with
+unintellectual details of a venal class-legislature, saw in Lamartine
+a useful co-operator: they never dreamt that the day would come when
+they would be obliged to serve under him.
+
+[Footnote 11: The Chamber is but a lie.]
+
+And, in truth, it must be admitted that without the Revolution of
+February, Lamartine must have been condemned to a comparative
+political inactivity. With the exception of a few friends, personally
+devoted to him, he had no party in the Chamber. The career which he
+had entered, as the people's Tribune, placed him, in a measure, in
+_opposition_ to all existing parties; but it was even this singular
+position of parliamentary impotence, which confirmed and strengthened
+his reputation as an honest man, in contradistinction to a notoriously
+corrupt legislature. His eloquence in the Chamber had no particular
+direction; but it was the sword of justice, and was, as such, dreaded
+by all parties. As a statesman his views were tempered by humanity,
+and so little specific as to be almost anti-national. In his views as
+regards the foreign policy of France he was alike opposed to Guizot
+and Thiers; and, perhaps, to a large portion of the French people. He
+wished the external policy of France governed by a general principle,
+as the internal politics of the country, and admitted openly the
+solidarity of interests of the different states of Europe. He thus
+created for himself allies in Germany, in Italy, in Spain; but he
+lacked powerful supporters at home; and became the most impracticable
+man to carry out the aggressive views of the fallen Dynasty. Thiers
+never considered him a rival; for he considered him incapable of ever
+becoming the exponent of a leading popular passion: neither the
+present nor the future seemed to present a chance for Lamartine's
+accession to power. _L'homme positive_, as Thiers was pleased to call
+himself at the tribune of the Chamber, almost commiserated the poet
+statesman and orator.
+
+Lamartine never affected, in his manner or in his mode of living, that
+"republican simplicity" which is so often nothing but the frontispiece
+of demagoguism. He despised to flatter the people, for whom he
+cherished a generous sentiment, by vulgar appeal to their ignoble
+prejudices. He gratified his tastes where they did not come in
+conflict with morality or justice, and thus preserved his
+individuality and his friends, in the midst of the swelling tide of
+popular commotion and conflicting opinions. Guizot affected in his
+_dehors_ that severity and simplicity of style, which won for him the
+_soubriquet_ of "the Puritan;" bestowed by the sarcasm of the
+Parisians, to punish his egotism, his craving ambition and his love of
+power. While Guizot was penetrating the mysteries of European
+diplomacy, under the guidance of Princess Lieven, Lamartine's hotel,
+in the _Rue de l'Universite_ was the _reunion_ of science, literature,
+wit, elegance and grace. His country-seat near Paris was as elegantly
+furnished and artistically arranged as his palace in the Faubourg St.
+Germain; and his weekly receptions in Paris were as brilliant as they
+were attractive by the intelligence of those who had the honor to
+frequent them. The _elite_ of the old nobility, the descendants of the
+notabilities of the Empire, the historical remnants of the Gironde and
+the Jacobins, the versatility of French genius in every department,
+and distinguished strangers from all parts of the world were his
+guests; excluded were only the men of mere accidental position--the
+mob in politics, literature and the arts.
+
+But the time for Lamartine had not yet come, though the demoralization
+of the government, and the sordid impulses given by it to the
+national legislature were fast preparing that anarchy of passions
+which no government has the power to render uniform, though it may
+compress it. The ministry in the session of 1845 was defeated by the
+coalition; but the defection of Emil de Girardin saved it once more
+from destruction. Meanwhile Duchatel, the Minister of the Interior,
+had found means, by a gigantic system of internal improvement, (by a
+large number of concessions for new rail-ways and canals,) to obtain
+from the same Chamber a ministerial majority, which toward the close
+of the session amounted to nearly eighty members. Under such auspices
+the new elections were ushered in, and the result was an overwhelming
+majority for the administration. The government was not to be shaken
+in the Chambers, but its popular ascendancy had sunk to zero. The
+opposition from being parliamentary had become organic. The
+opposition, seeing all hopes of success vanish in the Chambers, now
+embraced Lamartine's plan of agitating the people. They must either
+fall into perfect insignificance or dare to attack the very basis of
+the government. The party of Thiers and Odillon Barrot joined the
+movement, and by that means gave it a practical direction; while
+Lamartine, Marrast, Louis Blanc, and Ledru Rollin were operating on
+the masses, Thiers and Odillon Barrot indoctrinated the National
+Guards. While Thiers was willing to stake his life to dethrone Guizot,
+the confederates of Lamartine aimed at an organic change of the
+constitution.
+
+Was Lamartine a conspirator? may here be asked. We answer most
+readily, no! Lamartine is what himself says of Robespierre, "a man of
+general ideas;" but not a man of a positive system; and hence,
+incapable of devising a plan for attaining a specific political
+object. His opposition to Louis Philippe's government was general; but
+it rested on a noble basis, and was free from individual passions. He
+may have been willing to batter it, but he did not intend its
+demolition. The Republic of France was proclaimed in the streets,
+partly as the consequence of the king's cowardice. Lamartine accepted
+its first office, because he had to choose between it and anarchy, and
+he has thus far nobly discharged his trust. If he is not a statesman
+of consummate ability, who would devise means of extricating his
+country from a difficult and perilous situation, he will not easily
+plunge it into danger; if he be not versed in the intrigues of
+cabinets, his straight forward course commands their respect, and the
+confidence of the French people. This is not the time for Europe to
+give birth to new ideas--the old Revolution has done that
+sufficiently--but the period has arrived for elaborating them, with a
+view to a new and lasting organization of society. The present
+revolution in Europe need not forcibly overthrow any established
+political creed; for there is no established political conviction in
+Europe. The people have arrived at a period of universal political
+scepticism, which, like scepticism in religion, always prepares the
+soil for the reception of the seed of a new faith. The great work of
+the revolution is done, if the people will but seize and perpetuate
+its consequences. Such, at least, are the views of Lamartine, and with
+him of a majority of European writers, as expressed in the literature
+of the day.
+
+The history of the Girondists contains Lamartine's political faith. It
+is not without its poetry and its Utopian visions; but it is full of
+thought and valuable reflections, and breathes throughout the loftiest
+and most noble sentiments. Lamartine, in that history, becomes the
+panegyrist and the censor of the French Revolution. He vindicates with
+a powerful hand the ideas which it evolved; while he castigates, and
+depicts with poetic melancholy its mournful errors and its tragic
+character. He makes Vergniaud, the chief of the Girondists, say before
+his execution--"In grafting the tree, my friend, we have killed it. It
+was too old. Robespierrie cuts it. Will he be more successful than
+ourselves? No. This soil is too unsteady to nourish the roots of civil
+liberty; this people is too childish to handle its laws without
+wounding itself. It will come back to its kings as children come back
+to their rattle. We made a mistake in our births, in being born and
+dying for the liberty of the world. We imagined that we were in Rome,
+and we were in Paris. But revolutions are like those crises which, in
+a single night, turn men's hair gray. They ripen the people fast. The
+blood in our veins is warm enough to fecundate the soil of the
+Republic. Let us not take with us the future, and let us bequeath to
+the people our hope in return for the death which it gives us."[12]
+
+It is impossible that Lamartine should not have felt as a poet what he
+expressed as a historian, and his character is too sincere to prevent
+him from acting out his conviction. In describing the death of the
+founders of the first French Republic, Lamartine employs the whole
+pathos of his poetic inspiration.
+
+"They (the Girondists) possessed three virtues which in the eyes of
+posterity atone for many faults. They worshiped liberty; they founded
+the Republic--this precautions truth of future governments;--at last,
+they died, because they refused blood to the people. Their time has
+condemned them to death, the future has judged them to glory and
+pardon. They died because they did not allow Liberty to soil itself,
+and posterity will yet engrave on their memory the inscription which
+Vergniaud, their oracle, has, with his own hand, engraved on the wall
+of his dungeon: 'Rather death than crime!' '_Potius mori quam
+foedari!_'"
+
+[Footnote 12: This and the following versions of Lamartine are our
+own; for we have not as yet had time to look into the published
+translation. We mention this to prevent our own mistakes, if we should
+have committed any, from being charged to the American translator of
+the work.]
+
+Lamartine is visibly inclined in favor of the Girondists--the founders
+of the Republic; but his sense of justice does not permit him to
+condemn the Jacobins without vindicating their memory from that
+crushing judgment which their contemporaries pronounced upon them. He
+thus describes, in a few masterly strokes, the character of
+Robespierre:
+
+"Robespierre's refusal of the supreme power was sincere in the
+motives which he alleged. But there were other motives which caused
+him to reject the sole government. These motives he did not yet avow.
+The fact is that he had arrived at the end of his thoughts, and that
+himself did not know what form was best suited to revolutionary
+institutions. More a man of ideas than of action, Robespierre had the
+sentiment of the Revolution rather than the political formula. The
+soul of the institutions of the future was in his dreams, but he
+lacked the mechanism of a popular government. His theories, all taken
+from books, were brilliant and vague as perspectives, and cloudy as
+the far distance. He contemplated them daily; he was dazzled by them;
+but he never touched them with the firm and precise hand of practice.
+He forgot that Liberty herself requires the protection of a strong
+power, and that this power must have a head to conceive, and hands to
+execute. He believed that the words Liberty, Equality, Disinterestedness,
+Devotion, Virtue, incessantly repeated, were themselves a government.
+He took philosophy for politics, and became indignant at his false
+calculations. He attributed continually his deceptions to the
+conspiracies of aristocrats and demagogues. He thought that in
+extinguishing from society the aristocrats and demagogues, he would be
+able to suppress the vices of humanity, and the obstacles to the work
+of liberal institutions. His notion of the people was an illusion, not
+a reality. He became irritated to find the people often so weak, so
+cowardly, so cruel, so ignorant, so changeable, so unworthy the rank
+which nature has assigned them. He became irritated and soured, and
+challenged the scaffold to extricate him from his difficulties. Then,
+indignant at the excesses of the scaffold, he returned to words of
+justice and humanity. Then once more he seized upon the scaffold,
+invoked virtue and suscitated death. Floating sometimes on clouds,
+sometimes in human gore, he despaired of mankind and became frightened
+at himself. 'Death, and nothing but death!' he cried, in conversation
+with his intimate friends, 'and the villains charge it upon me. What
+memory shall I leave behind me if this goes on? Life is a burthen to
+me!'"
+
+Once, says Lamartine, the truth became manifest. He (Robespierre)
+exclaimed, with a gesture of despair, "_No, I was not made to govern,
+I was made to combat the enemies of the people!_"
+
+These meditations on the character of Robespierre, show sufficiently
+that Lamartine, though he may not as yet have taken a positive
+direction in politics, has at least, from his vague poetical
+conceptions, returned to a sound state of political criticism, the
+inevitable precursor of sound theories. His views on the execution of
+the royal family are severe but just.
+
+"Had the French nation a right to judge Louis XVI. as a legal
+tribunal?" demands Lamartine. "No! Because the judge ought to be
+impartial and disinterested--and the nation was neither the one nor
+the other. In this terrible but inevitable combat, in which, under the
+name of revolution, royalty and liberty were engaged for emancipating
+or enslaving the citizen, Louis XVI. personified the throne, the
+nation personified liberty. This was not their fault, it was their
+nature. All attempts at a mutual understanding were in vain. Their
+natures warred against each other in spite of their inclination toward
+peace. Between these two adversaries, the king and the people, of whom
+the one, by instinct, was prompted to retain, the other to wrest from
+its antagonist the rights of the nation, there was no tribunal but
+combat, no judge but victory. We do not mean to say that there was not
+above the parties a moral of the case, and acts which judge even
+victory itself. This justice never perishes in the eclipse of the law,
+and the ruin of empires; but it has no tribunal before which it can
+legally summon the accused; it is the justice of state, the justice
+which has neither regularly appointed judges, nor written laws, but
+which pronounces its sentences in men's consciences, and whose code is
+equity."
+
+"Louis XVI. could not be judged in politics or equity, but by a
+process of state. Had the nation a right to judge him thus? As well
+might we demand whether she had a right to fight and conquer, in other
+words, as well might we ask whether despotism is inviolable--whether
+liberty is a revolt--whether there is no justice here below but for
+kings--whether there is, for the people, no other right than to serve
+and obey? The mere doubt is an act of impiety toward the people."
+
+So far the political philosophy of Lamartine, the legal argument
+against the king, strikes us as less logical and just. We may agree
+with him in principle, but we cannot assent to the abstract justice of
+his conclusions.
+
+"The nation," says the head of the present provisional government of
+France, "possessing within itself the inalienable sovereignty which
+rests in reason, in the right and the will of each citizen, the
+aggregate of which constitutes the people, possesses certainly the
+faculty of modifying the exterior form of its sovereignty, to level
+its aristocracy, to dispossess its church of its property, to lower or
+even to suppress the throne, and to govern themselves through their
+proper magistrates. But as the nation had a right to combat and
+emancipate itself, she also had a right to watch over and consolidate
+the fruits of its victories. If, then, Louis XVI., a king too recently
+dispossessed of sovereign power--a king in whose eyes all restitution
+of power to the people was tantamount to a forfeiture--a king ill
+satisfied with what little of government remained in his hands,
+aspiring to reconquer the part he had lost--torn in one direction by a
+usurping assembly, and in another by a restless queen or humble
+nobility, and a clergy which made Heaven to intervene in his cause, by
+implacable emigrants, by his brothers running all over Europe to drum
+up enemies to the Revolution; if, in one word, Louis XVI., KING,
+appeared to the nation a living conspiracy against her liberty; if the
+nation suspected him of regretting in his soul too much the loss of
+supreme power--of causing the new constitution to stumble, in order to
+profit by its fall--of conducting liberty into snares to rejoice in
+anarchy--of disarming the country because he secretly wished it to be
+defeated--then the nation had a right to make him descend from the
+throne, and to call him to her bar, and to depose him in the name of
+her own dictatorship, and for her own safety. If the nation had not
+possessed this right, the right to betray the people with impunity,
+would, in the new constitution, have been one of the prerogatives of
+the crown."
+
+This is a pretty fair specimen of revolutionary reasoning; but it is
+rather a definition of Democracy, as Lamartine understands it, than a
+constitutional argument in favor of the decapitation of "_Louis
+Capet_." Lamartine is, indeed, a "Conservative Democrat," that is,
+ready to immolate the king to preserve the rights of the people; but
+he does not distinguish in his mind a justifiable act from a righteous
+one. But it is a peculiarity of the French mind to identify itself so
+completely with the object of its reflection, that it is impossible
+for a French mind to be impartial, or as they will have it, not to be
+an enthusiast. The French are partisans even in science; the Academy
+itself has its factions.
+
+We have thus quoted the most important political opinions expressed in
+his "Girondists," because these are his _latest_ political
+convictions, and he has subscribed to them his name. We look upon this
+his last work, as a public confession of his faith--as a declaration
+of the principles which will guide him in the administration of the
+new government. Lamartine has been indoctrinated with the spirit of
+revolution; but it is not the spirit of his youth or early manhood.
+Liberty in his hands becomes something poetical--perhaps a lyric
+poem--but we respectfully doubt his capacity to give her a practical
+organization, and a real existence. High moral precepts and sublime
+theories may momentarily elevate a people to the height of a noble
+devotion; but laws and institutions are made for ordinary men, and
+must be adapted to their circumstances. Herein consists the specific
+talent of the statesman, and his capacity to govern. Government is not
+an ideal abstraction--a blessing showered from a given height on the
+abiding masses, or a scourge applied to mortify their passions; it is
+something natural and spontaneous, originating in and coeval with the
+people, and must be adapted to their situation, their moral and
+intellectual progress, and to their national peculiarities. It
+consists of details as well as of general forms, and requires labor
+and industry as well as genius. The majority of the people must not
+only yield the laws a ready submission, but they must find, or at
+least believe, it their interest to do so, or the government becomes
+coercion. The great problem of Europe is to discover the laws of
+labor, not to invent them, for without this question being practically
+settled in some feasible manner, all fine spun theories will not
+suffice to preserve the government.
+
+Lamartine closes his history of the Girondists with the following
+sublime though mystic reflection: "A nation ought, no doubt, to weep
+her dead, and not to console itself in regard to a single life that
+has been unjustly and odiously sacrificed; but it ought not to regret
+its blood when it was shed to reveal eternal truths. God has put this
+price on the germination and maturation of all His designs in regard
+to man. Ideas vegetate in human blood; revolutions descend from the
+scaffold. All religions become divine through martyrdom. Let us, then,
+pardon each other, sons of combatants and victims. Let us become
+reconciled over their graves to take up the work which they have left
+undone. Crime has lost every thing in introducing itself into the
+ranks of the republic. To do battle is not to immolate. Let us take
+away the crime from the cause of the people, as a weapon which has
+pierced their hands and changed liberty into despotism. Let us not
+seek to justify the scaffold with the cause of our country, and
+proscriptions by the cause of liberty. Let us not pardon the spirit of
+our age by the sophism of revolutionary energy, let humanity preserve
+its heart; it is the safest and most infallible of its principles, and
+_let us resign ourselves to the condition of human things_. The
+history of the Revolution is glorious and sad as the day after the
+victory, or the eve of another combat. But if this history is full of
+mourning, it is also full of faith. It resembles the antique drama
+where, while the narrator recites his story, the chorus of the people
+shouts the glory, weeps for the victims and raises a hymn of
+consolation and hope to God."
+
+All this is very beautiful, but it does not increase our stock of
+historical information. It teaches the people resignation, instead of
+pointing to their errors, and the errors of those who claimed to be
+their deliverers. Lamartme has made an apotheosis of the Revolution,
+instead of treating it as the unavoidable consequence of
+misgovernment. To an English or American reader the allusion to "the
+blood sacrifice," which is necessary in politics as in religion, would
+border on impiety; with the French it is probably a proof of religious
+faith. Lamartine, in his views and conceptions, in his mode of
+thinking and philosophizing, is much more nearly allied to the German
+than to the English schools; only that, instead of a philosophical
+system, carried through with a rigorous and unsparing logic, he
+indulges in philosophical reveries. As a statesman Lamartine lacks
+speciality, and for this reason we think that his administration will
+be a short one.
+
+With respect to character, energy, and courage, Lamartine has few
+equals. He has not risen to power by those crafty combinations which
+destroy a man's moral greatness in giving him distinction. "Greatness"
+was, indeed, "thrust upon him," and thus far he has nobly and
+courageously sustained it. He neither courted power, nor declined it.
+When it was offered, he did not shrink from assuming the
+responsibility of accepting it. He has no vulgar ambition to gratify,
+no insults to revenge, no devotion to reward. He stands untrammeled
+and uncommitted to any faction whatever. He may not be able to solve
+the social problem of the age; but will, in that case, surrender his
+command untarnished as he received it, and serve once more in the
+ranks.
+
+
+
+
+SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.
+
+BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
+
+ [When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough,
+ the admiral was seen constantly sitting in the stern,
+ with a book in his hand. On the 9th of September he was
+ seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of
+ the Hind to say, "We are as near Heaven by sea as by
+ land." In the following night the lights of the ship
+ suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel
+ kept a good look out for him during the remainder of
+ the voyage. On the 22d of September they arrived,
+ through much tempest and peril; at Falmouth. But
+ nothing more was seen or heard of the admiral.
+ _Belknap's American Biography_, I. 203.]
+
+
+ Southward with his fleet of ice
+ Sailed the Corsair Death;
+ Wild and fast, blew the blast,
+ And the east-wind was his breath.
+
+ His lordly ships of ice
+ Glistened in the sun;
+ On each side, like pennons wide,
+ Flashing crystal streamlets run.
+
+ His sails of white sea-mist
+ Dripped with silver rain;
+ But where he passed there were cast
+ Leaden shadows o'er the main.
+
+ Eastward from Campobello
+ Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
+ Three days or more seaward he bore,
+ Then, alas! the land wind failed.
+
+ Alas! the land wind failed,
+ And ice-cold grew the night;
+ And nevermore, on sea or shore,
+ Should Sir Humphrey see the light.
+
+ He sat upon the deck,
+ The book was in his hand;
+ "Do not fear! Heaven is as near,"
+ He said "by water as by land!"
+
+ In the first watch of the night,
+ Without a signal's sound,
+ Out of the sea, mysteriously,
+ The fleet of Death rose all around.
+
+ The moon and the evening star
+ Were hanging in the shrouds;
+ Every mast, as it passed,
+ Seemed to rake the passing clouds.
+
+ They grappled with their prize,
+ At midnight black and cold!
+ As of a rock was the shock;
+ Heavily the ground-swell rolled.
+
+ Southward through day and dark,
+ They drift in close embrace;
+ With mist and rain to the Spanish main;
+ Yet there seems no change of place.
+
+ Southward, forever southward,
+ They drift through dark and day;
+ And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream,
+ Sinking vanish all away.
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT.
+
+
+ The day, the bitter day, divides us, sweet--
+ Tears from our souls the wings with which we soar
+ To Heaven. All things are cruel. We may meet
+ Only by stealth, to sigh--and all is o'er:
+ We part--the world is dark again, and fleet;
+ The phantoms of despair and doubt once more
+ Pursue our hearts and look into our eyes,
+ Till Memory grows dismayed, and sweet Hope dies.
+
+ But the still night, with all its fiery stars,
+ And sleep, within her world of dreams apart--
+ These, these are ours! Then no rude tumult mars
+ Thy image in the fountain of my heart--
+ Then the faint soul her prison-gate unbars
+ And springs to life and thee, no more to part,
+ Till cruel day our rapture disenchants,
+ And stills with waking each fond bosom's pants. M. E. T.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOB-O-LINK.
+
+BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.
+
+
+ Merrily sings the fluttering Bob-o-link,
+ Whose trilling song above the meadow floats;
+ The eager air speeds tremulous to drink
+ The bubbling sweetness of the liquid notes,
+ Whose silver cadences arise and sink,
+ Shift, glide and shiver, like the trembling motes
+ In the full gush of sunset. One might think
+ Some potent charm had turned the auroral flame
+ Of the night-kindling north to melody,
+ That in one gurgling rush of sweetness came
+ Mocking the ear, as once it mocked the eye,
+ With varying beauties twinkling fitfully;
+ Low hovering in the air, his song he sings
+ As if he shook it from his trembling wings.
+
+
+
+
+MY AUNT POLLY.
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+Every body has had an Aunt Peggy--an Aunt Patty--an Aunt Penelope, or
+an aunt something else; but every body hasn't had an Aunt POLLY--i. e.
+_such_ an Aunt Polly as mine! Most Aunt Pollies have been the
+exemplars and promulgators of "single blessedness"--not such was
+_she_! But more of this anon. Aunt Polly was the only sister of my
+father, who often spoke of her affectionately; but would end his
+remark with "poor Polly! so nervous--so unlike her self-possessed and
+beautiful mother"--whose memory he devoutly revered. Children are not
+destitute of the curiosity native to the human mind, and we often
+teased papa about a visit from Aunt Polly, who, he replied, never left
+home; but not enlightening us on the _why_, his replies only served to
+whet the edge of curiosity more and more. I never shall forget the
+surprise that opened my eye-lids early and wide one morning, when it
+was announced to me that Aunt Polly and her spouse had unexpectedly
+arrived at the homestead. It would be difficult to analyze the nature
+of that eagerness which hastily dressed and sent me down stairs. But
+unfortunately did I enter the breakfast-room just as the good book was
+closing, and the family circle preparing to finish its devotions on
+the knee; however, a glance of the eye takes but little time, and a
+penetrating look was returned me by Aunt Polly, in which the beaming
+affection of her sanguine nature, and the scowl of scarce restrained
+impatience to get hold of me, were mixed so strangely as to give her
+naturally sharp black eyes an expression almost fearful to a child;
+but on surveying her unique apparel, and indescribably uneasy position
+on the chair--for she remained seated while the rest of us knelt,
+giving me thus an opportunity to scrutinize her through the
+interstices of my chair-back--so excited my girlish risibilities, that
+fear became stifled in suppressed laughter. "Amen" was scarce
+pronounced, when a shrill voice called out--"Come here, you little
+good-for-nothing--_what's_ your name?" The inviting smile conveyed to
+me with these startling tones left no doubt who was addressed, and I
+instantly obeyed the really fervent call. Both the stout arms of my
+aunt were opened to receive me, but held me at their length,
+while--with a nervous sensibility that made the tears gush from her
+eyes--she hurriedly exclaimed--"_What_ shall I do with you? Do you
+love to be _squeezed_? When, suiting the action to the question, she
+embraced me with a tenacity that almost choked my breath. From that
+moment I loved Aunt Polly! The fervid outpouring of her affection had
+mingled with the well-springs of a heart that--despite its
+mischievousness--was ever brimming with love. The first gush of
+feeling over, Aunt Polly again held me at arm's distance, while she
+surveyed intently my features, and traced in the laughing eye and
+golden ringlets the likeness of her "_dearest_ brother in the world!"
+Poor aunty had but one! Nor was my opportunity lost of looking right
+into the face I had so often desired to see. It would be hard to draw
+a picture of Aunt Polly in words, so good as the reader's fancy will
+supply. There was nothing peculiar in her tall, stout figure; in her
+well developed features--something between the Grecian and the
+Roman--in her complexion, which one could see had faded from a glowing
+brunette to a pale Scotch snuff color. But her eyes, they _were_
+peculiar--so black--so rapid in their motions--so penetrating when
+looking forward--so flashing when she laughed, that really--I never
+saw such eyes!
+
+It would be still more puzzling to describe her dress. She wore a real
+chintz of the olden time, filled with nosegays, as unlike to Nature's
+flowers as the fashion of her gown was to the dresses of modern dames
+of her sixty years. Though I don't believe Aunt Polly's attire looked
+like any body else's at the time it was made; at any rate, it was put
+on in a way that differed from the pictures I had seen of the
+old-school ladies. Her cap was indeed the crowner! but let that pass,
+for the old lady had these dainty articles so carefully packed in what
+had been a sugar-box, that no doubt they were _sweet_ to any _taste_
+but mine. I said that Aunt Polly was not a spinster. A better idea of
+her lord cannot be given than in her own words to my eldest sister,
+who declared in her hearing that she would never marry a minister.
+"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Aunt Polly, "I remember saying, when I was
+a girl, that whatever faults my husband might have, he should never be
+younger than myself--have red hair, or stammer in his speech: all
+these objections were united in the man I married!"
+
+One more fact will convey to the imagination all that I need say of
+Aunt Polly's husband. Late one evening came a thundering knock at my
+father's door, and as all the servants had retired, a youth who
+happened to be staying with us at the time, started, candle in hand,
+to answer it: Now the young man was of a credulous turn, and had just
+awakened from a snooze in his chair. Presently a loud shriek called
+all who were up in the house to the door, where, lying prostrate and
+faint, was found the youth, and standing over him, with eye-balls
+distended--making ineffectual efforts to speak--was the husband of
+Aunt Polly. When the lad recovered, all that he could tell of his
+mishap was, that on opening the street-door a man, wrapped in a large
+over-coat, with glassy eyes staring straight at him, opened and shut
+his mouth four times without uttering a syllable--when the candle
+fell from his hands, and he to the floor! Aunt Polly's spouse was the
+prince of stammerers! But if he could seldom _begin_ a sentence, so
+Aunt Polly could seldom _finish_ one: indeed the most noticeable
+_point_ in her conversation was, that it had _no_ point, or was made
+up of sentences broken off in the middle. This may have been
+physiologically owing to the velocity with which the nervous fluid
+passed through her brain, giving uncommon rapidity to her thoughts,
+and correspondingly to the motions of her body. It soon became a
+wonder to my girlish mind how Aunt Polly ever kept still long enough
+to listen to a declaration of love--especially from a stutterer--or
+even to respond to the marriage ceremony.
+
+My wonder now is, how the functions of her system ever had time to
+fulfill their offices, or the flesh to accumulate, as it did, to a
+very respectable consistency; for she never, to my knowledge, finished
+a meal while under our roof; nor do I believe that she ever slept
+_out_ a nap in her life. As she became a study well fitted to interest
+one of my novel, fun-loving age, I used often to steal out of bed at
+different times in the night and peep from my own apartment into hers,
+which adjoined it, where a night lamp was always burning; for she
+insisted on having the door between left open. I invariably found
+those eyes of hers wide awake, and my own room being dark, took
+pleasure in watching her unobserved, as she fidgeted now with her
+ample-bordered night-cap, and now with the bed-clothes. Once was I
+caught by a sudden cough on my part, which brought Aunt Polly to her
+feet before I had time to slip back to bed; and the only plea that my
+guiltiness could make her kind remonstrance on my being up in the
+cold, was the very natural and very wicked fib, that I heard her move
+and thought she might want something. Unsuspecting old lady! May her
+ashes at least rest in peace! How she caught me in her arms, kissed
+and carried me to bed, tucking in the blankets so effectually that all
+attempts to get up again that night were vain! Oh, she was a love of
+an aunt! The partiality of her attachment to me might have been
+accounted for by her having had no children of her own; or to the
+evident interest which she excited in me, causing my steps to follow
+her wherever she went; though all the family endeavored to make her
+first and last visit as agreeable as possible. But every attempt to
+fasten her attention to an object of interest or curiosity long enough
+to understand it, was unavailing. Sometimes I sallied out with her
+into the street, and while rather pleased than mortified by the
+observation which her grotesque costume and nervous, irregular gait
+attracted, it was different with me when she attempted to shop; as
+more often than otherwise, she would begin to pay for articles
+purchased, and putting her purse abruptly in her pocket, hurry toward
+the door, as if on purpose to avoid a touch on the elbow, which
+sometimes served to jog her memory also, and sometimes the very
+purchases were forgotten, till I became their witness.
+
+On the whole, Aunt Polly's visit was a source of more amusement to me
+than all the visits of all my school-mates put together. When we
+parted--for I truly loved her--I forgave the squeeze--a screw-turn
+tighter than that at our meeting--and promised through my tears to
+make her a visit whenever my parents would consent to it. The
+homestead was as still for a week after her departure, as a ball-room
+after the waltzers have all whirled themselves home. Hardly had the
+family clock-work commenced its methodical revolutions again, when a
+letter arrived; and who that knew Aunt Polly, could have mistaken its
+characteristic superscription.
+
+My father was well-known at the post office, or the
+half-written-out-name would never have found its way into his box.
+Internally, the letter was made up of broken sentences, big with love,
+like the large, fragmentary drops of rain from a passing summer cloud.
+By dint of patient perseverance we "gathered up the fragments, so that
+nothing was lost" of Aunt Polly's itinerant thoughts or wishes.
+
+Among the latter was an invitation for me to visit her, on which my
+father looked silently and negatively; but I was not thus to be denied
+a desire of the heart, and insisted on having an audible response to
+my request of permission to fulfill the parting promise to Aunt Polly.
+In vain did my father give first an evasive answer, and then hint at
+the disappointment likely to await such a step--recall to my mind the
+eccentricities of his "worthy sister"--endeavor by all gentle means of
+persuasion to deter me from my purpose, and finally try to frighten me
+out of it. I was incorrigible.
+
+Not long after, a gentleman who resided in the town with my aunt, came
+to visit us, and being alone in a comfortable one-horse vehicle, was
+glad enough to accept my offered company on his way home; so, gaining
+the reluctant consent of my mother, I started, full of an indefinite
+sort of pleasurable expectation, nourished by the changing diorama of
+a summer afternoon's ride through a cultivated part of the country.
+
+Arriving at the verge of a limpid stream, my companion turned the
+horse to drink, so suddenly, that the wheels became cramped, and we
+were precipitated into the water, the wagon turning a summerset
+directly over our heads. Strange to say, neither of us were hurt, and
+the stream was shallow, though deep enough to give us a thorough cold
+bath, and to deluge the trunk containing my clothes, the lock of which
+flew open in the fall. My mortified protector crept from under our
+capsized ark as soon as he could, and let me out at the window; when I
+felt myself to be in rather a worse condition than was Noah's dove,
+who "found no rest for the sole of her foot;" for beside dripping from
+all my garments, like a surcharged umbrella, my soul, too, found no
+foothold of excuse on which to stand justified before my father for
+exposing myself to such an _emergence_ without his knowledge. However,
+_return_ we must. Nor was the situation of my conductor's body or mind
+very enviable, being obliged to present me to my parents, drooping
+like a water-lily. But if ill-luck had pursued us, good luck awaited
+our return; for we found that my father had not yet arrived from his
+business, and my mother's conscience kept our secret; so that
+frustration in my first attempt to visit Aunt Polly, was all the evil
+that came out of the adventure. Notwithstanding my ardor had been so
+damped with cold water, it was yet warm enough for another effort;
+though it must be confessed, that for a few days subsequent to the
+accident, my animal spirits were something in the state of
+over-night--uncorked champagne.
+
+The first sign of their renewed vitality was the again expressed
+desire to visit Aunt Polly. I, however, learned obedience by the
+things I had suffered, and resolved not to venture on another
+expedition without the approval and protection of my father, who,
+because of my importunity, at length consented to accompany me,
+provided I would not reveal to Aunt Polly the proposed length of my
+visit until I had spent a day and night under her roof. This I readily
+consented to, thinking only at the time what a strange proviso it was.
+Accordingly, arrangements were soon completed for the long coveted
+journey; but not until I had remonstrated with my mother on her
+limited provision for my wardrobe, furnishing me only with what a
+small carpet-bag would contain.
+
+After a ride of some forty miles, through scenery that gave fresh
+inspiration to my hopes, we arrived at the witching hour of sunset,
+before a venerable-looking farm-house. Its exterior gave no signs in
+the form of shrubbery or flowers of the decorating, refining hand of
+woman; but the sturdy oak and sycamore were there to give shade, and
+the life-scenes that surrounded the farm-yard were plenty in promise
+of eggs and poultry for the keen appetites of the travelers.
+
+As we drove into the avenue leading to a side-door of the mansion, I
+caught a glimpse of Aunt Polly's unparalleled cap through a window,
+and the next moment she stood on the steps, wringing her hands and
+crying for joy. An involuntary dread of another _squeezing_ came over
+me, which had scarce time to be idealized ere it was realized almost
+to suffocation. My father's more graduated look of pleasure, called
+from Aunt Polly an out-bursting--"_Forgive_ me, _forgive_ me! It's my
+only brother in the world! It's my dear little puss all over again!
+_Forgive_ me, _forgive_ me!" But during these ejaculations I was
+confirmed in a discovery that had escaped all my vigilance while Aunt
+Polly sojourned with us. She was a snuff-taker! That she took snuff,
+as she did every thing else, by _snatches_, I had also ascertained, on
+seeing her in the door, when she thought herself yet beyond the reach
+of our vision, forgetting that young eyes can see further than old
+eyes; _mine_ could not be deceived in the convulsive motion that
+carried her fore-finger and thumb to the tip of her olfactory organ,
+which drew up one snuff of the fragrant weed--as hurriedly as a
+porpoise puts his head out of water for a snuff of the sweet air of
+morning--when scattering the rest of the pinch to the four winds, she
+forgot, in her excitement, for once, to wipe the traces from her upper
+lip. Had I only suspected before, the hearty sneeze on my part that
+followed close upon her kiss, would have made that suspicion a
+certainty. Aunt Polly was, indeed, that inborn abhorrence of mine, a
+snuff-taker! Thus my rosy prospects began to assume a yellowish tinge
+before entering the house; what color they took afterward it would be
+difficult to tell; for the wild confusion of its interior, gave to my
+fancy as many and as mixed hues as one sees in a kaleidoscope.
+
+The old-fashioned parlor had a corner cupboard, which appeared to be
+put to any use but the right one, while the teacups and saucers--no
+whole set alike--were indiscriminately arranged _on_ the side-board,
+and _in_ it I saw, as the door stood ajar, Aunt Polly's bonnet and
+shawl; a drawer, too, being half open, disclosed one of her _sweetish_
+caps, side by side with a card of gingerbread. The carpet was woven of
+every color, in every form, but without any definite _figure_, and
+promised to be another puzzle for my curious eyes to unravel; it
+seemed to have been just _thrown_ down with here and there a tack in
+it, only serving to make it look more awry. While amusing myself with
+this carpet, it recalled an incident that a roguish cousin of mine
+once related to me after he had been to see Aunt Polly, connected with
+this parlor, which she always called her "_square_-room!" One day
+during his visit the old lady having occasion to step into a
+neighbor's house, while a pot of lard was trying over the kitchen
+fire, and not being willing to trust her half-trained servants to
+watch it, she gave the precious oil in charge to this youth, who was
+one of her favorites, bidding him, after a stated time, remove it from
+the chimney to a cooling-place; now not finishing her directions, the
+lad indulged his mischievous propensities by attempting to place the
+kettle of boiling lard to cool in the square-room fire-place; but
+finding it heavier than his strength could carry, its contents were
+suddenly deposited on the carpet, save such sprinklings as served to
+brand his face and hands as the culprit of the mischief.
+
+The terrified boy hearing Aunt Polly's step on the threshold, took the
+first way that was suggested to him of escaping her wrath, which led
+out at the window. Scarce had his agile limbs landed him safe on
+_terra firma_, when the door opened, and, preceded by a shriek that
+penetrated his hiding-place, he heard Aunt Polly's lamentable
+lamentation--"It's my _square_-room! my square-room _carpet_! Oh! that
+_I_ should live to see it come to this!" and again, and again, were
+these heart-thrilling exclamations reiterated. The lad, finding that
+all the good lady's excitement was likely to be spent on the
+square-room--though, alas! all wouldn't exterminate the
+grease--recovered courage and magnanimity enough to reveal himself as
+the author of the catastrophe, which he did with such contrition,
+showing at the same time his wounds, that Aunt Polly soon began "to
+take on" about her dear boy, to the seeming forgetfulness, while
+anointing his burns, of the kettle of lard and her unfortunate
+square-room.
+
+But I must take up again the broken thread of my own adventures in
+this square-room, where I left Aunt Polly flourishing about in joy at
+our unexpected arrival.
+
+A large, straight-backed rocking-chair stood in one corner of this
+apartment, and on its cushion--stuffed with feathers, and covered with
+blazing chintz--lay a large gray cat curled up asleep--decidedly the
+most comfortable looking object in the room--till Aunt Polly
+unceremoniously shook her out of her snug quarters to give my father
+the chair. I then discovered that poor puss was without a tail! On
+expressing my surprise, aunt only replied--"Oh, _my_ cats are all so!"
+And, true enough, before we left, I saw some half dozen round the
+house, all deficient in this same graceful appendage of the feline
+race. The human domestics of the family were only half-grown--but half
+did their work, and seemed altogether naturalized to the whirligig
+spirit of their mistress. The reader may anticipate the consequences
+to the culinary and table arrangements. For supper we had, not
+unleavened bread, but that which contained "the little leaven," that
+having had no time to "leaven the whole lump," rendered it still
+heavier of digestion; butter half-worked, tea made of water that did
+not get time to boil, and slack-baked cakes. I supped on cucumbers,
+and complaining of fatigue, was conducted by my kind aunt to the
+sleeping apartment next her own, as it would seem like old times to
+have me so near. What was wanting to make my bed comfortable, might
+have been owing to the fact, that the feathers under me had been only
+half-baked, or were picked from geese of Aunt Polly's raising; at any
+rate, I was as restless as the good lady herself until daylight, when
+I fell into as uneasy dreams--blessing the ducking that saved me a
+more lingering fate before. After a brief morning-nap I arose, and
+seeing fresh eggs brought in from the farm-yard, confidently expected
+to have my appetite appeased, knowing that they could be cooked in
+"less than no time;" but here again disappointment awaited me. For
+once, Aunt Polly's mis-hit was in _over_-doing. The coffee sustained
+in part her reputation, being half-roasted, half-ground, half-boiled,
+and, I may add, half-swallowed. After this breakfast--or keepfast--my
+father archly inquired of me aside, how long I wished him to leave me
+with Aunt Polly, as he must return immediately home. Horror at the
+idea of being left at all overcame the mortification that my reaction
+of feeling naturally occasioned, and throwing my arms around his neck,
+I implored him to take me back with him. This reply he took as coolly
+as if he were prepared for it. Not so did Aunt Polly receive the
+announcement of my departure. She insisted that I had promised her a
+_visit_, and this was no visit at all. My father humored her fondness
+with his usual tact; but on telling her that it was really necessary
+for me to return to school, the kind woman relinquished at once her
+selfish claims, in view of a greater good to me.
+
+Poor Aunt Polly! if my affection for her was less disinterested than
+her own, it was none the less in quantity; and I never loved her more
+than when she gave me that cruelest of squeezes at our parting, which
+proved to be the last--for I never saw her again. But in proof that
+she loved me to the end, I was remembered in her will; and did I not
+believe that if living, her generous affection, that was the precious
+oil through which floated her eccentricities like "flies as big as
+bumble-bees," would smooth over all appearance of ridicule in these
+reminiscences, they should never amuse any one save myself. But
+really, I cannot better carry out her restless desire of pleasing
+others, than by reproducing the merriment which throughout a long life
+was occasioned by her, who of all the Aunt Pollies that ever lived,
+was _the_ AUNT POLLY!
+
+
+
+
+STUDY. (Extract.)
+
+
+ Life, like the sea, hath yet a few green isles
+ Amid the waste of waters. If the gale
+ Has tossed your bark, and many weary miles
+ Stretch yet before you, furl the battered sail,
+ Fling out the anchor, and with rapture hail
+ The pleasant prospect--storms will come too soon.
+ They are but suicides, at best, who fail
+ To seize when'er they can Joy's fleeting boon--
+ Fools, who exclaim "'tis night," yet always shun the noon.
+
+ Live not as though you had been born for naught.
+ Save like the brutes to perish. What do they
+ But crop the grass and die? Ye have been taught
+ A nobler lesson--that within the clay,
+ Upon the minds high altar, burns a ray
+ Flashed from Divinity--and shall it shine
+ Fitful and feebly? Shall it die away,
+ Because, forsooth, no priest is at the shrine?
+ Go ye with learning's lamp and tend the fire divine.
+
+ Pore o'er the classic page, and turn again
+ The leaf of History--ye will not heed
+ The noisy revel and the shouts of men,
+ The jester and the mime, for ye can feed,
+ Deep, deep, on these; and if your bosoms bleed,
+ At tales of treachery and death they tell,
+ The land that gave you birth will never need
+ Tarpeian rock, that rock from which there fell
+ He who loved Rome and Rome's, yet loved himself too well.
+
+ And she, the traitress, who beneath the weight
+ Of Sabine shields and bracelets basely sank,
+ Stifled and dying, at the city-gate,
+ Lies buried there--and now the long weeds, dank
+ With baneful dews, bend o'er her, and the rank
+ Entangled grass, the timid lizard's home,
+ Covers the sepulchre--the wild flower shrank
+ To plant its roots in that polluted loam--
+ Pity that such a tomb should look o'er ruined Rome.
+
+ Rome! lovely in her ruins! Can they claim
+ Common humanity who never feel
+ The pulse beat higher at the very name,
+ The brain grow wild, and the rapt senses reel,
+ Drunken with happiness? O'er us should steal
+ Feelings too big for utt'rance--I should prize
+ Such joy above all earthly wealth and weal,
+ Nor barter it for love--when Beauty dies
+ Love spreads his silken wings. The happy are the wise.
+
+ HENRY S. HAGERT.
+
+
+
+
+THE FANE-BUILDER.
+
+BY EMMA C. EMBURY.
+
+ A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
+ A poet's memory thy most far renown. LAMENT OF TASSO.
+
+In the olden time of the world there stood on the ocean-border a large
+and flourishing city, whose winged ships brought daily the costly
+merchandise of all nations to its overflowing store-houses. It was a
+place of busy, bustling, turbulent life. Men were struggling fiercely
+for wealth, and rank, and lofty name. The dawn of day saw them
+striving each for his own separate and selfish schemes; the stars of
+midnight looked down in mild rebuke upon the protracted labor of men
+who gave themselves no time to gaze upon the quiet heavens. One only
+of all this busy crowd mingled not in their toil--one only idler
+sauntered carelessly along the thronged mart, or wandered listlessly
+by the seashore; Adonais alone scorned to bind himself by fetters
+which he could not fling aside at his own wild will. Those who loved
+the stripling grieved to see him waste the spring-time of life in thus
+aimlessly loitering by the way-side; while the old men and sages would
+fain have taken from him his ill-used freedom, and shut him up in the
+prison-house where they bestowed their madmen, lest his example should
+corrupt the youth of the city.
+
+But for all this Adonais cared little. In vain they showed him the
+craggy path which traversed the hill of Fame; in vain they set him in
+the foul and miry roads which led to the temple of Mammon. He bowed
+before their solemn wisdom, but there was a lurking mischief in his
+glance as he pointed to his slender limbs, and feigned a shudder of
+disgust at the very sight of these rugged and distasteful ways. So at
+last he was suffered to wend his own idle course, and save that
+careful sires sometimes held him up as a warning to their children,
+his fellow-townsmen almost forgot his existence.
+
+Years passed on, and then a beautiful and stately Fane began to rise
+in the very heart of the great city. Slowly it rose, and for a while
+they who toiled so intently at their daily business, marked not the
+white and polished stones which were so gradually and silently piled
+together in their midst. It grew, that noble temple, as if by magic.
+Every morning dawn shed its rose-tints upon another snowy marble which
+had been fixed in its appointed place beneath the light of the quiet
+stars. Men wondered somewhat, but they had scarce time to observe, and
+none to inquire. So the superb fabric had nearly reached its summit
+ere they heard, with unbelieving ears, that the builder of this noble
+fane, was none other than Adonais, the idler.
+
+Few gave credence to the tale, for whence could he, the vagrant, and
+the dreamer, have drawn those precious marbles, encrusted as they were
+with sculpture still more precious, and written over with characters
+as inscrutable as they were immortal? Some set themselves to watch for
+the Fane-builder, but their eyes were heavy, and at the magic hour
+when the artist took up his labors, their senses were fast locked in
+slumber. Yet silently, even as the temple of the mighty Solomon, in
+which was never heard the sound of the workman's tool, so rose that
+mystic fane. Not until it stood in grand relief against the clear blue
+sky; not until its lofty dome pierced the clouds even a mountain-top;
+not until its polished walls were fashioned within and without, to
+surpassing beauty, did men learn the truth, and behold in the despised
+Adonais, the wonder-working Fane-builder. In his wanderings the
+dreamer had lighted on the entrance to that exhaustless mine, whence
+men of like soul have drawn their riches for all time. The hidden
+treasures of poesy had been given to his grasp, and he had built a
+temple which should long outlast the sand-heaps which the worshipers
+of Mammon had gathered around them.
+
+But even then, when pilgrims came from afar to gaze upon the noble
+fane, the men of his own kindred and people stood aloof. They cared
+not for this adornment of their birth-place--they valued not the
+treasures that had there been gathered together. Only the few who
+entered the vestibule, and saw the sparkle of jewels which decked the
+inner shrine, or they to whom the pilgrims recounted the priceless
+value of these gems in other lands--only they began to look with
+something like pride upon the dreamer Adonais.
+
+But not without purpose had the Fane-builder reared this magnificent
+structure. Within those costly walls was a veiled and jeweled
+sanctuary. There had he enshrined an idol--the image of a bright
+divinity which he alone might worship. Willingly and freely did he
+admit the pilgrim and the wayfarer to the outer courts of his temple;
+gladly did he offer them refreshing draughts from the fountain of
+living water which gushed up in its midst; but never did he suffer
+them to enter that "Holy of holies;" never did their eyes rest on that
+enshrined idol, in whose honor all these treasures were gathered
+together.
+
+In progress of time, when Adonais had lavished all his wealth upon his
+temple, and when with the toil of gathering and shaping out her
+treasures, his strength had well-nigh failed him, there came a troop
+of revilers and slanderers--men of evil tongue, who swore that the
+Fane-builder was no better than a midnight robber, and had despoiled
+other temples of all that adorned his own. The tale was as false and
+foul as they who coined it; but when they pointed to many pigmy fanes
+which now began to be reared about the city, and when men saw that
+they were built of like marbles as those which glittered in the temple
+of Adonais, they paused not to mark that the fairest stones in these
+new structures were but the imperfect sculptures which the true artist
+had scorned to employ, or perhaps the chippings of some rare gem which
+in his affluence he could fling aside. So the tale was hearkened unto
+and believed. They whose dim perceptions had been bewildered by this
+new uncoined and uncoinable wealth, were glad to think that it had
+belonged to some far off time, or some distant region. The envious,
+the sordid, the cold, all listened well-pleased to the base slander;
+and they who had cared little for his glory made themselves strangely
+busy in spreading the story of his shame.
+
+Patiently and unweariedly had the dreamer labored at his pleasant
+task, while the temple was gradually growing up toward the heavens;
+skillfully had he polished the rich marbles, and graven upon them the
+ineffaceable characters of truth. But the jeweled adornments of the
+inner shrine had cost him more than all his other toil, for with his
+very heart's blood had he purchased those costly gems that sparkled on
+his soul's idol. Now wearied and worn with by-gone suffering he had no
+strength to stand forth and defy his revilers. Proudly and silently he
+withdrew from the world, and entered into his own beautiful fane.
+Presently men beheld that a heavy stone had been piled against the
+door of the inner sanctuary, and upon its polished surface was
+inscribed these words: "To Time the Avenger!"
+
+From that day no one ever again beheld the dreamer. Pilgrims came as
+before, and rested within the vestibule, and drank of the springing
+fountain, but they no longer saw the dim outline of the veiled goddess
+in the distant shrine, only the white and ghastly glitter of that
+threatening stone, which seemed like the portal of a tomb, met their
+eyes.
+
+Thus years passed on, and men had almost forgotten the name of him who
+had wasted himself in such fruitless toil. At length there came one
+from a country far beyond the seas, who had set forth to explore the
+wonders of all lands. He lacked the pious reverence of the pilgrims,
+but he also lacked the cold indifference of those who dwelt within the
+shadow of the temple. He entered the mystic fane, he gazed with
+unsated eye upon the treasures it contained, and his soul sought for
+greater beauty. With daring hand he and his companions thrust aside
+the marble portal which guarded the sanctuary. At first they shrunk
+back, dazzled and awe-stricken as the blaze of rich light met their
+unhallowed gaze. Again they went forward, and then what saw they?
+Surrounded by the sheen of jewels--glowing in the gorgeous light of
+the diamond, the chrysolite, the beryl, the ruby, they found an image
+fashioned but of common clay, while extended at its feet lay the
+skeleton of the Fane-builder.
+
+Worn with toil, and pain, and disappointment, he had perished at the
+feet of his idol. It may be that the scorn of the world had opened his
+eyes to behold of what mean materials was shapen the divinity he had
+so honored. It may be that the glitter of the gems he had heaped
+around it had perpetuated the delusion which had first charmed him,
+and he had thus been saved the last, worst pang of wasted idolatry. It
+matters not. He died--as all such men must die--in sorrow and in
+loneliness.
+
+But the fane he has reared is as indestructible as the soul of him who
+lifted its lofty summit to the skies. "Time, the Avenger," has
+redeemed the builder's fame; and even the men of his own nation now
+believe that a prophet and a seer once dwelt among them.
+
+When that great city shall have shared the fortunes of the Babylons
+and Ninevahs of olden time, that snow-white fane, written all over
+with characters of truth, and graven with images of beauty, will yet
+endure; and men of new times and new states shall learn lessons of
+holier and loftier existence from a pilgrimage to that glorious
+temple, built by spirit-toil, and consecrated by spirit-worship and
+spirit-suffering.
+
+
+
+
+DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-FLUTE.
+
+A BALLAD.
+
+BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
+
+
+ There--Pearl of Beauty! lightly press,
+ With yielding form, the yielding sand;
+ And while you lift the rosy shells,
+ Within your dear and dainty hand,
+
+ Or toss them to the heedless waves.
+ That reck not how your treasures shine,
+ As oft you waste on careless hearts
+ Your fancies, touched with light divine,
+
+ I'll sing a lay--more wild than gay--
+ The story of a magic flute;
+ And as I sing, the waves shall play
+ An ordered tune, the song to suit.
+
+ In silence flowed our grand old Rhine;
+ For on his breast a picture burned,
+ The loveliest of all scenes that shine
+ Where'er his glorious course has turned.
+
+ That radiant morn the peasants saw
+ A wondrous vision rise in light,
+ They gazed, with blended joy and awe--
+ A castle crowned the beetling height!
+
+ Far up amid the amber mist,
+ That softly wreathes each mountain-spire,
+ The sky its clustered columns kissed,
+ And touched their snow with golden fire;
+
+ The vapor parts--against the skies,
+ In delicate tracery on the blue,
+ Those graceful turrets lightly rise,
+ As if to music there they grew!
+
+ And issuing from its portal fair,
+ A youth descends the dizzy steps;
+ The sunrise gilds his waving hair,
+ From rock to rock he lightly leaps--
+
+ He comes--the radiant, angel-boy!
+ He moves with more than human grace;
+ His eyes are filled with earnest joy,
+ And Heaven is in his beauteous face.
+
+ And whether bred the stars among,
+ Or in that luminous palace born,
+ Around his airy footsteps hung
+ The light of an immortal morn.
+
+ From steep to steep he fearless springs,
+ And now he glides the throng amid.
+ So light, as if still played the wings
+ That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!
+
+ A fairy flute is in his hand--
+ He parts his bright, disordered hair,
+ And smiles upon the wondering band,
+ A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.
+
+ Anon, his blue, celestial eyes
+ He bent upon a youthful maid,
+ Whose looks met his in still surprise,
+ The while a low, glad tune he played--
+
+ Her heart beat wildly--in her face
+ The lovely rose-light went and came;
+ She clasped her hands with timid grace,
+ In mute appeal, in joy and shame!
+
+ Then slow he turned--more wildly breathed
+ The pleading flute, and by the sound
+ Through all the throng her steps she wreathed,
+ As if a chain were o'er her wound.
+
+ All mute and still the group remained,
+ And watched the charm, with lips apart,
+ While in those linked notes enchained,
+ The girl was led, with listening heart:--
+
+ The youth ascends the rocks again.
+ And in his steps the maiden stole,
+ While softer, holier grew the strain,
+ Till rapture thrilled her yearning soul!
+
+ And fainter fell that fairy tune;
+ Its low, melodious cadence wound,
+ Most like a rippling rill at noon,
+ Through delicate lights and shades of sound;
+
+ And with the music, gliding slow,
+ Far up the steep, their garments gleam;
+ Now through the palace gate they go;
+ And now--it vanished like a dream!
+
+ Still frowns above thy waves, oh Rhine!
+ The mountain's wild terrific height,
+ But where has fled the work divine,
+ That lent its brow a halo-light?
+
+ Ah! springing arch and pillar pale
+ Had melted in the azure air!
+ And she--the darling of the dale--
+ She too had gone--but how--and where?
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ Long years rolled by--and lo! one morn,
+ Again o'er regal Rhine it came,
+ That picture from the dream-land borne,
+ That palace built of frost and flame.
+
+ Behold! within its portal gleams
+ A heavenly shape--oh! rapturous sight!
+ For lovely as the light of dreams
+ She glides adown the mountain height!
+
+ She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!
+ And in her hand the charmed flute;
+ But ere its mystic tune was played
+ She spake--the peasants listened mute--
+
+ She told how in that instrument
+ Was chained a world of winged dreams;
+ And how the notes that from it went
+ Revealed them as with lightning gleams;
+
+ And how its music's magic braid
+ O'er the unwary heart it threw,
+ Till he or she whose dream it played
+ Was forced to follow where it drew.
+
+ She told how on that marvelous day
+ Within its changing tune she heard
+ A forest-fountain's plaintive play,
+ A silver trill from far-off bird;
+
+ And how the sweet tones, in her heart,
+ Had changed to promises as sweet,
+ That if she dared with them depart,
+ Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.
+
+ And then she played a joyous lay,
+ And to her side a fair child springs,
+ And wildly cries--"Oh! where are they?
+ Those singing-birds, with diamond wings?"
+
+ Anon a loftier strain is heard,
+ A princely youth beholds his dream;
+ And by the thrilling cadence stirred,
+ Would follow where its wonders gleam.
+
+ Still played the maid--and from the throng--
+ Receding slow--the music drew
+ A choice and lovely band along--
+ The brave--the beautiful--the true!
+
+ The sordid--worldly--cold--remained,
+ To watch that radiant troop ascend;
+ To hear the fading fairy strain;
+ To see with Heaven the vision blend!
+
+ And ne'er again, o'er glorious Rhine,
+ That sculptured dream rose calm and mute;
+ Ah! would that now once more 't would shine,
+ And I could play the fairy flute!
+
+ I'd play, Marie, the dream I see,
+ Deep in those changeful eyes of thine,
+ And thou perforce should'st follow _me_,
+ Up--up where life is all divine!
+
+
+
+
+RISING IN THE WORLD.
+
+BY P. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.
+
+ "This is the house that Jack built."
+
+
+Whether it was cotton or tallow that laid the foundations of Mr.
+Fairchild's fortunes we forget--for people have no right now-a-days to
+such accurate memories--but it was long ago, when Mrs. Fairchild was
+contented and humble, and Mr. Fairchild happy in the full stretch of
+his abilities to make the two ends meet--days which had long passed
+away. A sudden turn of fortune's wheel had placed them on new ground.
+Mr. Fairchild toiled, and strained, and struggled to follow up
+fortune's favors, and was successful. The springs of life had
+well-nigh been consumed in the eager and exhausting contest; and now,
+breathless and worn, he paused to be happy. One half of life he had
+thus devoted to the one object, meaning when that object was obtained
+to enjoy the other half, supposing that happiness, like every thing
+else, was to be bought.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild's ideas had jumped with her husband's fortunes. Once
+she only wanted additional pantries and a new carpet for her front
+parlor, to be perfectly happy. Now, a grand house in a grand avenue
+was indispensable. Once, she only wished to be a little finer than
+Mrs. Simpkins; now, she ardently desired to forget she ever knew Mrs.
+Simpkins; and what was harder, to make Mrs. Simpkins forget she had
+ever known _her_. In short, Mrs. Fairchild had grown _fine_, and meant
+to be fashionable. And why not? Her house was as big as any body's.
+Her husband gave her _carte blanche_ for furniture, and the mirrors,
+and gilding, and candelabras, were enough to put your eyes out.
+
+She was very busy, and talked very grand to the shopmen, who were very
+obsequious, and altogether was very happy.
+
+"I don't know what to do with this room, or how to furnish it," she
+said to her husband one day, as they were going through the house.
+There are the two drawing-rooms, and the dining-room--but this fourth
+room seems of no use--I would make a _keeping_-room of it, but that it
+has only that one large window that looks back--and I like a cheerful
+look-out where I sit--why did you build it so?"
+
+"I don't know," he replied, "it's just like Ashfield's house next
+door, and so I supposed it must be right, and I told the workmen to
+follow the same plan as his."
+
+"Ashfield's!" said Mrs. Fairchild, looking up with a new idea, "I
+wonder what use they put it to."
+
+"A library, I believe. I think the head carpenter told me so."
+
+"A library! Well, then, let's _us_ have a library," she said.
+"Book-cases would fill those walls very handsomely."
+
+He looked at her for a moment, and said,
+
+"But the books?"
+
+"Oh, we can get those," she replied. "I'll go this very morning to
+Metcalf about the book-cases."
+
+So forthwith she ordered the carriage, and drove to the
+cabinet-maker's.
+
+"Mr. Metcalf," she said with her grandest air, (for as at present she
+had to confine her grandeur to her trades-people, she gave them full
+measure, for which, however, they charged her full price,) "I want new
+book-cases for my library--I want your handsomest and most expensive
+kind."
+
+The man bowed civilly, and asked if she preferred the Gothic or
+Egyptian pattern.
+
+Gothic or Egyptian! Mrs. Fairchild was nonplused. What did he mean by
+Gothic and Egyptian? She would have given the world to ask, but was
+ashamed.
+
+"I have not made up my mind," she replied, after some hesitation, (her
+Egyptian ideas being drawn from the Bible, were not of the latest
+date, and so she thought of Pharaoh) and added, "but Gothic, I
+believe"--for Gothic at least was untrenched ground, and she had no
+prejudices of any kind to combat there--"which, however, are the most
+fashionable?" she continued.
+
+"Why I make as many of the one as the other," he replied. "Mr.
+Ashfield's are Egyptian, Mr. Campden's Gothic."
+
+Now the Ashfields were her grand people. She did not know them, but
+she meant to. They lived next door, and she thought nothing would be
+easier. They were not only rich, but fashionable. He was a man of
+talent and information, (but that the Fairchilds knew nothing about,)
+head of half the literary institutions, a person of weight and
+influence in all circles. She was very pretty and very elegant--dressing
+beautifully, and looking very animated and happy; and Mrs. Fairchild
+often gazed at her as she drove from the door, (for the houses
+joined,) and made up her mind to be very intimate as soon as she was
+"all fixed."
+
+"The Ashfields have Egyptian," she repeated, and Pharaoh faded into
+insignificance before such grand authority--and so she ordered
+Egyptian too.
+
+"Not there," said Mrs. Fairchild, "you need not measure there," as the
+cabinet-maker was taking the dimensions of her rooms. "I shall have a
+looking-glass there."
+
+"A mirror in a library!" said the man of rule and inches, with a tone
+of surprise that made Mrs. Fairchild color. "Did you wish a mirror
+here, ma'am," he added, more respectfully.
+
+"No, no," she replied quickly, "go on"--for she felt at once that he
+had seen the inside of more libraries than she had.
+
+Her ideas received another illumination from the upholsterer, as she
+was looking at blue satin for a curtain to the one large window which
+opened on a conservatory, who said,
+
+"Oh, it's for a library window; then cloth, I presume, madam, is the
+article you wish."
+
+"Cloth!" she repeated, looking at him.
+
+"Yes," he replied; "we always furnish libraries with cloth. Heavy,
+rich materials is considered more suitable for such a purpose than
+silk."
+
+Mrs. Fairchild was schooled again. However, Mr. Ashfield was again the
+model.
+
+And now the curtains were up, and the cases home, and all but the
+books there, which being somewhat essential to a library, Mrs.
+Fairchild said to her husband,
+
+"My dear, you must buy some books. I want to fill these cases and get
+this room finished."
+
+"I will," he replied. "There's an auction to-night. I'll buy a lot."
+
+"An auction," she said, hesitatingly. "Is that the best place? I don't
+think the bindings will be apt to be handsome of auction books."
+
+"I can have them rebound," he answered.
+
+"But you cannot tell whether they will fit these shelves," she
+continued, anxiously. "I think you had better take the measure of the
+shelves, and go to some book-store, and then you can choose them
+accordingly."
+
+"I see Ashfield very often at book auctions," he persisted, to which
+she innocently replied,
+
+"Oh, yes--but he knows what he is buying, we don't;" to which
+unanswerable argument Mr. Fairchild had nothing to say. And so they
+drove to a great book importers, and ordered the finest books and
+bindings that would suit their measurements.
+
+And now they were at last, as Mrs. Fairchild expressed it, "_all
+fixed_." Mr. Fairchild had paid and dismissed the last workman--she
+had home every article she could think of--and now they were to sit
+down and enjoy.
+
+The succeeding weeks passed in perfect quiet--and, it must be
+confessed, profound _ennui_.
+
+"I wish people would begin to call," said Mrs. Fairchild, with an
+impatient yawn. "I wonder when they will."
+
+"There seems to be visiting enough in the street," said Mr. Fairchild,
+as he looked out at the window. "There seems no end of Ashfield's
+company."
+
+"I wish some of them would call here," she replied sorrowfully.
+
+"We are not fine enough for them, I suppose," he answered, half
+angrily.
+
+"Not fine enough!" she ejaculated with indignant surprise. "_We_ not
+fine enough! I am sure this is the finest house in the Avenue. And I
+don't believe there is such furniture in town."
+
+Mr. Fairchild made no reply, but walked the floor impatiently.
+
+"Do you know Mr. Ashfield?" she presently ask.
+
+"Yes," he replied; "I meet him on 'change constantly."
+
+"I wonder, then, why _she_ does not call," she said, indignantly.
+"It's very rude in her, I am sure. We are the last comers."
+
+And the weeks went on, and Mr. Fairchild without business, and Mrs.
+Fairchild without gossip, had a very quiet, dull time of it in their
+fine house.
+
+"I wish somebody would call," had been repeated again and again in
+every note of _ennui_, beginning in impatience and ending in despair.
+
+Mr. Fairchild grew angry. His pride was hurt. He looked upon himself
+as especially wronged by his neighbor Ashfield. The people opposite,
+too--"who were they, that the Ashfields were so intimate with them?
+The Hamiltons! Why he could buy them over and over again! Hamilton's
+income was nothing."
+
+At last Mrs. Fairchild took a desperate resolution, "Why should not
+_we_ call first? We'll never get acquainted in this way," which
+declaration Mr. Fairchild could not deny. And so she dressed one
+morning in her finest and drove round with a pack of cards.
+
+Somehow she found every body "out." But that was not much, for, to
+tell the truth, her heart did beat a little at the idea of entering
+strange drawing-rooms and introducing herself, and she would be sure
+to be at home when they returned her calls; and that would be less
+embarrassing, and suit her views quite as well.
+
+In the course of a few days cards were left in return.
+
+"But, Lawrence, I told you to say I was at home." said Mrs. Fairchild,
+impatiently, as the servant handed her half a dozen cards.
+
+"I did, ma'am," he replied.
+
+"You did," she said, "then how is this?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am," he replied, "but the foot-man gave me the cards
+and said all was right."
+
+Mrs. Fairchild flushed and looked disconcerted.
+
+Before a fortnight had elapsed she called again; but this time her
+cards remained unnoticed.
+
+"Who on earth is this Mrs. Fairchild?" said Mrs. Leslie Herbert to
+Mrs. Ashfield, "who is forever leaving her cards."
+
+"The people who built next to us," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "I don't
+know who they are."
+
+"What an odd idea," pursued the other, "to be calling once a week in
+this way. I left my card after the first visit; but if the little
+woman means to call every other day in this way, I shall not call
+again."
+
+And so Mrs. Fairchild was dismissed from the minds of her new
+neighbors, while she sat in anxious wonderment at their not calling
+again.
+
+Though Mr. Fairchild was no longer in business, yet he had property to
+manage, and could still walk down town and see some business
+acquaintances, and inquire into stocks, and lots, and other
+interesting matters; but poor Mrs. Fairchild had fairly nothing to do.
+She was too rich to sew. She could buy every thing she wanted. She had
+but two children, and they could not occupy all her time; and her
+house and furniture were so new, and her servants so many, that
+housekeeping was a mere name. As to reading, that never formed any
+part of either her or Mr. Fairchild's pleasures. They did not even
+know the names of half the books they had. He read the papers, which
+was more than she did beyond the list of deaths and marriages--and so
+she felt as if she would die in her grandeur for something to do, and
+somebody to see. We are not sure but that Mrs. Simpkins would have
+been most delightedly received if she had suddenly walked in upon her.
+But this Mrs. Simpkins had no idea of doing. The state of wrath and
+indignation in which Mrs. Fairchild had left her old friends and
+acquaintances is not easily to be described.
+
+"She had begun to give herself airs," they said, "even before she left
+---- street; and if she had thought herself a great lady then, in that
+little box, what must she be now?" said Mrs. Thompson, angrily.
+
+"I met her not long ago in a store, and she pretended not to see me,"
+replied Mrs Simpkins. "So I shall not trouble myself to call," she
+continued, with considerable dignity of manner; not telling, however,
+that she _had_ called soon after Mrs. Fairchild moved, and her visit
+had never been returned.
+
+"Oh, I am sure," said the other, "I don't want to visit her if she
+don't want to visit me;" which, we are sorry to say, Mrs. Thompson,
+was a story, for you know you were dying to get in the house and see
+and "hear all about it."
+
+To which Mrs. Simpkins responded,
+
+"That, for her part, she did not care about it--there was no love lost
+between them;" and these people, who had once been kind and neighborly
+friends, would not have been sorry to hear that Mr. Fairchild had
+failed--or rather would have been glad (which people mean when they
+say, "they would not be sorry,") to see them humbled in any way.
+
+So much for Mrs. Fairchild's first step in prosperity.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild pined and languished for something to do, and somebody
+to see. The memory of early habits came strongly over her at times,
+and she longed to go in the kitchen and make a good batch of pumpkin
+pies, by way of amusement; but she did not dare. Her stylish pampered
+menials already suspected she was "nobody," and constantly quoted the
+privileges of Mrs. Ashfield's servants, and the authority of other
+fashionable names, with the impertinence and contempt invariably felt
+by inferiors for those who they instinctively know to be ignorant and
+vulgar, and "not to the manor born."
+
+She accidently, to her great delight, came across a young mantuamaker,
+who occasionally sewed at Mrs. Ashfield's; and she engaged her at once
+to come and make her some morning-dresses; not that she wanted them,
+only the opportunity for the gossip to be thence derived. And to those
+who know nothing of the familiarity with which ladies can sometimes
+condescend to question such persons, it would be astonishing to know
+the quantity of information she extracted from Miss Hawkins. Not only
+of Mrs. Ashfield's mode of living, number of dresses, &c., but of many
+other families of the neighborhood, particularly the Misses Hamilton,
+who were described to be such "nice young ladies," and for whom she
+chiefly sewed, as "Mrs. Ashfield chiefly imported most of her
+dresses," but she lent all her patterns to the Miss Hamiltons; and
+Miss Hawkins made up all their dresses after hers, only not of such
+expensive materials. And thus she found out all the Hamiltons'
+economies, which filled her with contempt and indignation--contempt
+for their poverty, and indignation at their position in society, and
+the company they saw notwithstanding.
+
+She could not understand it. Her husband sympathized with her most
+fully on this score, for, like all ignorant, purse-proud men, he could
+comprehend no claims not based in money.
+
+A sudden light broke in, however, upon the Fairchild's dull life. A
+great exertion was being made for a new Opera company, and Mr.
+Fairchild's money being as good as any body else's, the subscription
+books were taken to him. He put down his name for as large a sum as
+the best of them, and felt himself at once a patron of music, fashion,
+and the fine arts.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild was in ecstasies. She had chosen seats in the midst of
+the Ashfields, Harpers, and others, and felt now "that they would be
+all together."
+
+Mr. Fairchild came home one day very indignant with a young Mr.
+Bankhead, who had asked him if he would change seats with him, saying
+his would probably suit Mr. Fairchild better than those he had
+selected, as they were front places, &c., that his only object in
+wishing to change was to be next to the Ashfields, "as it would be a
+convenience to his wife, who could then go often with them when he was
+otherwise engaged."
+
+Mr. Fairchild promptly refused in what Mr. Bankhead considered a rude
+manner, who rather haughtily replied "that he should not have offered
+the exchange if he had supposed it was a favor, his seats being
+generally considered the best. It was only on his wife's account, who
+wished to be among her friends that he had asked it, as he presumed
+the change would be a matter of indifference to Mr. Fairchild."
+
+The young man had no idea of the sting conveyed in these words. Mrs.
+Fairchild was very angry when her husband repeated it to her. "It was
+_not_ a matter of indifference at all. Why should not _we_ wish to be
+among the Ashfields and Harpers as well as anybody?" she said,
+indignantly. "And who is this Mrs. Bankhead, I should like to know,
+that I am to yield my place to _her_;" to which Mr. Fairchild replied,
+with his usual degree of angry contempt when speaking of people of no
+property,
+
+"A pretty fellow, indeed! He's hardly worth salt to his porridge!
+Indeed, I wonder how he is able to pay for his seats at all!"
+
+While on the Bankhead's side it was,
+
+"We cannot change our places, Mrs. Ashfield. Those Fairchilds
+refused."
+
+"Oh, how provoking!" was the reply. "We should have been such a nice
+little set by ourselves. And so disagreeable, too, to have people one
+don't know right in the midst of us so! Why what do the creatures
+mean--your places are the best?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. He 's a vulgar, purse-proud man. My husband was
+quite sorry he had asked him, for he seemed to think it was a great
+favor, and made the most of the opportunity to be rude."
+
+"Well, I am sorry. It's not pleasant to have such people near one; and
+then I am so very, very sorry, not to have you and Mr. Bankhead with
+us. The Harpers were saying how delightful it would be for us all to
+be together; and now to have those vulgar people instead--too
+provoking!"
+
+Ignorant, however, of the disgust, in which her anticipated proximity
+was held, Mrs. Fairchild, in high spirits, bought the most beautiful
+of white satin Opera cloaks, and ordered the most expensive
+paraphernalia she could think of to make it all complete, and
+determined on sporting diamonds that would dazzle old acquaintances,
+(if any presumed to be there,) and make even the fashionables stare.
+
+The first night opened with a very brilliant house. Every body was
+there, and every body in full dress. Mrs. Fairchild had as much as she
+could do to look around. To be sure she knew nobody, but then it was
+pleasant to see them all. She learnt a few names from the conversation
+that she overheard of the Ashfields and Harpers, as they nodded to
+different acquaintances about the house. And then, during the
+intervals, different friends came and chatted a little while with
+them, and the Bankheads leaned across and exchanged a few animated
+words; and, in short, every body seemed so full of talk, and so
+intimate with every body, except poor Mrs. Fairchild, who sat, loaded
+with finery, and no one to speak to but her husband, who was by this
+time yawning wearily, well-nigh worn out with the fatigue of hearing
+two acts of a grand Italian Opera.
+
+As Mrs. Fairchild began to recover self-possession enough to
+comprehend what was going on among them, she found to her surprise,
+from their conversation, that the music was not all alike; that one
+singer was "divine," another "only so so;" the orchestra admirable,
+and the choruses very indifferent. She could not comprehend how they
+could tell one from another. "They all sang at the same time; and as
+for the chorus and orchestra, she did not know 'which was which.'"
+
+Then there was a great deal said about "_contraltos_" and
+"_sopranos_;" and when her husband asked her what they meant, she
+replied, "she did not know, it was _French_!" They talked, too, of
+Rossini and Bellini, and people who _read_ and _wrote_ music, and that
+quite passed her comprehension. She thought "music was only played and
+sung;" and what they meant by reading and writing it, she could not
+divine. Had they talked of eating it, it would have sounded to her
+about as rational.
+
+Occasionally one of the Hamiltons sat with some of the set, for it
+seemed they had no regular places of their own. "Of course not," said
+Mrs Fairchild, contemptuously. "They can't afford it," which
+expressive phrase summed up, with both husband and wife, the very
+essence of all that was mean and contemptible, and she was only
+indignant at their being able to come there at all. The Bankheads were
+bad enough; but to have the Hamiltons there too, and then to hear them
+all talking French with some foreigners who occasionally joined them,
+really humbled her.
+
+This, then, she conceived was the secret of success. "They _know_
+French," she would reply in a voice of infinite mortification, when
+her husband expressed his indignant astonishment at finding these
+"nobodies" on 'change, "somebodies" at the Opera. To "_know_ French,"
+comprehended all her ideas of education, information, sense, and
+literature. This, then, she thought was the "Open Sesame" of "good
+society," the secret of enjoyment at the Opera; for, be it understood,
+all foreign languages were "French" to Mrs. Fairchild.
+
+She was beginning to find the Opera a terrible bore, spite of all the
+finery she sported and saw around her, with people she did not know,
+and music she did not understand. As for Mr. Fairchild, the fatigue
+was intolerable; and he would have rebelled at once, if he had not
+paid for his places for the season, and so chose to have his money's
+worth, if it was only in tedium.
+
+A bright idea, a bold resolution occurred to Mrs. Fairchild. She would
+learn French.
+
+So she engaged a teacher at once, at enormous terms, who was to place
+her on a level with the best of them.
+
+Poor little woman! and poor teacher, too! what work it was! How he
+groaned in spirit at the thick tongue that _could not_ pronounce the
+delicate vowels, and the dull apprehension that knew nothing of moods
+and tenses.
+
+And she, poor little soul, who was as innocent of English Grammar as
+of murder, how was she to be expected to understand the definite and
+indefinite when it was all indefinite; and as for the participle past,
+she did not believe _any_ body understood it. And so she worked and
+puzzled, and sometimes almost cried, for a week, and then went to the
+Opera and found she was no better off than before.
+
+In despair, and angry with her teacher, she dismissed him. "She did
+not believe any body ever learnt it that way out of books;" and "so
+she would get a French maid, and she'd learn more hearing her talk in
+a month, than Mr. A. could teach her, if she took lessons forever."
+And so she got a maid, who brought high recommendations from some
+grand people who had brought her from France, and then she thought
+herself quite set up.
+
+But the experiment did not succeed. She turned out a saucy thing, who
+shrugged her shoulders with infinite contempt when she found "madame"
+did not comprehend her; and soon Mrs. Fairchild was very glad to take
+advantage of a grand flare-up in the kitchen between her and the cook,
+in which the belligerent parties declared that "one or the other must
+leave the house," to dismiss her.
+
+In deep humility of spirit Mrs. Fairchild placed her little girl at
+the best French school in the city, almost grudging the poor child her
+Sundays at home when she must hear nothing but English. She was
+determined that she should learn French young; for she now began to
+think it must be taken like measles or whooping-cough, in youth, or
+else the attack must be severe, if not dangerous.
+
+Mrs. Fairchild made no acquaintances, as she fondly hoped, at the
+Opera. A few asked, "Who is that dressy little body who sits in front
+of you, Mrs. Ashfield?"
+
+"A Mrs. Fairchild. I know nothing about them except that they live
+next door to us."
+
+"What a passion the little woman seems to have for jewelry," remarked
+the other. "It seems to me she has a new set of something once a week
+at least."
+
+"Yes," said one of the Hamiltons, laughing, "she's as good as a
+jeweler's window. It's quite an amusement to me to see the quantity of
+bracelets and chains she contrives to hang around her."
+
+"I would gladly have dispensed with that amusement, Ellen," replied
+Mrs. Ashfield, "for they have the places the Bankheads wanted; and he
+is so clever and well-informed, and she such a bright, intelligent
+little creature, that it would have added so much to our pleasure to
+have had them with us."
+
+"Oh, to be sure! the Bankheads are jewels of the first water. And how
+they enjoy every thing. What a shame it is they have not those
+Fairchilds' money."
+
+"No, no, Ellen, that is not fair," replied Mrs. Ashfield. "Let Mrs.
+Fairchild have her finery--it's all, I suppose, the poor woman has.
+The Bankheads don't require wealth for either enjoyment or
+consequence. They are bright and flashing in their own lustre, and
+like all pure brilliants, are the brighter for their simple setting."
+
+"May be," replied the gay Ellen, "but I do love to see some people
+have every thing."
+
+"Nay, Ellen," said Mrs. Ashfield, "Is that quite just? Be satisfied
+with Mrs. Bankhead's having so much more than Mrs. Fairchild, without
+robbing poor Mrs. Fairchild of the little she has."
+
+Could Mrs. Fairchild have believed her ears had she heard this? Could
+she have believed that little Mrs. Bankhead, whose simple book-muslin
+and plainly braided dark hair excited her nightly contempt, was held
+in such respect and admiration by those who would not know her. And
+Bankhead, whom her husband spoke of with such infinite contempt, as
+having "nothing at all," "not salt to his porridge." And yet as Mrs.
+Fairchild saw them courted and gay, she longed for some of their
+porridge, "for they knew French."
+
+And thus the season wore on in extreme weariness and deep
+mortification. The Fairchilds made no headway at all. She made no
+acquaintances at all at the opera, as she had fondly hoped. She even
+regretted that her husband had refused their seats to the Bankheads.
+Had he yielded them a favor may be they would have spoken to them.
+
+Desperate, at last, she determined she would do something. She would
+give a party. But who to ask?
+
+Not old friends and acquaintance. That was not to be thought of. But
+who else? She knew nobody.
+
+"It was not necessary to know them," she told her husband. "She would
+send her card and invitations to all those fine people, and they'd be
+glad enough to come. The Bankheads, too, and the Hamiltons, she would
+ask them."
+
+"You are sure of them, at any rate," said her husband contemptuously.
+"Poor devils! it's not often they get such a supper as they'll get
+here."
+
+But somehow the Hamiltons and Bankheads were not as hungry as Mr.
+Fairchild supposed, for very polite regrets came in the course of a
+few days, to Mrs. Fairchild's great wrath and mortification.
+
+This was but the beginning, however. Refusals came pouring in thick
+and fast from all quarters.
+
+The lights were prepared, the music sounding, and some half dozen
+ladies, whose husbands had occasionally a business transaction with
+Mr. Fairchild, looked in on their way to a grand fashionable party
+given the same evening by one of their own _clique_, and then
+vanished, leaving Mrs. Fairchild with the mortified wish that they had
+not come at all, to see the splendor of preparations and the beggary
+of guests. Some few young men dropped in and took a look, and bowed
+themselves out as soon as the Fairchilds gave them a chance; and so
+ended this last and most desperate effort.
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Fairchild one day to her husband in perfect
+desperation, "let us go to Europe."
+
+"To Europe," he said, looking up in amazement.
+
+"Yes," she replied, with energy. "That's what all these fine people
+have done, and that's the way they know each other so well. All the
+Americans are intimate in Paris, and then when they come back they are
+all friends together."
+
+Mr. Fairchild listened and pondered. He was as tired as his wife with
+nothing to do; and moreover deeply mortified, though he said less
+about it, at not being admitted among those with whom he had no tastes
+or associations in common, and he consented.
+
+The house was shut up and the Fairchilds were off.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"Who are those Fairchilds," asked somebody in Paris, "that one sees
+every where, where money can gain admittance?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," replied Miss Rutherford. "They traveled down the
+Rhine with us last summer, and were our perfect torment. We could not
+shake them off."
+
+"What sort of people are they?" was the next question.
+
+"Ignorant past belief: but that would not so much matter if she were
+not such a spiteful little creature. I declare I heard more gossip and
+ill-natured stories from her about Americans in Paris than I ever
+heard in all the rest of my life put together."
+
+"And rich?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so--for they spent absurdly. They are just those
+ignorant, vulgar people that one only meets in traveling, and that
+make us blush for our country and countrymen. Such people should not
+have passports."
+
+"Fairchild," said Mrs. Castleton. "The name is familiar to me. Oh,
+now I remember. But they can't be the same. The Fairchilds I knew were
+people in humble circumstances. They lived in ---- street."
+
+"Yes. I dare say they are the very people," replied Miss Rutherford.
+"He has made money rapidly within a few years."
+
+"But she was the best little creature I ever knew," persisted Mrs.
+Castleton. "My baby was taken ill while we were in the country
+boarding at the same house, and this Mrs. Fairchild came to me at
+once, and helped me get a warm bath, and watched and nursed the child
+with me as if it had been her own. I remember I was very grateful for
+her excessive kindness and attention."
+
+"Well, I dare say," replied Miss Rutherford. "But that was when she
+was poor, and, as you say, humble, Mrs. Castleton. Very probably she
+may have been kind-hearted originally. She does love her children
+dearly. She has that merit; but now that she is rich, and wants to be
+fine and fashionable, and don't know how to manage it, and can't
+succeed, you never knew any body so spiteful and jealous as she is of
+all those she feels beyond her reach."
+
+"Pity," said Mrs. Castleton almost sorrowfully. "She was such a good
+little creature. How prosperity spoils some people."
+
+And so Mrs. Fairchild traveled and came home again.
+
+They had been to Paris, and seen more things and places than they
+could remember, and did not understand what they could remember, and
+were afraid of telling what they had seen, lest they should
+mispronounce names, whose spelling was beyond their most ambitious
+flights.
+
+They had gone to the ends of the earth to be in society at home. But
+ignorant they went and ignorant they returned.
+
+"Edward and Fanny shall know every thing," said Mrs. Fairchild, and
+teachers without end were engaged for the young Fairchilds, who, to
+their parents' great delight were not only chatting in "unknown
+tongues," but becoming quite intimate with the little Ashfields and
+other baby sprigs of nobility.
+
+"Who is that pretty boy dancing with your Helen, Mrs. Bankhead?" asked
+some one at a child's party.
+
+"Young Fairchild," was the reply.
+
+"Fairchild! What, a son of that overdressed little woman you used to
+laugh at so at the opera?" said the other.
+
+"The same," replied Mrs. Bankhead laughing.
+
+"And here's an incipient flirtation between your girl and her boy,"
+continued the other archly.
+
+"Well, there's no leveler like Education. The true democrat after
+all," she pursued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Mrs. Bankhead. "Intelligence puts us all on a
+footing. What other distinction can or should we have?"
+
+"I doubt whether Mrs. Fairchild thinks so," replied her friend.
+
+"Indeed you are mistaken," replied Mrs. Bankhead earnestly. "She would
+not perhaps express it in those words: but her humble reverence for
+education is quite touching. They are giving these children every
+possible advantage, and in a few years, when they are grown up," she
+continued, laughing, "We mothers will be very glad to admit the young
+Fairchilds in society, even if they must bring the mother with them."
+
+"I suppose so," said the other. "And old people are inoffensive even
+if they are ignorant. Old age is in itself a claim to respect."
+
+"True enough," returned Mrs. Bankhead; "and when you see them
+engrossed and happy in the success of their children, you forgive them
+a good deal. That is the reward of such people."
+
+"They have fought through a good deal of mortification though to
+attain it," rejoined the other. "I wonder whether the end is worth
+it?"
+
+"Ah! that's a question hard to settle," replied Mrs. Bankhead
+seriously. "Society at large is certainly improved, but I doubt
+whether individuals are the happier. No doubt the young Fairchilds
+will be happier for their parents' rise in the world--but I should say
+the 'transition state' had been any thing but a pleasant one to the
+parents. The children will have the tastes as well as the means for
+enjoyment; the one Mrs. Fairchild having found to be quite as
+necessary as the other."
+
+"This is the march of intellect, the progress of society, exemplified
+in the poor Fairchilds," replied the other laughing. "Well, thank
+Heaven my mission has not been to _rise_ in the world."
+
+
+
+
+TWILIGHT.--TO MARY.
+
+
+ Oh! how I love this time of ev'n,
+ When day in tender twilight dies;
+ And the parting sun, as it falls from heaven,
+ Leaves all its beauty on the skies.
+ When all of rash and restless Nature,
+ Passion--impulse--meekly sleeps,
+ And loveliness, the soul's sweet teacher,
+ Seems like religion in its deeps.
+ And now is trembling through my senses
+ The melting music of the trees,
+ And from the near and rose-crowned fences
+ Comes the balm and fragrant breeze;
+ And from the bowers, not yet shrouded
+ In the coming gloom of night,
+ Breaks the bird-song, clear, unclouded.
+ In trembling tones of deep delight.
+ But not for this alone I prize
+ This witching time of ev'n,
+ The murmuring breeze, the blushing skies,
+ And day's last smile on heaven.
+ But thoughts of thee, and such as thou art.
+ That mingle with these sacred hours,
+ Give deeper pleasure to my heart
+ Than song of birds arid breath of flowers.
+ Then welcome the hour when the last smile of day
+ Just lingers at the portal of ev'n,
+ When so much of life's tumults are passing away,
+ And earth seems exalted to heaven. H. D. G.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAGAMORE OF SACO.
+
+A LEGEND OF MAINE.
+
+BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
+
+ Land of the forest and the rock--
+ Of dark blue lake and mighty river--
+ Of mountains reared aloft to mock
+ The storms career, the lightning's shock--
+ My own green land forever. WHITTIER.
+
+
+Never was country more fruitful than our own with rich materials of
+romantic and tragic interest, to call into exercise the finest talents
+of the dramatist and novelist. Every cliff and headland has its
+aboriginal legend; the village, now thrifty and quiet, had its days of
+slaughter and conflagration, its tale of devoted love or cruel
+treachery; while the city, now tumultuous with the pressure of
+commerce, in its "day of small things," had its bombardment and
+foreign army, and its handful of determined freemen, who achieved
+prodigies of single handed valor. Now that men are daily learning the
+worth of humanity, its hopes and its trials coming nearer home to
+thought and affection; now that the complicated passions of refined
+and artificial life are becoming less important than the broad, deep,
+genuine manifestations of the common mind, we may hope for a bolder
+and more courageous literature: we may hope to see the drama free
+itself from sensualism and frivolity, and rise to the Shaksperian
+dignity of true passion; while the romance will learn better its true
+ground, and will create, rather than portray--delineate, rather than
+dissect human sentiment and emotion.
+
+The State of Maine is peculiarly rich in its historically romantic
+associations. Settled as it was prior to the landing of the Pilgrims,
+first under Raleigh Gilbert, and subsequently by Sir Ferdinando
+Gorges, whose colony it is fair, in the absence of testimony, to infer
+never left the country after 1616, but continued to employ themselves
+in the fisheries, and in some commerce with the West Indies, up to the
+time of their final incorporation with the Plymouth settlement. Indeed
+the correspondence of Sir Richard Vines, governor of the colony under
+Sir Ferdinando Gorges, with the Governor of Plymouth, leaves no doubt
+upon this head; and it is a well known fact that the two settlements
+of De Aulney and De la Tour at the mouths of the Penobscot and
+Kennebec rivers, even at this early age, were far from being
+contemptible, both in a commercial and numeric point of view. Added to
+these was the handful of Jesuits at Mont Desert, and we might say a
+colony of Swedes on the sea-coast, between the two large rivers just
+named, the memory of which is traditional, and the vestiges of which
+are sometimes turned up by the ploughshare. These people probably fell
+beneath some outbreak of savage vengeance, which left no name or
+record of their existence.
+
+Subsequently to these was the dispersion of the Acadians, that
+terrible and wanton piece of political policy, which resulted in the
+extinction and denationalizing of a simple and pious people. The
+fugitive Acadians found their way through a wilderness of forests,
+suffering and dying as they went, some landing in distant states,
+(five hundred having been consigned to Governor Oglethorpe of
+Georgia,) and others, lonely and bereft, found a home with the humble
+and laborious farmers of this hardy state, whose finest quality is an
+open-handed hospitality. These intermarrying with our people here,
+have left traces of their blood and fine moral qualities to enhance
+the excellence of a pure and healthful population.
+
+Then followed the times of the Revolution, when Maine did her part
+nobly in the great and perilous work. Our own Knox was commandant of
+the artillery, and the bosom friend of Washington: our youth sunk into
+unknown graves in the sacred cause of freedom; and our people, poor as
+they were, for the resources of the state were then undeveloped, cast
+their mite of wealth into the national treasury. Northerly and
+isolated as she is, her cities were burned, and her frontiers
+jealously watched by an alert and cruel enemy. Here, too, Arnold sowed
+his last seeds of virtue and patriotism, in his arduous march through
+the wilderness of Maine to the capital of the Canadas, an exploit
+which, considering the season, the poverty of numbers and resources,
+combined with the wild, unknown, and uncleared state of the country,
+may compete with the most heroic actions of any great leader of any
+people.
+
+A maritime state, Maine suffers severely from the fluctuations of
+commerce, but is the first to realize the reactions of prosperity. Her
+extended seaboard, her vast forests, her immense mineral resources,
+together with a population hardy, laborious, virtuous, and
+enterprising; a population less adulterated by foreign admixture than
+any state in the Union, all point to a coming day of power and
+prosperity which shall place her foremost in the ranks of the states,
+in point of wealth, as she is already in that of intelligence.
+
+We have enumerated but a tithe of the intellectual resources of
+Maine--have given but a blank sheet as it were of the material which
+will hereafter make her renowned in story, and must confine ourselves
+to but a single point of historic and romantic interest, connected
+with the earlier records of the country. We have alluded to the first
+governor, Sir Richard Vines, a right worthy and chivalric gentleman,
+the friend and agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, of Walter Raleigh, and
+other fine spirits of the day. His residence was at the Pool, as it is
+now called, or "Winter Harbor," from the fact that the winter of
+1616-17 was passed by Vines and his followers at this place. After a
+residence of eighteen or twenty years, devoted to the interests of the
+colony, the death of his patron, the transfer of the Maine plantation
+to the Plymouth proprietors, together with domestic and pecuniary
+misfortunes, induced Sir Richard Vines to retire to the Island of
+Barbadoes, where we find him prosperous and respected, and still
+mindful of the colony for which he had done and suffered so much.
+
+Prior to his departure, and probably not altogether unconnected with
+it, he had incurred the deadly hatred of John Bonyton, a young man of
+the colony, who in after years was called, and is still remembered in
+tradition as the "Sagamore of Saco." The cause of this hatred was in
+some way connected with the disappearance of Bridget Vines, the
+daughter of the governor, for whom John Bonyton had conceived a wild
+and passionate attachment. Years before our story she had been
+suddenly missing, to the permanent grief and dismay of the family, and
+the more terrible agony of John Bonyton, who had conceived the idea
+that Bridget had been sent to a European convent, to save her from his
+presence. This idea he would never abandon, notwithstanding the most
+solemn denials of Sir Richard, and the most womanly and sympathizing
+asseverations of Mistress Vines. The youth listened with compressed
+lip, his large, remarkable eye fixed with stern and searching scrutiny
+upon the face of the speaker, and when he was done the reply was
+always the same, "God knows if this be true; but, true or false, my
+hand shall be against every man till she be found."
+
+Accordingly we find the youth, who seems to have been possessed of
+those rare and strong points of character which go to make the hero,
+in constant collision with the people of the times. Moody and
+revengeful, he became an alien to his father's house, and with gun and
+dog passed months in the wildest regions of that wild country. With
+the savage he slept in his wigwam, he threaded the forest and stood
+upon the verge of the cataract; or penetrated up to the stormy regions
+of the White Mountains; and anon, hushed the tumultuous beatings of
+his heart in accordance with the stroke of his paddle, as he and his
+red companions glided over that loveliest of lakes, Winnepisoge, or
+"the smile of the Great Spirit."
+
+There seemed no rest for the unhappy man. Unable to endure the
+formalities and intermedlings, which so strongly mark the period, he
+spent most of his time on the frontiers of the settlement, admitting
+of little companionship, and yielding less of courtesy. When he
+appeared in the colony, the women regarded his fine person, his
+smile, at once sorrowful and tender, and his free, noble bearing with
+admiration, not unmingled with terror; while men, even in that age of
+manly physique looked upon his frame, lithe yet firm as iron, athletic
+and yet graceful, with eyes of envious delight. Truth to say, John
+Bonyton had never impaired a fine development by any useful
+employment, or any elaborate attempts at book-knowledge. He knew all
+that was essential for the times, or the mode of life which he had
+adopted, and further he cared not. His great power consisted in a
+passionate yet steady will, by which all who came within his sphere
+found themselves bent to his purposes.
+
+The Pilgrims even, unflinching and uncompromising as they were, felt
+the spell of his presence, and were content to spurn, to persecute,
+and set a price upon the head of a man whom they could not control.
+Yet for all this John Bonyton died quietly in his bed, no one daring
+to do to him even what the law would justify. He slept in perfect
+security, for he knew this, and knew, too, that the woods were alive
+with ardent and devoted adherents, who would have deluged the soil
+with blood had but a hair of his head been injured. The Sagamore of
+Saco was no ordinary man; and the men of the times, remarkable as they
+were, felt this; and hence is it, that even to this day his memory is
+held in remembrance with an almost superstitious awe, and people point
+out a barrow where lie the ashes of the "Sagamore," and show the
+boundaries of his land, and tell marvelous tales of his hardihood and
+self-possession.
+
+They tell of a time when a price had been set upon his head, how, when
+the people were assembled in the little church for worship, John
+Bonyton walked in with gun in hand, and stood through the whole
+service, erect and stern as a man of iron, and no one dared scarcely
+look upon him, much less lift a finger against him; and how he waited
+till all had gone forth, even the oracle of God, pale and trembling,
+and then departed in silence as he came. Surely there was greatness in
+this--the greatness of a Napoleon, needing but a field for its
+exercise.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+ Methought, within a desert cave,
+ Cold, dark, and solemn as the grave,
+ I suddenly awoke.
+ It seemed of sable night the cell,
+ Where, save when from the ceiling fell
+ An oozing drop, her silent spell
+ No sound had ever broke.--ALLSTON.
+
+
+Among the great rivers of Maine the Penobscot and Kennebec stand
+preeminent, on account of their maritime importance, their depth and
+adaptability to the purposes of internal navigation; but there are
+others less known, yet no less essential to the wealth of the country,
+which, encumbered with falls and rapids, spurn alike ship and steamer,
+but are invaluable for the great purposes of manufacture. The
+Androscoggin is one of these, a river, winding, capricious and most
+beautiful; just the one to touch the fancy of the poet, and tempt the
+cupidity of a millwright. It abounds with scenery of the most lovely
+and romantic interest, and falls already in bondage to loom and
+shuttle. Lewiston Falls, or Pe-jip-scot, as the aboriginals called
+this beautiful place, are, perhaps, among the finest water plunges in
+the country. It is not merely the beauty of the river itself, a broad
+and lengthened sheet of liquid in the heart of a fine country, but the
+whole region is wild and romantic. The sudden bends of the river
+present headlands of rare boldness, beneath which the river spreads
+itself into a placid bay, till ready to gather up its skirts again,
+and thread itself daintily amid the hills. The banks present slopes
+and savannas warm and sheltered, in which nestle away finely
+cultivated farms, and from whence arise those rural sounds of flock
+and herd so grateful to the spirit, and that primitive blast of horn,
+winding itself into a thousand echoes, the signal of the in-gathering
+of a household. Cliffs, crowned with fir, overhang the waters; hills,
+rising hundreds of feet, cast their dense shadows quite across the
+stream; and even now the "slim canoe" of the Indian may be seen poised
+below, while some stern relic of the woods looks upward to the ancient
+hunting sites of his people, and recalls the day when, at the verge of
+this very fall, a populous village sent up its council smoke day and
+night, telling of peace and the uncontested power of his tribe.
+
+But in the times of our story the region stood in its untamed majesty;
+the whirling mass of waters tumbling and plunging in the midst of an
+unbroken forest, and the great roar of the cataract booming through
+the solitude like the unceasing voice of the eternal deep. Men now
+stand with awe and gaze upon those mysterious falls, vital with
+traditions terribly beautiful, and again and again ask, "Can they be
+true? Can it be that beneath these waters, behind that sheet of foam
+is a room, spacious and vast, and well known, and frequented by the
+Indian?"
+
+An old man will tell you that one morning as he stood watching the
+rainbows of the fall, he was surprised at the sudden appearance of an
+Indian from the very midst of the foam. He accosted him, asked whence
+he came, and how he escaped the terrible plunge of the descending
+waves. The Indian, old and white-headed, with the eye of an eagle, and
+the frame of a Hercules, raised the old man from the ground, shook him
+fiercely, and then cast him like a reptile to one side. A moment more
+and the measured stroke of a paddle betrayed the passage of the stout
+Red Man adown the stream.
+
+Our story must establish the fact in regard to this cave--a fact well
+known in the earlier records of the country, more than one white man
+having found himself sufficiently athletic to plunge behind the sheet
+of water and gain the room.
+
+It was mid-day, and the sun, penetrating the sheet of the falls, cast
+a not uncheerful light into the cave, the size and gloom of which were
+still further relieved by a fire burning in the centre, and one or
+more torches stuck in the fissures of the rocks. Before this fire
+stood a woman of forty or fifty years of age, gazing intently upon the
+white, liquid, and tumultuous covering to the door of her home, and
+yet the expression of her eye showed that her thoughts were far beyond
+the place in which she stood.
+
+She was taller than the wont of Indian women, more slender than is
+customary with them at her period of life, and altogether, presented a
+keenness and springiness of fibre that reminded one of Arab more than
+aboriginal blood. Her brow was high, retreating, and narrow, with
+arched and contracted brows, beneath which fairly burned a pair of
+intense, restless eyes.
+
+At one side, stretched upon skins, appeared what might have been
+mistaken for a white veil, except that a draft of air caused a portion
+of it to rise and fall, showing it to be a mass of human hair. Yet so
+motionless was the figure, so still a tiny moccasoned foot, just
+perceptible, and so ghastly the hue and abundance of the covering,
+that all suggested an image of death.
+
+At length the tall woman turned sharply round and addressed the object
+upon the mats.
+
+"How much longer will you sleep, Skoke? Get up, I tell thee."
+
+At this ungracious speech--for Skoke[13]means snake--the figure
+started slightly, but did not obey. After some silence she spoke
+again, "Wa-ain (white soul) get up and eat, our people will soon be
+here." Still no motion nor reply. At length the woman, in a sharper
+accent, resumed,
+
+"Bridget Vines, I bid thee arise!" and she laughed in an under tone.
+
+The figure slowly lifted itself up and looked upon the speaker.
+"Ascashe,[14] I will answer only to my own name."
+
+"As you like," retorted the other. "Skoke is as good a name as
+Ascashe." A truism which the other did not seem disposed to
+question--the one meaning a snake, the other a spider, or
+"net-weaver."
+
+Contrary to what might have been expected from the color of the hair,
+the figure from the mat seemed a mere child in aspect, and yet the
+eye, the mouth, and the grasp of the hand, indicated not only maturity
+of years, but the presence of deep and intense passions. Her size was
+that of a girl of thirteen years in our northern climate, yet the fine
+bust, the distinct and slender waist, and the firm pressure of the
+arched foot, revealed maturity as well as individualism of character.
+
+[Footnote 13: I do not know how general is the use of this word
+amongst the Indians. The writer found it in use amongst the Penobscot
+tribe.]
+
+[Footnote 14: As-nob-a-ca-she, contracted to Ascashe, is literally a
+net-weaver, the name for spider. This term is from Schoolcraft.]
+
+Rising from her recumbent posture, she approached the water at the
+entrance of the cave till the spray mingled with her long, white
+locks, and the light falling upon her brow, revealed a sharp beautiful
+outline of face scarcely touched by years, white, even teeth, and eyes
+of blue, yet so deeply and sadly kindling into intensity, that they
+grew momentarily darker and darker as you gazed upon them.
+
+"Water, still water, forever water," she murmured. Suddenly turning
+round, she darted away into the recesses of the cave, leaping and
+flying, as it were, with her long hair tossed to and fro about her
+person. Presently she emerged, followed by a pet panther, which leaped
+and bounded in concert with his mistress. Seizing a bow, she sent the
+arrow away into the black roof of the cavern, waited for its return,
+and then discharged it again and again, watching its progress with
+eager and impatient delight. This done, she cast herself again upon
+the skins, spread her long hair over her form, and lay motionless as
+marble.
+
+Ascashe again called, "Why do you not come and eat, Skoke?"
+
+Having no answer, she called out, "Wa-ain, come and eat;" and then
+tired of this useless teasing, she arose, and shaking the white girl
+by the arm, cried, "Bridget Vines, I bid you eat."
+
+"I will, Ascashe," answered the other, taking corn and dried fish,
+which the other presented.
+
+"The spider caught a bad snake when she wove a net for Bridget Vines,"
+muttered the tall woman. The other covered her face with her hands,
+and the veins of her forehead swelled above her fingers; yet when she
+uncovered her eyes they were red, not with tears, but the effort to
+suppress their flow.
+
+"It is a long, long time, that I have been here, Ascashe," answered
+Bridget, sorrowfully.
+
+"Have you never been out since Samoret left you here?" asked the
+net-weaver; and she fixed her eyes searchingly upon the face of the
+girl, who never quailed nor changed color beneath her gaze, but
+replied in the same tone, "How should little Hope escape--where should
+she go?" Hope being the name by which Mistress Vines had called her
+child in moments of tenderness, as suggesting a mother's yearning hope
+that she would at some time be less capricious, for Bridget had always
+been a wayward, incoherent, and diminutive creature, and treated with
+great gentleness by the family.
+
+"Do you remember what I once told you?" continued the other. "You had
+a friend--you have an enemy."
+
+This time Bridget Vines started, and gave utterance to a long, low,
+plaintive cry, as if her soul wailed, as it flitted from its frail
+tenement, for she fell back as if dead upon the skins.
+
+The woman muttered, "The white boy and girl shouldn't have scorned the
+red woman," and she took her to the verge of the water and awaited her
+recovery; when she opened her eyes, she continued, "Ascashe is
+content--she has been very, very wretched, but so has been her enemy.
+Look, my hair is black; Wa-ain's is like the white frost."
+
+"I knew it would be so," answered the other, gently, "but it is
+nothing. Tell me where you have been, Ascashe, and how came you here?
+O-ya-ah died the other day." She alluded to an old squaw, who had been
+her keeper in the cave.
+
+At this moment a shadow darkened the room, another, and another, and
+three stalwart savages stood before the two women. Each, as he passed,
+patted the head of Bridget, who shook them off with moody impatience.
+
+They gathered about the coals in the centre, talking in under tones,
+while the women prepared some venison which was to furnish forth the
+repast.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+ And she who climbed the storm-swept steep,
+ She who the foaming wave would dare,
+ So oft love's vigil here to keep,
+ Stranger, albeit, thou think'st I dote;
+ I know, I know, she watches there.--HOFFMAN.
+
+
+That night the men sat long around the fire, and talked of a deadly
+feud and a deadly prospect of revenge. Ascashe listened and counseled,
+and her suggestions were often hailed with intimations of
+approval--for the woman was possessed of a keen and penetrating mind,
+heightened by passions at once powerful and malevolent. Had the group
+observed the white occupant of the skins, they would have seen a pair
+of dark, bright eyes peering through those snowy locks, and red lips
+parted, in the eagerness of the intent ear.
+
+"How far distant are they now?" asked the woman.
+
+"A three hours walk down stream," was the answer. "To-morrow they will
+ascend the falls to surprise our people, and burn the village.
+To-night, when the moon is down, we are to light a fire at still-water
+_above_ the falls, and the Terrentines will join us at the signal,
+leave their canoes in the care of the women, and descend upon our
+foes. The fire will warn our people how near to approach the falls,
+for the night will be dark." This was told at intervals, and to the
+questionings of the woman.
+
+"Where is the Sagamore of Saco," asked Ascashe.
+
+"John Bonyton heads our foes, but to-night is the last one to the
+Sagamore."
+
+At this name the white hair stirred violently, and then a low wail
+escaped from beneath. The group started, and one of the men, with
+Ascashe, scanned the face of the girl, who seemed to sleep in perfect
+unconsciousness; but the panther rolled itself over, stretched out its
+claws, and threw back his head, showing his long, red tongue, and
+uttered a yawn so nearly a howl, that the woman declared the sounds
+must have been the same.
+
+Presently the group disposed themselves to sleep till the moon should
+set, when they must once more be upon the trail. Previous to this,
+many were the charges enjoined upon the woman in regard to Bridget.
+
+"Guard her well," said the leader of the band. "In a few suns more she
+will be a great medicine woman, foretelling things that shall come to
+the tribes."
+
+We must now visit the encampment of John Bonyton, where he and his
+followers slept, waiting till the first dawn of day should send them
+on their deadly path. The moon had set; the night was intensely dark,
+for clouds flitted over the sky, now and then disburdening themselves
+with gusts of wind, which swayed the old woods to and fro, while big
+drops of rain fell amid the leaves and were hushed.
+
+Suddenly a white figure stood over the sleeping chief, so slight, so
+unearthly in its shroud of wet, white hair, that one might well be
+pardoned a superstitious tremor. She wrung her hands and wept bitterly
+as she gazed--then she knelt down and looked more closely; then, with
+a quick cry, she flung herself into his bosom.
+
+"Oh, John Bonyton, did I not tell you this? Did I not tell you, years
+ago, that little Hope stood in my path, with hair white as snow?"
+
+The man raised himself up, he gathered the slight figure in his
+arms--he uncovered a torch and held it to her face.
+
+"Oh, my God! my God!" he cried--and his strength departed, and he was
+helpless as a child. The years of agony, the lapse of thirty years
+were concentrated in that fearful moment. Bridget, too, lay motionless
+and silent, clinging to his neck. Long, long was that hour of
+suffering to the two. What was life to them! stricken and changed,
+living and breathing, they only felt that they lived and breathed by
+the pangs that betrayed the beating pulse. Oh, life! life! thou art a
+fearful boon, and thy love not the least fearful of thy gifts.
+
+At length Bridget raised herself up, and would have left his arms; but
+John Bonyton held her fast.
+
+"Nay, Hope, never again. My tender, my beautiful bird, it has fared
+ill with thee;" and smoothing her white locks, the tears gushed to the
+eyes of the strong man. Indeed, he, in his full strength and manhood,
+she, diminutive and bleached by solitude and grief, contrasted so
+powerfully in his mind, that a paternal tenderness grew upon him, and
+he kissed her brow reverently, saying,
+
+"How have I searched for thee, my birdie, my child; I have been
+haunted by the furies, and goaded well nigh to murder--but thou art
+here--yet not thou. Oh, Hope! Hope!"
+
+The girl listened intent and breathless.
+
+"I knew it would be so, John Bonyton; I knew if parted we could never
+be the same again--the same cloud returns not to the sky; the same
+blossom blooms not twice; human faces wear never twice the same look;
+and, alas! alas! the heart of to-day is not that of to-morrow."
+
+"Say on, Hope--years are annihilated, and we are children again,
+hoping, loving children."
+
+But the girl only buried her face in his bosom, weeping and sobbing.
+At this moment a red glare of light shot up into the sky, and Bridget
+sprung to her feet.
+
+"I had forgotten. Come, John Bonyton, come and see the only work that
+poor little Hope could do to save thee;" and she darted forward with
+the eager step which Bonyton so well remembered. As they approached
+the falls, the light of the burning tree, kindled by the hands of
+Bridget _below_ the falls, flickered and glared upon the waters; the
+winds had died away; the stars beamed forth, and nothing mingled with
+the roar of waters, save an occasional screech of some nocturnal
+creature prowling for its prey.
+
+Ever and ever poured on the untiring flood, till one wondered it did
+not pour itself out; and the heart grew oppressed at the vast images
+crowding into it, swelling and pressing, as did the tumultuous waves
+over their impediment of granite--water, still water, till the nerves
+ached from weariness at the perpetual flow, and the mind questioned if
+the sound itself were not silence, so lonely was the spell--questioned
+if it were stopped if the heart would not cease to beat, and life
+become annihilate.
+
+Suddenly the girl stopped with hand pointing to the falls. A black
+mass gleamed amid the foam--one wild, fearful yell arose, even above
+the roar of waters, and then the waves flowed on as before.
+
+"Tell me, what is this?" cried John Bonyton, seizing the hand of
+Bridget, and staying her flight with a strong grasp.
+
+"Ascashe did not know I could plunge under the falls--she did not know
+the strength of little Hope, when she heard the name of John Bonyton.
+She then went on to tell how she had escaped the cave--how she had
+kindled a signal fire _below_ the falls in advance of that to be
+kindled above--and how she had dared, alone, the terrors of the
+forest, and the black night, that she might once more look upon the
+face of her lover. When she had finished, she threw her arms tenderly
+around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, and then, with a
+gentleness unwonted to her nature, would have disengaged herself from
+his arms.
+
+"Why do you leave me, Hope--where will you go?" asked the Sagamore.
+
+She looked up with a face so pale, so hopeless, so mournfully tender,
+as was most affecting to behold. "I will go under the falls, and there
+sleep--oh! so long will I sleep, John Bonyton.
+
+He folded her like a little child to his bosom. "You must not leave
+me, Hope--do you not love me?"
+
+She answered only by a low wail, that was more affecting than any
+words; and when the Sagamore pressed her again to his heart, she
+answered, calling him John Bonyton, as she used to call him in the
+days of her childhood.
+
+"Little Hope is a terror to herself, John Bonyton. Her heart is all
+love--all lost in yours; but she is a child, a child just as she was
+years ago; but you, you are not the same--more beautiful--greater;
+poor little Hope grows fearful before you;" and again her voice was
+lost in tears.
+
+The sun now began to tinge the sky with his ruddy hue; the birds
+filled the woods with an out-gush of melody; the rainbow, as ever,
+spanned the abyss of waters, while below, drifting in eddies, were
+fragments of canoes, and still more ghastly fragments telling of the
+night's destruction. The stratagem of the girl had been entirely
+successful--deluded by the false beacon, the unhappy savages had
+drifted on with the tide, unconscious of danger, till the one terrible
+pang of danger, and the terrible plunge of death came at the one and
+same moment.
+
+Upon a headland overlooking the falls stood the group of the cavern,
+stirred with feelings to which words give no utterance, and which find
+expression only in some deadly act. Ascashe descended stealthily along
+the bank, watching intently the group upon the opposite shore, in the
+midst of which floated the white, abundant locks of Bridget Vines,
+visible at a great distance. She now stood beside the Sagamore,
+saying,
+
+"Forget poor little Hope, John Bonyton, or only remember that her life
+was one long, long thought of thee."
+
+She started--gave one wild look of love and grief at the Sagamore--and
+then darted down the bank, marking her path with streams of blood, and
+disappeared under the falls. The aim of the savage had done its work.
+
+"Ascashe is revenged, John Bonyton," cried a loud voice--and a dozen
+arrows stopped it in its utterance. Fierce was the pursuit, and
+desperate the flight of the few surviving foes. The "Sagamore of Saco"
+never rested day nor night till he and his followers had cut off the
+last vestige of the Terrantines, and avenged the blood of the unhappy
+maiden. Then for years did he linger about the falls in the vain hope
+of seeing once more her wild spectral beauty--but she appeared no more
+in the flesh; though to this, men not romantic nor visionary declare
+they have seen a figure, slight and beautiful, clad in robe of skin,
+with moccasoned feet, and long, white hair, nearly reaching to the
+ground, hovering sorrowfully around the falls; and this strange figure
+they believe to be the wraith of the lost Bridget Vines.
+
+
+
+
+THE SACHEM's HILL.
+
+BY ALFRED B. STREET.
+
+
+ 'T was a green towering hill-top: on its sides
+ June showered her red delicious strawberries,
+ Spotting the mounds, and in the hollows spread
+ Her pink brier roses, and gold johnswort stars.
+ The top was scattered, here and there, with pines,
+ Making soft music in the summer wind,
+ And painting underneath each other's boughs
+ Spaces of auburn from their withered fringe.
+ Below, a scene of rural loveliness
+ Was pictured, vivid with its varied hues;
+ The yellow of the wheat--the fallow's black--
+ The buckwheat's foam-like whiteness, and the green
+ Of pasture-field and meadow, whilst amidst
+ Wound a slim, snake-like streamlet. Here I oft
+ Have come in summer days, and with the shade
+ Cast by one hollowed pine upon my brow,
+ Have couched upon the grass, and let my eye
+ Roam o'er the landscape, from the green hill's foot
+ To where the hazy distance wrapped the scene.
+ Beneath this pine a long and narrow mound
+ Heaves up its grassy shape; the silver tufts
+ Of the wild clover richly spangle it,
+ And breathe such fragrance that each passing wind
+ Is turned into an odor. Underneath
+ A Mohawk Sachem sleeps, whose form had borne
+ A century's burthen. Oft have I the tale
+ Heard from a pioneer, who, with a band
+ Of comrades, broke into the unshorn wilds
+ That shadowed then this region, and awoke
+ The echoes with their axes. By the stream
+ They found this Indian Sachem in a hut
+ Of bark and boughs. One of the pioneers
+ Had lived a captive 'mid the Iroquois.
+ And knew their language, and he told the chief
+ How they had come to mow the woods away,
+ And change the forest earth to meadows green,
+ And the tall trees to dwellings. Rearing up
+ His aged form, the Sachem proud replied,
+ That he had seen a hundred winters pass
+ Over this spot; that here his tribe had died,
+ Parents and children, braves, old men and all,
+ Until he stood a withered tree amidst
+ His prostrate kind; that he had hoped he ne'er
+ Would see the race, whose skin was like the flower
+ Of the spring dogwood, blasting his old sight;
+ And that beholding them amidst his haunts,
+ He called on Hah-wen-ne-yo to bear off
+ His spirit to the happy hunting-grounds.
+ Shrouding his face within his deer-skin robe,
+ And chanting the low death-song of his tribe,
+ He then with trembling footsteps left the hut
+ And sought the hill-top; here he sat him down
+ With his back placed within this hollowed tree,
+ And fixing his dull eye upon the scene
+ Of woods below him, rocked with guttural chant
+ The livelong day, whilst plyed the pioneers
+ Their axes round him. Sunset came, and still
+ There rocked his form. The twilight glimmered gray,
+ Then kindled to the moon, and still he rocked;
+ Till stretched the pioneers upon the earth
+ Their wearied limbs for sleep. One, wakeful, left
+ His plump moss couch, and strolling near the tree
+ Saw in the pomp of moonlight that old form
+ Still rocking, and, with deep awe at his heart,
+ Hastened to join his comrades. Morn awoke,
+ And the first light discovered to their eyes
+ That weird shape rocking still. The pioneers,
+ With kindly hands, took food and at his side
+ Placed it, and tried to rouse him, but in vain.
+ He fixed his eye still dully down the hill,
+ And when they took their hands from off his frame
+ It still renewed its rocking. Morning went,
+ And noon and sunset. Often had they glanced
+ From their hard toil as passed the hours away
+ Upon that rocking form, and wondered much;
+ And when the sunset vanished they approached
+ Their kindness to renew; but suddenly,
+ As came they near, they saw the rocking cease,
+ And the head drop upon his naked breast.
+ Close came they, and the shorn head lifting up,
+ In the glazed eye and fallen jaw beheld
+ Death's awful presence. With deep sorrowing hearts
+ They scooped a grave amidst the soft black mould,
+ Laid the old Sachem in its narrow depth,
+ Then heaped the sod above, and left him there
+ To hallow the green hill-top with his name.
+
+
+
+
+VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY.
+
+BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
+
+
+ City of marble! whose lone structures rise
+ In pomp of sculpture beautifully rare,
+ On thy still brow a mournful shadow lies,
+ For round thy haunts no busy feet repair;
+ No curling smoke ascends from roof-tree fair,
+ Nor cry of warning time the clock repeats--
+ No voice of Sabbath-bell doth call to prayer--
+ There are no children playing in thy streets,
+ Nor sounds of echoing toil invade thy green retreats.
+
+ Rich vines around thy graceful columns wind,
+ Young buds unfold, the dewy skies to bless,
+ Yet no fresh wreaths thine inmates wake to bind--
+ Prune no wild spray, nor pleasant garden dress--
+ From no luxuriant flower its fragrance press--
+ The golden sunsets through enwoven trees
+ Tremble and flash, but they no praise express--
+ They lift no casement to the balmy breeze,
+ For fairest scenes of earth have lost their power to please.
+
+ A ceaseless tide of emigration flows
+ On through thy gates, for thou forbiddest none
+ In thy close-curtained couches to repose,
+ Or lease thy narrow tenements of stone,
+ It matters not where first the sunbeam shone
+ Upon their cradle--'neath the foliage free
+ Where dark palmettos fleck the torrid zone,
+ Or 'mid the icebergs of the Arctic sea--
+ Thou dost no questions ask; all are at home with thee.
+
+ One pledge alone they give, before their name
+ Is with thy peaceful denizens enrolled--
+ The vow of silence thou from each dost claim,
+ More strict and stern than Sparta's rule of old,
+ Bidding no secrets of thy realm be told,
+ Nor slightest whisper from its precincts spread--
+ Sealing each whitened lip with signet cold,
+ To stamp the oath of fealty, ere they tread
+ Thy never-echoing halls, oh city of the dead!
+
+ 'Mid scenes like thine, fond memories find their home,
+ For sweet it was to me, in childhood's hours,
+ 'Neath every village church-yard's shade to roam,
+ Where humblest mounds were decked with grassy flowers,
+ And I have roamed where dear Mount Auburn towers,
+ Where Laurel-Hill a cordial welcome gave
+ To the rich tracery of its hallowed bowers,
+ And where, by quiet Lehigh's crystal wave,
+ The meek Moravian smooths his turf-embroidered grave:
+
+ Where too, in Scotia, o'er the Bridge of Sighs,
+ The Clyde's Necropolis uprears its head,
+ Or that old abbey's sacred turrets rise
+ Whose crypts contain proud Albion's noblest dead,--
+ And where, by leafy canopy o'erspread,
+ The lyre of Gray its pensive descant made--
+ And where, beside the dancing city's tread,
+ Famed Pere La Chaise all gorgeously displayed
+ Its meretricious robes, with chaplets overlaid.
+
+ But thou, oh Greenwood! sweetest art to me,
+ Enriched with tints of ocean, earth and sky,
+ Solemn and sweet, to meditation free,
+ Most like a mother, who with pleading eye
+ Dost turn to Him who for the lost did die--
+ And with thy many children at thy breast,
+ Invoke His aid, with low and prayerful sigh,
+ To bless the lowly pillow of their rest,
+ And shield them, when the tomb no longer guards its guest.
+
+ Calm, holy shades! we come to you for health,--
+ Sickness is with the living--wo and pain--
+ And dire diseases thronging on, by stealth
+ From the worn heart its vital flood to drain,
+ Or smite with sudden shaft the reeling brain,
+ Till lingering on, with nameless ills distrest,
+ We find the healer's vaunted armor vain,
+ The undrawn spear-point in our bleeding breast,--
+ Fain would we hide with you, and win the boon of rest.
+
+ Sorrow is with the living! Youth doth fade--
+ And Joy unclasp its tendril green, to die--
+ The mocking tares our harvest-hopes invade,
+ On wrecking blasts our garnered treasures fly,
+ Our idols shame the soul's idolatry,
+ Unkindness gnaws the bosom's secret core,
+ Long-trusted friendship turns an altered eye
+ When, helpless, we its sympathies implore--
+ Oh! take us to your arms, that we may weep no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE HALL OF INDEPENDENCE.
+
+BY GEO. W. DEWEY.
+
+
+ This is the sacred fane wherein assembled
+ The fearless champions on the side of Right;
+ Men, at whose declaration empires trembled,
+ Moved by the truth's immortal might.
+
+ Here stood the patriot band--one union folding
+ The Eastern, Northern, Southern sage and seer,
+ Within that living bond which truth upholding,
+ Proclaims each man his fellow's peer.
+
+ Here rose the anthem, which all nations hearing,
+ In loud response the echoes backward hurled;
+ Reverberating still the ceaseless cheering,
+ Our continent repeats it to the world.
+
+ This is the hallowed spot where first, unfurling,
+ Fair Freedom spread her blazing scroll of light;
+ Here, from oppression's throne the tyrant hurling,
+ She stood supreme in majesty and might!
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST OF THE BOURBONS.
+
+A FRENCH PATRIOTIC SONG,
+
+WRITTEN BY ALEXANDRE PANTOLEON,
+THE MUSIC COMPOSED AND DEDICATED TO THE NATIONAL GUARD OF FRANCE, BY
+
+=J. C. N. G.=
+
+Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chesnut Street, Philad'a.--Copyright
+secured.
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+Des Bourbons c'est la chu te Dit la Li-ber-te Leur scep-tre dans la
+lut-te Mes mains l'ont bri se; J'ai chas-
+
+'Tis the last of the Bourbons Shouts freedom with joy, As her legions
+in triumph Be-fore her de-ploy, And the
+
+se de ma lan ce, Le cou-pa-ble roi, Et j'ai ren-du la France,
+Mai-tres-se de soi.
+
+throne of the des-pot Is dashed at her feet, Which her men in coarse
+blouses, With Mar-seillaise greet.
+
+_Ad. lib._]
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la Li-ber-te! Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la Li-ber-te!
+
+Hur-rah! hur-rah! hur-rah! for Li-ber-ty! Hur-rah! hur-rah! hur-rah!
+for Li-ber-ty!
+
+Tempo. CHORUS.
+
+A-bas les ty-rans! A-bas les ty-rans! Vi-ve, vi-ve, vi-ve la
+Li-ber-te!
+
+Ty-rants shall no more our coun-try con-trol! Hur-rah! hur-rah!
+hur-rah! for Li-ber-ty!]
+
+
+II.
+
+
+ Oh thou spirit of lightning
+ That movest the French
+ From the hands of the tyrant,
+ The sceptre to wrench.
+ Thou no more wilt be cheated
+ But keep under arms
+ Till the sway thou upholdest
+ Is free from alarms!
+ Hurrah! hurrah! &c.
+
+
+II.
+
+
+ J'entends gronder la foudre
+ Des braves Francais
+ Ils ont reduit en poudre
+ Le siege des forfaits.
+ Leurs eclairs epouvantent
+ Les rois etrangers
+ Dont les glaives tourmentent
+ Des coeurs opprimes.
+ Vive, vive, &c.
+
+
+III.
+
+
+ Tis too late for an Infant
+ To govern a land
+ Which a tyrant long practiced
+ Has failed to command.
+ For the men of fair Gallia
+ At home will be free,
+ And extend independence
+ To lands o'er the sea!
+ Hurrah! hurrah! &c.
+
+
+III.
+
+
+ Desormais soyez sages
+ Restez tous armes
+ Protegeant vos suffrages
+ Et vos droits sacres.
+ Comblez l'espoir unique
+ De France! en avant!
+ Vive la Republique!
+ A bas les tyrans!
+ Vive, vive, &c.
+
+
+
+
+TO AN ISLE OF THE SEA.[15]
+
+BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR.
+
+
+ Bright Isle of the Ocean, and gem of the sea,
+ Thou art stately and fair as an island can be,
+ With thy clifts tow'ring upward, thy valleys outspread,
+ And thy fir-crested hills, where the mountain deer tread,
+ So crowned with rich verdure, so kissed by each ray
+ Of the day-god that mounts on and upward his way,
+ While thy wild rushing torrent, thy streams in their flow,
+ Reflect the high archway of heaven below,
+ Whose clear azure curtains, so cloudless and bright,
+ Are here ever tinged with the red gold at night;
+ Then with one burst of glory the sun sinks to rest,
+ And the stars they shine out on the land that is blest.
+
+ Thy foliage is fadeless, no chilling winds blow,
+ No frost has embraced thee, no mantle of snow;
+ Then hail to each sunbeam whose swift airy flight
+ Speeds on for thy valleys each hill-top and height!
+ To clothe them in glory then die 'mid the roar
+ Of the sea-waves which echo far up from the shore!
+ They will rest for a day, as if bound by a spell,
+ They will noiselessly fall where the beautiful dwell,
+ They will beam on thy summits so lofty and lone,
+ Where nature hath sway and her emerald throne,
+ Then each pearly dew-drop descending at even,
+ At morn they will bear to the portals of Heaven.
+
+ Thou art rich in the spoils of the deep sounding sea,
+ Thou art blest in thy clime, (of all climates for me,)
+ Thou hast wealth on thy bosom, where orange-flowers blow,
+ And thy groves with their golden-hued fruit bending low,
+ In thy broad-leafed banana, thy fig and the lime,
+ And grandeur and beauty, in palm-tree and vine.
+ Thou hast wreaths on thy brow, and gay flowers ever bloom,
+ Wafting upward and onward a deathless perfume,
+ While round thee the sea-birds first circle, then rise,
+ Then sink to the wave and then glance tow'rd the skies!
+
+ While their bright plumage glows 'neath the sun's burning light,
+ And their screams echo back in a song of delight.
+ Thou hast hearts that are noble, and doubtless are brave,
+ Thou hast altars to bow at, for worship and praise,
+ Thou hast light when night's curtains around thee are driven
+ From the Cross which beams out in the far southern heaven,
+ Yet one spot of darkness remains on thy breast,
+ As a cloud in the depth of a calm sky at rest.
+
+ Like a queen that is crowned, or a king on his throne,
+ In grandeur thou sittest majestic and lone,
+ And the power of thy beauty is breathed on each gale
+ As it sweeps o'er thy hills or descends to the vale;
+ And homage is offered most boundless and free,
+ Oh, Isle of the Ocean, in gladness to thee,
+ So circled with waters, so dashed by the spray
+ Of the waves which leap upward then stop in their way.
+
+ And lo! thou art loved by a child of the West,
+ For the beauty and bloom of thy tropical breast,
+ Yet dearer by far is that land where the skies
+ Though colder bends o'er it and bleak winds arise,
+ Where the broad chart of Nature is boldly unfurled,
+ And a light from the free beameth out o'er the world.
+
+ Yes, dearer that land where the eagle on high
+ Spreads his wings to the wind as he cleaves the cold sky,
+ Where mountain, and torrent, and forest and vale,
+ Are swept by the path of the storm-ridden gale,
+ And each rock is an altar, each heart is a shrine,
+ Where Freedom is worshiped in Liberty clime,
+ And her banners float out on the breath of the gale,
+ Bright symbols of glory which proudly we hail,
+ And her bulwarks are reared where the heart of the brave
+ Refused to be subject, and scorned to be slave.
+
+[Footnote 15: Santa Cruz.]
+
+
+
+
+SONNET:--TO ARABELLA,
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+ There is a pathos in those azure eyes,
+ Touching, and beautiful, and strange, fair child!
+ When the fringed lids upturn, such radiance mild
+ Beams out as in some brimming lakelet lies,
+ Which undisturbed reflects the cloudless skies:
+ No tokens glitter there of passion wild,
+ That into ecstasy with time shall rise;
+ But in the deep of those clear orbs are signs--
+ Which Poesy's prophetic eye divines--
+ Of woman's love, enduring, undefiled!
+ If, like the lake at rest, through life we see
+ Thy face reflect the heaven that in it shines,
+ No _idol_ to thy worshipers thou'lt be,
+ For he will worship HEAVEN, who worships _thee_.
+
+
+
+
+PROTESTATION.
+
+
+ No, I will not forget thee. Hearts may break
+ Around us, as old lifeless trees are snapt
+ By the swift breath of whirlwinds as they wake
+ Their path amid the forest. Lightning-wrapt,
+ (For love is fire from Heaven,) we calmly stand--
+ Heart pressed to answering heart--hand linked with hand.
+
+
+
+
+REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
+
+ _Endymion. By Henry B. Hirst. Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor &
+ Co. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+It was Goethe, we believe, who objected to some poet, that he put too
+much water in his ink. This objection would apply to the uncounted
+host of our amateur versifiers, and poets by the grace of verbiage. If
+an idea, or part of an idea, chances to stray into the brain of an
+American gentleman, he quickly apparels it in an old coat from his
+wardrobe of worn phrases, and rushes off in mad haste to the first
+magazine or newspaper, in order that the public may enjoy its
+delectable beauty at once. We have on hand enough MSS. of this kind,
+which we never intend to print, to freight the navy of Great Britain.
+But mediocrity and stupidity are not the only sinners in respect to
+this habit of writing carelessly. Hasty composition is an epidemic
+among many of our writers, whose powers, if disciplined by study, and
+directed to a definite object, would enable them to produce beautiful
+and permanent works. So general is the mental malady to which we have
+alluded, that it affects the judgments of criticism, and if a
+collection of lines, going under the name of a poem, contains fine
+passages, or felicitous flashes of thought, it commonly passes muster
+as satisfying the requirements of the critical code. Careless writers,
+therefore, are sustained by indulgent critics, and between both good
+literature is apt to be strangled in its birth.
+
+Now it is due to Mr. Hirst to say that his poem belongs not to the
+class we have described. It is no transcript of chance conceptions,
+expressed in loose language, and recklessly huddled together, without
+coherence and without artistic form, but a true and consistent
+creation, with a central principle of vitality and a definite shape.
+He has, in short, produced an original poem on a classic subject,
+written in a style of classic grace, sweetness and simplicity,
+rejecting all superfluous ornament and sentimental prettinesses, and
+conveying one clear and strong impression throughout all its variety
+of incident, character and description. It is no conglomeration of
+parts, but an organic whole. This merit alone should give him a high
+rank among the leading poets of the country, for it evidences that he
+has a clear notion of what the word poem means.
+
+We have neither time nor space to analyze the poem, and indicate its
+merits as a work of art. It displays throughout great force and
+delicacy of conception, a fine sense of harmony, and a power and
+decision of expression which neither overloads nor falls short of the
+thought. In tone it is half way between Shelley and Keats, neither so
+ideal as the one nor so sensuous as the other. Keat's Endymion is so
+thick with fancies, and verbal daintinesses, and sweet sensations,
+that with all its wonderful affluence of beautiful things it lacks
+unity of impression. The mind of the poet is so possessed by his
+subject that, in an artistic sense, he becomes its victim, and wanders
+in metaphor, and revels in separate images, and gets entangled in a
+throng of thoughts, until, at the end, we have a sense of a beautiful
+confusion of "flowers of all hues, and weeds of glorious feature," and
+applaud the fertility at the expense of the force of his mind. The
+truth is that will is an important element of genius, and without it
+the spontaneous productions of the mind must lack the highest quality
+of poetic art. True intellectual creation is an _effort_ of the
+imagination, not its result, and without force of will to guide it, it
+does not obey its own laws, and gives little impression of real
+power. Art is not the prize of luck or the effect of chance, but of
+conscious combination of vital elements. Mr. Hirst, though he does
+give evidence of Keats' fluency of fancy and expression, has really
+produced a finer work of art. We think it is so important that a poem,
+to be altogether worthy of the name, should be deeply meditated and
+carefully finished, that we hazard this last opinion at the expense of
+being berated by all the undeveloped geniuses of the land, as having
+no true sense of the richness of Keats' mind, or the great capacity
+implied, rather than fully expressed, in his Endymion.
+
+Mere extracts alone can give no fair impression of the beauty of Mr.
+Hirst's poem as a whole, but we cannot leave it without quoting a few
+passages illustrative of the author's power of spiritualizing the
+voluptuous, and the grace, harmony and expressiveness of his verse:
+
+ And still the moon arose, serenely hovering,
+ Dove-like, above the horizon. Like a queen
+ She walked in light between
+ The stars--her lovely handmaids--softly covering
+ Valley and wold, and mountain-side and plain
+ With streams of lucid rain.
+
+ She saw not Eros, who on rosy pinion
+ Hung in the willow's shadow--did not feel
+ His subtle searching steel
+ Piercing her very soul, though his dominion
+ Her breast had grown: and what to her was heaven
+ If from Endymion riven?
+
+ Nothing; for love flowed in her, like a river,
+ Flooding the banks of wisdom; and her soul,
+ Losing its self-control,
+ Waved with a vague, uncertain, tremulous quiver,
+ And like a lily in the storm, at last
+ She sunk 'neath passion's blast.
+
+ Flowing the fragrance rose--as though each blossom
+ Breathed out its very life--swell over swell,
+ Like mist along the dell,
+ Wooing his wondering heart from out his bosom--
+ His heart, which like a lark seemed slowly winging
+ Its way toward heaven, singing.
+
+ Dian looked on; she saw her spells completing,
+ And sighing, bade the sweetest nightingale
+ That ever in Carian vale
+ Sang to her charms, rise, and with softest greeting
+ Woo from its mortal dreams and thoughts of clay
+ Endymion's soul away.
+
+From the conclusion of the poem we take a few stanzas, describing the
+struggle of Dian with her passion, when Endymion asserts his love for
+Chromia:
+
+ The goddess gasped for breath, with bosom swelling:
+ Her lips unclosed, while her large, luminous eyes
+ Blazing like Stygian skies,
+ With passion, on the audacious youth were dwelling:
+ She raised her angry hand, that seemed to clasp
+ Jove's thunder in its grasp.
+
+ And then she stood in silence, fixed and breathless;
+ But presently the threatening arm slid down;
+ The fierce, destroying frown
+ Departed from her eyes, which took a deathless
+ Expression of despair, like Niobe's--
+ Her dead ones at her knees.
+
+ Slowly her agony passed, and an Elysian,
+ Majestic fervor lit her lofty eyes,
+ Now dwelling on the skies:
+ Meanwhile, Endymion stood, cheek, brow and vision,
+ Radiant with resignation, stern and cold,
+ In conscious virtue bold,
+
+In conclusion, we cannot but congratulate Mr. Hirst on his success in
+producing a poem conceived with so much force and refinement of
+imagination, and finished with such consummate art, as the present. It
+is a valuable addition to the permanent poetical literature of the
+country.
+
+
+ _Memoir of William Ellery Channing. With Extracts from
+ His Correspondence and Manuscripts. Boston: Crosby &
+ Nichols. 3 vols. 12mo._
+
+
+This long expected work has at last been published, and we think it
+will realize the high expectations raised by its announcement two or
+three years ago. It is mostly composed of extracts from the letters,
+journals, and unpublished sermons of Dr. Channing, and is edited by
+his nephew, Wm. H. Channing, who has also supplied a memoir. It
+conveys a full view of Dr. Channing's interior life from childhood to
+old age, and apart from its great value and interest, contains, in the
+exhibition of the steps of his intellectual and spiritual growth, as
+perfect a specimen of psychological autobiography as we have in
+literature. Such a work subjects its author to the severest tests
+which can be applied to a human mind in this life, and we have risen
+from its perusal with a new idea of the humility, sincerity, and
+saintliness of Dr. Channing's character. In him self-distrust was
+admirably blended with a sublime conception of the capacity of man,
+and a sublime confidence in human nature. He was not an egotist, as
+passages in his writings may seem to indicate, for he was more severe
+upon himself than upon others, and numberless remarks in the present
+volumes show how sharp was the scrutiny to which he subjected the most
+elusive appearances of pride and vanity. But with his high and living
+sense of the source and destiny of every human mind, and his almost
+morbid consciousness of the deformity of moral evil, he reverenced in
+himself and in others the presence of a spirit which connected
+humanity with its Maker, and by unfolding the greatness of the
+spiritual capacities of men, he hoped to elevate them above the
+degradation of sensuality and sin. He was not a teacher of spiritual
+pride, conceit and self-worship, but of those vital principles of love
+and reverence which elevate man only by directing his aspirations to
+God.
+
+The present volumes give a full length portrait of Dr. Channing in all
+the relations of life, and some of the minor details regarding his
+opinions and idiosyncrasies are among the most interesting portions of
+the book. We are glad to perceive that he early appreciated
+Wordsworth. The Excursion he eagerly read on its first appearance, and
+while so many of the Pharisees of taste were scoffing at it, he
+manfully expressed his sense of its excellence. This poem he recurred
+to oftener than to any other, and next to Shakspeare, Wordsworth seems
+to have been the poet he read with the most thoughtful delight. When
+he went to Europe, in 1822, he had an interview with Wordsworth, and
+of the impression he himself made on the poet there can be no more
+pertinent illustration, than the fact that, twenty years afterward,
+Wordsworth mentioned to an American gentleman that one observation of
+Channing, respecting the connection of Christianity with progress, had
+stamped itself ineffaceably upon his mind. Coleridge he appears to
+have profoundly impressed. In a letter to Washington Allston,
+Coleridge says of him--"His affection for the good as the good, and
+his earnestness for the true as the true--with that harmonious
+subordination of the latter to the former, without encroachment on the
+absolute worth of either--present in him a character which in my
+heart's heart I believe to be the very rarest on earth. . . . . Mr.
+Channing is a philosopher in both the possible renderings of the word.
+He has the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love. . . . . I am
+confident that the few differences of opinion between him and myself
+not only are, but would by him be found to be apparent, not real--the
+same truth seen in different relations. Perhaps I have been more
+absorbed in the depth of the mystery of the spiritual life, he more
+engrossed by the loveliness of its manifestations."
+
+In nothing is Dr. Channing's humility better seen than in his
+relations to literature. He became an author almost unconsciously. All
+his intellectual convictions were so indissolubly woven into the
+texture of his life, so vitalized by his heart and imagination, that
+writing with him was never an end but a means. Literary fame followed
+him; he did not follow it. When, however, he found that his reputation
+not only rung through his own country but was reverberated from
+Europe, he appears to have feared that it might corrupt his motives
+for composition. He studiously avoided reading all eulogistic notices
+of his works or character, though they were interesting to him as
+indications of the influence his cherished opinions were exerting. The
+article in the Westminster Review, which exceeded all others in
+praise, he never read. Dr. Dewey's criticism in the Christian Examiner
+he only knew as far as related to its objections, and his only
+disappointment was in finding them so few. Brougham's criticism on his
+style provoked in him no retort. Hazlitt's coarse attack on him in the
+Edinburgh Review he considered as an offset to the undue praise he had
+received from other quarters. "The author of the article," he says, in
+one of his letters, "is now dead; and as I did not feel a moment's
+anger toward him during his life, I have no reproach for him now. He
+was a man of fine powers, and wanted nothing but pure and fixed
+principles to make him one of the lights of the age."
+
+It would be impossible in our limits to convey an adequate impression
+of the beauty, value, or interest of the present volumes. They are
+full of matter. The letters are admirable specimens of epistolary
+composition, considered as the spontaneous expression of a grave, high
+and warm nature, to the friends of his heart and mind. They are
+exceedingly original of their kind, and while they bear no resemblance
+to those of Cowper, Burns, Byron, or Mackintosh, they are on that very
+account a positive addition to the literature of epistolary
+composition. Few biographies have been published within a century
+calculated to make so deep an impression as this of Dr. Channing, and
+few could have admitted the reader to so close a communion with the
+subject, without sacrificing that delicacy in the treatment of
+frailties due to the character of the departed.
+
+
+ _Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire. Philadelphia:
+ Carey & Hart. 2 vols. 12mo._
+
+
+The present work is to some extent an attempt "to head" Mr. Headley.
+For our part, we profess to have as much patience as any of the
+descendants of Job, but we must acknowledge that we have broken down
+in every effort to master the merits of the quarrel between the
+publishers of the present volumes and the Author of Napoleon and his
+Marshals. Accordingly we can give no opinion on that matter. In
+respect to the value of the volumes under consideration, as compared
+with a similar work by Mr. Headley, there can be little hesitation of
+judgment. It is idle to say, as some have said, that a work which has
+run through fifteen editions, as Mr. Headley's has done, is a mere
+humbug. On the contrary, it is a book evincing a mind as shrewd as it
+is strong, aiming, it is true, rather at popularity than excellence,
+but obtaining the former by possessing the sagacity to perceive that
+accounts of battles, to be generally apprehended, must be addressed to
+the eye and blood rather than to the understanding; and this power
+of producing vivid pictures of events Mr. Headley has in large
+measure. Hence the success of his book, in spite of its exaggerations
+of statement, sentiment and language.
+
+The present work evinces a merit of another kind. It is a keen,
+accurate, well-written production, devoid of all tumult in its style
+and all exaggeration in its matter, and giving close and consistent
+expositions of the characters, and a clear narrative of the lives, of
+Napoleon and his Marshals. It is evidently the work of a person who
+understands military operations, and conveys a large amount of
+knowledge which we have seen in no other single production on the
+subject of the wars springing out of the French Revolution. The
+portraits of fifteen of the marshals, in military costume, are very
+well executed.
+
+The portion of the work devoted to Napoleon, about one third of the
+whole, is very able. Its defect consists in the leniency of its
+judgment on that gigantic public criminal. Napoleon was a grand
+example of a great man, who demonstrated, on a wide theatre of action,
+what can be done in this world by a colossal intellect and an iron
+will without any moral sense. In his disregard of humanity, and his
+reliance on falsehood and force, he was the architect at once of his
+fortune and his ruin. No man can be greatly and wisely politic who is
+incapable of grasping those universal sentiments which underlie all
+superficial selfishness in mankind, and of discerning the action of
+the moral laws of the universe. Without this, events cannot be read in
+their principles. The only defect in Napoleon's mind was a lack of
+moral insight, the quality of perceiving the moral character and
+relations of objects, and, wanting this, he must necessarily have been
+in the long run unsuccessful. It is curious that of all the great men
+which the Revolution called forth, Lafayette was almost the only one
+who never violated his conscience, and the only one who came out well
+in the end. Intellectually he was below a hundred of his
+contemporaries, but his instinctive sense of right pushed him blindly
+in the right direction, when all the sagacity and insight of the
+masters in intrigue and comprehensive falsehood signally failed.
+
+
+ _Romance of the History of Louisiana. A Series of
+ Lectures. By Charles Gayarre. New York: D. Appleton &
+ Co. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+The romantic element in historical events is that which takes the
+strongest hold upon the imagination and sensibility; and it puts a
+certain degree of life into the fleshless forms of even the
+commonplace historian. The incidents of a nation's annals cannot be
+narrated in a style sufficiently dry and prosaic to prevent the soul
+of poetry from finding some expression, however short of the truth. It
+seems to us that there is much error in the common notions regarding
+matters of fact. Starting from the unquestionable axiom that
+historians should deal with facts and principles, not with fictions
+and sentimentalities, most people have illogically concluded that
+those histories are the worthiest of belief which address the
+understanding alone, and studiously avoid all the arts of
+representation. Now this is false in two respects--such histories not
+only giving imperfect and partial views of facts, but disabling the
+memory from retaining even them. Facts and events, whether we regard
+them singly or in their relations, can be perceived and remembered
+only as they are presented to the whole nature. They must be realized
+as well as generalized. The sensibility and imagination, as well as
+the understanding are to be addressed. As far as possible they should
+be made as real to the mind as any event which experience has stamped
+on the memory. History thus written, is written close to the truth of
+things, and conveys real knowledge. Far from departing from facts, or
+exaggerating them, it is the only kind of history which thoroughly
+comprehends them. We should never forget that the events which have
+occurred in the world, are expressions of the nature of man under a
+variety of circumstances and conditions, and that these events must be
+interpreted in the light of that common humanity which binds all men
+together. History, therefore, differs from true poetry, not so much in
+intensity and fullness of representation; not so much in the force,
+vividness and distinctness with which things are brought home to the
+heart and brain, as in difference of object. The historian and the
+poet are both bound to deal with human nature, but one gives us its
+actual development, the other its possible; one shows us what man has
+done, the other what man can do. The annalist who does not enable us
+to see mankind in real events, is as unnatural as the poetaster who
+substitutes monstrosities for men in fictitious events.
+
+We accordingly welcome with peculiar heartiness all attempts at
+realizing history, by evolving its romantic element, and thus
+demonstrating to the languid and lazy readers of ninepenny nonsense,
+that the actual heroes and heroines of the world have surpassed in
+romantic daring the fictitious ones who swell and swagger in most
+novels and poems. Mr. Gayarre's work is more interesting, both as
+regards its characters and incidents, than Jane Eyre or James's
+"last," for, in truth, it requires a mind of large scope to imagine as
+great things as many men, in every country, have really performed. The
+History of Louisiana affords a rich field to the poet and romancer,
+who is content simply to reproduce in their original life some of its
+actual scenes and characters; and Mr. Gayarre has, to a considerable
+extent, succeeded in this difficult and delicate task. The work
+evinces a mind full of the subject; and if defective at all, the
+defect is rather in style than matter. The author evidently had two
+temptations to hasty composition--a copious vocabulary and complete
+familiarity with his subject. There is an occasional impetuosity and
+recklessness in his manner, and a general habit of tossing off his
+sentences with an air of disdainful indifference, which characterizes
+a large class of amateur southern writers. Such a style is often rapid
+from heedlessness rather than force, and animated from caprice rather
+than fire. The timid correctness of an elegant diction is not more
+remote from beauty than the defiant carelessness of a reckless one is
+from power; and to avoid Mr. Prettyman, it is by no means necessary to
+"fraternize" with Sir Forcible Feeble. Mr. Gayarre has produced so
+pleasant a book, and gives evidence of an ability to do so much toward
+familiarizing American history to the hearts and imaginations of the
+people, that we trust he will not only give us more books, but subject
+their style to a more scrupulous examination than he has the present.
+
+
+ _Universal and Critical Dictionary of the English
+ Language. By Joseph E. Worcester. Boston: Wilkins,
+ Carter, & Co. 1 vol. 8vo._
+
+
+The present century has been distinguished above all others in the
+history of English lexicography, for the number and excellence of its
+dictionaries. It is a matter of pride to Americans that so far the
+United States are in advance of England, in regard to the sagacity and
+labor devoted to the English language. Of those who have done most in
+this department, the pre-eminence belongs to Dr. Webster and Dr.
+Worcester. Each has published a Dictionary of great value; and that of
+the latter is now before us. It bears on every page marks of the most
+gigantic labor, and must have been the result of many long years of
+thought and investigation. Its arrangement is admirable, and its
+definitions clear, concise, critical, and ever to the purpose. The
+introduction, devoted to the principles of pronunciation, orthography,
+English Grammar, the origin, formation, and etymology of the English
+language; and the History of English Lexicography is laden with
+important information, drawn from a wide variety of sources. Dr.
+Worcester has also, in the appendix, enlarged and improved Walker's
+Key to the Classical Pronunciation of Greek, Latin, and Scripture
+Names, and added the pronunciation of modern geographical names. Taken
+as a whole, we think the dictionary one which not even the warmest
+admirers of Dr. Webster can speak of without respect. The advantage
+which Dr. Worcester's dictionary holds over Dr. Webster's may be
+compressed in one word--objectiveness. The English language, as a
+whole, is seen through a more transparent medium in the former than in
+the latter. Dr. Webster, with all his great merits as a lexicographer,
+loved to meddle with the language too much. Dr. Worcester is content
+to take it as it is, without any intrusion of his own idiosyncracies.
+We think that both dictionaries are honorable to the country, and that
+each has its peculiar excellencies. Perhaps the student of
+lexicography could spare neither.
+
+
+ _The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha. From the
+ Spanish of Cervantes. With Illustrations by Schoff.
+ Boston: Charles H. Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+This is a very handsome edition of one of the most wonderful creations
+of the human intellect, elegantly illustrated with appropriate
+engravings. It is to a certain extent a family edition, omitting only
+those portions of the original which would shock the modesty of modern
+times. We know that there is a great opposition among men of letters
+to the practice of meddling with a work of genius, and suppressing any
+portion of it. To a considerable extent we sympathize with this
+feeling. But when the question lies between a purified edition and the
+withdrawal of the book from popular circulation, we go for the former.
+Don Quixote is a pertinent instance. It is not now a book generally
+read by many classes of people, especially young women, and the
+younger branches of a family. The reason consists in the coarseness of
+particular passages and sentences. Strike these out, and there remains
+a body of humor, pathos, wisdom, humanity, expressed in characters and
+incidents of engrossing interest, which none can read without benefit
+and pleasure. The present volume, which might be read by the fireside
+of any family, is so rich in all the treasures of its author's
+beautiful and beneficent genius, that we heartily wish it an extensive
+circulation. It is got up with great care by one who evidently
+understands Cervantes; and the unity of the work, with all its
+beautiful episodes, is not broken by the omissions.
+
+
+_Wuthuring Heights. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+This novel is said to be by the author of Jane Eyre, and was eagerly
+caught at by a famished public, on the strength of the report. It
+afforded, however, but little nutriment, and has universally
+disappointed expectation. There is an old saying that those who eat
+toasted cheese at night will dream of Lucifer. The author of Wuthuring
+Heights has evidently eat toasted cheese. How a human being could have
+attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before
+he had finished a dozen chapters, is a mystery. It is a compound of
+vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors, such as we might suppose a
+person, inspired by a mixture of brandy and gunpowder, might write for
+the edification of fifth-rate blackguards. Were Mr. Quilp alive we
+should be inclined to believe that the work had been dictated by him
+to Lawyer Brass, and published by the interesting sister of that legal
+gentleman.
+
+
+ _A Discourse on the Life, Character, and Public
+ Services of James Kent, late Chancellor of the State of
+ New York. By John Duer. New York: D. Appleton & Co._
+
+
+This discourse was originally delivered before the Judiciary and Bar
+of the city and State of New York. In a style of unpretending
+simplicity it gives a full length portrait of the great chancellor,
+doing complete justice to his life and works, and avoiding all the
+vague commendations and meaningless generalities of commonplace
+eulogy. One charm of the discourse comes from its being the testimony
+of a surviving friend to the intellectual and moral worth of a great
+man, without being marred by the exaggeration of personal attachment.
+Judge Kent's mind and character needed but justice, and could dispense
+with charity, even when friendship was to indicate the grasp of the
+one and the excellence of the other.
+
+
+ _Memorials of the Introduction of Methodism into the
+ Eastern States. By Rev. A. Stevens, A. M. Boston:
+ Charles H. Peirce. 1 vol. 12mo._
+
+
+Mr. Stevens takes a high rank among the leading minds of his
+denomination. The present work shows that he combines the power of
+patient research with the ability to express its results in a lucid,
+animated, and elegant style. His biographies of the Methodist
+preachers have the interest of a story. Indeed, out of the Catholic
+Church, there is no religious chivalry whose characters and actions
+partake so much of heroism, and of that fine enthusiasm which almost
+loses its own identity in the objects it contemplates, as the
+Methodist priests.
+
+
+ _The Inundation; or Pardon and Peace. A Christmas
+ Story. By Mrs. Gore. With Illustrations by Geo.
+ Cruikshank. Boston: C. H. Peirce. 1 vol. 18mo._
+
+
+This is a delightful little story, interesting from its incidents and
+characters, and conveying excellent morality and humanity in a
+pleasing dress. The illustrations are those of the London edition, and
+are admirably graphic. Cruikshank's mode of making a face expressive
+of character by caricaturing it, is well exhibited in his sketches in
+the present volume.
+
+
+ _The Book of Visions, being a Transcript of the Record
+ of the Secret Thoughts of a Variety of Individuals
+ while attending Church._
+
+
+The design of this little work is original and commendable. It is
+written to do good, and we trust may answer the expectations of its
+author. It enters the bosoms of members of the cabinet, members of
+congress, bankers, lawyers, editors, &c
+
+., and reports the secret
+meditations of those who affect to be worshipers. It is published by
+J. W. MOORE of this city.
+
+
+
+
+DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE.
+
+TOILETTE DE VILLE.--Dress of Nankin silk, ornamented in the front of
+the skirt with bias trimming of the same stuff, fastened by silk
+buttons; corsage plain, with a rounded point, ornamented at the skirt;
+sleeves half long, with bias trimming; under sleeves of puffed muslin;
+capote of white crape, ornamented with two plumes falling upon the
+side.
+
+SUR LE COTE.--Dress of blue glace taffetas, trimmed with two puffs
+alike, disposed (en tablier;) corsage plain, low in the neck, and
+trimmed with puffs from the shoulder to the point, and down the side
+seam; sleeves short, and puffed; stomacher of plaited muslin, (under
+sleeves of puffed muslin;) cap of lace, lower part puffed, without
+trimming, ornamented with two long lappets, fastened with some bows of
+yellow ribbon.
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Small errors in punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been
+corrected silently. Minor irregularities in spelling have been
+maintained as in the original.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1
+July 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, JULY 1848 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 29741.txt or 29741.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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