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diff --git a/29959-h/29959-h.htm b/29959-h/29959-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30a63d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/29959-h/29959-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8933 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg Canada eBook of "Graham's Magazine Vol + XXXIII No. 2. August 1848", + by George R. Graham. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em; } + + p.main {font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; text-indent: 0em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-family: serif} + + .cen {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 95%;} + .right {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} + + .rfloat {position: absolute;right:18%; text-align: right; width: auto;} + + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; font-size: 90%;} + + + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right; color: #A9A9A9} + + .totoc {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .figleft {float: left; width: auto; clear: left; margin-left: + 0; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-top: + -0.5em; margin-right: 0.2em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; width: auto; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + + .tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: .25em;} + + .tdc {text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .linenum {position: absolute; left: 5%; right: 91%; } + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 1em; clear: both;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {float:left; width: auto; text-align: left;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 2 August +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. 2 August 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: September 10, 2009 [EBook #29959] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 1848 *** + + + + +Produced by Simon Tarlink, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 508px;"> +<img src="images/illus060.png" width="508" height="800" +alt="Maria Brooks." title="" /></div> +<h4>Maria Brooks.</h4> +<br /><br /> + +<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1> +<br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> XXXIII. + PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1848. + <span class="smcap">No.</span> 2.</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + +<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3><br /> +<table summary="TOC" width="80%"> +<tr> +<td><a href="#THE_LATE_MARIA_BROOKS"><b>THE LATE MARIA BROOKS.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">61</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CRUISE_OF_THE_RAKER"><b>THE CRUISE OF THE RAKER.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">69</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_SOULS_DREAM"><b>THE SOUL'S DREAM.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">74</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_MAID_OF_BOGOTA"><b>THE MAID OF BOGOTA.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">75</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#TO_THE_EAGLE"><b>TO THE EAGLE.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">83</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE_OR_TRUE_LOVES_DEVOTION"> +<b>FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">84</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_BLOCKHOUSE"><b>THE BLOCKHOUSE.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">92</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_DEPARTURE"><b>THE DEPARTURE.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">93</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#SUMMER"><b>SUMMER.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">105</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#DESCRIPTION_OF_A_VISIT_TO_NIAGARA"> +<b>DESCRIPTION OF A VISIT TO NIAGARA.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">106</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#SONNET"><b>SONNET.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">106</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#AUNT_MABLES_LOVE_STORY"><b>AUNT MABLE'S LOVE STORY.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">107</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#TO_ERATO"><b>TO ERATO.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">110</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LABORERS_COMPANIONS"><b>THE LABORER'S COMPANIONS.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">110</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_ENCHANTED_KNIGHT"><b>THE ENCHANTED KNIGHT.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">111</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#KORNERS_SISTER"><b>KORNER'S SISTER.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">111</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_MAN_WHO_WAS_NEVER_HUMBUGGED"> +<b>THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER HUMBUGGED.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">112</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_SISTERS"><b>THE SISTERS.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">114</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#BRUTUS_IN_HIS_TENT"><b>BRUTUS IN HIS TENT.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">115</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#TO_VIOLET"><b>TO VIOLET.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">115</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THINK_NOT_THAT_I_LOVE_THEE"> +<b>"THINK NOT THAT I LOVE THEE."</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">116</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"><b>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</b></a></td> +<td class="tdr">118</td></tr> +</table> +<br /><br /> + + +<h3><a name="THE_LATE_MARIA_BROOKS" id="THE_LATE_MARIA_BROOKS"></a>THE LATE MARIA BROOKS.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h5>[WITH A PORTRAIT.]</h5> + +<p>This remarkable woman was not only one of the +first writers of her country, but she deserves to be +ranked with the most celebrated persons of her sex +who have lived in any nation or age. Within the +last century woman has done more than ever before +in investigation, reflection and literary art. On the +continent of Europe an Agnesi, a Dacier and a Chastelet +have commanded respect by their learning, and +a De Stael, a Dudevant and a Bremer have been +admired for their genius; in Great Britain the names +of More, Burney, Barbauld, Baillie, Somerville, +Farrar, Hemans, Edgeworth, Austen, Landon, Norman +and Barrett, are familiar in the histories of literature +and science; and in our own country we turn +with pride to Sedgwick, Child, Beecher, Kirkland, +Parkes Smith, Fuller, and others, who in various departments +have written so as to deserve as well as +receive the general applause; but it may be doubted +whether in the long catalogue of those whose works +demonstrate and vindicate the intellectual character and +position of the sex, there are many names that will +shine with a clearer, steadier, and more enduring +lustre than that of <span class="smcap">Maria del Occidente</span>.</p> + +<p>Maria Gowen, afterward Mrs. Brooks, upon whom +this title was conferred originally I believe by the +poet Southey, was descended from a Welsh family +that settled in Charlestown, near Boston, sometime +before the Revolution. A considerable portion of +the liberal fortune of her grandfather was lost by the +burning of that city in 1775, and he soon afterward +removed to Medford, across the Mystic river, where +Maria Gowen was born about the year 1795. Her +father was a man of education, and among his intimate +friends were several of the professors of Harvard +College, whose occasional visits varied the +pleasures of a rural life. From this society she +derived at an early period a taste for letters and +learning. Before the completion of her ninth year she +had committed to memory many passages from the +best poets; and her conversation excited special +wonder by its elegance, variety and wisdom. She +grew in beauty, too, as she grew in years, and when +her father died, a bankrupt, before she had attained +the age of fourteen, she was betrothed to a merchant +of Boston, who undertook the completion of her education, +and as soon as she quitted the school was +married to her. Her early womanhood was passed +in commercial affluence; but the loss of several +vessels at sea in which her husband was interested +was followed by other losses on land, and years +were spent in comparitive indigence. In that remarkable +book, "Idomen, or the Vale of Yumuri," +she says, referring to this period: "Our table +had been hospitable, our doors open to many; but +to part with our well-garnished dwelling had now +become inevitable. We retired, with one servant, +to a remote house of meaner dimensions, and were +sought no longer by those who had come in our +wealth. I looked earnestly around me; the present +was cheerless, the future dark and fearful. My +parents were dead, my few relatives in distant +countries, where they thought perhaps but little of +my happiness. Burleigh I had never loved other +than as a father and protector; but he had been the +benefactor of my fallen family, and to him I owed +comfort, education, and every ray of pleasure that +had glanced before me in this world. But the sun of +his energies was setting, and the faults which had +balanced his virtues increased as his fortune declined. +He might live through many years of misery, and to +be devoted to him was my duty while a spark of his +life endured. I strove to nerve my heart for the +worst. Still there were moments when fortitude +became faint with endurance, and visions of happiness +that might have been mine came smiling to my +imagination. I wept and prayed in agony."</p> + +<p>In this period poetry was resorted to for amusement +and consolation. At nineteen she wrote a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +metrical romance, in seven cantos, but it was never +published. It was followed by many shorter lyrical +pieces which were printed anonymously; and in +1820, after favorable judgments of it had been expressed +by some literary friends, she gave to the +public a small volume entitled "Judith, Esther, and +other Poems, by a Lover of the Fine Arts." It +contained many fine passages, and gave promise of +the powers of which the maturity is illustrated by +"Zophiël," very much in the style of which is this +stanza:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With even step, in mourning garb arrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fair Judith walked, and grandeur marked her air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though humble dust, in pious sprinklings laid.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Soiled the dark tresses of her copious hair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And this picture of a boy:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Softly supine his rosy limbs reposed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His locks curled high, leaving the forehead bare:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his eyes the light lids gently closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As they had feared to hide the brilliance there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And this description of the preparations of Esther +to appear before Ahasuerus:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Take ye, my maids, this mournful garb away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bring all my glowing gems and garments fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nation's fate impending hangs to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But on my beauty and your duteous care."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Prompt to obey, her ivory form they lave;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some comb and braid her hair of wavy gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some softly wipe away the limpid wave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That o'er her dimply limbs in drops of fragrance rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Refreshed and faultless from their hands she came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like form celestial clad in raiment bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er all her garb rich India's treasures flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In mingling beams of rainbow-colored light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Graceful she entered the forbidden court,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her bosom throbbing with her purpose high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow were her steps, and unassured her port,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While hope just trembled in her azure eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light on the marble fell her ermine tread.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when the king, reclined in musing mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifts, at the gentle sound, his stately head,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low at his feet the sweet intruder stood.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Among the shorter poems are several that are +marked by fancy and feeling, and a graceful versification, +of one of which, an elegy, these are the +opening verses:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lone in the desert, drear and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the forest's whispering shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where brambles twine and mosses creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lovely Charlotte's grave is made.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But though no breathing marble there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall gleam in beauty through the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turf that hides her golden hair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With sweetest desert flowers shall bloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And while the moon her tender light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the hallowed scene shall fling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mocking-bird shall sit all night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the dewy leaves, and sing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In 1823 Mr. Brooks died, and a paternal uncle +soon after invited the poetess to the Island of +Cuba, where, two years afterward, she completed +the first canto of "Zophiël, or the Bride of Seven," +which was published in Boston in 1825. The second +canto was finished in Cuba in the opening of 1827; +the third, fourth and fifth in 1828; and the sixth in +the beginning of 1829. The relative of Mrs. Brooks +was now dead, and he had left to her his coffee +plantation and other property, which afforded her a +liberal income. She returned again to the United +States, and resided more than a year in the vicinity +of Dartmouth College, where her son was pursuing +his studies; and in the autumn of 1830, she went to +Paris, where she passed the following winter. The +curious and learned notes to "Zophiël," were written +in various places, some in Cuba, some in Hanover, +some in Canada, (which she visited during her residence +at Hanover,) some at Paris, and the rest at +Keswick, in England, the home of Robert Southey, +where she passed the spring of 1831. When she +quitted the hospitable home of this much honored +and much attached friend, she left with him the completed +work, which he subsequently saw through +the press, correcting the proof sheets himself, previous +to its appearance in London in 1833.</p> + +<p>The materials of this poem are universal; that is, +such as may be appropriated by every polished nation. +In all the most beautiful oriental systems of +religion, including our own, may be found such +beings as its characters. The early fathers of Christianity +not only believed in them, but wrote cumbrous +folios upon their nature and attributes. It is a +curious fact that they never doubted the existence +and the power of the Grecian and Roman gods, but +supposed them to be fallen angels, who had caused +themselves to be worshiped under particular forms, +and for particular characteristics. To what an extent, +and to how very late a period this belief has +prevailed, may be learned from a remarkable little +work of Fontenelle,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> in which that pleasing writer +endeavors seriously to disprove that any preternatural +power was evinced in the responses of the ancient +oracles. The Christian belief in good and evil angels +is too beautiful to be laid aside. Their actual and +present existence can be disproved neither by analogy, +philosophy, or theology, nor can it be questioned +without casting a doubt also upon the whole system +of our religion. This religion, by many a fanciful +skeptic, has been called barren and gloomy; but +setting aside all the legends of the Jews, and confining +ourselves entirely to the generally received +Scriptures, there will be found sufficient food for +an imagination warm as that of Homer, Apelles, +Phidias, or Praxiteles. It is astonishing that such +rich materials for poetry should for so many centuries +have been so little regarded, appropriated, or +even perceived.</p> + +<p>The story of Zophiël, though accompanied by +many notes, is simple and easily followed. Reduced +to prose, and a child, or a common novel reader, +would peruse it with satisfaction. It is in six cantos, +and is supposed to occupy the time of nine months: +from the blooming of roses at Ecbatana to the coming +in of spices at Babylon. Of this time the greater +part is supposed to elapse between the second and +third canto, where Zophiël thus speaks to Egla of +Phraërion:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet still she bloomed—uninjured, innocent—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though now for seven sweet moons by Zophiël watched and wooed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The king of Medea, introduced in the second canto, +is an ideal personage; but the history of that country, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>near the time of the second captivity, is very confused, +and more than one young prince resembling +Sardius, might have reigned and died without a record. +So much of the main story however as relates to +human life is based upon sacred or profane history; +and we have sufficient authority for the legend of +an angel's passion for one of the fair daughters of +our own world. It was a custom in the early ages +to style heroes, to raise to the rank of demigods, +men who were distinguished for great abilities, +qualities or actions. Above such men the angels who +are supposed to have visited the earth were but one +grade exalted, and they were capable of participating +in human pains and pleasures. Zophiël is described +as one of those who fell with Lucifer, not from ambition +or turbulence, but from friendship and excessive +admiration of the chief disturber of the tranquillity +of heaven: as he declares, when thwarted by +his betrayer, in the fourth canto:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the first seraph formed, how could I tell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ways of guile? What marvels I believed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When cold ambition mimicked love so well<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That half the sons of heaven looked on deceived!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>During the whole interview in which this stanza +occurs, the deceiver of men and angels exhibits his +alledged power of inflicting pain. He says to Zophiël, +after arresting his course:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">"Sublime Intelligence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once chosen for my friend and worthy me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so wouldst thou have labored to be hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had my emprise been crowned with victory.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I was bright in heaven, thy seraph eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sought only mine. But he who every power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside, while hope allured him, could despise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Changed and forsook me, in misfortune's hour."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>To which Zophiël replies:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Changed, and forsook thee? this from thee to me?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once noble spirit! Oh! had not too much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My o'er fond heart adored thy fallacy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I had not, now, been here to bear thy keen reproach;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forsook thee in misfortune? at thy side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I closer fought as peril thickened round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched o'er thee fallen: the light of heaven denied,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But proved my love more fervent and profound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prone as thou wert, had I been mortal-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And owned as many lives as leaves there be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all Hyrcania by his tempest torn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I had lost, one by one, and given the last for thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! had thy plighted pact of faith been kept,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still unaccomplished were the curse of sin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid all the woes thy ruined followers wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had friendship lingered, hell could not have been."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Phraërion, another fallen angel, but of a nature +gentler than that of Zophiël, is thus introduced:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Harmless Phraërion, formed to dwell on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Retained the looks that had been his above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his harmonious lip, and sweet, blue eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Soothed the fallen seraph's heart, and changed his scorn to love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No soul-creative in this being born,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its restless, daring, fond aspirings hid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the vortex of rebellion drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He joined the shining ranks <i>as others did</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Success but little had advanced; defeat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He thought so little, scarce to him were worse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as he held in heaven inferior seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Less was his bliss, and lighter was his curse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He formed no plans for happiness: content<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To curl the tendril, fold the bud; his pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So light, he scarcely felt his banishment.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Zophiël, perchance, had held him in disdain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, formed for friendship, from his o'erfraught soul<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas such relief his burning thoughts to pour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In other ears, that oft the strong control<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of pride he felt them burst, and could restrain no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zophiël was soft, but yet all flame; by turns<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love, grief, remorse, shame, pity, jealousy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each boundless in his breast, impels or burns:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His joy was bliss, his pain was agony.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Such are the principal preter-human characters +in the poem. Egla, the heroine, is a Hebress of +perfect beauty, who lives with her parents not far +from the city of Ecbatana, and has been saved, by +stratagem, from a general massacre of captives, +under a former king of Medea. Being brought +before the reigning monarch to answer for the supposed +murder of Meles, she exclaims,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sad from my birth, nay, born upon that day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When perished all my race, my infant ears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were opened first with groans; and the first ray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw, came dimly through my mother's tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Zophiël is described throughout the poem as burning +with the admiration of virtue, yet frequently betrayed +into crime by the pursuit of pleasure. Straying +accidentally to the grove of Egla, he is struck with +her beauty, and finds consolation in her presence. +He appears, however, at an unfortunate moment, for +the fair Judean has just yielded to the entreaties of +her mother and assented to proposals offered by +Meles, a noble of the country; but Zophiël causes his +rival to expire suddenly on entering the bridal apartment, +and his previous life at Babylon, as revealed +in the fifth canto, shows that he was not undeserving +of his doom. Despite her extreme sensibility, +Egla is highly endowed with "conscience +and caution;" and she regards the advances of +Zophiël with distrust and apprehension. Meles being +missed, she is brought to court to answer for his +murder. Her sole fear is for her parents, who are +the only Hebrews in the kingdom, and are suffered +to live but through the clemency of Sardius, a young +prince who has lately come to the throne, and who, +like many oriental monarchs, reserves to himself the +privilege of decreeing death. The king is convinced +of her innocence, and, struck with her extraordinary +beauty and character, resolves suddenly to make her +his queen. We know of nothing in its way finer +than the description which follows, of her introduction, +in the simple costume of her country, to a +gorgeous banqueting hall in which he sits with his +assembled chiefs:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With unassured yet graceful step advancing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The light vermilion of her cheek more warm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over the strange attire that well became such form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lend her space the admiring band gave way;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sandals on her silvery feet were blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of saffron tint her robe, as when young day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling dew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or ornament impedes its wavy fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long and profuse; save that, above its hem,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas broidered with pomegranate-wreath, in gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, by a silken cincture, broad and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In shapely guise about the waste confined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blent with the curls that, of a lighter hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Half floated, waving in their length behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other half, in braided tresses twined,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was decked with rose of pearls, and sapphires azure too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arranged with curious skill to imitate<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sweet acacia's blossoms; just as live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And droop those tender flowers in natural state;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pendent, sometimes touch her neck; and there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seemed shrinking from its softness as alive.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round her arms, flour-white and round and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slight bandelets were twined of colors five,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like little rainbows seemly on those arms;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">None of that court had seen the like before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft, fragrant, bright—so much like heaven her charms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It scarce could seem idolatry to adore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who beheld her hand forgot her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet in that face was all beside forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he who, as she went, beheld her pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And locks profuse, had said, "nay, turn thee not."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Idaspes, the Medean vizier, or prime minister, has +reflected on the maiden's story, and is alarmed for +the safety of his youthful sovereign, who consents +to some delay and experiment, but will not be dissuaded +from his design until five inmates of his palace +have fallen dead in the captive's apartment. The +last of these is Altheëtor, a favorite of the king, +(whose Greek name is intended to express his +qualities,) and the circumstances of his death, and +the consequent grief of Egla and despair of Zophiël, +are painted with a beauty, power and passion +scarcely surpassed.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Touching his golden harp to prelude sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Entered the youth, so pensive, pale, and fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advanced respectful to the virgin's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like perfume, soft his gentle accents rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sweetly thrilled the gilded roof along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His warm, devoted soul no terror knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And truth and love lend fervor to his song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hides her face upon her couch, that there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She may not see him die. No groan—she springs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frantic between a hope-beam and despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And twines her long hair round him as he sings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thus: "O! being, who unseen but near,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Art hovering now, behold and pity me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love, hope, beauty, music—all that's dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Look, look on me, and spare my agony!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit! in mercy make not me the cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hateful cause, of this kind being's death!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pity kill me first! He lives—he draws—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou wilt not blast?—he draws his harmless breath!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still lives Altheëtor; still unguarded strays<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One hand o'er his fallen lyre; but all his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is lost—given up. He fain would turn to gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But cannot turn, so twined. Now all that stole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Himself could not have told—all wound and clasped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her white arms and hair. Ah! can they serve<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To save him? "What a sea of sweets!" he gasped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But 'twas delight: sound, fragrance, all were breathing.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still swelled the transport: "Let me look and thank:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sighed (celestial smiles his lips enwreathing,)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"I die—but ask no more," he said, and sank;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still by her arms supported—lower—lower—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As by soft sleep oppressed; so calm, so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rested on the purple tapestried floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It seemed an angel lay reposing there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And Zophiël exclaims,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He died of love, or the o'er-perfect joy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of being pitied—prayed for—pressed by thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O! for the fate of that devoted boy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd sell my birthright to eternity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm not the cause of this thy last distress.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nay! look upon thy spirit ere he flies!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on me once, and learn to hate me less!"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said; and tears fell fast from his immortal eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Beloved and admired at first, Egla becomes an object +of hatred and fear; for Zophiël being invisible +to others her story is discredited, and she is suspected +of murdering by some baleful art all who +have died in her presence. She is, however, sent +safely to her home, and lives, as usual, in retirement +with her parents. The visits of Zophiël are now unimpeded. +He instructs the young Jewess in music +and poetry; his admiration and affection grow with +the hours; and he exerts his immortal energies to +preserve her from the least pain or sorrow, but +selfishly confines her as much as possible to solitude, +and permits for her only such amusements as he +himself can minister. Her confidence in him increases, +and in her gentle society he almost forgets +his fall and banishment.</p> + +<p>But the difference in their natures causes him continual +anxiety; knowing her mortality, he is always +in fear that death or sudden blight will deprive him +of her; and he consults with Phraërion on the best +means of saving her from the perils of human existence. +One evening,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Round Phraërion, nearer drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One beauteous arm he flung: "First to my love!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We'll see her safe; then to our task till dawn."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well pleased, Phraërion answered that embrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All balmy he with thousand breathing sweets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thousand dewy flowers. "But to what place,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said, "will Zophièl go? who danger greets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if 'twere peace. The palace of the gnome,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tahathyam, for our purpose most were meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But then, the wave, so cold and fierce, the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The whirlpools, rocks, that guard that deep retreat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet <i>there</i> are fountains, which no sunny ray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">E'er danced upon, and drops come there at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, for whole ages, filtering all the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through all the veins of earth, in winding maze have past.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These take from mortal beauty every stain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And smooth the unseemly lines of age and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With every wondrous efficacy rife;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nay, once a spirit whispered of a draught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which a drop, by any mortal quaffed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would save, for terms of years, his feeble, flickering life."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Tahathyam is the son of a fallen angel, and lives +concealed in the bosom of the earth, guarding in his +possession a vase of the elixir of life, bequeathed to +him by a father whom he is not permitted to see. +The visit of Zophiël and Phraërion to this beautiful +but unhappy creature will remind the reader of the +splendid creations of Dante.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The soft flower-spirit shuddered, looked on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from his bolder brother would have fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But then the anger kindling in that eye<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He could not bear. So to fair Egla's bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Followed and looked; then shuddering all with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To wondrous realms, unknown to men, he led;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Continuing long in sunset course his flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until for flowery Sicily he bent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, where Italia smiled upon the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between their nearest shores chose midway his descent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea was calm, and the reflected moon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still trembled on its surface; not a breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curled the broad mirror. Night had passed her noon;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How soft the air! how cold the depths beneath!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits hover o'er that surface smooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Zophiël's white arm around Phraërion's twined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fond caresses, his tender cares to soothe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While either's nearer wing the other's crossed behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well pleased, Phraërion half forgot his dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And first, with foot as white as lotus leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sleepy surface of the waves essayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But then his smile of love gave place to drops of grief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could he for that fluid, dense and chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Change the sweet floods of air they floated on?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en at the touch his shrinking fibres thrill;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But ardent Zophiël, panting, hurries on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And (catching his mild brother's tears, with lip<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That whispered courage 'twixt each glowing kiss,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Persuades to plunge: limbs, wings, and locks they dip;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whate'er the other's pains, the lover felt but bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quickly he draws Phraërion on, his toil<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Even lighter than he hoped: some power benign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems to restrain the surges, while they boil<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Mid crags and caverns, as of his design<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Respectful. That black, bitter element,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As if obedient to his wish, gave way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, comforting Phraërion, on he went,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a high, craggy arch they reach at dawn of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the upper world; and forced them through<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That arch, the thick, cold floods, with such a roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the bold sprite receded, and would view<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cave before he ventured to explore.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, fearful lest his frighted guide might part<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And not be missed amid such strife and din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He strained him closer to his burning heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, trusting to his strength, rushed fiercely in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On, on, for many a weary mile they fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till thinner grew the floods, long, dark and dense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From nearness to earth's core; and now, a glare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of grateful light relieved their piercing sense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when, above, the sun his genial streams<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of warmth and light darts mingling with the waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whole fathoms down; while, amorous of his beams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each scaly, monstrous thing leaps from its slimy caves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, Phraërion, with a tender cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far sweeter than the land-bird's note, afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard through the azure arches of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the long-baffled, storm-worn mariner:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Hold, Zophiël! rest thee now—our task is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tahathyam's realms alone can give this light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O! though it is not the life-awakening sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How sweet to see it break upon such fearful night!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clear grew the wave, and thin; a substance white,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wide-expanding cavern floors and flanks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could one have looked from high how fair the sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like these, the dolphin, on Bahaman banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleaves the warm fluid, in his rainbow tints,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While even his shadow on the sands below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is seen; as through the wave he glides, and glints,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where lies the polished shell, and branching corals grow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No massive gate impedes; the wave, in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Might strive against the air to break or fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, at the portal of that strange domain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A clear, bright curtain seemed, or crystal wall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits pass its bounds, but would not far<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tread its slant pavement, like unbidden guest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while, on either side, a bower of spar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gave invitation for a moment's rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, deep in either bower, a little throne<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looked so fantastic, it were hard to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If busy nature fashioned it alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or found some curious artist here below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon spoke Phraërion: "Come, Tahathyam, come,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou know'st me well! I saw thee once to love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring a guest to view thy sparkling dome<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who comes full fraught with tidings from above."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those gentle tones, angelically clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Past from his lips, in mazy depths retreating,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(As if that bower had been the cavern's ear,)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Full many a stadia far; and kept repeating,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As through the perforated rock they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Echo to echo guiding them; their tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(As just from the sweet spirit's lip) at last<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tahathyam heard: where, on a glittering throne he solitary sat.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sending through the rock an answering strain, to +give the spirits welcome, the gnome prepares to +meet them at his palace-door:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He sat upon a car, (and the large pearl,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once cradled in it, glimmered now without,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound midway on two serpents' backs, that curl<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In silent swiftness as he glides about.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shell, 'twas first in liquid amber wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then ere the fragrant cement hardened round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All o'er with large and precious stones 'twas set<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By skillful Tsavaven, or made or found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reins seemed pliant crystal (but their strength<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had matched his earthly mother's silken band)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, flecked with rubies, flowed in ample length,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like sparkles o'er Tahathyam's beauteous hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reptiles, in their fearful beauty, drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As if from love, like steeds of Araby;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like blood of lady's lip their scarlet hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their scales so bright and sleek, 'twas pleasure but to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With open mouths, as proud to show the bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They raise their heads, and arch their necks—(with eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bright as if with meteor fire 'twere lit;)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dart their barbed tongues, 'twixt fangs of ivory.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, when the quick advancing sprites they saw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Furl their swift wings, and tread with angel grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smooth, fair pavement, checked their speed in awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And glided far aside as if to give them space.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The errand of the angels is made known to the +sovereign of this interior and resplendent world, and +upon conditions the precious elixir is promised; but +first Zophiël and Phraërion are ushered through sparry +portals to a banquet.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High towered the palace and its massive pile,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made dubious if of nature or of art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wild and so uncouth; yet, all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shaped to strange grace in every varying part.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And groves adorned it, green in hue, and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As icicles about a laurel-tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And danced about their twigs a wonderous light;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whence came that light so far beneath the sea?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zophiël looked up to know, and to his view<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The vault scarce seemed less vast than that of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No rocky roof was seen; a tender blue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Appeared, as of the sky, and clouds about it play:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in the midst, an orb looked as 'twere meant<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To shame the sun, it mimicked him so well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ah! no quickening, grateful warmth it sent;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cold as the rock beneath, the paly radiance fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within, from thousand lamps the lustre strays.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reflected back from gems about the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from twelve dolphin shapes a fountain plays,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Just in the centre of a spacious hall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whether in the sunbeam formed to sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">These shapes once lived in supleness and pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, to decorate this wonderous court,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were stolen from the waves and petrified;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, moulded by some imitative gnome,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And scaled all o'er with gems, they were but stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Casting their showers and rainbows 'neath the dome.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To man or angel's eye might not be known.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No snowy fleece in these sad realms was found,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor silken ball by maiden loved so well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ranged in lightest garniture around,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In seemly folds, a shining tapestry fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fibres of asbestos, bleached in fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all with pearls and sparkling gems o'erflecked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that strange court composed the rich attire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And such the cold, fair form of sad Tahathyam decked.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Gifted with every pleasing endowment, in possession +of an elixir of which a drop perpetuates life +and youth, surrounded by friends of his own choice, +who are all anxious to please and amuse him, the +gnome feels himself inferior in happiness to the +lowest of mortals. His sphere is confined, his high +powers useless, for he is without the "last, best gift +of God to man," and there is no object on which he +can exercise his benevolence. The feast is described +with the terse beauty which marks all the canto, and +at its close—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The banquet-cups, of many a hue and shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bossed o'er with gems, were beautiful to view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, for the madness of the vaunted grape,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their only draught was a pure limpid dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits while they sat in social guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pledging each goblet with an answering kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked many a gnome conceal his bursting sighs;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thought death happier than a life like this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they had music; at one ample side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the vast arena of that sparkling hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fringed round with gems, that all the rest outvied.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In form of canopy, was seen to fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stony tapestry, over what, at first,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An altar to some deity appeared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it had cost full many a year to adjust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The limpid crystal tubes that 'neath upreared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their different lucid lengths; and so complete<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their wondrous 'rangement, that a tuneful gnome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew from them sounds more varied, clear, and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than ever yet had rung in any earthly dome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud, shrilly, liquid, soft; at that quick touch<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such modulation wooed his angel ears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Zophiël wondered, started from his couch<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thought upon the music of the spheres.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But Zophiël lingers with ill-dissembled impatience +and Tahathyam leads the way to where the elixir of +life is to be surrendered.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon through the rock they wind; the draught divine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was hidden by a veil the king alone might lift.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cephroniel's son, with half-averted face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And faltering hand, that curtain drew, and showed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of solid diamond formed, a lucid vase;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And warm within the pure elixir glowed;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright red, like flame and blood, (could they so meet,)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ascending, sparkling, dancing, whirling, ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In quick perpetual movement; and of heat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So high, the rock was warm beneath their feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Yet heat in its intenseness hurtful never,)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Even to the entrance of the long arcade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which led to that deep shrine, in the rock's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As far as if the half-angel were afraid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know the secret he himself possessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tahathyam filled a slip of spar, with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if stood by and frowned some power divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then trembling, as he turned to Zophiël, said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"But for one service shall thou call it thine:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bring me a wife; as I have named the way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I will not risk destruction save for love!)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fair-haired and beauteous like my mother; say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plight me this pact; so shalt thou bear above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thine own purpose, what has here been kept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since bloomed the second age, to angels dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bursting from earth's dark womb, the fierce wave swept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Off every form that lived and loved, while here,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Deep hidden here, I still lived on and wept."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Great pains have evidently been taken to have +every thing throughout the work in keeping. Most +of the names have been selected for their particular +meaning. Tahathyam and his retinue appear to have +been settled in their submarine dominion before the +great deluge that changed the face of the earth, as is +intimated in the lines last quoted; and as the accounts +of that judgment, and of the visits and communications +of angels connected with it, are chiefly in Hebrew, +they have names from that language. It would +have been better perhaps not to have called the persons +of the third canto "gnomes," as at this word +one is reminded of all the varieties of the Rosicrucian +system, of which Pope has so well availed himself +in the Rape of the Lock, which sprightly production +has been said to be derived, though remotely, +from Jewish legends of fallen angels. Tahathyam +can be called gnome only on account of the retreat +to which his erring father has consigned him.</p> + +<p>The spirits leave the cavern, and Zophiël exults a +moment, as if restored to perfect happiness. But +there is no way of bearing his prize to the earth except +through the most dangerous depths of the sea.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Zophiël, with toil severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But bliss in view, through the thrice murky night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sped swiftly on. A treasure now more dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had to guard, than boldest hope had dared<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To breathe for years; but rougher grew the way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft Phraërion, shrinking back and scared<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At every whirling depth, wept for his flowers and day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shivered, and pained, and shrieking, as the waves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wildly impel them 'gainst the jutting rocks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not all the care and strength of Zophiël saves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His tender guide from half the wildering shocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bore. The calm, which favored their descent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bade them look upon their task as o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was past; and now the inmost earth seemed rent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With such fierce storms as never raged before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a long mortal life had the whole pain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Essenced in one consummate pang, been borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Known, and survived, its still would be in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To try to paint the pains felt by these sprites forlorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The precious drop closed in its hollow spar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between his lips Zophiël in triumph bore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, earth and sea seem shaken! Dashed afar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He feels it part;—'tis dropt;—the waters roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees it in a sable vortex whirling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Formed by a cavern vast, that 'neath the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sucks the fierce torrent in.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The furious storm has been raised by the power +of his betrayer and persecutor, and in gloomy desperation +Zophiël rises with the frail Phraërion to the +upper air:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Black clouds, in mass deform,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were frowning; yet a moment's calm was there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As it had stopped to breathe awhile the storm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their white feet pressed the desert sod; they shook<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From their bright locks the briny drops; nor stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zophiël on ills, present or past, to look.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But his flight toward Medea is stayed by a renewal +of the tempest—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loud and more loud the blast; in mingled gyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flew leaves and stones; and with a deafening crash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell the uprooted trees; heaven seemed on fire—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not, as 'tis wont, with intermitting flash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, like an ocean all of liquid flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The whole broad arch gave one continuous glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While through the red light from their prowling came<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The frighted beasts, and ran, but could not find a lair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>At length comes a shock, as if the earth crashed +against some other planet, and they are thrown +amazed and prostrate upon the heath. Zophiël,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Too fierce for fear, uprose; yet ere for flight in a mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Served his torn wings, a form before him stood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In gloomy majesty. Like starless night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sable mantle fell in cloudy fold<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From its stupendous breast; and as it trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale and lurid light at distance rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before its princely feet, receding on the sod.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The interview between the bland spirit and the prime +cause of his guilt is full of the energy of passion, +and the rhetoric of the conversation has a masculine +beauty of which Mrs. Brooks alone of all the poets +of her sex is capable.</p> + +<p>Zophiël returns to Medea and the drama draws to +a close, which is painted with consummate art. +Egla wanders alone at twilight in the shadowy vistas +of a grove, wondering and sighing at the continued +absence of the enamored angel, who approaches unseen +while she sings a strain that he had taught her.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His wings were folded o'er his eyes; severe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As was the pain he'd borne from wave and wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dubious warning of that being drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who met him in the lightning, to his mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was torture worse; a dark presentiment<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came o'er his soul with paralyzing chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when Fate vaguely whispers her intent<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To poison mortal joy with sense of coming ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He searched about the grove with all the care<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of trembling jealousy, as if to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By track or wounded flower some rival there;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And scarcely dared to look upon the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her he loved, lest it some tale might tell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To make the only hope that soothed him vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hears her notes in numbers die and swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But almost fears to listen to the strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself had taught her, lest some hated name<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had been with that dear gentle air enwreathed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While he was far; she sighed—he nearer came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, transport! Zophiël was the name she breathed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He saw her—but</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Paused, ere he would advance, for very bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy of a whole mortal life he felt<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In that one moment. Now, too long unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fain had shown his beauteous form, and knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But while he still delayed, a mortal rushed between.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This scene is in the sixth canto. In the fifth, which +is occupied almost entirely by mortals, and bears a +closer relation than the others to the chief works in +narrative and dramatic poetry, are related the adventures +of Zameia, which, with the story of her death, +following the last extract, would make a fine tragedy. +Her misfortunes are simply told by an aged attendant +who had fled with her in pursuit of Meles, whom +she had seen and loved in Babylon. At the feast of +Venus Mylitta,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full in the midst, and taller than the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Zameia stood distinct, and not a sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturbed the gem that sparkled on her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her oval cheek was heightened to a dye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shamed the mellow vermeil of the wreath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which in her jetty locks became her well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mingled fragrance with her sweeter breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The while her haughty lips more beautifully swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With consciousness of every charm's excess;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While with becoming scorn she turned her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From every eye that darted its caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As if some god alone might hope for her embrace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Again she is discovered, sleeping, by the rocky margin +of a river:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pallid and worn, but beautiful and young,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though marked her charms by wildest passion's trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her long round arms, over a fragment flung,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From pillow all too rude protect a face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose dark and high arched brows gave to the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To deem what radiance once they towered above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all its proudly beauteous outline taught<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That anger there had shared the throne of love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was Zameia that rushed between Zophiël and +Egla, and that now with quivering lip, disordered +hair, and eye gleaming with frenzy, seized her arm, +reproached her with the murder of Meles, and attempted +to kill her. But as her dagger touches the +white robe of the maiden her arm is arrested by some +unseen power, and she falls dead at Egla's feet. Reproached +by her own handmaid and by the aged attendant +of the princess, Egla feels all the horrors of +despair, and, beset with evil influences, she seeks to +end her own life, but is prevented by the timely appearance +of Raphael, in the character of a traveler's +guide, leading Helon, a young man of her own nation +and kindred who has been living unknown at +Babylon, protected by the same angel, and destined +to be her husband; and to the mere idea of whose +existence, imparted to her in a mysterious and vague +manner by Raphael, she has remained faithful from +her childhood.</p> + +<p>Zophiël, who by the power of Lucifer has been +detained struggling in the grove, is suffered once +more to enter the presence of the object of his affection. +He sees her supported in the arms of Helon, +whom he makes one futile effort to destroy, and then +is banished forever. The emissaries of his immortal +enemy pursue the baffled seraph to his place of exile, +and by their derision endeavor to augment his misery,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when they fled he hid him in a cave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Strewn with the bones of some sad wretch who there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apart from men, had sought a desert grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yielded to the demon of despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There beauteous Zophiël, shrinking from the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Envying the wretch that so his life had ended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wailed his eternity;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But, at last, is visited by Raphael, who gives him +hopes of restoration to his original rank in heaven.</p> + +<p>The concluding canto is entitled "The Bridal of +Helon," and in the following lines it contains much +of the author's philosophy of life:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bard has sung, God never formed a soul<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without its own peculiar mate, to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thousand evil things there are that hate<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To look on happiness; these hurt, impede,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, leagued with time, space, circumstance, and fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine and pant and bleed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the dove to far Palmyra flying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From where her native founts of Antioch beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love's pure, congenial spring unfound, unquaffed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suffers, recoils, then, thirsty and despairing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>On consulting "Zophiël," it will readily be seen +that the passages here extracted have not been chosen +for their superior poetical merit. It has simply been +attempted by quotations and a running commentary +to convey a just impression of the scope and character +of the work. There is not perhaps in the English +language a poem containing a greater variety of +thought, description and incident, and though the +author did not possess in an eminent degree the constructive +faculty, there are few narratives that are +conducted with more regard to unities, or with more +simplicity and perspicuity.</p> + +<p>Though characterized by force and even freedom +of expression, it does not contain an impure or irreligious +sentiment. Every page is full of passion, +but passion subdued and chastened by refinement +and delicacy. Several of the characters are original +and splendid creations. Zophiël seems to us the +finest fallen angel that has come from the hand of a +poet. Milton's outcasts from heaven are utterly depraved +and abraded of their glory; but Zophiël has +traces of his original virtue and beauty, and a lingering +hope of restoration to the presence of the Divinity. +Deceived by the specious fallacies of an +immortal like himself, and his superior in rank, he +encounters the blackest perfidy in him for whom so +much had been forfeited, and the blight of every +prospect that had lured his fancy or ambition. Egla, +though one of the most important characters in the +poem, is much less interesting. She is represented +as heroically consistent, except when given over for +a moment to the malice of infernal emissaries. In +her immediate reception of Helon as a husband, she +is constant to a long cherished idea, and fulfills the +design of her guardian spirit, or it would excite some +wonder that Zophiël was worsted in such competition. +It will be perceived upon a careful examination +that the work is in admirable keeping, and that +the entire conduct of its several persons bears a just +relation to their characters and position.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brooks returned to the United States, and her +son being now a student in the military academy, +she took up her residence in the vicinity of West +Point, where, with occasional intermissions in which +she visited her plantation in Cuba or traveled in +the United States, she remained until 1839. Her +marked individuality, the variety, beauty and occasional +splendor of her conversation, made her house +a favorite resort of the officers of the academy, and +of the most accomplished persons who frequented +that romantic neighborhood, by many of whom she +will long be remembered with mingled affection and +admiration.</p> + +<p>In 1834 she caused to be published in Boston an +edition of "Zophiël," for the benefit of the Polish +exiles who were thronging to this country after their +then recent struggle for freedom. There were at +that time too few readers among us of sufficiently +cultivated and independent taste to appreciate a work +of art which time or accident had not commended to +the popular applause, and "Zophiël" scarcely anywhere +excited any interest or attracted any attention. +At the end of a month but about twenty copies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +had been sold, and, in a moment of disappointment, +Mrs. Brooks caused the remainder of the impression +to be withdrawn from the market. The poem has +therefore been little read in this country, and even +the title of it would have remained unknown to the +common reader of elegant literature but for occasional +allusions to it by Southey and other foreign +critics.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>In the summer of 1843, while Mrs. Brooks was +residing at Fort Columbus, in the bay of New York,—a +military post at which her son, Captain Horace +Brooks, was stationed several years—she had printed +for private circulation the remarkable little +work to which allusion has already been made, entitled +"Idomen, or the Vale of the Yumuri." It is +in the style of a romance, but contains little that is +fictitious except the names of the characters. The +account which Idomen gives of her own history is +literally true, except in relation to an excursion to +Niagara, which occurred in a different period of the +author's life. It is impossible to read these interesting +"confessions" without feeling a profound interest +in the character which they illustrate; a character of +singular strength, dignity and delicacy, subjected to +the severest tests, and exposed to the most curious +and easy analysis. "To see the inmost soul of one +who bore all the impulse and torture of self-murder +without perishing, is what can seldom be done: very +few have memories strong enough to retain a distinct +impression of past suffering, and few, though possessed +of such memories, have the power of so describing +their sensations as to make them apparent to +another." "Idomen" will possess an interest and +value as a psychological study, independent of that +which belongs to it as a record of the experience of +so eminent a poet.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brooks was anxious to have published an +edition of all her writings, including "Idomen," before +leaving New York, and she authorized me to +offer gratuitously her copyrights to an eminent publishing +house for that purpose. In the existing condition +of the copyright laws, which should have +been entitled acts for the discouragement of a native +literature, she was not surprised that the offer was +declined, though indignant that the reason assigned +should have been that they were "of too elevated a +character to sell." Writing to me soon afterward +she observed, "I do not think any thing from my +humble imagination can be 'too elevated,' or elevated +enough, for the public as it really is in these +North American States.... In the words of poor +Spurzheim, (uttered to me a short time before his +death, in Boston,) I solace myself by saying, 'Stupidity! +stupidity! the knowledge of that alone has +saved me from misanthropy.'"</p> + +<p>In December, 1843, Mrs. Brooks sailed the last +time from her native country for the Island of Cuba. +There, on her coffee estate, Hermita, she renewed +for a while her literary labors. The small stone +building, smoothly plastered, with a flight of steps +leading to its entrance, in which she wrote some of +the cantos of "Zophiël," is described by a recent +traveler<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> +as surrounded by alleys of "palms, cocoas, +and oranges, interspersed with the tamarind, the +pomegranate, the mangoe, and the rose-apple, with +a back ground of coffee and plantains covering every +portion of the soil with their luxuriant verdure. I +have often passed it," he observes, "in the still +night, when the moon was shining brightly, and the +leaves of the cocoa and palm threw fringe-like shadows +on the walls and the floor, and the elfin lamps +of the cocullos swept through the windows and door, +casting their lurid, mysterious light on every object, +while the air was laden with mingled perfume from +the coffee and orange, and the tube-rose and night-blooming +ceres, and have thought that no fitter birth-place +could be found for the images she has created."</p> + +<p>Her habits of composition were peculiar. With +an almost unconquerable aversion to the use of the +pen, especially in her later years, it was her custom +to finish her shorter pieces, and entire cantos of +longer poems, before committing a word of them to +paper. She had long meditated, and had partly composed, +an epic under the title of "Beatriz, the Beloved +of Columbus," and when transmitting to me +the MS. of "The Departed," in August, 1844, she +remarked: "When I have written out my 'Vistas +del Infierno' and one other short poem, I hope to begin +the penning of the epic I have so often spoken to +you of; but when or whether it will ever be finished, +Heaven alone can tell." I have not learned whether +this poem was written, but when I heard her repeat +passages of it, I thought it would be a nobler work +than "Zophiël."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brooks died at Patricio, in Cuba, near the +close of December, 1844.</p> + +<p>I have no room for particular criticism of her +minor poems. They will soon I trust be given to +the public in a suitable edition, when it will be discovered +that they are heart-voices, distinguished for +the same fearlessness of thought and expression +which is illustrated by the work which has been considered +in this brief reviewal.</p> + +<p>The accompanying portrait is from a picture by +Mr. Alexander, of Boston, and though the engraver +has very well preserved the details and general +effect of the painting, it does little justice to the fine +intellectual expression of the subject. It was a fancy +of Mr. Southey's that induced her to wear in her +hair the passion-flower, which that poet deemed the +fittest emblem of her nature.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_CRUISE_OF_THE_RAKER" id="THE_CRUISE_OF_THE_RAKER"></a>THE CRUISE OF THE RAKER.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + +<h4>A TALE OF THE WAR OF 1812-15.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY HENRY A. CLARK.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<h5><i>The Departure of the Privateer.</i></h5> + +<p>It was a dark and cloudy afternoon near the close +of the war of 1812-15. A little vessel was scudding +seaward before a strong sou'wester, which lashed +the bright waters of the Delaware till its breast seemed +a mimic ocean, heaving and swelling with tiny +waves. As the sky and sea grew darker and darker +in the gathering shades of twilight, the little bark +rose upon the heavy swell of the ocean, and meeting +Cape May on its lee-beam, shot out upon the broad +waste of waters, alone in its daring course, seeming +like the fearless bird which spreads its long wings +amid the fury of the storm and the darkness of the +cloud.</p> + +<p>Upon the deck, near the helm, stood the captain, +whom we introduce to our readers as George Greene, +captain of the American privater, Raker. He was +a weather-bronzed, red-cheeked, sturdy-built personage, +with a dark-blue eye, the same in color as +the great sea over which it was roving with an +earnest and careful glance, rather as if in search of +a strange sail, than in apprehension of the approaching +storm. His countenance denoted firmness and +resolution, which he truly possessed in an extraordinary +degree, and his whole appearance was that +of a hardy sailor accustomed to buffet with the storm +and laugh at the fiercest wave.</p> + +<p>It was evident that a bad night was before them, +and there were some on board the little privateer +who thought they had better have remained inside +the light-house of Cape May, than ventured out upon +the sea. The heavy masses of black clouds which +were piled on the edge of the distant horizon seemed +gradually gathering nearer and nearer, as if to surround +and ingulf the gallant vessel, which sped onward +fearlessly and proudly, as if conscious of its +power to survive the tempest, and bide the storm.</p> + +<p>Captain Greene's eye was at length attracted by +the threatening aspect of the sky, and seizing his +speaking-trumpet he gave the orders of preparation, +which were the more promptly executed inasmuch +as they had been anxiously awaited.</p> + +<p>"Lay aloft there, lads, and in with the fore +to'gallant-sail and royal—down with the main gaff +top-sail!—bear a hand, lads, a norther on the Banks +is no plaything! Clear away both cables, and see +them bent to the anchors—let's have all snug—lower +the flag from the gaff-peak, and send up the storm-pennant, +there—now we are ready."</p> + +<p>A thunder-storm at sea is perhaps the sublimest +sight in nature, especially when attended with the +darkness and mystery of night. The struggling vessel +plunges onward into the deep blackness, like a +blind and unbridled war-horse. All is dark—fearfully +dark. Stand with me, dear reader, here in the +bow of the ship! make fast to that halliard, and share +with me in the glorious feelings engendered by the +storm which is now rioting over the waters and +rending the sky. We hear the fierce roar of the contending +surges, yet we see them not. We hear the +quivering sails and strained sheets, creaking and fluttering +like imprisoned spirits, above and around us, +but all is solemnly invisible; now, see in the distant +horizon the faint premonitory flush of light, preceding +the vivid lightning flash—now, for a moment, +every thing—sky—water—sheet—shroud and spar +are glowing with a brilliancy that exceedeth the +brightness of day—the sky is a broad canopy of +golden radiance, and the waves are crested with a +red and fiery surge, that reminds you of your conception +of the "lake of burning fire and brimstone." +We feel the dread—the vast sublimity of the breathless +moment, and while the mighty thoughts and +tumultuous conceptions are striving for form and +order of utterance within our throbbing breasts—again +all is dark—sadly, solemnly dark. Is not the +scene—is not the hour, truly sublime?</p> + +<p>There was one at least on board the little Raker, +who felt as we should have felt, dear reader—a sense +of exultation, mingled with awe. It is upon the +ocean that man learns his own weakness, and his +own strength—he feels the light vessel trembling beneath +him, as if it feared dissolution—he hears the +strained sheets moaning in almost conscious agony—he +sees the great waves dashing from stem to stern +in relentless glee, and he feels that he is a sport and +a plaything in the grasp of a mightier power; he +learns his own insignificance. Yet the firm deck +remains—the taut sheets and twisted halliards give +not away; and he learns a proud reliance on his own +skill and might, when he finds that with but a narrow +hold between him and death, he can outride the +storm, and o'ermaster the wave.</p> + +<p>Such were the thoughts which filled the mind of +Henry Morris, as he stood by the side of Captain +Greene on the quarter-deck of the Raker; as he stood +with his left arm resting on the main-boom, and his +gracefully turned little tarpaulin thrown back from +a broad, high forehead, surrounded by dark and clustering +curls, and with his black, brilliant eyes lighted +up with the enthusiasm of thought, he presented a +splendid specimen of an American sailor. The epau<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>lette +upon his shoulder denoted that he was an officer; +he was indeed second in command in the privateer. +He was a native of New Jersey, and his +father had been in Revolutionary days one of the +"Jarsey Blues," as brave and gallant men as fought +in that glorious struggle.</p> + +<p>"Well, Harry," said Captain Greene, "it's a dirty +night, but I'll turn in a spell, and leave you in command."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir."</p> + +<p>Captain Greene threw out a huge quid of tobacco +which had rested for some time in his mouth, walked +the deck a few times fore and aft, gaped as if his +jaws were about to separate forever, and then disappeared +through the cabin-door.</p> + +<p>Henry Morris, though an universal favorite with +the crew and officers under his command, was yet a +strict disciplinarian, and being left in command of +the deck at once went the rounds of the watch, to +see that all were on the look out. The night had far +advanced before he saw any remissness; at length, +however, he discovered a brawny tar stowed away +in a coil of rope, snoring in melodious unison with +the noise of the wind and wave; his mouth was open, +developing an amazing circumference. Morris looked +at him for some time, when, with a smile, he addressed +a sailor near him.</p> + +<p>"I say, Jack Marlinspike!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir."</p> + +<p>"Jack, get some oakum."</p> + +<p>Jack speedily brought a fist-full.</p> + +<p>"Now, Jack, some <i>slush</i>."</p> + +<p>Jack dipped the oakum in the slush-bucket which +hung against the main-mast.</p> + +<p>"Now, Jack, a little tar."</p> + +<p>The mixture was immediately dropped into the +tar-bucket.</p> + +<p>"Now, Jack, stow it away in Pratt's mouth—don't +wake him up—'tis a delicate undertaking, but +he sleeps soundly."</p> + +<p>"Lord! a stroke of lightning wouldn't wake him—ha! +ha! ha! he'll dream he is eating his breakfast!"</p> + +<p>With a broad grin upon his weather-beaten face, +Marlinspike proceeded to obey orders. He placed +the execrable compound carefully in Pratt's mouth, +and plugged it down, as he called it, with the end of +his jack-knife, then surveying his work with a complacent +laugh, he touched his hat, and withdrew a +few paces to bide the event.</p> + +<p>Pratt breathed hard, but slept on, though the melody +of his snoring was sadly impaired in the clearness of +its utterance.</p> + +<p>Morris gazed at him quietly, and then sung out,</p> + +<p>"Pratt—Pratt—what are you lying there wheezing +like a porpoise for? Get up, man, your watch is +not out."</p> + +<p>The sailor opened his eyes with a ludicrous expression +of fright, as he became immediately conscious +of a peculiar feeling of difficulty in breathing—thrusting +his huge hand into his mouth, he hauled +away upon its contents, and at length found room for +utterance.</p> + +<p>"By heaven, just tell me who did that 'ar nasty +trick—that's all."</p> + +<p>At this moment he caught sight of Marlinspike, +who was looking at him with a grin extending from +ear to ear. Without further remark, Pratt let the +substance which he had held in his hand fly at +Marlinspike's head; that individual, however, dodged +very successfully, and it disappeared to leeward.</p> + +<p>Pratt was about to follow up his first discharge +with an assault from a pair of giant fists, but the voice +of his commander restrained him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Pratt! somebody has been fooling you—you +must look out for the future."</p> + +<p>Pratt immediately knew from the peculiar tone +of the voice which accompanied this remark who +was the real author of the joke, and turned to his +duty with the usual philosophy of a sailor, at the same +time filling his mouth with nearly a whole hand of +tobacco, to take the taste out, as he said. He did +not soon sleep upon his watch again.</p> + +<p>As the reader will perceive, Lieut. Morris was +decidedly fond of a joke, as, indeed, is every sailor.</p> + +<p>The storm still raged onward as day broke over +the waters; the little Raker was surrounded by immense +waves which heaved their foaming spray over +the vessel from stem to stern.</p> + +<p>Yet all on board were in good spirits; all had confidence +in the well-tried strength of their bark, and +the joke and jest went round as gayly and carelessly +as if the wind were only blowing a good stiff way.</p> + +<p>"Here, you snow-ball," cried Jack Marlinspike, +to the black cook, who had just emptied his washings +overboard, and was tumbling back to his galley +as well as the uneasy motion of the vessel would +allow; "here, snow-ball."</p> + +<p>"Well, massa—what want?"</p> + +<p>"Haint we all told you that you mustn't empty +nothing over to windward but hot water and ashes—all +else must go to leeward?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Massa."</p> + +<p>"Well, recollect it now; go and empty your ash-pot, +so you'll learn how."</p> + +<p>"Yes, massa."</p> + +<p>Cuffy soon appeared with his pot, which he +capsized as directed, and got his eyes full of the dust.</p> + +<p>"O, Lord! O, Lord! I see um now; I guess you +wont catch dis child that way agin."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Cuffy! we must all learn by experience."</p> + +<p>"Gorry, massa, guess I wont try de hot water!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I wouldn't, Cuff. Now hurry up the +pork—you've learnt something this morning."</p> + +<p>Such was the spirit of the Raker's crew, as they +once more stretched out upon the broad ocean. It +was their third privateering trip, and they felt confident +of success, as they had been unusually fortunate +in their previous trips. The crew consisted +of but twenty men, but all were brave and powerful +fellows, and all actuated by a true love of country, +as well as prompted by a desire for gain. A long +thirty-two lay amidships, carefully covered with +canvas, which also concealed a formidable pile of +balls. Altogether, the Raker, though evidently built<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +entirely for speed, seemed also a vessel well able to +enter into an engagement with any vessel of its size +and complement.</p> + +<p>As the middle day approached the clouds arose +and scudded away to leeward like great flocks of +wild geese, and the bright sun once more shone +upon the waters, seeming to hang a string of pearls +about the dark crest of each subsiding wave. All +sail was set aboard the Raker, which stretched out +toward mid ocean, with the stars and stripes flying +at her peak, the free ocean beneath, and her band of +gallant hearts upon her decks, ready for the battle or +the breeze.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<h5><i>The Merchant Brig.</i></h5> + +<p>Two weeks later than the period at which we left +the Raker, a handsome merchant vessel, with all +sail set, was gliding down the English channel, bound +for the East Indies. The gentle breeze of a lovely +autumnal morning scarcely sufficed to fill the sails, +and the vessel made but little progress till outside the +Lizard, when a freer wind struck it, and it swept +oceanward with a gallant pace, dashing aside the +waters, and careering gracefully as a swan upon the +wave. Its armament was of little weight, and it +seemed evident that its voyage, as far as any design +of the owners was concerned, was to be a peaceful +one. England at that time had become the undisputed +mistress of the ocean; and even the few +splendid victories obtained by the gallant little American +navy, had failed as yet to inspire in the bosoms of +her sailors, any feeling like that of fear or of caution; +and Captain Horton, of the merchantman Betsy +Allen, smoked his pipe, and drank his glass as unconcernedly +as if there were no such thing as an +American privateer upon the ocean.</p> + +<p>The passengers in the vessel, which was a small +brig of not more than a hundred and forty tons, were +an honest merchant of London, Thomas Williams +by name, and his daughter, a lovely girl of seventeen. +Mr. Williams had failed in business, but through the +influence of friends had obtained an appointment +from the East India Company, and was now on his +way to take his station. He was a blunt and somewhat +unpolished man, but kind in heart as he was +frank in speech.</p> + +<p>Julia Williams was a fair specimen of English +beauty; she was tall, yet so well developed, that she +did not appear slight or angular, and withal so gracefully +rounded was every limb, that any less degree +of fullness would have detracted from her beauty. +She was full of ardor and enterprise, not easily +appalled by danger, and properly confident in her own +resources, yet there was no unfeminine expression +of boldness in her countenance, for nothing could be +softer, purer, or more delicate, than the outlines of +her charming features. There were times when, +roused by intense emotion, she seemed queen-like +in her haughty step and majestic beauty, yet in her +calmer mind, her retiring and modest demeanor partook +more of a womanly dependence than of the +severity of command.</p> + +<p>Julia was seated on the deck beside her father, in +the grateful shade of the main-mast, gazing upon the +green shores which they had just passed, now fast +fading in the distance, while the chalky cliffs which +circle the whole coast of England, began to stand +out in bold relief upon the shore.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye to dear England, father!" said the +beautiful girl; "shall we ever see it again?"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> may, dear Julia, probably <i>I</i> never shall."</p> + +<p>"Well, let us hope that we may."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we will hope, it will be a proud day for +me, if it ever come, when I go back to London and +pay my creditors every cent I owe them, when no +man shall have reason to curse me for the injury I +have done him, however unintentional."</p> + +<p>"No man will do so now, dear father, no one but +knows you did all you could to avert the calamity, +and when it came, surrendered all your property to +meet the demands of your creditors. You did all +that an honest man should do, father; and you can +have no reason to reproach yourself."</p> + +<p>"True, girl, true! I do not; yet I hate to think that +I, whose name was once as good as the bank, +should now owe, when I cannot pay—that's all; a +bad feeling, but a few years in India may make all +right again."</p> + +<p>"O, yes! but, father, it is time for you to take your +morning glass. You know you wont feel well if you +forget it."</p> + +<p>"Never fear my forgetting that; my stomach +always tell me, and I know by that when it is +11 o'clock, A.M., as well as by my time-piece."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, bring Mr. Williams his morning +glass."</p> + +<p>Julia spoke to their servant, a worthy, clever +fellow, who had long lived in their family, and +would not leave it now. He had never been upon +the ocean before, and already began to be sea-sick. +He however managed to reach the cabin-door, and +after a long time returned with the glass, which he +got to his master's hand, spilling half its contents on +the way.</p> + +<p>"There, master, I haint been drinking none on't, +but this plaguey ship is so dommed uneasy, I can't +walk steady, and I feels very sick, I does; I think +I be's going to die."</p> + +<p>"You are only a little sea-sick, John."</p> + +<p>"Not so dommed little, either."</p> + +<p>"You are not yet used to your new situation, +John; in a few days you'll be quite a sailor."</p> + +<p>"Will I though? Well, the way I feels now, I'd +just as lief die as not—oh!—ugh"—and John rushed +to the gunwale.</p> + +<p>"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your +cargo overboard. You'll sail better if you lighten +ship."</p> + +<p>"Dom this ere sailing—ugh—I will die."</p> + +<p>Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the +galley, and closed his eyes with a heroic determination.</p> + +<p>Such an event, as might be expected, was a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +joke to the crew—a land-lubber at sea being with +sailors always a fair butt, and poor John's misery +was aggravated by their, as it seemed to him, unfeeling +remarks, yet he was so far gone that he +could only faintly "dom them." His master, who +knew that he would soon be well, made no attempt +to relieve him; and John was for some time unmolested +in his vigorous attempt to die.</p> + +<p>He was aroused at length by the same tar who had +first noticed his sickness,</p> + +<p>"I say, lubber, are you sick?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dom sick."</p> + +<p>"Well, I expect you've got to die, there's only +one thing that'll save you—get up and follow me to +the cock-pit."</p> + +<p>John attempted to rise, but now really unwell, he +was not able to stir. His kind physician calling a +brother tar to his aid, they assisted John below.</p> + +<p>"There, now, you lubber, I'm going to cure you, +if you'll only foller directions."</p> + +<p>John merely grunted.</p> + +<p>"Here's some raw pork, and some grog, though +it's a pity to waste grog on such a lubber—now, you +must eat as if you'd never ate before, if you don't, +you are a goner."</p> + +<p>John very faintly uttered, that he couldn't "eat a +dom bit."</p> + +<p>"Then you'll die, and the fishes will eat YOU."</p> + +<p>John shuddered, "Well, I'll try."</p> + +<p>So saying, he downed one of the pieces of pork, +which as speedily came up again.</p> + +<p>"Now drink, and be quick about it, or I shall +drink it for you."</p> + +<p>With much exertion they made John eat and drink +heartily, after which they left him to sleep awhile.</p> + +<p>The following morning John appeared on deck +again, exceedingly pale to be sure, but entirely +recovered from his sea-sickness, and with a feeling +of fervent gratitude toward the sailor, who, as he +fancied, had saved his valuable life.</p> + +<p>Nothing occurred to interrupt the peaceful monotony +of life aboard the little craft for the following +ten days: before a good breeze they had made much +way in their voyage, and all on board were pleased +with prosperous wind and calm sea and sky.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the following day, however, the +cry from the mast-head of "sail ho!" aroused all on +board to a feeling of interest.</p> + +<p>"Where away?"</p> + +<p>"Right over the lee-bow."</p> + +<p>"What do you make of her?"</p> + +<p>"Square to'sails, queer rig—flag, can't see it."</p> + +<p>"O! captain," said Julia, "can't you go near +enough to speak it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I <i>could</i>, 'cause it's right on the lee, +but whether I'd better or not is quite another thing."</p> + +<p>"The captain knows best, my dear," said the +merchant.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, but I should so like to see some other +faces besides those which are about us every day."</p> + +<p>"If you are tired already, my pretty lady," said +Captain Horton, "I wonder what you'll be before +we get to the Indies."</p> + +<p>"Heigh-ho," sighed the fair lady.</p> + +<p>"Mast-head there," shouted Captain Horton.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir."</p> + +<p>"What do you make of her <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing yet, sir; we are overhauling her fast +though."</p> + +<p>In a short time the top-sails of the strange vessel +became visible from the deck.</p> + +<p>"Ah! she's hove in sight, has she?" said Captain +Horton. "I'll see what I can make of her," and +seizing his glass he ascended the fore-ratlins, nearly +to the cross-trees, and after a long and steady survey +of the approaching vessel, in which survey he also +included the whole horizon, he descended with a +thoughtful countenance, muttering to himself, "I +was a little afraid of it."</p> + +<p>"Well captain," inquired Julia, "is it an English +vessel?"</p> + +<p>"May be 't is—can't tell where 't was built."</p> + +<p>"Can't you see the flag?"</p> + +<p>"Can't make it out yet."</p> + +<p>"Captain Horton," exclaimed the merchant, who +had been watching his countenance from the moment +he had descended the ratlins, "you <i>do</i> know something +about that vessel, I am sure."</p> + +<p>Captain Horton interrupted him by an earnest +glance toward Julia, which the fair girl herself noticed.</p> + +<p>"O! be not afraid to say any thing before me, +captain. I am not easily frightened, and if you have +to fight I will help you."</p> + +<p>The bright eyes of the girl as she spoke grew +brighter, and her little hand was clenched as if it held +a sword.</p> + +<p>Casting a glance of admiration toward the beautiful +girl, Captain Horton leisurely filled his pipe from +his waistcoat pocket, and replied as he lit it—</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm inclined to think it's what we call a +pirate, my fair lady."</p> + +<p>"A pirate," sung out John, "a pirate, boo-hoo! +oh dear! we shall all be ravaged and cooked, and +eaten. O dear! why didn't I marry Susan Thompson, +and go to keeping an inn—boo-hoo!"</p> + +<p>"John," said his master, "be still, or if you must +cry, go below."</p> + +<p>The servant made a manly effort, and managed to +repress his ejaculations, but could not keep back the +large tears which followed each other down his +cheeks in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>"Can't you run from her, captain?" asked the +merchant.</p> + +<p>"Have you no guns aboard?" inquired Julia.</p> + +<p>"I see you are for fighting the rascals, Miss Julia, +and I own that would be the pleasantest course for +me; but you see, we can't do it. The company +don't allow their vessels enough fire-arms to beat off +a brig half their own size—there's no way but to +run for it, and these rascals always have a swift +craft—generally a Baltimore clipper, which is just +the fastest and prettiest vessel in the world, if those +pesky Yankees do build them—but the Betsy Allen +aint a slow craft, and we'll do the best we can to +show 'em a clean pair of heels."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are to windward of them, captain," said +Julia.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true; but these clippers sail right in +the teeth of the wind; see, now, how they've neared +us—ahoy!—all hands ahoy!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir."</p> + +<p>"'Bout ship, my boys—let go the jibs—lively, +boys; now the fore peak-halyards. There she is—that +throws the strange sail right astern; and a stern +chase is a long chase."</p> + +<p>Three or four hours of painful anxiety succeeded, +when it became evident even to the unpracticed +eyes of Julia and her father, that the strange vessel +was slowly but surely overhauling them. Yet the +brave girl showed none of the usual weakness of +her sex, and even encouraged her father, who, though +himself a brave man, yet trembled as he thought of +the probable fate of his daughter. As for poor John, +that unfortunate individual was so completely beside +himself, that he wandered from one part of the vessel +to the other, asking each sailor successively what +his opinion of the chances of escape might be, and +what treatment they might expect from the pirates +after they were taken. As may be imagined, +he received little consolation from the hardy tars, +who, although themselves well aware of their probable +fate, yet had been too long schooled in +danger to show fear before the peril was immediately +around them, and were each pursuing the +duties of their several stations, very much as if +only threatened with the usual dangers of the +voyage. The unmanly fears of John even induced +them to play upon his anxiety, and magnify his +terror.</p> + +<p>"Why, John," said his old friend, who had so +scientifically cured him of his sea-sickness, and toward +whom John evinced a kind of filial reverence, +placing peculiar reliance upon every thing said by +the worthy tar, "why, John, they will make us all +walk the plank."</p> + +<p>"Will they—O, dear me! and what is that, does +it hurt a fellow?"</p> + +<p>"O, no! he dies easy."</p> + +<p>"Dies! oh, lud!"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes! you know what walking the plank +is, don't yer?"</p> + +<p>"No I don't. O, dear!"</p> + +<p>"Well, they run a plank over the side of the ship, +and ask you very politely to walk out to the end +of it."</p> + +<p>"O, lud! and don't they let a body hold on?"</p> + +<p>"And then when you get to the end of it, why, +John, it naturally follers that it tips up, and lets you +into the sea."</p> + +<p>"And don't they help you out?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, John! I aint joking now, by my honor; +that's the end of a man, and that's where we shall +go to if they get hold of us."</p> + +<p>"O, dear me! what did I come to sea for? +Well, but s'posin you wont go out on the plank, +wouldn't it do just to tell 'em you'd rather not, +perlitely, you know—perliteness goes a great +way."</p> + +<p>"They just blow your brains out with a pistol, +that's all."</p> + +<p>"O, lud!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, John, that's the way they use folks."</p> + +<p>"The bloody villains! and have we all got to walk +the plank? Oh! dear Miss Julia, and all?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, John, not her; poor girl, it would be +better if she had"—and the kind-hearted tar brushed +away a tear with his tawny hand.</p> + +<p>"What! don't they kill the women, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, John, they lets them live."</p> + +<p>A sudden light shone in the eyes of John; it was +the first happy expression that had flitted across his +countenance since the strange sail had been discovered, +and the fearful word, pirate, had fallen upon +his ears.</p> + +<p>"I have it—I have it!"</p> + +<p>"What, John?"</p> + +<p>But John danced off, leaving the sailor to wonder +at the sudden metamorphosis in the feelings of the +cockney.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's a queer son of a lubber; I wonder +what he's after now."</p> + +<p>John, in the meantime, approached Julia, and in a +very mysterious manner desired a few moments +private conversation with her.</p> + +<p>"Why, John, what can you want?" She had +been no woman, if, however, her curiosity to learn +the motive of so strange a request from her servant +had not induced her to listen to him.</p> + +<p>"Miss Julia," commenced John, "I've discovered +a way in which we can all be saved alive by these +bloody pirates, after they catch us; by all, I mean +you and your father, and I, and the captain, if he's +a mind to."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it, John?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Miss Julia. Dick Halyard says +they only kill the men—they makes all them walk +the plank, which is—"</p> + +<p>"I know what it is," said Julia, with a slight +shudder.</p> + +<p>"Well, they saves all the women, out o' respect +for the weaker sex. Now, Miss Julia."</p> + +<p>"Why, John!"</p> + +<p>"But I know it's so, 'cause Dick Halyard told me +all about it; now you see if you'll only let me +take one of your dresses—I wont hurt it none; and +then your father can take another, and we'll get clear +of the bloody villains—wont it be great?"</p> + +<p>Julia could not repress a laugh even in the midst +of the melancholy thoughts which involuntarily arose +in her mind during the elucidation of John's plan of +escape; she could not, however, explain the difficulties +in the way of its successful issue to the self-satisfied +expounder, and finding no other more convenient +way of closing the conversation, she told +him he should have a woman's dress, with all the +necessary accompaniments.</p> + +<p>John was delighted.</p> + +<p>"You'll tell your father, Miss Julia, wont you? +O, Lud! we'll cheat the bloody fellows yet; I'll go +and curl my hair."</p> + +<p>Julia returned to her father's side, and silently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +watched the strange sail, which was evidently +drawing nearer, as her dark hull had shown itself +above the waters.</p> + +<p>"We have but one chance of escape left," exclaimed +Captain Horton; "if we can elude them +during the night, all will be well; if to-morrow's +sun find us in sight, we shall inevitably fall into their +hands."</p> + +<p>Night gradually settled over the deep, and when +the twilight had passed, and all was dark, the lights +of the pirate brig were some five miles to leeward. +Her blood-red flag had been run up to the fore-peak, +as if in mockery of the prey the pirates felt sure could +not escape them—and the booming noise of a heavy +gun had reached the ears of the fugitives, as if to +signal their predestined doom. Yet the calm, round +moon looked down upon the gloomy waters with the +same serene countenance that had gazed into their +bosom for thousands of years, and trod upward on +her starry pathway with the same queenly pace; yet, +perchance, in her own domains contention and strife, +animosity and bloodshed were rife; perchance the +sound of tumultuous war, even then, was echoing +among her mountains, and staining her streams +with gore.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>To be continued.</i></p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_SOULS_DREAM" id="THE_SOULS_DREAM"></a>THE SOUL'S DREAM.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY GEORGE H. BOKER.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like an army with its banners, onward marched the mighty sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his home in triumph hastening, when the hard-fought field was won;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the thronging clouds hung proudly o'er the victor's bright array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold and red and purple pennons, welcoming the host of day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gazing on the glowing pageant, slowly fading from the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed my mind its heavy eyelids, nodding o'er the world of care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soaring thoughts came fluttering downward to their tranquil nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Folded up their wearied pinions, sinking one by one to rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till a deep, o'ermastering slumber seemed to wrap my very soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a gracious dream from Heaven, treading lightly, to me stole:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Downward from its plumes ethereal, on my thirsting bosom flowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dews which to the land of spirits all their mystic virtue owed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when touched that potent essence, Time divided as a cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the Past, the Present, Future rolled aside oblivion's shroud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Life's hills and vales far-stretching full before my vision lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeming but an isle of shadow in Eternity's broad day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the Past I bent my glances, saw the gentle, guileless child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Face to face with God conversing, and the awful Presence smiled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled a glory on the forehead of the simple-hearted one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the radiance, back reflected, cast a splendor round the throne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saw the boy, by Heaven instructed through earth's mute, symbolic forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking wisdom with his senses, which the higher nature warms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw that purer knowledge mingled with the worldling's base alloy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the passions' foul impression stamped upon his face of joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, I cried to God in anguish, is this boasted wisdom vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For which I, by night and sunshine, tax my overwearied brain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, alas! grown too familiar with the thoughts that knock at Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would further pierce the mystery than to mortal eye is given?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is the learning of our childhood, is the pure and easy lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speaking in a heart unsullied, better than the vaunted store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped, like ice, to chill and harden every faculty save mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the hand of haughty Science, sometimes wandering, sometimes blind?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But no answer reached my senses; for my feeble voice was lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Future came in darkness, like a rushing arméd host;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouting cries of fear and danger, shouting words of hope and cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Racking me with threat and promise, ever coming, never here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then my spirit stretched its vision, prying in the doubtful gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half a glimpse to me was given o'er Time's boundary-stone—the tomb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a shriek, like that which rises from a sinking, night-wrecked bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst my soul the bounds of slumber, and the world and I were dark!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While the dull and leaden Present on my palsied spirit pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the soaring thoughts rose upward, bounding from their earthly rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaking down the golden dew-drops from their pinions proud and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cares of life fell from me, fading in the realm of Song.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_MAID_OF_BOGOTA" id="THE_MAID_OF_BOGOTA"></a>THE MAID OF BOGOTA.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> + +<h4>A TALE FROM COLOMBIAN HISTORY.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>Whenever the several nations of the earth which +have achieved their deliverance from misrule and +tyranny shall point, as they each may, to the fair +women who have taken active part in the cause of +liberty, and by their smiles and services have contributed +in no measured degree to the great objects of +national defence and deliverance, it will be with a +becoming and just pride only that the Colombians +shall point to their virgin martyr, commonly known +among them as La Pola, the Maid of Bogota. With +the history of their struggle for freedom her story +will always be intimately associated; her tragical +fate, due solely to the cause of her country, being +linked with all the touching interest of the most romantic +adventure. Her spirit seemed to be woven +of the finest materials. She was gentle, exquisitively +sensitive, and capable of the most true and tender +attachments. Her mind was one of rarest endowments, +touched to the finest issues of eloquence, and +gifted with all the powers of the improvisatrice, +while her courage and patriotism seem to have been +cast in those heroic moulds of antiquity from which +came the Cornelias and Deborahs of famous memory. +Well had it been for her country had the glorious +model which she bestowed upon her people been +held in becoming homage by the race with which her +destiny was cast—a race masculine only in exterior, +and wanting wholly in that necessary strength of soul +which, rising to the due appreciation of the blessings +of national freedom, is equally prepared to make, +for its attainment, every necessary sacrifice of self; +and yet our heroine was but a child in years—a +lovely, tender, feeble creature, scarcely fifteen years +of age. But the soul grows rapidly to maturity in +some countries, and in the case of women, it is always +great in its youth, if greatness is ever destined to be +its possession.</p> + +<p>Doña Apolenaria Zalabariata—better known by the +name of La Pola—was a young girl, the daughter of +a good family of Bogota, who was distinguished at +an early period, as well for her great gifts of beauty +as of intellect. She was but a child when Bolivar +first commenced his struggles with the Spanish authorities, +with the ostensible object of freeing his +country from their oppressive tyrannies. It is not +within our province to discuss the merits of his pretensions +as a deliverer, or of his courage and military +skill as a hero. The judgment of the world and of +time has fairly set at rest those specious and hypocritical +claims, which, for a season, presumed to +place him on the pedestal with our Washington. +We now know that he was not only a very selfish, +but a very ordinary man—not ordinary, perhaps, in +the sense of intellect, for that would be impossible in +the case of one who was so long able to maintain his +eminent position, and to succeed in his capricious +progresses, in spite of inferior means, and a singular +deficiency of the heroic faculty. But his ambition +was the vulgar ambition, and, if possible, something +still inferior. It contemplated his personal wants +alone; it lacked all the elevation of purpose which is +the great essential of patriotism, and was wholly +wanting in that magnanimity of soul which delights +in the sacrifice of self, whenever such sacrifice promises +the safety of the single great purpose which it +professes to desire. But we are not now to consider +Bolivar, the deliverer, as one whose place in the +pantheon has already been determined by the unerring +judgment of posterity. We are to behold him only +with those eyes in which he was seen by the devoted +followers to whom he brought, or appeared to bring, +the deliverance for which they yearned. It is with +the eyes of the passionate young girl, La Pola, the +beautiful and gifted child, whose dream of country +perpetually craved the republican condition of ancient +Rome, in the days of its simplicity and virtue; it is +with her fancy and admiration that we are to crown +the <i>ideal</i> Bolivar, till we acknowledge him, as he +appears to her, the Washington of the Colombians, +eager only to emulate the patriotism, and to achieve +like success with his great model of the northern +confederacy. Her feelings and opinions, with regard +to the Liberator, were those of her family. Her +father was a resident of Bogota, a man of large +possessions and considerable intellectual acquirements. +He gradually passed from a secret admiration +of Bolivar to a warm sympathy with his progress, +and an active support—so far as he dared, living in a +city under immediate and despotic Spanish rule—of +all his objects. He followed with eager eyes the fortunes +of the chief, as they fluctuated between defeat +and victory in other provinces, waiting anxiously +the moment when the success and policy of the +struggle should bring deliverance, in turn, to the +gates of Bogota. Without taking up arms himself, +he contributed secretly from his own resources to +supplying the coffers of Bolivar with treasure, even +when his operations were remote—and his daughter +was the agent through whose unsuspected ministry +the money was conveyed to the several emissaries +who were commissioned to receive it. The duty +was equally delicate and dangerous, requiring great +prudence and circumspection; and the skill, address +and courage with which the child succeeded in the execution +of her trusts, would furnish a frequent lesson +for older heads and the sterner and the bolder sex.</p> + +<p>La Pola was but fourteen years old when she obtained +her first glimpse of the great man in whose +cause she had already been employed, and of whose +deeds and distinctions she had heard so much. By<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +the language of the Spanish tyranny, which swayed +with iron authority over her native city, she heard +him denounced and execrated as a rebel and marauder, +for whom an ignominious death was already +decreed by the despotic viceroy. This language, +from such lips, was of itself calculated to raise its +object favorably in her enthusiastic sight. By the +patriots, whom she had been accustomed to love +and venerate, she heard the same name breathed +always in whispers of hope and affection, and fondly +commended, with tearful blessings, to the watchful +care of Heaven. She was now to behold with her +own eyes this individual thus equally distinguished +by hate and homage in her hearing. Bolivar apprised +his friends in Bogota that he should visit them in +secret. That province, ruled with a fearfully strong +hand by Zamano, the viceroy, had not yet ventured +to declare itself for the republic. It was necessary +to operate with caution; and it was no small peril +which Bolivar necessarily incurred in penetrating to +its capital, and laying his snares, and fomenting +insurrection beneath the very hearth-stones of the +tyrant. It was to La Pola's hands that the messenger +of the Liberator confided the missives that communicated +this important intelligence to her father. She +little knew the contents of the billet which she carried +him in safety, nor did he confide them to the child. +He himself did not dream the precocious extent of +that enthusiasm which she felt almost equally in the +common cause, and in the person of its great advocate +and champion. Her father simply praised her +care and diligence, rewarded her with his fondest +caresses, and then proceeded with all quiet despatch +to make his preparations for the secret reception of +the deliverer. It was at midnight, and while a +thunder-storm was raging, that he entered the city, +making his way, agreeably to previous arrangement, +and under select guidance, into the inner apartments +of the house of Zalabariata. A meeting of the conspirators—for +such they were—of head men among +the patriots of Bogota, had been contemplated for his +reception. Several of them were accordingly in +attendance when he came. These were persons +whose sentiments were well known to be friendly to +the cause of liberty, who had suffered by the hands, +or were pursued by the suspicions of Zamano, and +who, it was naturally supposed, would be eagerly +alive to every opportunity of shaking off the rule of +the oppressor. But patriotism, as a philosophic +sentiment, to be indulged after a good dinner, and +discussed phlegmatically, if not classically, over +sherry and cigars, is a very different sort of thing +from patriotism as a principle of action, to be prosecuted +as a duty, at every peril, instantly and always, +to the death, if need be. Our patriots at Bogota were +but too frequently of the contemplative, the philosophical +order. Patriotism with them was rather a +subject for eloquence than use. They could recall +those Utopian histories of Greece and Rome which +furnish us with ideals rather than facts, and sigh for +names like those of Cato, and Brutus, and Aristides. +But more than this did not seem to enter their imaginations +as at all necessary to assert the character +which it pleased them to profess, or maintain the reputation +which they had prospectively acquired for +the very commendable virtue which constituted their +ordinary theme. Bolivar found them cold. Accustomed +to overthrow and usurpation, they were now +slow to venture property and life upon the predictions +and promises of one who, however perfect +in their estimation as a patriot, had yet suffered from +most capricious fortunes. His past history, indeed, +except for its patriotism, offered but very doubtful +guarantees in favor of the enterprise to which they +were invoked. Bolivar was artful and ingenious. +He had considerable powers of eloquence—was +specious and persuasive; had an oily and bewitching +tongue, like Balial; and if not altogether capable of +making the worse appear the better cause, could at +least so shape the aspects of evil fortune, that, to the +unsuspicious nature, they would seem to be the very +results aimed at by the most deliberate arrangement +and resolve. But Bolivar, on this occasion, was +something more than ingenious and persuasive, he +was warmly earnest, and passionately eloquent. In +truth, he was excited much beyond his wont. He +was stung to indignation by a sense of disappointment. +He had calculated largely on this meeting, +and it promised now to be a failure. He had anticipated +the eager enthusiasm of a host of brave and +noble spirits ready to fling out the banner of freedom +to the winds, and cast the scabbard from the sword +forever. Instead of this, he found but a little knot +of cold, irresolute men, thinking only of the perils of +life which they should incur, and the forfeiture and +loss of property which might accrue from any +hazardous experiments. Bolivar spoke to them in +language less artificial and much more impassioned +than was his wont. He was a man of impulse rather +than of thought or principle, and, once aroused, the +intense fire of a southern sun seemed to burn fiercely +in all his words and actions. His speech was heard +by other ears than those to which it was addressed. +The shrewd mind of La Pola readily conjectured +that the meeting at her father's house, at midnight, +and under peculiar circumstances, contemplated +some extraordinary object. She was aware that +a tall, mysterious stranger had passed through the +court, under the immediate conduct of her father +himself. Her instinct divined in this stranger the +person of the deliverer, and her heart would not +suffer her to lose the words, or if possible to obtain, +to forego the sight of the great object of its patriotic +worship. Beside, she had a right to know and to +see. She was of the party, and had done them service. +She was yet to do them more. Concealed in an adjoining +apartment—a sort of oratory, connected by a +gallery with the chamber in which the conspirators +were assembled—she was able to hear the earnest +arguments and passionate remonstrances of the Liberator. +They confirmed all her previous admiration +of his genius and character. She felt with indignation +the humiliating position which the men of Bogota +held in his eyes. She heard their pleas and scruples, +and listened with a bitter scorn to the thousand +suggestions of prudence, the thousand calculations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +of doubt and caution with which timidity seeks to +avoid precipitating a crisis. She could listen and +endure no longer. The spirit of the improvisatrice +was upon her. Was it also that of fate and a higher +Providence? She seized the guitar, of which she +was the perfect mistress, and sung even as her soul +counseled and the exigency of the event demanded. +Our translation of her lyrical overflow is necessarily +a cold and feeble one.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was a dream of freedom—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A mocking dream, though bright—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That showed the men of Bogota<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All arming for the fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All eager for the hour that wakes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thunders of redeeming war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rushing forth with glittering steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To join the bands of Bolivar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My soul, I said, it cannot be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That Bogota shall be denied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Arismendi, too—her chief<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To pluck her honor up, and pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild Llanero boasts his braves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That, stung with patriot wrath and shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushed redly to the realm of graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And rose, through blood and death, to fame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How glads mine ear with other sounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of freemen worthy these, that tell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ribas, who felt Caraccas' wounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And for her hope and triumph fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that young hero, well beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Giraldat, still a name for song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Piar, Marino, dying soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, for the future, living long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! could we stir with other names,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cold, deaf hearts that hear us now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How would it bring a thousand shames,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In fire, to each Bogotian's brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How clap in pride Grenada's hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How glows Venezuela's heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how, through Cartagena's lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A thousand chiefs and hero's start.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Paez, Sodeno, lo! they rush,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each with his wild and Cossack rout;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment feels the fearful hush,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A moment hears the fearful shout!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They heed no lack of arts and arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But all their country's perils feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sworn for freedom, bravely break,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The glitering legions of Castile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see the gallant Roxas grasp<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The towering banner of her sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Monagas, with fearful clasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Plucks down the chief that stops the way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reckless Urdaneta rides,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where rives the earth the iron hail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor long the Spanish foeman bides,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The stroke of old Zaraza's flail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, generous heroes! how ye rise!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How glow your states with equal fires!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis there Valencia's banner flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And there Cumana's soul aspires;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, on each hand, from east to west,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Oronook to Panama,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each province bares its noble breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each hero—save in Bogota!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>At the first sudden gush of the music from within, +the father of the damsel started to his feet, and with +confusion in his countenance, was about to leave the +apartment. But Bolivar arrested his footsteps, and +in a whisper, commanded him to be silent and remain. +The conspirators, startled, if not alarmed, were compelled +to listen. Bolivar did so with a pleased attention. +He was passionately fond of music, and this +was of a sort at once to appeal to his objects and his +tastes. His eye kindled as the song proceeded. His +heart rose with an exulting sentiment. The moment, +indeed, embodied one of his greatest triumphs—the +tribute of a pure, unsophisticated soul, inspired by +Heaven with the happiest and highest endowments, +and by earth with the noblest sentiments of pride and +country. When the music ceased, Zalabariata was +about to apologize, and to explain, but Bolivar again +gently and affectionately arrested his utterance.</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing," said he. "Indeed, why should +you fear? I am in the greater danger here, if there +be danger for any; and I would as soon place my +life in the keeping of that noble damsel, as in the +arms of my mother. Let her remain, my friend; +let her hear and see all; and above all, do not attempt +to apologize for her. She is my ally. Would +that she could make these <i>men</i> of Bogota feel with +herself—feel as she makes even me to feel."</p> + +<p>The eloquence of the Liberator received a new +impulse from that of the improvisatrice. He renewed +his arguments and entreaties in a different spirit. He +denounced, in yet bolder language than before, that +wretched pusillanimity which quite as much, he +asserted, as the tyranny of the Spaniard, was the +cause under which the liberties of the country +groaned and suffered.</p> + +<p>"And now, I ask," he continued, passionately, +"men of Bogota, if ye really purpose to deny yourselves +all share in the glory and peril of the effort +which is for your own emancipation? Are your +brethren of the other provinces to maintain the conflict +in your behalf, while, with folded hands, you +submit, doing nothing for yourselves? Will you not +lift the banner also? Will you not draw sword in +your own honor, and the defence of your fire-sides +and families. Talk not to me of secret contributions. +It is your manhood, not your money, that is needful +for success. And can you withhold yourselves while +you profess to hunger after that liberty for which +other men are free to peril all—manhood, money, +life, hope, every thing but honor and the sense of +freedom. But why speak of peril in this. Peril is +every where. It is the inevitable child of life, natural +to all conditions—to repose as well as action, to the +obscurity which never goes abroad, as well as to +that adventure which forever seeks the field. You +incur no more peril in openly braving your tyrant, +all together as one man, than you do thus tamely +sitting beneath his footstool, and trembling forever +lest his capricious will may slay as it enslaves. Be +you but true to yourselves—openly true—and the +danger disappears as the night-mists that speed from +before the rising sun. There is little that deserves +the name of peril in the issue which lies before us.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +We are more than a match, united, and filled with +the proper spirit, for all the forces that Spain can +send against us. It is in our coldness that she warms—in +our want of unity that she finds strength. But +even were we not superior to her in numbers—even +were the chances all wholly and decidedly against +us—I still cannot see how it is that you hesitate to +draw the sword in so sacred a strife—a strife which +consecrates the effort, and claims Heaven's sanction +for success. Are your souls so subdued by servitude; +are you so accustomed to bonds and tortures, that +these no longer irk and vex your daily consciousness? +Are you so wedded to inaction that you cease to +feel? Is it the frequency of the punishment that has +made you callous to the ignominy and the pain? +Certainly your viceroy gives you frequent occasion +to grow reconciled to any degree of hurt and degradation. +Daily you behold, and I hear, of the exactions +of this tyrant—of the cruelties and the murders +to which he accustoms you in Bogota. Hundreds of +your friends and kinsmen, even now, lie rotting in +the common prisons, denied equally your sympathies +and every show of justice, perishing, daily, under +the most cruel privations. Hundreds have perished +by this and other modes of torture, and the gallows +and garote seem never to be unoccupied. Was it +not the bleaching skeleton of the venerable Hermano, +whom I well knew for his wisdom and patriotism, +which I beheld, even as I entered, hanging in chains +over the gateway of your city? Was he not the +victim of his wealth and love of country? Who +among you is secure? He dared but to deliver himself +as a man, and as he was suffered to stand alone, +he was destroyed. Had you, when he spoke, but +prepared yourselves to act, flung out the banner of +resistance to the winds, and bared the sword for the +last noble struggle, Hermano had not perished, nor +were the glorious work only now to be begun. But +which of you, involved in the same peril with Hermano, +will find the friend, in the moment of his need, +to take the first step for his rescue? Each of you, in +turn, having wealth to tempt the spoiler, will be sure +to need such friendship. It seems you do not look +for it among one another—where, then, do you propose +to find it? Will you seek for it among the +Cartagenians—among the other provinces—to Bolivar +<i>without</i>? Vain expectation, if you are unwilling +to peril any thing for yourselves <i>within</i>! +In a tyranny so suspicious and so reckless as is yours, +you must momentarily tremble lest ye suffer at the +hands of your despot. True manhood rather prefers +any peril which puts an end to this state of anxiety +and fear. Thus to tremble with apprehension ever, +is ever to be dying. It is a life of death only which +ye live—and any death or peril that comes quickly +at the summons, is to be preferred before it. If, then, +ye have hearts to feel, or hopes to warm ye—a pride +to suffer consciousness of shame, or an ambition that +longs for better things—affections for which to covet +life, or the courage with which to assert and to defend +your affections, ye cannot, ye will not hesitate to +determine, with souls of freemen, upon what is +needful to be done. Ye have but one choice as men; +and the question which is left for ye to resolve, is +that which determines, not your possessions, not +even your lives, but simply your rank and stature +in the world of humanity and man."</p> + +<p>The Liberator paused, not so much through his +own or the exhaustion of the subject, as that his +hearers should in turn be heard. But with this latter +object his forbearance was profitless. There were +those among them, indeed, who had their answers to +his exhortations, but these were not of a character to +promise boldly for their patriotism or courage. Their +professions, indeed, were ample, but were confined +to unmeaning generalities. "Now is the time, now!" +was the response of Bolivar to all that was said. +But they faltered and hung back at every utterance +of his spasmodically uttered "now! now!" He +scanned their faces eagerly, with a hope that gradually +yielded to despondency. Their features were +blank and inexpressive, as their answers had been +meaningless or evasive. Several of them were of +that class of quiet citizens, unaccustomed to any enterprises +but those of trade, who are always slow to +peril wealth by a direct issue with their despotism. +They felt the truth of Bolivar's assertions. They +knew that their treasures were only so many baits +and lures to the cupidity and exactions of the royal +emissaries, but they still relied on their habitual caution +and docility to keep terms with the tyranny at +which they yet trembled. When, in the warmth of +his enthusiasm, Bolivar depicted the bloody struggles +which must precede their deliverance, they began +indeed to wonder among themselves how they ever +came to fall into that mischievous philosophy of patriotism +which had involved them with such a restless +rebel as Bolivar! Others of the company were +ancient hidalgos, who had been men of spirit in their +day, but who had survived the season of enterprise, +which is that period only when the heart swells and +overflows with full tides of warm and impetuous +blood.</p> + +<p>"Your error," said he, in a whisper to Señor Don +Joachim de Zalabariata, "was in not bringing young +men into your counsels."</p> + +<p>"We shall have them hereafter," was the reply, +also in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"We shall see," muttered the Liberator, who continued, +though in silence, to scan the assembly with +inquisitive eyes, and an excitement of soul, which +increased duly with his efforts to subdue it. He had +found some allies in the circle. Some few generous +spirits, who, responding to his desires, were anxious +to be up and doing. But it was only too apparent +that the main body of the company had been rather +disquieted than warmed. In this condition of hopeless +and speechless indecision, the emotions of the +Liberator became scarcely controllable. His whole +frame trembled with the anxiety and indignation of +his spirit. He paced the room hurriedly, passing +from group to group, appealing to individuals now, +where hitherto he had spoken collectively, and suggesting +detailed arguments in behalf of hopes and +objects, which it does not need that we should incorporate +with our narrative. But when he found how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +feeble was the influence which he exercised, and how +cold was the echo to his appeal, he became impatient, +and no longer strove to modify the expression of that +scorn and indignation which he had for some time +felt. The explosion followed in no measured language.</p> + +<p>"Men of Bogota, you are not worthy to be free. +Your chains are merited. You deserve your insecurities, +and may embrace, even as ye please, the +fates which lie before you. Acquiesce in the tyranny +which offends no longer, but be sure that acquiescence +never yet has disarmed the despot when his +rapacity needs a victim. Your lives and possessions—which +ye dare not peril in the cause of freedom—lie +equally at his mercy. He will not pause, as you +do, to use them at his pleasure. To save them from +him there was but one way—to employ them against +him. There is no security against power but in +power; and to check the insolence of foreign strength +you must oppose to it your own. This ye have not +soul to do, and I leave you to the destiny you have +chosen. This day, this night, it was yours to resolve. +I have periled all to move you to the proper resolution. +You have denied me, and I leave you. To-morrow—unless +indeed I am betrayed to-night"—looking +with a sarcastic smile around him as he +spoke—"I shall unfurl the banner of the republic +even within your own province, in behalf of Bogota, +and seek, even against your own desires, to bestow +upon you those blessings of liberty which ye have +not the soul to conquer for yourselves."</p> + +<p>Hardly had these words been spoken, when the +guitar again sounded from within. Every ear was +instantly hushed as the strain ascended—a strain, +more ambitious than the preceding, of melancholy +and indignant apostrophe. The improvisatrice was +no longer able to control the passionate inspiration +which took its tone from the stern eloquence of the +Liberator. She caught from him the burning sentiment +of scorn which it was no longer his policy to +repress, and gave it additional effect in the polished +sarcasm of her song. Our translation will poorly +suffice to convey a proper notion of the strain.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then be it so, if serviles ye will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When manhood's soul had broken every chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T were scarce a blessing now to make ye free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For such condition tutored long in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet may we weep the fortunes of our land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though woman's tears were never known to take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One link away from that oppressive band,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye have not soul, not soul enough to break!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! there were hearts of might in other days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brave chiefs, whose memory still is dear to fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for ours!—the gallant deeds we praise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But show more deeply red our cheeks of shame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from the midnight gloom the weary eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With sense that cannot the bright dawn forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks sadly hopeless, from the vacant sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To that where late the glorious day-star set!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet all's not midnight dark, if in your land<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There be some gallant hearts to brave the strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One single generous blow from Freedom's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May speak again our sunniest hopes to life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If but one blessed drop in living veins<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be worthy those who teach us from the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vengeance and weapons both are in your chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hurled fearlessly upon your despot's head!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet, if no memory of the living past<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can wake ye now to brave the indignant strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T were nothing wise, at least, that we should last<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When death itself might wear a look of life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, when the oppressive arm is lifted high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And scourge and torture still conduct to graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To strike, though hopeless still—to strike and die!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They live not, worthy freedom, who are slaves!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As the song proceeded, Bolivar stood forward as +one wrapt in ecstasy. The exultation brightened in +his eye, and his manner was that of a soul in the +realization of its highest triumph. Not so the Bogotans +by whom he was surrounded. They felt the +terrible sarcasm which the damsel's song conveyed—a +sarcasm immortalized to all the future, in the undying +depths of a song to be remembered. They +felt the humiliation of such a record, and hung their +heads in shame. At the close of the ballad, Bolivar +exclaimed to Joachim de Zalabariata, the father:</p> + +<p>"Bring the child before us. She is worthy to be +a prime minister. A prime minister? No! the +hero of the forlorn hope! a spirit to raise a fallen +standard from the dust, and to tear down and trample +that of the enemy. Bring her forth, Joachim. Had +you <i>men</i> of Bogota but a tithe of a heart so precious! +Nay, could her heart be divided amongst them—it +might serve a thousand—there were no viceroy of +Spain within your city now!"</p> + +<p>And when the father brought her forth from the +little cabinet, that girl, flashing with inspiration—pale +and red by turns—slightly made, but graceful—very +lovely to look upon—wrapt in loose white garments, +with her long hair, dark and flowing, unconfined, +and so long that it was easy for her to walk +upon it<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> +—the admiration of the Liberator was insuppressible.</p> + +<p>"Bless you forever," he cried, "my fair Priestess +of Freedom! You, at least, have a free soul, and +one that is certainly inspired by the great divinity of +earth. You shall be mine ally, though I find none +other in all Bogota sufficiently courageous. In you, +my child, in you and yours, there is still a redeeming +spirit which shall save your city utterly from shame!"</p> + +<p>While he spoke, the emotions of the maiden were +of a sort readily to show how easily she should be +quickened with the inspiration of lyric song. The +color came and went upon her soft white cheeks. +The tears rose, big and bright, upon her eyelashes—heavy +drops, incapable of suppression, that swelled +one after the other, trembled and fell, while the light +blazed, even more brightly from the shower, in the +dark and dilating orbs which harbored such capacious +fountains. She had no words at first, but, trembling +like a leaf, sunk upon a cushion at the feet of her +father, as Bolivar, with a kiss upon her forehead, released +her from his clasp. Her courage came back +to her a moment after. She was a thing of impulse, +whose movements were as prompt and unexpected +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +as the inspiration by which she sung. Bolivar had +scarcely turned from her, as if to relieve her tremor, +when she recovered all her strength and courage. +Suddenly rising from the cushion, she seized the +hand of her father, and with an action equally passionate +and dignified, she led him to the Liberator, to +whom, speaking for the first time in that presence, +she thus addressed herself:</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> is yours—he has always been ready with his +life and money. Believe me, for I know it. Nay, +more! doubt not that there are hundreds in Bogota—though +they be not here—who, like him, will be +ready whenever they hear the summons of your +trumpet. Nor will the women of Bogota be wanting. +There will be many of them who will take the +weapons of those who use them not, and do as brave +deeds for their country as did the dames of Magdalena +when they slew four hundred Spaniards".<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<p>"Ah! I remember! A most glorious achievement, +and worthy to be writ in characters of gold. It was +at Mompox where they rose upon the garrison of +Morillo. Girl, you are worthy to have been the +chief of those women of Magdalena. You will be +chief yet of the women of Bogota. I take your assurance +with regard to them; but for the men, it +were better that thou peril nothing even in thy +speech."</p> + +<p>The last sarcasm of the Liberator might have been +spared. That which his eloquence had failed to +effect was suddenly accomplished by this child of +beauty. Her inspiration and presence were electrical. +The old forgot their caution and their years. +The young, who needed but a leader, had suddenly +found a genius. There was now no lack of the necessary +enthusiasm. There were no more scruples. +Hesitation yielded to resolve. The required pledges +were given—given more abundantly than required; +and raising the slight form of the damsel to his own +height, Bolivar again pressed his lips upon her forehead, +gazing at her with a respectful delight, while +he bestowed upon her the name of the Guardian +Angel of Bogota. With a heart bounding and beating +with the most enthusiastic emotions—too full for +further utterance, La Pola disappeared from that imposing +presence, which her coming had filled with a +new life and impulse.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dawn when the Liberator left the +city. That night the bleaching skeleton of the venerable +patriot Hermano was taken down from the +gibbet where it had hung so long, by hands that left +the revolutionary banner waving proudly in its +place. This was an event to startle the viceroy. It +was followed by other events. In a few days more +and the sounds of insurrection were heard throughout +the province—the city still moving secretly—sending +forth supplies and intelligence by stealth, but +unable to raise the standard of rebellion, while Zamano, +the viceroy, doubtful of its loyalty, remained +in possession of its strong places with an overawing +force. Bolivar himself, under these circumstances, +was unwilling that the patriots should throw aside +the mask. Throughout the province, however, the +rising was general. They responded eagerly to the +call of the Liberator, and it was easy to foresee that +their cause must ultimately prevail. The people in +conflict proved themselves equal to their rulers. +The Spaniards had been neither moderate when +strong, nor were they prudent now when the conflict +found them weak. Still, the successes were +various. The Spaniards had a foothold from which +it was not easy to expel them, and were in possession +of resources, in arms and material, derived from +the mother country, with which the republicans +found it no easy matter to contend. But they did +contend, and this, with the right upon their side, was +the great guaranty for success. What the Colombians +wanted in the materials of warfare, was more +than supplied by their energy and patriotism; and +however slow in attaining their desired object, it +was yet evident to all, except their enemies, that the +issue was certainly in their own hands.</p> + +<p>For two years that the war had been carried on, +the casual observer could, perhaps, see but little +change in the respective relations of the combatants. +The Spaniards still continued to maintain their foothold +wherever the risings of the patriots had been +premature or partial. But the resources of the former +were hourly undergoing diminution, and the +great lessening of the productions of the country, incident +to its insurrectionary condition, had subtracted +largely from the temptations to the further prosecution +of the war. The hopes of the patriots naturally +rose with the depression of their enemies, and their +increasing numbers and improving skill in the use +of their weapons, not a little contributed to their endurance +and activity. But for this history we must +look to other volumes. The question for us is confined +to an individual. How, in all this time, had La +Pola redeemed her pledge to the Liberator—how had +she whom he had described as the "guardian genius +of Bogota," adhered to the enthusiastic faith which +she had voluntarily pledged to him in behalf of herself +and people?</p> + +<p>Now, it may be supposed that a woman's promise, +to participate in the business of an insurrection, is +not a thing upon which much stress is to be laid. +We are apt to assume for the sex a too humble capacity +for high performances, and a too small sympathy +with the interests and affairs of public life. In +both respects we are mistaken. A proper education +for the sex would result in showing their ability to +share with man in all his toils, and to sympathize +with him in all the legitimate concerns of manhood. +But what, demands the caviler, can be expected of a +child of fifteen; and should her promises be held +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +against her for rigid fulfillment and performance? +It might be enough to answer that we are writing a +sober history. There is the record. The fact is as +we give it. But a girl of fifteen, in the warm latitudes +of South America, is quite as mature as the northern +maiden of twenty-five; with an ardor in her nature +that seems to wing the operations of the mind, making +that intuitive with her, which, in the person of a +colder climate is the result only of long calculation +and deliberate thought. She is sometimes a mother +at twelve, and, as in the case of La Pola, a heroine +at fifteen. We freely admit that Bolivar, though +greatly interested in the improvisatrice, was chiefly +grateful to her for the timely rebuke which she administered, +through her peculiar faculty of lyric +song, to the unpatriotic inactivity of her countrymen. +As a matter of course, he might still expect that the +same muse would take fire under similar provocation +hereafter. But he certainly never calculated on +other and more decided services at her hands. He +misunderstood the being whom he had somewhat +contributed to inspire. He did not appreciate her +ambition, or comprehend her resources. From the +moment of his meeting with her she became a +woman. She was already a politician as she was a +poet. Intrigue is natural to the genius of the sex, +and the faculty is enlivened by the possession of a +warm imagination. La Pola put all her faculties in +requisition. Her soul was now addressed to the +achievement of some plan of co-operation with the +republican chief, and she succeeded where wiser +persons must have failed in compassing the desirable +facilities. Living in Bogota—the stronghold of the +enemy—she exercised a policy and address which +disarmed suspicion. Her father and his family were +to be saved and shielded, while they remained under +the power of the viceroy, Zamano, a military despot +who had already acquired a reputation for cruelty +scarcely inferior to that of the worst of the Roman +emperors in the latter days of the empire. The wealth +of her father, partly known, made him a desirable +victim. Her beauty, her spirit, the charm of her song +and conversation, were exercised, as well to secure +favor for him, as to procure the needed intelligence +and assistance for the Liberator. She managed the +twofold object with admirable success—disarming +suspicion, and under cover of the confidence which +she inspired, succeeding in effecting constant communication +with the patriots, by which she put into +their possession all the plans of the Spaniards. Her +rare talents and beauty were the chief sources of +her success. She subdued her passionate and intense +nature—her wild impulse and eager heart—employing +them only to impart to her fancy a more impressive +and spiritual existence. She clothed her genius +in the brightest and gayest colors, sporting above the +precipice of feeling, and making of it a background +and a relief to heighten the charm of her seemingly +willful fancy. Song came at her summons, and disarmed +the serious questioner. In the eyes of her +country's enemies she was only the improvisatrice—a +rarely gifted creature, living in the clouds, and +totally regardless of the things of earth. She could +thus beguile from the young officers of the Spanish +army, without provoking the slightest apprehension +of any sinister object, the secret plan and purpose—the +new supply—the contemplated enterprise—in +short, a thousand things which, as an inspired idiot, +might be yielded to her with indifference, which, in +the case of one solicitous to know, would be guarded +with the most jealous vigilance. She was the princess +of the tertulia—that mode of evening entertainment +so common, yet so precious, among the Spaniards. +At these parties she ministered with a grace +and influence which made the house of her father a +place of general resort. The Spanish gallants thronged +about her person, watchful of her every motion, +and yielding always to the exquisite compass, and +delightful spirituality of her song. At worst, they +suspected her of no greater offence than of being +totally heartless with all her charms, and of aiming +at no treachery more dangerous than that of making +conquests, only to deride them. It was the popular +qualification of all her beauties and accomplishments +that she was a coquette, at once so cold, and so insatiate. +Perhaps, the woman politician never so +thoroughly conceals her game as when she masks it +with the art which men are most apt to describe as +the prevailing passion of her sex.</p> + +<p>By these arts, La Pola fulfilled most amply her +pledges to the Liberator. She was, indeed, his most +admirable ally in Bogota. She soon became thoroughly +conversant with all the facts in the condition +of the Spanish army—the strength of the several +armaments, their disposition and destination—the +operations in prospect, and the opinions and merits +of the officers—all of whom she knew, and from +whom she obtained no small knowledge of the worth +and value of their absent comrades. These particulars, +all regularly transmitted to Bolivar, were quite +as much the secret of his success, as his own genius +and the valor of his troops. The constant disappointment +and defeat of the royalist arms, in the operations +which were conducted in the Province of +Bogota, attested the closeness and correctness of her +knowledge, and its vast importance to the cause of +the patriots.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, however, one of her communications +was intercepted, and the cowardly bearer, intimidated +by the terrors of impending death, was +persuaded to betray his employer. He revealed all +that he knew of her practices, and one of his statements, +namely, that she usually drew from her shoe +the paper which she gave him, served to fix conclusively +upon her the proofs of her offence. She was +arrested in the midst of an admiring throng, presiding +with her usual grace at the tertulia, to which her wit +and music furnished the eminent attractions. Forced +to submit, her shoes were taken from her feet in the +presence of the crowd, and in one of them, between +the sole and the lining, was a memorandum designed +for Bolivar, containing the details, in anticipation, of +one of the intended movements of the viceroy. She +was not confounded, nor did she sink beneath this +discovery. Her soul seemed to rise rather into an +unusual degree of serenity and strength. She en +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>couraged +her friends with smiles and the sweetest +seeming indifference, though she well knew that her +doom was certainly at hand. She had her consolations +even under this conviction. Her father was +in safety in the camp of Bolivar. With her counsel +and assistance he would save much of his property +from the wreck of confiscation. The plot had ripened +in her hands almost to maturity, and before very long +Bogota itself would speak for liberty in a formidable +<i>pronunciamento</i>. And this was mostly her work! +What more was done, by her agency and influence, +may be readily conjectured from what has been +already written. Enough, that she herself felt that +in leaving life she left it when there was little more +left for her to do.</p> + +<p>La Pola was hurried from the tertulia before a +military court—martial law then prevailing in the +capital—with a rapidity corresponding with the supposed +enormity of her offences. It was her chief +pang that she was not hurried there alone. We have +not hitherto mentioned that she had a lover, one Juan +de Sylva Gomero, to whom she was affianced—a +worthy and noble youth, who entertained for her the +most passionate attachment. It is a somewhat +curious fact, that she kept him wholly from any +knowledge of her political alliances; and never was +man more indignant than he when she was arrested, +or more confounded when the proofs of her guilt +were drawn from her person. His offence consisted +in his resistance to the authorities who seized her. +There was not the slightest reason to suppose that he +knew or participated at all in her intimacy with the +patriots and Bolivar. He was tried along with her, and +both condemned—for at this time condemnation and +trial were words of synonimous import—to be shot. +A respite of twelve hours from execution was granted +them for the purposes of confession. Zamano, the +viceroy, anxious for other victims, spared no means +to procure a full revelation of all the secrets of our +heroine. The priest who waited upon her was +the one who attended on the viceroy himself. He +held out lures of pardon in both lives, here and hereafter, +upon the one condition only of a full declaration +of her secrets and accomplices. Well might +the leading people of Bogota tremble all the while. +But she was firm in her refusal. Neither promises of +present mercy, nor threats of the future, could extort +from her a single fact in relation to her proceedings. +Her lover, naturally desirous of life, particularly in +the possession of so much to make it precious, joined +in the entreaties of the priest; but she answered him +with a mournful severity that smote him like a sharp +weapon,</p> + +<p>"Gomero! did I love you for this? Beware, lest +I hate you ere I die! Is life so dear to you that you +would dishonor both of us to live? Is there no consolation +in the thought that we shall die together?"</p> + +<p>"But we shall be spared—we shall be saved," was +the reply of the lover.</p> + +<p>"Believe it not—it is false! Zamano spares none. +Our lives are forfeit, and all that we could say would +be unavailing to avert your fate or mine. Let us not +lesson the value of this sacrifice on the altars of our +country, by any unworthy fears. If you have ever +loved me, be firm. I am a woman, but I am strong. +Be not less ready for the death-shot than is she whom +you have chosen for your wife."</p> + +<p>Other arts were employed by the despot for the +attainment of his desires. Some of the native citizens +of Bogota, who had been content to become +the creatures of the viceroy, were employed to work +upon her fears and affections, by alarming her with +regard to persons of the city whom she greatly +esteemed and valued, and whom Zamano suspected. +But their endeavors were met wholly with scorn. +When they entreated her, among other things, "to +give peace to our country," the phrase seemed to +awaken all her indignation.</p> + +<p>"Peace! peace to our country!" she exclaimed. +"What peace! the peace of death, and shame, and +the grave, forever!" And her soul again found relief +only in its wild lyrical overflows.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What, peace for our country! when ye've made her a grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A den for the tyrant, a cell for the slave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pestilent plague-spot, accursing and curst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As vile as the vilest, and worse than the worst.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The chain may be broken, the tyranny o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the sweet charms that blessed her ye may not restore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not your blood, though poured forth from life's ruddiest vein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall free her from sorrows, or cleanse her from stain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis the grief that ye may not remove the disgrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brands with the blackness of hell all your race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the sorrow that nothing may cleanse ye of shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That has wrought us to madness, and filled us with flame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Years may pass, but the memory deep in our souls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall make the tale darker as Time onward rolls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the future that grows from our ruin shall know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its own, and its country's and liberty's foe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And still in the prayer at its altars shall rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeal for the vengeance of earth and of skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men shall pray that the curse of all time may pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plead for the curse of eternity too!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor wantonly vengeful in spirit their prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since the weal of the whole world forbids them to spare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What hope would there be for mankind if our race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the rule of the brutal, is robbed by the base?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What hope for the future—what hope for the free?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where would the promise of liberty be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Time had no terror, no doom for the slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would stab his own mother, and shout o'er her grave!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Such a response as this effectually silenced all +those cunning agents of the viceroy who urged their +arguments in behalf of their country. Nothing, it +was seen, could be done with a spirit so inflexible; +and in his fury Zamano ordered the couple forth to +instant execution. Bogota was in mourning. Its +people covered their heads, a few only excepted, and +refused to be seen or comforted. The priests who +attended the victims received no satisfaction as concerned +the secrets of the patriots; and they retired in +chagrin, and without granting absolution to either +victim. The firing party made ready. Then it was, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +for the first time, that the spirit of this noble maiden +seemed to shrink from the approach of death.</p> + +<p>"Butcher!" she exclaimed, to the viceroy, who +stood in his balcony, overlooking the scene of execution. +"Butcher! you have then the heart to kill +a woman!"</p> + +<p>These were the only words of weakness. She recovered +herself instantly, and, preparing for her fate, +without looking for any effect from her words, she +proceeded to cover her face with the <i>saya</i>, or veil, +which she wore. Drawing it aside for the purpose, +the words "<i>Vive la Patria!</i>" embroidered in letters +of gold, were discovered on the <i>basquina</i>. As the +signal for execution was given, a distant hum, as of +the clamors of an approaching army, was heard fitfully +to rise upon the air.</p> + +<p>"It is he! He comes! It is Bolivar! It is the +Liberator!" was her cry, in a tone of hope and +triumph, which found its echo in the bosom of hundreds +who dared not give their hearts a voice. It +was, indeed, the Liberator. Bolivar was at hand, +pressing onward with all speed to the work of deliverance; +but he came too late for the rescue of the +beautiful and gifted damsel to whom he owed so +much. The fatal bullets of the executioners penetrated +her heart ere the cry of her exultation had +subsided from the ear. Thus perished a woman +worthy to be remembered with the purest and +proudest who have done honor to nature and the +sex; one who, with all the feelings and sensibilities +of the woman, possessed all the pride and patriotism, +the courage, the sagacity and the daring of the man.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="TO_THE_EAGLE" id="TO_THE_EAGLE">TO THE EAGLE.</a></h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Imperial bird! that soarest to the sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleaving through clouds and storms thine upward way—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or, fixing steadfastly that dauntless eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dost face the great, effulgent god of day!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proud monarch of the feathery tribes of air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul exulting marks thy bold career,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Up, through the azure fields, to regions fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, bathed in light, thy pinions disappear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou, with the gods, upon Olympus dwelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The emblem, and the favorite bird of Jove—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And godlike power in thy broad wings hast felt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since first they spread o'er land and sea to rove:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Ida's top the Thunderer's piercing sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed on the hosts which Ilium did defy;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So from thy eyrie on the beetling height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoot down the lightning-glances of thine eye!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">From his Olympian throne Jove stooped to earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ends inglorious in the god of gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Leaving the beauty of celestial birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rob Humanity's less fair abodes:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, passion more rapacious than divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stole the peace of innocence away!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So, when descend those tireless wings of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stoop to make defenselessness their prey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lo! where thou comest from the realms afar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy strong wings whir like some huge bellows' breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swift falls thy fiery eyeball, like a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dark thy shadow as the pall of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But thou hast marked a tall and reverend tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now thy talons clinch yon leafless limb;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before thee stretch the sandy shore and sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sails, like ghosts, move in the distance dim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Fair is the scene! Yet thy voracious eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinks not its beauty; but with bloody glare<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Watches the wild-fowl idly floating by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or snow-white sea-gull winnowing the air:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, pitiless is thine unerring beak!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick, as the wings of thought, thy pinions fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then bear their victim to the mountain-peak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where clamorous eaglets flutter at thy call.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Seaward again thou turn'st to chase the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where winds and waters furiously roar!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Above the doomed ship thy boding form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is coming Fate's dark shadow cast before!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The billows that engulf man's sturdy frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sport to thy careering pinions seem;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And though to silence sinks the sailor's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His end is told in thy relentless scream!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Where the great cataract sends up to heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its sprayey incense in perpetual cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy wings in twain the sacred bow have riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And onward sailed irreverently proud!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unflinching bird! No frigid clime congeals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fervid blood that riots in thy veins;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No torrid sun thine upborne nature feels—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The North, the South, alike are thy domains.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Emblem of all that can endure, or dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art thou, bold eagle, in thy hardihood!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Emblem of Freedom, when thou cleav'st the air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emblem of Tyranny, when bathed in blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou wert the genius of Rome's sanguine wars—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heroes have fought and freely bled for thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And here, above our glorious "stripes and stars,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hail thy signal wings of <span class="smcap">Liberty</span>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The poet sees in thee a type sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his far-reaching, high-aspiring Art!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His fancy seeks with thee each starry clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou art on the signet of his heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be <i>still</i> the symbol of a spirit free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imperial bird! to unborn ages given—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to my soul, that it may soar like thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steadfastly looking in the eye of <span class="smcap">Heaven</span>.</span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE_OR_TRUE_LOVES_DEVOTION" id="FIEL_A_LA_MUERTE_OR_TRUE_LOVES_DEVOTION"></a> +FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> + +<h4>A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE +WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h5>(<i>Continued from page 12.</i>)</h5> + +<h4>PART II.</h4> + +<p>The castle of St. Renan, like the dwellings of +many of the nobles of Bretagne and Gascony, was a +superb old pile of solid masonry towering above the +huge cliffs which guard the whole of that iron coast +with its gigantic masses of rude masonry. So close +did it stand to the verge of these precipitous crags on +its seaward face, that whenever the wind from the +westward blew angrily and in earnest, the spray of +the tremendous billows which rolled in from the wide +Atlantic, and burst in thunder at the foot of those +stern ramparts, was dashed so high by the collision +that it would often fall in salt, bitter rain, upon the +esplanade above, and dim the diamond-paned casements +with its cold mists.</p> + +<p>For leagues on either side, as the spectator stood +upon the terrace above and gazed out on the expanse +of the everlasting ocean, nothing was to be seen but +the saliant angles or deep recesses formed by the +dark, gray cliffs, unrelieved by any spot of verdure, +or even by that line of silver sand at their base, +which often intervenes between the rocks of an iron +coast and the sea. Here, however, there was no +such intermediate step visible; the black face of the +rocks sunk sheer and abrupt into the water, which, +by its dark green hue indicated to the practiced eye, +that it was deep and scarcely fathomable to the very +shore.</p> + +<p>In places, indeed, where huge caverns opening in +front to the vast ocean, which had probably hollowed +them out of the earth-fast rock in the course of succeeding +ages, yawned in the mimicry of Gothic +arches, the entering tide would rush, as it were, into +the bowels of the land, roaring and groaning in those +strange subterranean dungeons like some strong +prisoner, Typhon, Enceladus, or Ephialtes, in his +immortal agony. One of these singular vaults opened +right in the base of the rock on the summit of which +stood the castle of St. Renan, and into this the billows +rushed with rapidity so tumultuous and terrible that +the fishers of that stormy coast avowed that a vortex +was created in the bay by their influx or return seaward, +which could be perceived sensibly at a league's +distance; and that to be caught in it, unless the wind +blew strong and steadily off land, was sure destruction. +However that might be, it is certain that this +great subterranean tunnel extended far beneath the +rocks into the interior of the land, for at the distance +of nearly two miles from the castle, directly eastward, +in the bottom of a dark, wooded glen, which runs +for many miles nearly parallel to the coast, there is +a deep, rocky well, or natural cavity, of a form nearly +circular, which, when the tide is up, is filled to over-flowing +with bitter sea-water, on which the bubbles +and foam-flakes show the obstacles against which it +must have striven in its landward journey. At low +water, on the contrary, "the Devil's Drinking Cup," +for so it is named by the superstitious peasantry of +the neighborhood, presents nothing to the eye but a +deep, black abyss, which the country folks, of course, +assert to be bottomless. But, in truth, its depth is +immense, as can easily be perceived, if you cast a +stone into it, by the length of time during which it +may be heard thundering from side to side, until the +reverberated roar of its descent appears to die away, +not because it has ceased, but because the sound is +too distant to be conveyed to human ears.</p> + +<p>On this side of the castle every thing differs as +much as it is possible to conceive from the view to +the seaward, which is grim and desolate as any ocean +scenery the world over. Few sails are ever seen on +those dangerous coasts; all vessels bound to the +mouth of the Garonne, or southward to the shores of +Spain, giving as wide a berth as possible to its +frightful reefs and inaccessible crags, which to all +their other terrors add that, from the extraordinary +prevalence of the west wind on that part of the ocean, +of being, during at least three parts of the year, a +<i>lee</i> shore.</p> + +<p>Inland, however, instead of the bleak and barren +surface of the ever stormy sea, indented into long +rolling ridges and dark tempestuous hollows, all was +varied and smiling, and gratifying to every sense +given by nature for his good to man. Immediately +from the brink of the cliffs the land sloped downward +southwardly and to the eastward, so that it was +bathed during all the day, except a few late evening +hours, in the fullest radiance of the sunbeams. Over +this immense sloping descent the eye could range +from the castle battlements, for miles and miles, until +the rich green champaign was lost in the blue haze +of distance. And it was green and gay over the +whole of that vast expanse, here with the dense and +unpruned foliage of immemorial forests, well stocked +with every species of game, from the gaunt wolf and +the tusky boar, to the fleet roebuck and the timid +hare; here with the trim and smiling verdure of rich +orchards, in which nestled around their old, gray +shrines the humble hamlets of the happy peasantry; +and every where with the long intersecting curves, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +and sinuous irregular lines of the old hawthorn hedges, +thick set with pollard trees and hedgerow timber, +which make the whole country, when viewed from +a height, resemble a continuous tract of intermingled +glades and copices, and which have procured for an +adjoining district, the well known, and in after days, +far celebrated name of the Bocage.</p> + +<p>Immediately around the castle, on the edge as it +were of this beautiful and almost boundless slope, +there lay a large and well-kept garden in the old +French style, laid out in a succession of terraces, +bordered by balustrades of marble, adorned at frequent +intervals by urns and statues, and rendered +accessible each from the next below by flights of +ornamented steps of regular and easy elevation; +pleached bowery walks, and high clipped hedges of +holly, yew and hornbeam, were the usual decorations +of such a garden, and here they abounded to an extent +that would have gladdened the heart of an admirer +of the tastes and habits of the olden time. In addition +to these, however, there were a profusion of flowers +of the choicest kinds known or cultivated in those +days—roses and lilies without number, and honeysuckles +and the sweet-scented clematis, climbing in +bountiful luxuriance over the numberless seats and +bowers which every where tempted to repose.</p> + +<p>Below this beautiful garden a wide expanse of +smooth, green turf, dotted here and there with majestic +trees, and at rarer intervals diversified with +tall groves and verdant coppices, covered the whole +descent of the first hill to the dim wooded dell which +has been mentioned as containing the singular cavity +known throughout the country as the "Devil's +Drinking Cup." This dell, which was the limit of +Count de St. Renan's demesnes in that direction, was +divided from the park by a ragged paling many feet +in height, and of considerable strength, framed of +rough timber from the woods, the space within being +appropriated to a singular and choice breed of deer, +imported from the East by one of the former counts, +who, being of an adventurous and roving disposition, +had sojourned for some time in the French settlements +of Hindostan. Beyond this dell again, which +was defended on the outer side by a strong and lofty +wall of brick, all over-run with luxuriant ivy, the +ground rose in a small rounded knoll, or hillock of +small extent, richly wooded, and crowned by the +gray turrets and steep flagged roofs of the old château +d'Argenson.</p> + +<p>This building, however, was as much inferior in +size and stateliness to the grand feudal fortalice of +St. Renan, as the little round-topped hill on which it +stood, so slightly elevated above the face of the surrounding +country as to detract nothing, at least in +appearance, from its general slope to the south-eastward, +was lower than the great rock-bound ridge +from which it overlooked the territories, all of which +had in distant times obeyed the rule of its almost +princely dwellers.</p> + +<p>The sun of a lovely evening in the latter part of +July had already sunk so far down in the west that +only half of its great golden disc was visible above the +well-defined, dark outline of the seaward crags, which +relieved by the glowing radiance of the whole +western sky, stood out massive and solid like a huge +purple wall, and seemed so close at hand that the +spectator could almost persuade himself that he had +but to stretch out his arm, in order to touch the great +barrier, which was in truth several miles distant.</p> + +<p>Over the crest, and through the gaps of this continuous +line of highland, the long level rays streamed +down in the slope in one vast flood of golden glory, +which was checkered only by the interminable +length of shadows which were projected from every +single tree, or scattered clump, from every petty +elevation of the soil, down the soft glimmering declivity.</p> + +<p>Three years had elapsed since the frightful fate of +the unhappy Lord of Kerguelen, and the various incidents, +which in some sort took their origin from +the nature of his crime and its consequence, affecting +in the highest degree the happiness of the families of +St. Renan and D'Argenson.</p> + +<p>Three years had elapsed—three years! That is a +little space in the annals of the world, in the life of +nations, nay, in the narrow records of humanity. +Three years of careless happiness, three years of +indolent and tranquil ease, unmarked by any great +event, pass over our heads unnoted, and, save in the +gray hairs which they scatter, leave no memorial of +their transit, more than the sunshine of a happy summer +day. They are, they are gone, they are forgotten.</p> + +<p>Even three years of gloom and sorrow, of that deep +anguish which at the time the sufferer believes to be +indelible and everlasting, lag on their weary, desolate +course, and when they too are over-passed, and he +looks back upon their transit, which seemed so painfully +protracted, and, lo! all is changed, and <i>their</i> +flight also is now but as an ended minute.</p> + +<p>And yet what strange and sudden changes altering +the affairs of men, changing the hearts of mortals, +yea, revolutionizing their whole intellects, and over-turning +their very natures—more than the devastating +earthquake or the destroying lava transforms the +face of the everlasting earth—have not been wrought, +and again well nigh forgotten within that little period.</p> + +<p>Three years had passed, I say, over the head of +Raoul de Douarnez—the three most marked and +memorable years in the life of every young man—and +from the ingenuous and promising stripling, he +had now become in all respects a man, and a bold +and enterprising man, moreover, who had seen much +and struggled much, and suffered somewhat—without +which there is no gain of his wisdom here below—in +his transit, even thus far, over the billows and among +the reefs and quicksands of the world.</p> + +<p>His father had kept his promise to that loved son +in all things, nor had the Sieur d'Argenson failed +of his plighted faith. The autumn of that year, the +spring of which saw Kerguelen die in unutterable +agony, saw Raoul de Douarnez the contracted and +affianced husband of the lovely and beloved Melanie.</p> + +<p>All that was wanted now to render them actually +man and wife, to create between them that bond +which, alone of mortal ties, man cannot sunder, was +the ministration of the church's holiest rite, and that, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +in wise consideration of their tender years, was postponed +until the termination of the third summer.</p> + +<p>During the interval it was decided that Raoul, as +was the custom of the world in those days, especially +among the nobility, and most especially among the +nobility of France, should bear arms in active service, +and see something of the world abroad, before settling +down into the easier duties of domestic life. The +family of St. Renan, since the days of that ancestor +who has been already mentioned as having sojourned +in Pondicherry, had never ceased to maintain some +relations with the East Indian possessions of France, +and a relation of the house in no very remote degree +was at this time military governor of the French +East Indias, which were then, previous to the unexampled +growth of the British empire in the East, important, +flourishing, and full of future promise.</p> + +<p>Thither, then, it was determined that Raoul should +go in search of adventures, if not of fortune, in the +spring following the signature of his marriage contract +with the young demoiselle d'Argenson. And, +consequently, after a winter passed in quiet domestic +happiness on the noble estates, whereon the gentry +of Britanny were wont to reside in almost patriarchal +state—a winter, every day of which the young lovers +spent in company, and at every eve of which they +separated more in love than they were at meeting in +the morning—Raoul set sail in a fine frigate, +carrying several companies of the line, invested with +the rank of ensign, and proud to bear the colors of +his king, for the shores of the still half fabulous +oriental world.</p> + +<p>Three years had passed, and the boy had returned +a man, the ensign had returned a colonel, so rapid +was the promotion of the nobility of the sword in the +French army, under the ancient regime; and—greatest +change of all, ay, and saddest—the Viscount +of Douarnez had returned Count de St. Renan. An +infectious fever, ere he had been one year absent +from the land of his birth, had cut off his noble father +in the very pride and maturity of his intellectual +manhood; nor had his mother lingered long behind +him whom she had ever loved so fondly. A low, slow +fever, caught from that beloved patient whom she +had so affectionately nurtured, was as fatal to her, +though not so suddenly, as it had proved to her good +lord; and when their son returned to France full of +honors achieved, and gay anticipations for the future, +he found himself an orphan, the lord in lonely and +unwilling state of the superb demesnes which had so +long called his family their owners.</p> + +<p>There never in the world was a kinder heart than +that which beat in the breast of the young soldier, +and never was a family more strictly bound together +by all the kindly influences which breed love and +confidence, and domestic happiness among all the +members of it, than that of St. Renan. There had +been nothing austere or rigid in the bringing up of +the gallant boy; the father who had at one hour +been the tutor and the monitor, was at the next the +comrade and the playmate, and at all times the true +and trusted friend, while the mother had been ever the +idolized and adored protectress, and the confidante +of all the innocent schemes and artless joys of boyhood.</p> + +<p>Bitter, then, was the blow stricken to the very +heart of the young soldier, when the first tidings +which he received, on landing in his loved France, +was the intelligence that those—all those, with but +one exception—whom he most tenderly and truly +loved, all those to whom he looked up with affectionate +trust for advice and guidance, all those on whom +he relied for support in his first trials of young manhood, +were cold and silent in the all absorbing tomb.</p> + +<p>To him there was no hot, feverish ambition prompting +him to grasp joyously the absolute command of +his great heritage. In his heart there was none of +that fierce yet sordid avarice which finds compensation +for the loss of the scarce-lamented dead in the +severance of the dearest natural bonds, in the possession +of wealth, or the promise of power. Nor was +this all, for, in truth, so well had Raoul de Douarnez +been brought up, and so completely had wisdom +grown up with his growth, that when, at the age of +nineteen years, he found himself endowed with the +rank and revenues of one of the highest and wealthiest +peers of France, and in all but mere name his +own master—for the Abbé de Chastellar, his mother's +brother, who had been appointed his guardian by his +father's will, scarcely attempted to exercise even a +nominal jurisdiction over him—he felt himself more +than ever at a loss, deprived as he was, when he +most needed it, of his best natural counsellor; and +instead of rejoicing, was more than half inclined to +lament over the almost absolute self-control with +which he found himself invested.</p> + +<p>Young hearts are naturally true themselves, and +prone to put trust in others; and it is rarely, except +in a few dark and morose and gloomy natures, +which are exceptions to the rule and standard of +human nature, that man learns to be distrustful and +suspicious of his kind, even after experience of fickleness +and falsehood may have in some sort justified +suspicions, until his head has grown gray.</p> + +<p>And this in an eminent degree was the case with +Raoul de St. Renan, for henceforth he must be called +by the title which his altered state had conferred +upon him.</p> + +<p>His natural disposition was as trustful and unsuspicious +as it was artless and ingenuous; and from his +early youth all the lessons which had been taught +him by his parents tended to preserve in him unblemished +and unbroken that bright gem, which once +shattered never can be restored, confidence in the +truth, the probity, the goodness of mankind.</p> + +<p>Some ruder schooling he had met in the course of +his service in the eastern world—he had already +learned that men, and—harder knowledge yet to +gain—women also, can feign friendship, ay, and +love, where neither have the least root in the heart, +for purposes the vilest, ends the most sordid. He +had learned that bosom friends can be secret foes; +that false loves can betray; and yet he was not disenchanted +with humanity, he had not even dreamed +of doubting, because he had fallen among worldly-minded +flatterers and fickle-hearted coquettes, that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +absolute friendship and unchangeable love may exist, +even in this evil world, stainless and incorruptible +among all the changes and chances of this mortal life.</p> + +<p>If he had been deceived, he had attributed the +failure of his hopes hitherto to the right cause—the +fallacy of his own judgment, and the error of his +own choice; and the more he had been disappointed, +the more firmly had he relied on what he felt certain +could not change, the affection of his parents, the +love of his betrothed bride.</p> + +<p>On the very instant of his landing he found himself +shipwrecked in his first hope; and on his earliest +interview with his uncle, in Paris, he had the agony—the +utter and appalling agony to undergo—of hearing +that in the only promise which he had flattered +himself was yet left to him, he was destined in all probability +to undergo a deeper, deadlier disappointment.</p> + +<p>If Melanie d'Argenson had been a lovely girl, the +good abbé said, when she was budding out of childhood +into youth, so utterly had she outstripped all +the promise of her girlhood, that no words could +describe, no imagination suggest to itself the charms +of the mature yet youthful woman. There was no +other beauty named, when loveliness was the theme, +throughout all France, than that of the young betrothed +of Raoul de Douarnez. And that which was +so loudly and so widely bruited abroad, could not +fail to reach the ever open, ever greedy ears of the +vile and sensual tyrant who sat on the throne of +France at that time, heaping upon his people that +load of suffering and anguish which was in after +times to be avenged so bitterly and bloodily upon the +innocent heads of his unhappy descendants.</p> + +<p>Louis had, moreover, heard years before, nay, +looked upon the nascent loveliness of Melanie d'Argenson, +and, with that cold-blooded voluptuary, to +look on beauty was to lust after it, to lust after it was +to devote all the powers his despotism could command +to win it.</p> + +<p>Hence, as the Abbé de Chastellar soon made his +unfortunate nephew and pupil comprehend, a settled +determination had arisen on the part of the odious +despot to break off the marriage of the lovely girl +with the young soldier whom it was well known +that she fondly loved, and to have her the wife of one +who would be less tender of his honor, and less reluctant +to surrender, or less difficult to be deprived of +a bride, too transcendently beautiful to bless the arms +of a subject, even if he were the noblest of the noble.</p> + +<p>All this was easily arranged, the base father of +Melanie was willing enough to sell his exquisite and +virtuous child to the splendid infamy of becoming a +king's paramour, and the yet baser Chevalier de la +Rochederrien was eager to make the shameful negotiation +easy, and to sanction it to the eyes of the +willingly hoodwinked world, by giving his name and +rank to a woman, who was to be his wife but in +name, and whose charms and virtue he had precontracted +to make over to another.</p> + +<p>The infamous contract had been agreed upon by +the principal actors; nay, the wages of the iniquity +had been paid in advance. The Sieur d'Argenson +had grown into the comte of the same, with the +governorship of the town of Morlaix added, by the +revenues of which to support his new dignities; +while the Chevalier de la Rochederrien had become +no less a personage than the Marquis de Ploermel, +with a captaincy of the mousquetaires, and heaven +knows what beside of honorary title and highly +gilded sinecure, whereby to reconcile him to such +depth of sordid infamy as the meanest galley-slave +could have scarce undertaken as the price of exchange +between his fetters and his oar, and the great +noble's splendor.</p> + +<p>Such were the tidings which greeted Raoul on his +return from honorable service to his king—service +for which he was thus repaid; and, before he had +even time to reflect on the consequences, or to comprehend +the anguish thus entailed upon him, his eyes +were opened instantly to comprehension of two or +three occurrences which previously he had been unable +to explain to himself, or even to guess at their +meaning by any exercise of ingenuity. The first of +these was the singular ignorance in which he had +been kept of the death of his parents by the government +officials in the East, and the very evident suppression +of the letters which, as his uncle informed +him, had been dispatched to summon him with all +speed homeward.</p> + +<p>The second was the pertinacity with which he had +been thrust forward, time after time, on the most desperate +and deadly duty—a pertinacity so striking, that, +eager as the young soldier was, and greedy of any +chance of winning honor, it had not failed to strike +him that <i>he</i> was frequently <i>ordered</i> on duty of a +nature which, under ordinary circumstances, is performed +by volunteers.</p> + +<p>Occurrences of this kind are soon remarked in +armies, and it had early become a current remark in +the camp that to serve in Raoul's company was a +sure passport either to promotion or to the other +world. But to such an extent was this carried, that +when time after time that company had been decimated, +even the bravest of the brave experienced an +involuntary sinking of the heart when informed that +they were transferred or even promoted into those +fatal ranks.</p> + +<p>Nor was this all, for twice it had occurred, once +when he was a captain in command of a company, +and again when he had a whole regiment under his +orders as its colonel, that his superiors, after detaching +him on duty so desperate that it might almost be +regarded as a forlorn hope, had entirely neglected +either to support or recall him, but had left him exposed +to almost inevitable destruction.</p> + +<p>In the first instance, not a man whether officer or +private of his company had escaped, with the exception +of himself. And he was found, when all +was supposed to be over, in the last ditch of the redoubt +which he had been ordered to defend to the +uttermost, after it had been retaken, with his colors +wrapped around his breast, still breathing a little, +although so cruelly wounded that his life was long +despaired of, and was only saved at last by the vigor +and purity of an unblemished and unbroken constitution. +On the second occasion, he had been suffer +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>ed +to contend alone for three entire days with but a +single battalion against a whole oriental army; but +then, that which had been intended to destroy him +had won him deathless fame, for by a degree of skill +in handling his little force, which had by no means +been looked for in so young an officer, although his +courage and his conduct were both well known, he +had succeeded in giving a bloody repulse to the over-whelming +masses of the enemy, and when at length +he was supported—doubtless when support was +deemed too late to avail him aught—by a few hundred +native horse and a few guns, he had converted +that check into a total and disastrous route.</p> + +<p>So palpable was the case, that although Raoul suspected +nothing of the reasons which had led to that +disgraceful affair, he had demanded an inquiry into +the conduct of his superior; and that unfortunate personage +being clearly convicted of unmilitary conduct, +and having failed in the end which would have justified +the means in the eyes of the voluptuous tyrant, +was ruthlessly abandoned to his fate, and actually +died on the scaffold with a gag in his mouth, as did +the gallant Lally a few years afterward, to prevent +his revelation of the orders which he had received, +and for obeying which he perished.</p> + +<p>All this, though strange and even extraordinary, +had failed up to this moment to awaken any suspicion +of undue or treasonable agency in the mind of Raoul.</p> + +<p>But now as his uncle spoke the scales fell from his +eyes, and he saw all the baseness, all the villany of +the monarch and his satellites in its true light.</p> + +<p>"Is it so? Is it, indeed, so?" he said mournfully. +And it really appeared that grief at detecting such a +dereliction on the part of his king, had a greater +share in the feelings of the noble youth than indignation +or resentment. "Is it, indeed, so?" he said, +"and could neither my father's long and glorious +services, nor my poor conduct avail aught to turn +him from such infamy! But tell me," he continued, +the blood now mounting fiery red to his pale face, +"tell me this, uncle, is she true to me? Is she pure +and good? Forgive me, Heaven, that I doubt her, but +in such a mass of infamy where may a man look for +faith or virtue? Is Melanie true to me, or is she, +too, consenting to this scheme of infamous and loathsome +guilt?"</p> + +<p>"She was true, my son, when I last saw her," +replied the good clergyman, "and you may well believe +that I spared no argument to urge her to hold +fast to her loyalty and faith, and she vowed then by +all that was most dear and holy that nothing should +induce her ever to become the wife of Rochederrien. +But they carried her off into the province, and have +immured her, I have heard men say, almost in a +dungeon, in her father's castle, for now above a +twelvemonth. What has fallen out no one as yet +knows certainly; but it is whispered now that she +has yielded, and the court scandal goes that she has +either wedded him already, or is to do so now within +a few days. It is said that they are looked for ere +the month is out in Paris."</p> + +<p>"Then I will to horse, uncle," replied Raoul, "before +this night is two hours older for St. Renan."</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven! To what end, Raoul. For the +sake of all that is good! By your father's memory! +I implore you, do nothing rashly."</p> + +<p>"To know of my own knowledge if she be true +or false, uncle."</p> + +<p>"And what matters it, Raoul? My boy, my unhappy +boy! False or true she is lost to you alike, +and forever. You have that against which to contend, +which no human energy can conquer."</p> + +<p>"I know not the thing which human energy cannot +conquer, uncle. It is years now ago that my +good father taught me this—that there is no such +word as <i>cannot</i>! I have proved it before now, uncle +abbé; I may, should I find it worth the while, prove +it again, and that shortly. If so, let the guilty and +the traitors look to themselves—they were best, for +they shall need it!"</p> + +<p>Such was the state of St. Renan's affections and +his hopes when he left the gay capital of France, +within a few hours after his arrival, and hurried +down at the utmost speed of man and horse into +Bretagne, whither he made his way so rapidly that +the first intimation his people received of his return +from the east was his presence at the gates of the +castle.</p> + +<p>Great, as may be imagined, was the real joy of +the old true-hearted servitors of the house, at finding +their lord thus unexpectedly restored to them, at a +time when they had in fact almost abandoned every +hope of seeing him again. The same infernal policy +which had thrust him so often, as it were, into the +very jaws of death, which had intercepted all the +letters sent to him from home, and taken, in one +word, every step that ingenuity could suggest to isolate +him altogether in that distant world, had taken +measures as deep and iniquitous at home to cause +him to be regarded as one dead, and to obliterate all +memory of his existence.</p> + +<p>Three different times reports so circumstantial, +and accompanied by such minute details of time and +place as to render it almost impossible for men to +doubt their authenticity, had been circulated with regard +to the death of the young soldier, and as no +tidings had been received of him from any more direct +source, the last news of his fall had been generally +received as true, no motive appearing why it +should be discredited.</p> + +<p>His appearance, therefore, at the castle of St. Renan, +was hailed as that of one who had been lost and +was now found, of one who had been dead, and lo! +he was alive. The bancloche of the old feudal pile +rang forth its blithest and most jovial notes of greeting, +the banner with the old armorial bearings of St. +Renan was displayed upon the keep, and a few +light pieces of antique artillery, falcons and culverins +and demi-cannon, which had kept their places on the +battlements since the days of the leagues, sent forth +their thunders far and wide over the astonished +country.</p> + +<p>So generally, however, had the belief of Raoul's +death been circulated, and so absolute had been the +credence given to the rumor, that when those unwonted +sounds of rejoicing were heard to proceed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +from the long silent walls of St. Renan, men never +suspected that the lost heir had returned to enjoy his +own again, but fancied that some new master had +established his claim to the succession, and was thus +celebrating his investiture with the rights of the +Counts of St. Renan.</p> + +<p>Nor was this wonderful, for ocular proof was +scarce enough to satisfy the oldest retainers of the +family of the young lord's identity; and indeed ocular +proof was rendered in some sort dubious by the +great alteration which had taken place in the appearance +of the personage in question.</p> + +<p>Between the handsome stripling of sixteen and the +grown man of twenty summers there is a greater +difference than the same lapse of time will produce +at any other period of human life. And this change +had been rendered even greater than usual by the +burning climate to which Raoul had been exposed, +by the stout endurance of fatigues which had prematurely +enlarged and hardened his youthful frame, +and above all by the dark experience which had +spread something of the thoughtful cast of age over +the smooth and gracious lineaments of boyhood.</p> + +<p>When he left home the Viscount de Douarnez was +a slight, slender, graceful stripling, with a fair, delicate +complexion, a profusion of light hair waving in +soft curls over his shoulders, a light elastic step, and +a frame, which, though it showed the promise +already of strength to be attained with maturity, was +conspicuous as yet for ease and agility and pliability +rather than for power or robustness.</p> + +<p>On his return, he had lost, it is true, no jot of his +gracefulness or ease of demeanor, but he had shot up +and expanded into a tall, broad-shouldered, round-chested, +thin-flanked man, with a complexion burned +to the darkest hue of which a European skin is susceptible, +and which perhaps required the aid of the +full soft blue eye to prove it to be European—with a +glance as quick, as penetrating, and at the same time +as calm and steady as that of the eagle when he +gazes undazzled at the noontide splendor.</p> + +<p>His hair had been cut short to wear beneath the +casque which was still carried by cavaliers, and had +grown so much darker that this alteration alone +would have gone far to defy the recognition of his +friends. He wore a thick dark moustache on his +upper lip, and a large <i>royal</i>, which we should nowadays +call an <i>imperial</i>, on his chin.</p> + +<p>The whole aspect and expression of face, moreover, +was altered, even in a greater degree than his +complexion, or his person. All the quick, sparkling +play and mobility of feature, the sharp flash of +rapidly succeeding sentiments, and strong emotions, +expressed on the ingenuous face, as soon as they +were conceived within the brain—all these had disappeared +completely—disappeared, never to return.</p> + +<p>The grave composure of the thoughtful, self-possessed, +experienced soldier, sufficient in himself +to meet every emergency, every alternation of fortune, +had succeeded the imaginative, impulsive ardor +of the impetuous, gallant boy.</p> + +<p>There was a shadow, too, a heavy shadow of +something more than thought—for it was, in truth, +deep, real, heartfelt melancholy, which lent an added +gloom to the cold fixity of eye and lip, which had +obliterated all the gay and gleeful flashes which used, +from moment to moment, to light up the countenance +so speaking and so frank in its disclosures.</p> + +<p>Yet it would have been difficult to say whether +Raoul de St. Renan, grave, dark and sorrowful as he +now showed, was not both a handsomer and more attractive +person than he had been in his earlier days, +as the gay and thoughtless Viscount de Douarnez.</p> + +<p>There was a depth of feeling, as well as of thought, +now perceptible in the pensive brow and calm eye; +and if the ordinary expression of those fine and placid +lineaments was fixed and cold, that coldness and +rigidity vanished when his face was lighted up by a +smile, as quickly as the thin ice of an April morning +melts away before the first glitter of the joyous +sunbeams.</p> + +<p>Nor were the smiles rare or forced, though not now +as habitual as in those days of youth unalloyed by +calamity, and unsunned by passion, which, once departed, +never can return in this world.</p> + +<p>The morning of the young lord's arrival passed +gloomily enough; it was the very height of summer, +it is true, and the sun was shining his brightest over +field and tree and tower, and every thing appeared +to partake of the delicious influence of the charming +weather, and to put on its blithest and most radiant +apparel.</p> + +<p>Never perhaps had the fine grounds, with their +soft mossy sloping lawns, and tranquil brimful waters +and shadowy groves of oak and elm, great +immemorial trees, looked lovelier than they did that +day to greet their long absent master.</p> + +<p>But, inasmuch as nothing in this world is more +delightful, nothing more unmixed in its means of +conveying pleasure, than the return, after long wanderings +in foreign climes, among vicissitudes and +cares, and sorrows, to an unchanged and happy home, +where the same faces are assembled to smile on your +late return which wept at your departure, so nothing +can be imagined sadder or more depressing to the +spirit than so returning to find all things inanimate +unchanged, or if changed, more beautiful and brighter +for the alteration, but all the living, breathing, sentient +creatures—the creatures whose memory has +cheered our darkest days of sorrow, whose love we +desire most to find unaltered—gone, never to return, +swallowed by the cold grave, deaf, silent, unresponsive +to our fond affection.</p> + +<p>Such was St. Renan's return to the house of his +fathers. Until a few short days before he had pictured +to himself his father's moderate and manly +pleasure, his mother's holy kiss and chastened rapture +at beholding once again, at clasping to her happy +bosom, the son, whom she sent forth a boy, returned a +man worthy the pride of the most ambitious parent.</p> + +<p>All this Raoul de St. Renan had anticipated, and +bitter, bitter was the pang when he perceived all +this gay and glad anticipation thrown to the winds +irreparably.</p> + +<p>There was not a room in the old house, not a view +from a single window, not a tree in the noble park, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +not a winding curve of a trout-stream glimmering +through the coppices, but was in some way connected +with his tenderest and most sacred recollections, but +had a memory of pleasant hours attached to it, but recalled +the sound of the kindliest and dearest words +couched in the sweetest tones, the sight of persons +but to think of whom made his heart thrill and quiver +to its inmost core.</p> + +<p>And for hours he had wandered through the long +echoing corridors, the stately and superb saloons, +feeling their solitude as if it had been actual presence +weighing upon his soul, and peopling every apartment +with the phantoms of the loved and lost.</p> + +<p>Thus had the day lagged onward, and as the sun +stooped toward the west darker and sadder had become +the young man's fancies; and he felt as if his +last hope were about to fade out with the fading light +of the declining day-god. So gloomy, indeed, were +his thoughts, so sadly had he become inured to wo +during the last few days, so certainly had the reply +to every question he had asked been the very bitterest +and most painful he could have met, that he had, in +truth, lacked the courage to assure himself of that +on which he could not deny to himself that his last +hope of happiness depended. He had not ventured +yet even to ask of his own most faithful servants, +whether Melanie d'Argenson, who was, he well +knew, living scarcely three bow-shots distant from +the spot where he stood, was true to him, was a +maiden or a wedded wife.</p> + +<p>And the old servitors, well aware of the earnest +love which had existed between the young people, +and of the contract which had been entered into with +the consent of all parties, knew not how their young +master now stood affected toward the lady, and consequently +feared to speak on the subject.</p> + +<p>At length when he had dined some hours, while he +was sitting with the old bailiff, who had been endeavoring +to seduce him into an examination of I know +not what of rents and leases, dues and droits, seignorial +and manorial, while the bottles of ruby-colored +Bordeaux wine stood almost untouched before them, +the young man made an effort, and raising his head +suddenly after a long and thoughtful silence, asked +his companion whether the Comte d'Argenson was +at that time resident at the château.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, monseigneur," the old man returned +immediately, "he has been here all the summer, and +the château has been full of gay company from Paris. +Never such times have been known in my days. +Hawking parties one day, and hunting matches the +next, and music and balls every night, and cavalcades +of bright ladies, and cavaliers all ostrich-plumes +and cloth of gold and tissue, that you would +think our old woods here were converted into fairy +land. The young lady Melanie was wedded only +three days since to the Marquis de Ploermel; but +you will not know him by that name, I trow. He +was the chevalier only—the Chevalier de la Rochederrien, +when you were here before."</p> + +<p>"Ah, they <i>are</i> wedded, then," replied the youth, +mastering his passions by a terrible exertion, and +speaking of what rent his very heart-strings asunder +as if it had been a matter which concerned him not so +much even as a thought. "I heard it was about to be +so shortly, but knew not that it had yet taken place."</p> + +<p>"Yes, monsiegneur, three days since, and it is +very strangely thought of in the country, and very +strange things are said on all sides concerning it."</p> + +<p>"As what, Matthieu?"</p> + +<p>"Why the marquis is old enough to be her father, +or some say her grandfather for that matter, and +little Rosalie, her fille-de-chambre, has been telling +all the neighborhood that Mademoiselle Melanie +hated him with all her heart and soul, and would far +rather die than go to the altar as his bride."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! is that all, good Matthieu?" answered +the youth, very bitterly—"is that all? Why there is +nothing strange in that. That is an every day event. +A pretty lady changes her mind, breaks her faith, +and weds a man she hates and despises. Well! that +is perfectly in rule; that is precisely what is done +every day at court. If you could tell just the converse +of the tale, that a beautiful woman had kept +her inclinations unchanged, her faith unbroken, her +honor pure and bright; that she had rejected a rich +man, or a powerful man, because he was base or +bad, and wedded a poor and honorable one because +she loved him, then, indeed, my good Matthieu, you +would be telling something that would make men +open their eyes wide enough, and marvel what +should follow. Is this all that you call strange?"</p> + +<p>"You are jesting at me, monseigneur, for that I +am country bred," replied the steward, staring at his +youthful master with big eyes of astonishment; "you +cannot mean that which you say."</p> + +<p>"I do mean precisely what I say, my good friend; +and I never felt less like jesting in the whole course +of my life. I know that you good folk down here in +the quiet country judge of these things as you have +spoken; but that is entirely on account of your ignorance +of court life, and what is now termed nobility. +What I tell you is strictly true, that falsehood and +intrigue, and lying, that daily sales of honor, that +adultery and infamy of all kinds are every day occurrences +in Paris, and that the wonders of the time are +truth and sincerity, and keeping faith and honor! +This, I doubt not, seems strange to you, but it is true +for all that."</p> + +<p>"At least it is not our custom down here in Bretagne," +returned the old man, "and that, I suppose, +is the reason why it appears to be so extraordinary +to us here. But you will not say, I think, monsieur +le comte, that what else I shall tell you is nothing +strange or new."</p> + +<p>"What else will you tell me, Matthieu? Let us +hear it, and then I shall be better able to decide."</p> + +<p>"Why they say, monsiegneur, that she is no more +the Marquis de Ploermel's wife than she is yours or +mine, except in name alone; and that he does not +dare to kiss her hand, much less her lips; and that +they have separate apartments, and are, as it were, +strangers altogether. And that the reason of all this +is that Ma'mselle Melanie is never to be his wife at +all, but that she is to go to Paris in a few days, and +to become the king's mistress. Will you tell me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +that this is not strange, and more than strange, infamous, +and dishonoring to the very name of man +and woman?"</p> + +<p>"Even in this, were it true, there would be nothing, +I am grieved to say, very wondrous nowadays—for +there have been several base and terrible examples +of such things, I am told, of late; for the rest, +I must sympathize with you in your disgust and +horror of such doings, even if I prove myself thereby +a mere country hobereau, and no man of the world, +or of fashion. But you must not believe all these +things to be true which you hear from the country +gossips," he added, desirous still of shielding Melanie, +so long as her guilt should be in the slightest possible +degree doubtful, from the reproach which seemed +already to attach to her. "I hardly can believe such +things possible of so fair and modest a demoiselle as +the young lady of d'Argenson; nor is it easy to me +to believe that the count would consent to any +arrangement so disgraceful, or that the Chevalier de +la Rocheder—I beg his pardon, the Marquis de +Ploermel, would marry a lady for such an infamous +object. I think, therefore, good Matthieu, that, +although there would not even in this be any thing +very wonderful, it is yet neither probable nor true."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is true! I am well assured that it is +true, monseigneur," replied the old man, shaking +his head obstinately; "I do not believe that there is +much truth or honor in this lady either, or she would +not so easily have broken one contract, or forgotten +one lover!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush, Matthieu!" cried Raoul, "you +forget that we were mere children at that time; such +early troth plightings are foolish ceremonials at the +best; beside, do you not see that you are condemning +me also as well as the lady?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is different—that is quite different!" replied +the old steward, "gentlemen may be permitted +to take some little liberties which with ladies are not +allowable. But that a young demoiselle should break +her contract in such wise is disgraceful."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, we will not argue it to-night, Matthieu," +said the young soldier, rising and looking out +of the great oriel window over the sunshiny park; +"I believe I will go and walk out for an hour or two +and refresh my recollections of old times. It is a +lovely afternoon as I ever beheld in France or +elsewhere."</p> + +<p>And with the word he took up his rapier which lay +on a slab near the table at which he had been sitting, +and hung it to his belt, and then throwing on his +plumed hat carelessly, without putting on his cloak, +strolled leisurely out into the glorious summer +evening.</p> + +<p>For a little while he loitered on the esplanade, +gazing out toward the sea, the ridgy waves of which +were sparkling like emeralds tipped with diamonds +in the grand glow of the setting sun. But ere long +he turned thence with a sigh, called up perhaps by +some fancied similitude between that bright and +boundless ocean, desolate and unadorned even by a +single passing sail, and his own course of life so +desert, friendless and uncompanioned.</p> + +<p>Thence he strolled listlessly through the fine garden, +inhaling the rare odors of the roses, hundreds of which +bloomed on every side of him, there in low bushes, +there in trim standards, and not a few climbing over +tall trellices and bowery alcoves in one mass of +living bloom. He saw the happy swallow darting +and wheeling to and fro through the pellucid azure, +in pursuit of their insect prey. He heard the rich +mellow notes of the blackbirds and thrushes, thousands +and thousands of which were warbling incessantly +in the cool shadow of the yew and holly +hedges. But his diseased and unhappy spirit took no +delight in the animated sounds, or summer-teeming +sights of rejoicing nature. No, the very joy and +merriment, which seemed to pervade all nature, animate +or inanimate around him, while he himself had +no present joys to elevate, no future promises to +cheer him, rendered him, if that were possible, +darker and gloomier, and more mournful.</p> + +<p>The spirits of the departed seemed to hover about +him, forbidding him ever again to admit hope or joy +as an inmate to his desolate heart; and, wrapt in +these dark phantasies, with his brow bent, and his +eyes downcast, he wandered from terrace to terrace +through the garden, until he reached its farthest +boundary, and then passed out into the park, through +which he strolled, almost unconscious whither, until +he came to the great deer-fence of the utmost glen, +through a wicket of which, just as the sun was +setting, he entered into the shadowy woodland.</p> + +<p>Then a whole flood of wild and whirling thoughts +rushed over his brain at once. He had strolled without +a thought into the very scene of his happy rambles +with the beloved, the faithless, the lost Melanie. +Carried away by a rush of inexplicable feelings, he +walked swiftly onward through the dim wild-wood +path toward the Devil's Drinking Cup. He came in +sight of it—a woman sat by its brink, who started to +her feet at the sound of his approaching footsteps.</p> + +<p>It was Melanie—alone—and if his eyes deceived +him not, weeping bitterly.</p> + +<p>She gazed at him, at the first, with an earnest, half-alarmed, +half-inquiring glance, as if she did not recognize +his face, and, perhaps, apprehended rudeness, +if not danger, from the approach of a stranger.</p> + +<p>Gradually, however, she seemed in part to recognize +him. The look of inquiry and alarm gave place +to a fixed, glaring, icy stare of unmixed dread and +horror; and when he had now come to within six or +eight paces of her, still without speaking, she cried, +in a wild, low voice,</p> + +<p>"Great God! great God! has he come up from the +grave to reproach me! I am true, Raoul; true to +the last, my beloved!"</p> + +<p>And with a long, shivering, low shriek, she staggered, +and would have fallen to the earth had he not +caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>But she had fainted in the excess of superstitious +awe, and perceived not that it was no phantom's +hand, but a most stalwort arm of human mould that +clasped her to the heart of the living Raoul de St. +Renan.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Conclusion in our next.</i></p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_BLOCKHOUSE" id="THE_BLOCKHOUSE"></a>THE BLOCKHOUSE.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon yon hillock in this valley's midst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the low crimson sun lies sweetly now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On corn-fields—clustered trees—and meadows wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattered with rustic homesteads, once there stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blockhouse, with its loop-holes, pointed roof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide jutting stories, and high base of stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hamlet of rough log-built cabins stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside it; here a band of settlers dwelt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One of the number, a gray stalwort man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still lingers on the crumbling shores of Time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old age has made him garrulous, and oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've listened to his talk of other days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which his youth bore part. His eye would then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flash lightning, and his trembling hand would clench<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His staff, as if it were a rifle grasped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In readiness for the foe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"One summer's day,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus he commenced beside a crackling hearth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the storm roared without, "a fresh bright noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Us men were wending homeward from the fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all the breezy morning we had toiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I paused a moment on a grassy knoll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glanced around. Our scythes had been at work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here and there a meadow had been shorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked like velvet; still the grain stood rich;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brilliant sunshine sparkled on the curves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the long drooping corn-leaves, till a veil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of light seemed quivering o'er the furrowed green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The herds were grouped within the pasture-fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smokes curled lazily from the cabin-roofs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T was a glad scene, and as I looked my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swelled up to Heaven in fervent gratitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ha! from the circling woods what form steals out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strait in my line of vision, then shrinks back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The savage! haste, men, haste! away, away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloody savage!' 'T was that perilous time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When our young country stood in arms for right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And freedom, and, within the forests, each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worked with his loaded rifle at his back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We all unslung our weapons, and with hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nerving for trial, flew toward our homes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We reached them as wild whoopings filled the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dusky forms came bounding from the woods.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We pressed toward the blockhouse, with our wives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And children madly shrieking in our midst.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere we reached it, like a torrent dashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tawny foes amongst us. Oh that scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dread and horror! Knives and tomahawks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darted and flashed. In vain we poured our shots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From our long rifles; breast to breast, in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eye to eye, we fought. My comrades dropped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around me, and their scalps were wrenched away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they lay writhing. From our midst our wives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were torn and brained; our shrieking infants dashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the bloody earth, until our steps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were clogged with their remains. Still on we pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With our clubbed rifles, sweeping blow on blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, one by one, my bleeding comrades fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until my brother and myself alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remained of all our band. My wife had clung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close to my side throughout the horrid strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, warding off each blow, and struggling on.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now we three were near the blockhouse-door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed by a secret spring. My brother first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its succor reached; it opened at his touch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just then an Indian darted to my side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grasped my trembling wife"—the old man paused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And veiled his eyes, whilst shudderings shook his frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the wind shakes the leaf. "I saw her, youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sink with one bitter shriek beneath the edge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his red, swooping hatchet. Turned to stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stood an instant, but my brother's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragged me within the blockhouse. As the door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed to the spring, and quick my brother thrust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavy bars athwart, for I was sick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With horror, piercing whoops of baffled rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed without. Recovering from my deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erwhelming stupor, as I heard those sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My veins ran liquid flame; with iron grasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I clenched my rifle. From the loops we poured<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick shots upon the foe, who, shrinking back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the low cabin-roofs applied the brand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up with fierce fury flashed the greedy flames.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just then my brother thrust his head from out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A loop—quick cracked a rifle, and he fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead on the planks. With yells that froze my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A score of warriors at the blockhouse-door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped a great pile of boughs. A streak of fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran like a serpent through it, and then leaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broad up the sides. Through every loop-hole poured<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep smoke, with now and then a fiery flash.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air grew thick and hot, until I seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To breathe but flame. I staggered to a loop.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dancing around with flourished tomahawks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw my horrid foes. But ha! that glimpse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again! oh can it be my wavering sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, no, forms break from out the forest depths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurry onward; gleaming arms I see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joy, joy, 't is coming succor! Swift they come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift as the wind. The swarthy warriors gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like startled deer. Crash, crash, now peal the shots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amongst them, and with looks of fierce despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They group together, aim a scattered fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then seek to break with tomahawk and knife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the advancing circle, but in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fall beneath the stalwort blows of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who long had suffered under savage hate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hunters and settlers of the valley roused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length to vengeance. With a rapid hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blockhouse-door I opened and rushed out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wielding my rifle. Youth, this arm is old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And withered now, but every blow I struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then made the blood-drops spatter to my brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until I bathed in crimson. With deep joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt the iron sink within the brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clatter on the bone, until the stock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snapped from the barrel. But the fight soon passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the last red foe beneath my arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped dead, I sunk exhausted at the feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my preservers. A wild, murky gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled with fierce eyes, fell round me, but kind Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted at length the blackness; on my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keen glare fell no more, and I arose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the blue sky above me, and the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughing around in all its glorious beauty.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 596px;"> +<img src="images/illus135.png" width="596" height="800" +alt="The Departure" title="" /></div> +<h4>The Departure</h4> +<h5>From H. C. Corbould. Drawn with alterations & engraved by Geo. B. Ellis<br /> +Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_DEPARTURE" id="THE_DEPARTURE"></a>THE DEPARTURE.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h5>[Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1848, by<br /> +<span class="smcap">Edward Stephens</span>, in the Clerk's office of the<br /> +District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.]</h5> + +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> + + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh do not look so bright and blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For still there comes a fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When hours like thine look happiest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That grief is then most near.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lurks a dread in all delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A shadow near each ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That warns us thus to fear their flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When most we wish their stay. <span class="smcap">Moore.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<p>Far down upon the Long Island shore, where the +ocean heaves in wave after wave from the "outer +deep," forming coves of inimitable beauty, promontories +wooded to the brink, and broken precipices +against which the surf lashes continually, there +stood, some thirty years ago, an old mansion-house, +with irregular and pointed roofs, low stoops, gable-windows, +in short, exhibiting all those architectural +eccentricities which our modern artists strive for so +earnestly in their studies of the picturesque. The +dwelling stood upon the bend of a cove; a forest of +oaks spread away some distance behind the dwelling, +and feathered a point of land that formed the eastern +circle down to the water's edge.</p> + +<p>In an opposite direction, and curving in a green +sweep with the shore, was a fine apple-orchard, and +that end of the old house was completely embowered +by plum, pear and peach trees, that sheltered minor +thickets of lilac, cerenga, snow-ball and other blossoming +shrubs. In their season, the ground under +this double screen of foliage was crimson with +patches of the dwarf rose, and the old-fashioned windows +were half covered with the tall graceful trees +of that snow-white species of the same queenly +flower, which is only to be found in very ancient +gardens, and seldom even there at the present time. +In front of the old house was a flower-garden of considerable +extent, lifted terrace after terrace from the +water, which it circled like a crescent. The profusion +of blossoms and verdure flung a sort of spring-like +glory around the old building until the autumn +storms came up from the ocean and swept the rich +vesture from the trees, leaving the mansion-house +bold, unsheltered and desolate-looking enough.</p> + +<p>The cove upon which this old house stood looked +far out upon the ocean; no other house was in sight, +and it was completely sheltered not only by a forest +of trees but by the banks that, high and broken, +curved in at the mouth of the cove, narrowing the +inlet, and forming altogether a sea and land view +scarcely to be surpassed.</p> + +<p>The mansion-house was an irregular and ancient +affair enough, everyway unlike the half Grecian, +half Gothic, or wholly Swiss specimens of architecture +with which Long Island is now scattered. Still, +there was a substantial appearance of comfort and +wealth about it. Though wild and of ancient growth +all its trees were in good order, and judiciously +planted; well kept outhouses were sheltered by their +luxurious foliage, and to these were joined all those +appliances to a rich man's dwelling necessary to distinguish +the old mansion as the country residence of +some wealthy merchant, who could afford to inhabit +it only in the pleasantest portion of the year.</p> + +<p>It was the pleasantest portion of the year—May, +bright, beautiful May, with her world of blossoms +and her dew-showers in the night. The apple-orchard, +the tall old pear-trees and the plum thickets +were one sheet of rosy or snow-white blossoms. +The old oaks rose against the sky, piled upon each +other branch over branch, their rich foliage yet +blushing with a dusky red as it unfolded leaf by leaf +to the air. The flower-garden was azure and golden +with violets, tulips, crocuses and amaranths. In +short, the old building, moss-covered though its roof +had become, and old-fashioned as it certainly was in +all its angles, might have been mistaken for one of +the most lovely nooks in Paradise, and the delusion +never regretted.</p> + +<p>I have said that it was spring-time—the air fragrance +itself—the birds brimful of music, soft and +sweet as if they had fed only upon the apple-blossoms +that hung over them for months. Yet there +was no indication that the old house was inhabited. +The windows were all closed, the doors locked, and +the greensward with the high box borders, covered +with a shower of snowy leaves that had been shaken +from the fruit-trees. Still, upon a strip of earth kept +moist by the shadows from a gable, was one or two +slender footprints slightly impressed, that seemed to +have been very recently left. Again they appeared +upon a narrow-pointed stoop that ran beneath the +windows of a small room in an angle of the building, +and from which there was a door slightly ajar, with +the same dewy footprint broken on the threshold. +Within this room there was a sound as of some one +moving softly, yet with impatience, to and fro—once +a white hand clasped itself on the door, and a +beautiful face, flushed and agitated, glanced through +the opening and disappeared. Then followed an interval +of silence, save that the birds were making +the woods ring with music, and an old honeysuckle +that climbed over the stoop shook again with the +humming-birds that dashed hither and thither among +its crimson bells.</p> + +<p>Again the door was pushed open, and now not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +only the face but the tall and beautifully proportioned +figure of a young girl appeared on the threshold. +She paused a moment, hesitated, as if afraid to brave +the open air, and then stepped out upon the stoop, +and bending over the railing looked eagerly toward +the grove of oaks, through which a carriage-road +wound up to the broad gravel-walk that led from the +back of the dwelling.</p> + +<p>Nothing met her eye but the soft green of the +woods, and after gazing earnestly forth during a +minute or two she turned, with an air of disappointment, +and slowly passed through the door again.</p> + +<p>The room which she entered was richly furnished, +but the upright damask chairs, the small tables of +dark mahogany, and two or three cushions that filled +the window recesses, were lightly clouded with dust, +such as accumulates even in a closed room when +long unoccupied. There was also a grand piano in +the apartment, with other musical instruments, all +richly inlaid, but with their polish dimmed from a +like cause.</p> + +<p>The lady seemed perfectly careless of all this disarray; +she flung herself on a high-backed damask +sofa, and one instant buried her flushed features in +the pillows—the next, she would lift her head, hold +her breath and listen if among the gush of bird-songs +and the hum of insects she could hear the one sound +that her heart was panting for. Then she would +start up, and taking a tiny watch from her bosom +snatch an impatient glance at the hands and thrust it +back to its tremulous resting-place again. Alas for +thee, Florence Hurst! All this emotion, this tremor +of soul and body, this quick leaping of the blood in +thy young heart and thrilling of thy delicate nerves, +in answer to a thought, what does it all betoken? +Love, love such as few women ever experienced, +such as no woman ever felt without keen misery, +and happiness oh how supreme! Happiness that +crowds a heaven of love into one exquisite moment, +whose memory never departs, but like the perfume +that hangs around a broken rose, lingers with existence +forever and ever.</p> + +<p>Florence loved passionately, wildly. Else why +was she there in the solitude of that lone dwelling? +Her father's household was in the city—no human +being was in the old mansion to greet her coming, +and yet Florence was there—alone and waiting!</p> + +<p>It was beyond the time! You could see that by +the hot flush upon her cheek, by the sparkle of her +eyes—those eyes so full of pride, passion and tenderness, +over which the quick tears came flashing as +she wove her fingers together, while broken murmurs +dropped from her lips.</p> + +<p>"Does he trifle with me—has he dared—"</p> + +<p>How suddenly her attitude of haughty grief was +changed! what a burst of tender joy broke over +those lovely features! How eagerly she dashed +aside the proud tears and sat down quivering like a +leaf, and yet striving—oh how beautiful was the +strife!—to appear less impatient than she was.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was a footstep light and rapid, coming +along the gravel-walk. It was on the stoop—in the +room—and before her stood a young man, elegant, +nay almost superb in his type of manliness, and endowed +with that indescribable air of fashion which +is more pleasing than beauty, and yet as difficult to +describe as the perfume of a flower or the misty descent +of dews in the night.</p> + +<p>The young girl up to this moment had been in a +tumult of expectation, but now the color faded from +her cheek, and the breath as it rose trembling from +her bosom seemed to oppress her. It was but for a +moment. Scarcely had his hand closed upon hers +when her heart was free from the shadow that had +fallen upon it, and a sweet joy possessed her wholly. +She allowed his arm to circle her waist unresisted, +and when he laid a hand caressingly on one cheek +and drew the other to his bosom, that cheek was +glowing like a rose in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>For some moments they sat together in profound +silence, she trembling with excess of happiness, he +gazing upon her with a sort of sidelong and singular +expression of the eye, that had something calculating +and subtle in it, but which changed entirely when +she drew back her head and lifted the snowy lids +that had closed softly over her eyes the moment she +felt the beating of his heart.</p> + +<p>"And so you have come at last?" she said very +softly, and drawing back with a blush, as if the fond +attitude she had fallen into were something to which +she had hitherto been unused. "Are you alone? I +thought—"</p> + +<p>"I know, sweet one, I know that you will hardly +forgive me," said the young man, and his voice was +of that low, rich tone that possesses more than the +power of eloquence. "But I could not persuade the +clergyman to come down hither in my company. +Your father's power terrifies him!"</p> + +<p>"And he would not come? He refuses to unite us +then—and we are here—alone and thus!" cried Florence +Hurst, withdrawing herself from his arm.</p> + +<p>"Not so, sweet one, your delicacy need not be +startled thus. He is coming with a friend, and will +stop at the village till I send over to say that all is +quiet here. He is terribly afraid that the old gentleman +may suspect something and follow us."</p> + +<p>"Alas, my proud old father!" cried Florence, for +a moment giving way to the thoughts of regretful +tenderness that would find entrance to her heart amid +all its tumultuous feelings.</p> + +<p>"And do you regret that you have risked his displeasure, +which, loving you as he does, must be only +momentary, for one who adores you, Florence?" replied +the young man, in a tone of tender reproach +that thrilled over her heart-strings like music.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I do not regret, I never can! but oh, +how much of heaven would be in this hour if he but +approved of what we are about to do!"</p> + +<p>"But he will approve in time, beloved, believe +me he will," said the young man, clasping both her +hands in his and kissing them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, when he knows you better," cried Florence, +making an effort to cast off the shadow that +lay upon her heart, "when he knows all your goodness, +all the noble qualities that have won the heart +of your Florence."</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> + +<p>As Jameson bent his lips to the young girl's forehead +they were curled by a faint sneering smile. +That smile was blended with the kiss he imprinted +there. It left no sting—the poison touched no one +of the delicate nerves that awoke and thrilled to the +fanning of his breath, and yet it would have been +perceptible to an observer as the glitter of a rattle-snake.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you love me, Florence."</p> + +<p>"Love you!" her breath swelled and fluttered as +the words left her lips. "Love! I fear—I know that +all this is idolatry!"</p> + +<p>"Else why are you here."</p> + +<p>"Truly, most truly!"</p> + +<p>"Risking all things, even reputation, for me, and +I so unworthy."</p> + +<p>"Reputation!" cried Florence, her pride suddenly +stung with the venom that lay within those honied +words. "Not reputation, Jameson; I do not risk +that; I could not—it would be death!"</p> + +<p>"And yet you are here, alone with me, beloved, +in this old house."</p> + +<p>"But I am here to become your wife—only to become +your wife. I risk my father's displeasure—I +know that—I am disobedient, wicked, cruel to him, +but his good name—my own good name—no, no, +nothing that I have done should endanger that."</p> + +<p>The proud girl was much agitated, and the dove-like +fondness that had brooded in her eyes a moment +before began to kindle up to an expression that the +lover became earnest to change.</p> + +<p>"You take me up too seriously," he said, attempting +to draw her toward him, but she resisted proudly. +"I only spoke of <i>possible</i> not probable risk, and that +because the clergyman would be persuaded to come +down here only on a promise that the marriage +should be kept a secret till some means could be +found of reconciling the old gentleman, or at any +rate for a week or two."</p> + +<p>"And you gave the promise," said Florence, +while her beautiful features settled into a grieved +and dissatisfied expression. "You gave this promise?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Florence, what ails you? I had no choice. +You had already left home, and he would listen to +no other terms."</p> + +<p>"A week or two—our marriage kept secret so +long," said Florence in a tone of dissatisfaction. +"You did well to say I was risking much for you. +My life had been little—but this—"</p> + +<p>"And is this too much? Do you begin to regret, +Florence?"</p> + +<p>Nothing could have been more gentle, more replete +with tenderness, ardent but full of reproach, +than the tone in which these words were uttered. +Florence lifted her eyes to his, tears came into them, +and then she smiled brightly once more.</p> + +<p>"Oh! let us have done with this; I am nervous, +agitated, unreasonable I suppose; of course you +have done right," she said, "but at first the thoughts +of this concealment terrified me."</p> + +<p>"Hark! I hear wheels. It must be the clergyman +and Byrne," said Jameson, listening.</p> + +<p>"And is a stranger coming," inquired Florence, +"any one but the clergyman? I was not prepared +for that!"</p> + +<p>"But we must have a witness. He is my friend, +and one that can be trusted. You need have no fear +of Byrne."</p> + +<p>"They are here!" said Florence, who had been +listening with checked breath, while her face waxed +very pale. "It is the step of two persons on the +gravel. Let me go—let me go for an instant, this is +no dress for a bride," and she glanced hurriedly at +her black silk dress, relieved only by a frill of lace +and a knot or two of rose-colored ribbon.</p> + +<p>"What matters it, beautiful as you always are."</p> + +<p>"No, no, I cannot be married in black—I will not +be married in black," she cried hurriedly, and with +a forced effort to be gay; "wait ten minutes, I will +but step to the chamber above and be with you again +directly."</p> + +<p>Florence disappeared through a door leading into +the main portion of the building, while Jameson +arose and went out to meet the two men, who were +now close by the stoop, and looking about as if undecided +what door to try at for admission.</p> + +<p>"Let us take a stroll in the garden," he said, descending +the steps, "the lady is not quite ready yet; +how beautiful the morning is," and passing his arm +through that of a man who seemed some years older +than himself, and who had accompanied the clergyman, +he turned an angle of the building. The clergyman +followed them a pace or two, then returning +sat down upon the steps that led to the stoop and took +off his hat.</p> + +<p>"This is a singular affair," he muttered, putting +back the locks from his forehead and bending his +elbows upon his knees, with the deep sigh of a man +who finds the air deliciously refreshing, "I have +half a mind to pluck a handful of flowers, step into +my chaise and go back to the city again; but for the +sweet young lady I would. There is something +about the young man that troubles me—what if my +good-nature has been imposed upon—what if old Mr. +Hurst has deeper reasons than his pride—that I +would not bend to a minute—and he gives no other +reason if they tell me truly. This young man is his +book-keeper, and so his love is presumptuous. +Probably old Hurst has imported a cargo of aristocratic +arrogance from Europe, and the young people +tell the truth. If so, why I will even marry them, +and let the stately gentleman make the best of it. +Still, I half wish the thing had not fallen upon me."</p> + +<p>Meantime the bridegroom and his friend walked +slowly toward the water.</p> + +<p>"And so you have snared the bird at last," said +Byrne.</p> + +<p>"I did not think you could manage to get her down +here. When did she come?"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday," said Jameson.</p> + +<p>"Alone?"</p> + +<p>"Quite alone; her father thinks her visiting a +friend."</p> + +<p>"But <i>you</i> left the city yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And not with her?"</p> + +<p>"She came down alone—so did I."</p> + +<p>"But directly after—ha!"</p> + +<p>Jameson smiled, that same crafty smile that had +curled his lips even when they rested upon the forehead +of Florence Hurst.</p> + +<p>"And did she sanction this. By heavens! I would +not have believed it—so proud, so sensitive!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Byrne, to do Florence justice, she supposes +that I came down this morning; but the old +house is large, and it was easy enough for me to find +a nook to sleep in, without her knowledge."</p> + +<p>"But what object have you in this?"</p> + +<p>"Why, as to my object, it is scarcely settled yet; +but it struck me that by this movement I might obtain +a hold upon her father's family pride, should his +affection for Florence fail. The haughty old don +would hardly like it to be known in the city that his +lovely daughter—his only child—had spent the night +alone, in an old country-house, with her father's +book-keeper."</p> + +<p>"But how would he know this; surely you would +not become the informant?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no!" replied Jameson, with a smile; "but +I took a little pains to inquire about the localities of +this old nest up at the village. The good people had +seen Miss Hurst leave the stage an hour before and +walk over this way. It seems very natural that he +may hear it from that quarter."</p> + +<p>Byrne looked at his companion a moment almost +sternly, then dropping his eyes to the ground, he +began to dash aside the rich blossoms from a tuft of +pansies with his cane.</p> + +<p>"You do not approve of this?" said Jameson, +studying his companion's countenance.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why, it can do no harm. What would the girl +be to me without her expectations. I tell you her +father will pay any sum rather than allow a shadow +of disgrace to fall upon her. I will marry her at all +hazards; but it must be kept secret, and in a little +time some hint of this romantic excursion will be +certain to reach head-quarters; and I shall have the +old man as eager for the marriage as any of us, and +ready to come down handsomely, too. I tell you it +makes every thing doubly sure."</p> + +<p>"It may be so," said the other, in a dissatisfied +manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, like it or not, I can see no other way by +which you will be certain of the three thousand +dollars that you won of me," replied Jameson, coolly.</p> + +<p>Byrne dashed his cane across the pansies, sending +the broken blossoms in a shower over the gravel-walks.</p> + +<p>"Well, manage as you like, the affair is nothing +to me, but it smacks strongly of the scoundrel, Herbert, +I can tell you that."</p> + +<p>"Pah! this little plot of mine will probably amount +to nothing. The old gentleman may give in at once +to the tears and caresses of my sweet bride up +yonder. Faith, I doubt if any man could resist +her."</p> + +<p>"More than probable—more than probable!" rejoined +the other; "but I should not like to be within +the sight of that girl's eye if she ever finds out the +game you have been playing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would be very likely to strike fire," replied +Jameson, carelessly; "but she loves me, and +there is no slave like a woman that loves. You will +see that before the year is over, every spark that +flashes from her eyes I shall force back upon her +heart till it burns in, I can tell you. But there she is, +all in bridal white, and fluttering like a bird around +the old stoop. Come, we must not keep her waiting!"</p> + +<p>Meantime, Florence Hurst had entered a little +chamber, where, nineteen years before, she first +opened her eyes to the light of heaven. It was at +one end of the house, and across the window fell the +massive boughs of an old apple-tree, heaped with +masses of the richest foliage, and rosy with half-open +blossoms. A curtain of delicate lace fluttered before +the open sash, bathed in fragrance, and through +which the rough brown of the limbs, the delicate +green in which the rosy buds seemed matted, gleamed +as through a wreath of mist.</p> + +<p>The night before Florence had left a robe of pure +white muslin near the window, exquisitely fine, but +very simple, which was to be her wedding-dress. It +was strange, but a sort of faintness crept over her +heart as she saw the dress; and she sat down powerless, +with both hands falling in her lap, gazing upon +it. For the moment her intellect was clear, her heart +yielded up to its new intuition. Her guardian spirit +was busy with her passionate but noble nature. She +felt, for the first time, in all its force, how wrong she +was acting, how indelicate was her situation. It +seemed as if she were that moment cast adrift from +her father's love—from her own lofty self-appreciation. +The heart that had swelled and throbbed so +warmly a moment before, now lay heavy in her +bosom, shrinking from the destiny prepared for it. +Just then the sound of a voice penetrated the thick +foliage of the fruit tree, and she started up once +more full of conflicting emotions. It was Jameson's +voice that reached her as he passed with his friend +beneath the fruit trees. She heard no syllable of +what he was saying, but the very tone, as it came +softened and low through the perfume and sweetness +that floated around her, was enough to fling her soul +into fresh tumult. How she trembled; how warm +and red came the passion-fire of that delicate cheek, +as she flung the black garment from off her superb +form, and hurried on the bridal array. It was very +chaste, and utterly without pretension, that wedding-dress, +knots of snowy ribbon fastened it at the +shoulders and bosom, and the exquisite whiteness +was unbroken save by the glow that warmed her +neck and bosom almost to a blush, and the purplish +gloss upon her tresses, that fell in raven masses +down to her shoulders.</p> + +<p>She took a glance in the old mirror, encompassed +by its frame-work of ebony, carved and elaborated +at the top and bottom into a dark net-work of fine +filagree; she saw herself—a bride. Again the wing +of her guardian angel beat against her heart. The +unbroken whiteness of her array seemed to fold her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +like a shroud, and like that thing which a shroud +clings to, became the pallor which settled on her +features; for behind her own figure, and moving, as +it were, in the background of the mirror, she saw +the image of her lover and his friend, talking earnestly +together. The friend stood with his back toward her, +but <i>his</i> face she saw distinctly, and that smile was +on his lips, cold, crafty, almost contemptuous. Was +it Jameson, or only something mocking her from the +mirror? She went to the window, drew aside the +filmy lace, and looked forth. Truly it was her lover; +through an interstice of the apple boughs she saw +him distinctly, and he saw her—that smile, surely +the gloomy old mirror had reflected awry. How +brilliant, how full of love was the whole expression +of his face. Again her heart lighted up. She took a +cluster of blossoms from the apple-tree bough, and +waving them lightly toward him, drew back. She +left the room, fastening the damp and fragrant buds +in her hair as she went along, for somehow she +shrunk from looking into the old mirror again.</p> + +<p>Now the guardian angel gave way to the passion +spirit. Florence entered the little boudoir, trembling +with excitement, and warm with blushes. The +room was solitary, and she stepped out upon the +stoop—for her life she could not have composed herself +to sit down and wait a single instant. The +clergyman was there sitting upon the steps, thoughtful, +and evidently yielding to the doubts that had arisen +in his kind but just nature too late. He arose as +Florence came upon the stoop, and slowly mounting +the steps, took her hand and led her back into the room.</p> + +<p>"My dear young lady," he said very gravely, "I +would hear from your own lips what the impediments +to this marriage really are. I scarce know how to +account for it. Nothing has happened to change the +aspect of affairs here; but within the last hour I have +been troubled with doubts and misgivings. Has all +been done that can be to obtain your father's +consent?"</p> + +<p>"I believe—I know that there has," replied Florence, +instantly saddened by the gravity of the +clergyman.</p> + +<p>"And his objections arose purely from pride—aristocratic +pride?"</p> + +<p>"I never heard any other reason given for withholding +his consent," replied Florence. "To me he +never gave a reason. His commands were peremptory."</p> + +<p>"And you have known this young man long?"</p> + +<p>"I was but fifteen when he first came into my +father's employ."</p> + +<p>"And you love him with your whole heart?"</p> + +<p>Florence lifted her eyes, and through the long +black lashes flashed a reply so eloquent, so beautiful, +that it made even the quiet clergyman draw a deep +breath.</p> + +<p>"Enough—I will marry them!" he said firmly. "I +only wish the young man may prove worthy of all +this—"</p> + +<p>His soliloquy was cut short by the appearance of +Jameson and his friend.</p> + +<p>They were married—Florence Hurst, the only +daughter and heiress of the richest merchant in New +York, to Jameson, the protegée and book-keeper of +her proud father.</p> + +<p>They were married, and they were left alone in +that picturesque old country-house. And now, +strange to say, Florence grew very sad; and as +Jameson sat by her, with one hand in his, and circling +her waist with his arm, she began to weep bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Florence, Florence—how is this! why do you weep, +beloved?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said the bride, gently; "but +since the good clergyman has left us, my heart is +heavy, and I feel alone."</p> + +<p>"Do you not love me, Florence? Have you lost +confidence in me?"</p> + +<p>Florence lifted her eyes, shining with affection, +and placed her hand in his.</p> + +<p>"But this secrecy troubles me. Let us tell my +father at once," she said, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"But I have promised, shall I break a pledge, and +that to the man of God who has just given you to me +forever and ever. Florence?"</p> + +<p>"Surely his consent may be obtained. He said +nothing of concealment to me."</p> + +<p>"And did you talk with him?" questioned Jameson, +maintaining the same tone in which his other questions +had been put, but with a certain sharpness in it.</p> + +<p>"A little. He questioned me of the motives which +induced my father to oppose our marriage."</p> + +<p>"And that was all?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; you came in just then, and the rest seems +like a dream."</p> + +<p>"A blessed, sweet dream, Florence, for it made +you my wife," said Jameson.</p> + +<p>Still Florence wept. "And now," she said, lifting +her eyes timidly to his, "let us return to the city; +while this secrecy lasts I must see you only in the +presence of my father."</p> + +<p>"Florence, is this distrust—is it dislike?" cried +Jameson, startled out of his usual self-command.</p> + +<p>"Neither," said Florence, "you know that. You +are certain of it as I am myself. But I am your wife +now, Herbert, and have both your honor and my own +to care for. My father has no power to separate us +now, so that fear which seemed to haunt you ever +is at rest. But it is due to myself, to him, and to +you, that when you claim me as your wife, he should +know that I am such, though he may not approve."</p> + +<p>Florence said all this very sweetly, but with a +degree of gentle firmness that seemed the more unassailable +that it was sweet and gentle. Before he +could speak she withdrew herself from his arm, and +glided from the room. When quite alone, Jameson +fell into an unpleasant reverie, from which her return +in the black silk dress, with a bonnet and shawl on, +aroused him.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said, with a smile and a blush, "let +us walk through the oak woods, and across the +meadows, we shall reach the village almost as soon +as the good clergyman and your friend. The reverend +gentleman will take care of me, I feel quite sure, +and you can manage for yourself. Here we must +not remain another moment."</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> + +<p>"Florence!"</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay—whoever heard of a lady being thwarted +on her wedding-morning!" cried Florence—and she +went out upon the stoop. Jameson followed, and +seemed to be expostulating; but she took his arm and +walked on, evidently unconvinced by all that he was +saying, till they disappeared in the oak woods.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy vows are all broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And light is thy fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear thy name spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And share in the shame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They will name thee before me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A knell to mine ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shudder comes o'er me—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why wert thou so dear? <span class="smcap">Byron</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<p>Florence was in her father's house near the Battery, +and looking forth into a large, old-fashioned +garden, which was just growing dusky with approaching +twilight; near her, in a large crimson +chair, sat a man of fifty perhaps, tall and slender, +with handsome but stern features, rendered more +imposing by thick hair, almost entirely gray, and a +style of dress unusually rich, and partaking of +fashions that had prevailed twenty years earlier.</p> + +<p>Florence was pensive, and an air of painful depression +hung about her. The presence of her father, +who sat gazing upon her in silence, affected her +much; the secret that lay upon her heart seemed to +grow palpable to his sight, and though she appeared +only still and pensive, the poor girl trembled from +head to foot.</p> + +<p>"Florence!" said Mr. Hurst after the lapse of +half an hour, for it seemed as if he had been waiting +for the twilight to deepen around them—"Florence, +you are sad, child. You look unhappy. Do your +father's wishes press so heavily upon your spirits—do +you look upon him as harsh, unreasonable, because +he will not allow his only child to throw away +her friendship, her society upon the unworthy?"</p> + +<p>Florence did not answer, her heart was too full. +There was something tender and affectionate in her +father's voice that made the tears start, and drowned +the words that she would have spoken. Seldom had +he addressed her in that tone before. How unlike +was he to the reserved, stern father whose arbitrary +command to part with her lover she had secretly disobeyed.</p> + +<p>"Speak, Florence, your depression grieves me," +continued Mr. Hurst, as he heard the sobs she was +trying in vain to suppress.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father—father! why will you call him unworthy +because he lacks family standing and wealth? +I cannot—oh I never can think with you in this!"</p> + +<p>"And who said that I did deem him unworthy for +<i>these</i> reasons? Who said that I objected to Herbert +Jameson as a companion for my daughter because +of his humble origin or his penniless condition? +Who told you this, Florence Hurst?"</p> + +<p>"He, he told me—did you not say all this to him, +all this and more? Did you not drive him from your +presence and employ with bitter scorn, when two +weeks ago he asked for your daughter's hand?"</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> ask for my daughter's hand! he, the ingrate! +the—Florence, did you believe that he really possessed +the base assurance to request your hand of +me?"</p> + +<p>"Father! father! what does this mean? Did you +not tell me on that very evening never to see him +again—never to recognize him in the street, or even +think of him! Did you not cast him forth from your +home and employ because he told you of his love +for me and of mine for him?"</p> + +<p>"Of your love for him, Florence Hurst!"</p> + +<p>There was something terrible in the voice of mingled +astonishment and dismay with which this exclamation +was made.</p> + +<p>"Father!" cried the poor girl, half rising from her +seat, and falling back again pale and trembling, +"father, why this astonishment? You knew that I +loved him!"</p> + +<p>"Who told you that I did?"</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> told me, he, Herbert Jameson. It was for this +you made him an outcast."</p> + +<p>"It is false, Florence, I never dreamed of this +degradation!" said Mr. Hurst, in a voice that seemed +like sound breaking up through cold marble.</p> + +<p>"Then why that command to myself—why was I +never to see or hear from him again?" cried Florence, +almost gasping for breath.</p> + +<p>"Because he is a dishonest man, a swindler—because +I solemnly believe that he has been robbing +me during the last three years, and squandering his +stolen spoil at the gambling-table!"</p> + +<p>"Father—father—father!"</p> + +<p>The sharp anguish in which these words broke +forth brought the distressed merchant to his feet. +Florence, too, stood upright, and even through the +dusk you might have seen the wild glitter of her +eyes, the fierce heave of her bosom.</p> + +<p>"You believe, father, you only believe! should +such things be said without proof—proof broad and +clear as the open sunshine when it pours down +brightest from heaven. I say to you, my father, +Herbert Jameson is an honest, honorable man!"</p> + +<p>"It is well, Florence—it is well!" said Mr. Hurst, +with stern and bitter emphasis. "You have doubted +my justice, you distrust that which I have said. +You are foolishly blind enough to think that this man +<i>can</i> love, does love you."</p> + +<p>"I know that he does!" said Florence with a sort +of wild exultation. "I know that he loves me."</p> + +<p>"And would you, if I were to give my consent—could +you become the wife of Herbert Jameson?"</p> + +<p>"Father, I could! I would!"</p> + +<p>"Then on this point be the issue between us," +said Mr. Hurst, with calm and stern dignity. "Florence, +I am about to send a note desiring this man +to come once more under my roof," and he rang a +bell for lights; "if within three hours I do not give +you proof that he loves you only for the wealth that +I can give—that he is every way despicable—I say +that if within three hours I do not furnish this proof, +clear, glaring, indisputable, then will I frankly and +at once give my consent to your marriage."</p> + +<p>"Father!" cried Florence, while a burst of wild +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +and startling joy broke over her face, "I will stand +the issue! My life—my very soul would I pledge +on his integrity."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst looked at her with mournful sternness +while she was speaking, and then proceeded to write +a note which he instantly dispatched.</p> + +<p>While the servant was absent Mr. Hurst and his +daughter remained together, much agitated but silent +and lost in thought. In the course of half an hour +the man returned with a reply to the note. Mr. +Hurst read it, and waiting till they were alone turned +to his daughter and pointed to a glass door which +led from the room into a little conservatory of plants.</p> + +<p>"Go in yonder, from thence you can hear all that +passes."</p> + +<p>"Father, is it right—will it be honorable?" said +Florence, hesitating and weak with agitation.</p> + +<p>"It is right—it is honorable! Go in!" His voice +was stern, the gesture with which he enforced it +peremptory, and poor Florence obeyed.</p> + +<p>A curtain of pale green silk fell over the sash-door, +and close behind it stood a garden-chair, overhung +by the blossoming tendrils of a passion-flower. Florence +sat down in the chair and her head drooped +fainting to one hand. There was something in the +scent of the various plants blossoming around that +reminded her of that wedding-morning when the air +was literally burthened with like fragrance. She +was about to see her husband for the first time since +that agitating day, to see him thus, crouching as a +spy among those delicate plants, her heart beat +heavily, she loathed herself for the seeming meanness +that had been forced upon her. Yet there was +misgiving at her heart—a vague, sickening apprehension +that chained her to the seat.</p> + +<p>She heard the door open and some one enter the +room where her father sat, with a lamp pouring its +light over his stern and pale features till every iron +lineament was fully revealed. Scarcely conscious +of the act, Florence drew aside a fold of the curtain, +and with her forehead pressed to the cold glass +looked in. Mr. Hurst had not risen, but with an +elbow resting on the table sat pale and stern, with +his eyes bent full upon her husband, who stood a few +paces nearer to the door. In one hand was his hat, +in the other he held a slender walking-stick. He did +not seem fully at his ease, and yet there was more +of triumph than of embarrassment in his manner. +Florence observed, and with a sinking heart, that he +did not, except with a furtive glance, return the +calm and searching look with which Mr. Hurst regarded +him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jameson, sit down," began the haughty +merchant, pointing to a chair. "I did hope after our +last interview never again to be disturbed by your +presence, but it seems that, serpent-like, you will +never tire of stinging the bosom that has warmed +you."</p> + +<p>"I am at a loss to understand you, Mr. Hurst," +replied Jameson, taking the chair, and Florence +sickened as she saw creeping over his lips the very +same smile that had gleamed before her in the mirror. +"When I last saw you your charges were harsh, +your treatment cruel. You imputed things to me of +which you have no proof, and upon the strength of +an absurd suspicion of—of—I may as well speak it +out—of dishonesty, you discharged me from your +employ; I am at a loss to know why you have sent +for me, certainly you cannot expect to wring proof +of these charges from my own words."</p> + +<p>"I have proof of them, undoubted, conclusive, +and had at the time they were first made! but you +had been cherished beneath my roof, had broken of +my bread, and I was forbearing! Was not this reason +enough why I should have sent you forth as I +did?"</p> + +<p>Jameson gave a perceptible start and turned very +pale as Mr. Hurst spoke of the proofs that he possessed; +but the emotion was only momentary, and +it scarcely disturbed the smile that still curled about +his mouth.</p> + +<p>"At any rate the bare suspicion of these things +was all the reason you deigned to give," he said.</p> + +<p>Florence heard and saw—conviction, the loathed +thing, came creeping colder and colder to her bosom.</p> + +<p>"But since then I have other causes for pursuing +your crimes with the justice they merit, other and +deeper wrongs you have done me, serpent, fiend, +household ingrate as you are!"</p> + +<p>"And what may those other wrongs be?" was the +cold and half sneering rejoinder to this passionate +outbreak.</p> + +<p>"My daughter!" said the merchant, sweeping a +hand across his forehead. "It sickens me to mention +her name here and thus, but my daughter—even +there has your venom reached."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I understand you," said the young man +with insufferable coolness; "but if your daughter +chose to love where her father hates how am I to +blame? I am sure it has cost me a great deal of +trouble to keep the young lady's partiality a secret. +If you have found it out at last so much the better."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst, with all his firmness, was struck dumb +by this cool and taunting reply, but after a moment's +fierce struggle he mastered the passion within him +and spoke.</p> + +<p>"You love"—the words absolutely choked the +proud man—"you love my daughter then—why was +this never mentioned to me?"</p> + +<p>"It was the young lady's fancy, I suppose; perhaps +she shrunk from so grim a confident; at any +rate it is very certain that I did!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst shaded his face with one hand and +seemed to struggle fiercely with himself. Jameson +sat playing with the tassel of his cane, now and then +casting furtive glances at his benefactor.</p> + +<p>"Young man," said the merchant, slowly withdrawing +his hand, "I have but to denounce you to +the laws, and you leave this room for a convict's cell."</p> + +<p>"It may be that you have this power!" replied +Jameson, with undisturbed self-possession, "I am +sure I cannot say whether you have or not!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>have</i> the power, what should withhold me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, many things. Your daughter, for instance!"</p> + +<p>"My daughter!"</p> + +<p>"You interrupt me, sir. I was about to say your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +daughter has given me some rather unequivocal +proofs of her love, and they would become unpleasantly +public, you know, if her father insisted upon +dragging me before the world. Your daughter, sir, +must be my shield and buckler, I never desire a +better or fairer."</p> + +<p>Here a noise broke from the conservatory, and the +silk curtain shook violently, but as it was spring time, +and with open doors for the wind to circulate through, +this did not seem extraordinary. Still, Mr. Hurst +looked anxiously around, and Jameson cast a careless +glance that way.</p> + +<p>It was very painful, nay withering to his proud +heart, but Mr. Hurst was determined to lay open the +black nature of that man before his child; he knew +that she suffered, that it was torture that he inflicted, +but nevertheless she could be redeemed in no other +way, and he remained firm as a rock.</p> + +<p>"So, in order to deter me from a just act, you +would use my daughter's attachment as a threat; +you would drag her name before the world, that it +might be blasted with your own! Is this what I am +to understand?"</p> + +<p>"Well, something very like it, I must confess."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst arose. "I have done with you, Herbert +Jameson," he said, with austere dignity. "Go, +your presence is oppressive! So young and so deep a +villain, even I did not believe you so terribly base. +Go, I have done with you!"</p> + +<p>Jameson did not move, but sat twisting the tassel +of his cane between his thumb and finger. He did +not look full at Mr. Hurst, for there was something +in his eye that quelled even his audacity; but when +he spoke, it was without any outward agitation, +though his miscreant limbs shook, and the heart +trembled in his bosom.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hurst," he said, "I do not know how far +you have used past transactions to terrify me, but I +assure you that any blow aimed at me will recoil on +yourself. But this is not enough, you have told me +to leave your roof forever—and so I will; but first +let my wife be informed that I await her pleasure +here. I take her with me, and that before you can +have an opportunity to poison her mind against her +husband."</p> + +<p>"Your wife! Your wife!" Mr. Hurst could only +master these words, and they fell from his white lips +in fragments. He looked wildly around toward the +door, and at the young man, who stood there smiling +at his agony.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, my wife. There is the certificate of +our marriage three days ago, at your pleasant old +country-house on the Long Island shore. You see +that it is regularly witnessed—the people about there +will tell you the how and when."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst took up the certificate and held it before +his eyes, but for the universe he could not have read +a word, for it shook in his hand like a withered leaf +in the wind.</p> + +<p>Then softly and slowly the conservatory-door +opened, and the tall figure of Florence Hurst glided +through. There was a bright red spot upon her +forehead, where it had pressed against the glass, but +save that her face, neck, and hands were colorless +as Parian marble, and almost as cold. She approached +her father, took the certificate from his hand and +tearing it slowly and deliberately into shreds, set her +foot upon them.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said, "take me away. I have +sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and am no +longer worthy to be called thy daughter, but, oh, +punish me not with the presence of this bad man!"</p> + +<p>Without a word, Mr. Hurst took the cold hand of +his daughter and led her into another room. Jameson +was left alone—alone with his own black heart and +base thoughts. We would as soon dwell with a +rattle-snake in its hole, and attempt to analyze its +venom, as register the dark writhing of a nature like +his. The sound of a voice, low, earnest and pleading, +now and then reached his ear. Then there was a +noise as of some one falling, followed by the tramp +of several persons moving about in haste; and, after +a little, Mr. Hurst entered the room again.</p> + +<p>Young Jameson stood up, for reflection had warned +him that he could no longer trust to the power of +Florence with her father; there had been something +in the terrible stillness of her indignation, in the pale +features, the dilated eyes, and the brows arched with +ineffable scorn, that convinced him how mistaken +was the anchor which he had expected to hold so +firmly in her love. He knew Mr. Hurst, and felt +that in his lofty pride alone could rest any hope of a +rescue from the penalty of his crimes.</p> + +<p>He stood up, then, as I have said, with more of +respect in his manner than had hitherto marked it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst resumed his chair and motioned that the +young man should follow his example. He was +very pale, and a look of keen suffering lay around +his eyes, but still in his features was an expression of +relief, as if the degredation that had fallen upon him +was less than he had dreaded.</p> + +<p>"How, may I ask, how is my—, how is Florence—she +looked ill; I trust nothing serious?" said +Jameson, sinking into his chair, and goaded to say +something by the keen gaze which Mr. Hurst had +turned upon him.</p> + +<p>"Never again take that name into your lips," said +the outraged father—and his stern voice shook with +concentrated passion. "If you but breath it in a +whisper to your own base heart alone, I will cast +aside all, and punish you even to the extremity of +the law."</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Hurst—"</p> + +<p>"Peace, sir!"</p> + +<p>The young ingrate drew back with a start, and +looked toward the door, for the terrible passion which +he had lighted in that lofty man now broke forth in +voice, look and gesture; the wretch was appalled +by it.</p> + +<p>"Sit still, sir, and hear what I have to say."</p> + +<p>"I will—I listen, Mr. Hurst, but do be more +composed. I did not mean to offend you in asking +after—"</p> + +<p>"Young man, beware!" Mr. Hurst had in some +degree mastered himself, but the huskiness of his +voice, the vivid gleam of his eyes, gave warning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +that the fire within him though smothered was not +quenched.</p> + +<p>"I am silent, sir," cried the wretch, completely +cowed by the strong will of his antagonist.</p> + +<p>"I know all—all, and have but few words to cast +upon a thing so vile as you have become. If I submit +to your presence for a moment it is because that +agony must be endured in order that I may cast you +from me at once, like the viper that had stung me."</p> + +<p>"Sir, these are hard words," faltered Jameson; +but Mr. Hurst lifted his hand sharply, and went on.</p> + +<p>"You want money. How much did you expect +to obtain from me?"</p> + +<p>"I—I—this is too abrupt, Mr. Hurst, you impute +motives—"</p> + +<p>"I say, sir," cried the merchant, sternly interrupting +the stammered attempt at defense, "I say +you have done this for money—impunity for your +crime first, and then money. You see I know you +thoroughly."</p> + +<p>The wretch shrunk from the withering smile that +swept over that white face; he looked the thing he +was—a worthless, miserable coward, with all the +natural audacity of his character dashed aside by +the strong will of the man he had wronged.</p> + +<p>"You are too much excited, Mr. Hurst, I will call +some other time," he faltered out.</p> + +<p>"Now—now, sir, I give you impunity! I will +give you money. Say, how much will release me +from the infamy of your presence; I will pay well, +sir, as I would the physician who drives a pestilence +from my hearth?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hurst, what do you wish—what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"You are to leave this country now and forever—leave +it without speaking the name of my daughter. +You are never to step your foot again upon the land +which she inhabits. Do this, and I will invest fifty +thousand dollars for your benefit, the income to be paid +you in any country that you may choose to infest, +any except this."</p> + +<p>"And what if I refuse to sell my liberty, my—" +he paused, for Mr. Hurst was keenly watching him, +and he dared not mention Florence as his wife, though +the word trembled on his lip.</p> + +<p>"What then," said the merchant, firmly, "why +you pass from this door to the presence of a magistrate—from +thence to prison—after that to trial—not +on a single indictment, but on charges urged one +after another that shall keep you during half your +life within the walls of a convict's cell."</p> + +<p>"But remember—"</p> + +<p>"I do remember everything; and I, who never +yet violated my word to mortal man, most solemnly +assure you that such is your destination, let the consequences +fall where they will."</p> + +<p>Jameson sat down, and with his eyes fixed on the +floor, fell into a train of subtle calculation. Mr. +Hurst sat watching him with stern patience. At last +Jameson spoke, but without lifting his eyes, "You +are a very wealthy man, Mr. Hurst, and fifty thousand +dollars is not exactly the portion that—"</p> + +<p>"The bribe—the bribe, you mean, which is to +rid me of an ingrate," cried the merchant, and a look +of ineffable disgust swept over his face. "The +benefit is great, too great for mere gold to purchase, +but I have named fifty thousand—choose between that +and a prison."</p> + +<p>"But shall I have the money down?" said Jameson, +still gazing upon the floor. "Remember, sir, my +affections, my—"</p> + +<p>"Peace, once more—another word on that subject +and I consign you to justice at once. This +interview has lasted too long already. You have my +terms, accept or reject them at once."</p> + +<p>"I—I—of course I can but accept them, hard as +it is to separate from my country and friends. But +did I understand you aright, sir. Is it fifty thousand +in possession, or the income that you offer?"</p> + +<p>"The income—and that only to be paid in a foreign +land, and while you remain there."</p> + +<p>"These are hard terms, Mr. Hurst, very hard +terms, indeed," said Jameson. "Before I reply to +to them—excuse me, I intend no offence—but I +must hear from your daughter's own lips that she +desires it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst started to his feet and sat instantly down +again; for a moment he shrouded his eyes, and then +he arose sternly and very pale, but with iron composure.</p> + +<p>"From her own lips—hear it, then. Go in," he +said, casting open the door through which he had +entered the room, "go in!"</p> + +<p>The room was large and dimly lighted; at the opposite +end there was a high, deep sofa, cushioned +with purple, and so lost in the darkness that it +seemed black; what appeared in the distance to be +a heap of white drapery, lay upon the sofa, immovable +and still, as if it had been cast over a corpse.</p> + +<p>Jameson paused and looked back, almost hoping +that Mr. Hurst would follow him into the room, for +there was something in the stillness that appalled +him. But the merchant had left the door, and casting +himself into a chair, sat with his arms flung out upon +the table, and his face buried in them. For his life +he could not have forced himself to witness the +meeting of that vile man with his child.</p> + +<p>Still Florence remained immovable; Jameson +closed the door, and walking quickly across the +room, like one afraid to trust his own strength, bent +over the sofa.</p> + +<p>Florence was lying with her face to the wall, her +eyes were closed, and the whiteness of her features +was rendered more deathly by the dim light. She +had evidently heard the footstep, and mistaking it +for her father's, for her eyelids began to quiver, and +turning her face to the pillow, she gasped out with a +shudder,</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, father, do not look on me!"</p> + +<p>Jameson knelt and touched the cold hand in which +she had grasped a portion of the pillow.</p> + +<p>"Florence!"</p> + +<p>Florence started up, a faint exclamation broke +from her lips, and she pressed herself against the +back of the sofa, in the shuddering recoil with which +she attempted to evade him.</p> + +<p>Jameson drew back, and for the instant his counte +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>nance +evinced genuine emotion. His self-love was +cruelly shocked by the evident loathing with which +she shrunk away from the arm that, only a few days +before, had brought the bright blood into her cheeks +did she but rest her hand upon it by accident.</p> + +<p>"And do you hate me so, Florence?" he said, in +a voice that was full of keen feeling.</p> + +<p>"Leave me—leave me, I am ill!" cried the poor +girl, sitting up on the sofa, and holding a hand to her +forehead, as if she were suffering great pain.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> come by your father's permission, Florence; +will you be more cruel than he is?"</p> + +<p>"My father has a right to punish me, I have deserved +it," she said, in a voice of painful humility. +"If he sent you I will try to bear it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Florence, has it come to this; I am about to +leave you forever, and yet you shrink from me as if +I were a reptile," cried Jameson.</p> + +<p>"A reptile! oh, no, they seldom sting unless trodden +upon," said Florence, lifting her large eyes to +his face for the first time, but withdrawing them +instantly, and with a faint moan.</p> + +<p>Jameson turned from her and paced the room once +or twice with uneven strides. This seemed to give +Florence more strength, for the closeness of his presence +had absolutely oppressed her with a sense of +suffocation. She sat upright, and putting the hair +back from her temples, tried to collect her thoughts. +Jameson broke off his walk and turned toward her; +but she prevented his nearer approach with a motion +of her hand, and spoke with some degree of +calmness.</p> + +<p>"You have sought me, but why? What more do +you wish? Do I not seem wretched enough?"</p> + +<p>"It is your father who has made you thus miserable!" +said Jameson, in a low but bitter voice, for +he feared the proud man in the next room, and +dared not speak of him aloud. Florence scarcely +heeded him, she sat gazing on the floor lost in thought, +painful and harrowing. Still there was an apparent +apathy about her that reassured the bad man who +stood by suffering all the agony of a wild animal +baffled in fight. He would not believe that so short +a time had deprived him of a love so passionate, so +self-sacrificing as had absorbed that young being not +three days before.</p> + +<p>Throwing a tone of passionate tenderness into his +voice, he approached her, this time unchecked.</p> + +<p>"Florence, dear Florence, must we part thus; +will you send me from you for ever?"</p> + +<p>Florence, was very weak and faint, she felt by the +thrill that went through her heart like some sharp +instrument, as the sound of his passionate entreaty +fell upon it, that, spite of herself, she might be made +powerless in his hands were the interview to proceed. +The thought filled her with dread. She +started up, and tottering a step or two from the sofa, +cried out, "Father! father!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst lifted his head from where he had buried +it in his folded arms, as if to shield his senses from +what might be passing within the other room, and +starting to his feet, was instantly by his daughter's +side.</p> + +<p>"What is this!" he said, throwing his arm around +the half fainting girl, and turning sternly toward her +tormentor, "have you dared—"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" gasped Florence. "I was ill—I—oh, +father, without you I have no strength. Save me +from myself!"</p> + +<p>"I will," said Mr. Hurst, gently and with great +tenderness drawing the trembling young creature +close to his bosom.</p> + +<p>"I see how it is, she is influenced only by you, +sir. I am promised an interview, and left to believe +that the lady shall decide for herself, yet even the +very first words I utter are broken in upon. I know +that this woman loves me."</p> + +<p>"No, no, I love him not! I did a little hour ago, +but now I am changed—do you not see how I am +changed?" cried Florence, lifting her head wildly, +and turning her pale face full upon her miscreant +husband. "Do you not know that your presence is +killing me?"</p> + +<p>"I will go," said Jameson, touched by the wild +agony of her look and voice; "I will go now, but +only with your promise, Mr. Hurst, that when she +is more composed, I may see and converse with her. +I will offer no opposition to your wishes; but you +will give me a week or two."</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to see this man again, my child?" +said Mr. Hurst, "I can trust you, Florence, decide +for yourself."</p> + +<p>Florence parted her lips to answer, but her strength +utterly failed, and with a feeble gasp she sunk powerless +and fainting on her father's bosom.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst gathered her in his arms and bore her +from the room, simply pausing with his precious +burden at the door while he told Jameson, in a calm +under tone, to leave the house, and wait till a message +should reach him.</p> + +<p>But the unhappy man was in no haste to obey. +For half an hour he paced to and fro in the solitude +of that large apartment, now seating himself on the +sofa which poor Florence had just left, and again +starting up with a sort of insane desire for motion. +Sometimes he would listen, with checked breath, to +the footsteps moving to and fro in the chamber over-head, +and then hurry forward again, racked by every +fierce passion that can fill the heart of a human +being.</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i> triumph yet! I <i>will</i> see her, and that +when he is not near to crush every loving impulse +as it rises. Once mine, and he will never put his +threat into execution, earnest as he seemed. All +my strength lies in her love—and it is enough. She +suffers—that is a proof of it. She is angry—that is +another proof. Yes, yes, I can trust in her, she is +all romance, all feeling!"</p> + +<p>Jameson muttered these words again and again; +it seemed as if he thought by the sound of his voice +to dispel the misgiving that lay at his heart. He +would have given much for the security that his +muttered words seemed to indicate, and as if determined +not to leave the house without some further +confirmation of his wishes, he lingered in the room +till its only light flashed and went out in the socket +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +of its tall silver candlestick, leaving him in total +darkness. Then he stole forth and left the house, +softly closing the street door after him.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! wert thou still what once I fondly deemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that thy mien expressed, thy spirit seemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love had been devotion, till in death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy name had trembled on my latest breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">* * * * * * *<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had'st thou but died ere yet dishonor's cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er that young heart had gathered as a shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I then had mourned thee proudly, and my grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its own loftiness had found relief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A noble sorrow cherished to the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When every meaner wo had long been past.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, let affection weep, no common tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sheds when bending o'er an honored bier.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let nature mourn the dead—a grief like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pangs that rend <i>my</i> bosom had been bliss.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Hemans.</span></p> +<br /> + +<p>Florence had been very ill, and a week after the +scene in our last chapter Mr. Hurst removed her +down to his old mansion-house on the Long Island +shore. There the associations were less painful than +at his town residence, where the sweetest years of +her life had been spent in unrestrained association +with the man who had so cruelly deceived her. +The old mansion-house had witnessed only one fatal +scene in the drama of her love; and here she consented +to remain. Her father divided his time between +her and the unpleasant duties that called him +to town; and more than once he was forced to endure +the presence of the man whose very look was poison +to him, but after the distressing night when the error +of his daughter was first made known, the noble old +merchant had regained all his usual dignified calmness. +No bursts of passion marked his interviews +with the wretch who had wounded him, but firm and +resolute he proceeded, step by step, in the course that +his reason and will had at first deliberately marked +out. In three days time Jameson was to depart for +Europe, and forever. It was singular what power +the merchant had obtained over his own strong passions; +always grave and courteous, his demeanor had +changed in nothing, save that toward his child there +was more delicacy, more tender solicitude than she +had ever received from him before, even in the days +of her infancy. It seemed that in forgiving her fault, +he had unlocked some hidden fount of tenderness +which bedewed and softened his whole nature. +Florence, who had always felt a little awe of her +father when no act of hers existed to excite it, now +that she had given him deep cause of offence, had +learned to watch for his coming as the young bird +waits for the parent which is to bring him food. +One night, it was just before sunset, Mr. Hurst +entered his daughter's chamber with a handful of +heliotrope, tea-roses, and cape-jesamines, which he +had just gathered. In his tender anxiety to relieve +the sadness that preyed upon her, he remembered her +passion for these particular flowers, and had spent +half an hour in searching them out from the wilderness +of plants that filled a conservatory in one wing +of the building. The chamber where Florence sat +was the one in which she had put on her wedding +garments scarcely three weeks before. The old +ebony mirror, with the fantastic and dark tracery of +its frame, hung directly before her, and from its +depth gleamed out a face so changed that it might +well have startled one who had been proud of its +bloom and radiance one little month before.</p> + +<p>The window was open, as it had been that day, and +across it fell the old apple-tree, with the fruit just +setting along its thickly-leaved boughs, and a few +over-ripe blossoms yielding their petals to every +gush of air that came over them. These leaves, now +almost snow-white, had swept, one by one, into the +chamber, settling upon the chair which Florence +occupied, upon her muslin wrapper, and flaking, as +with snow, the glossy disorder of her hair. With a +sort of mournful apathy she felt these broken blossoms +falling around her, remembering, oh, how +keenly, their rosy freshness, when she had selected +them as a bridal ornament. She remembered, too, +the single glimpse which that old mirror had given of +her lover—that one prophetic glimpse which had +been enough to startle, but not enough to save her.</p> + +<p>Florence was filled with these miserable reminiscences +when her father entered the chamber. She +greeted him with a wan smile, that told her anxiety to +appear less wretched than she really was in his presence. +He came close up to her where she sat, and +stooping to kiss her forehead, laid the blossoms he +had brought in her lap.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst little knew how powerful were the +associations those delicate flowers would excite. +The moment their fragrance arose around her +Florence began to shudder, and turning her face +away with an expression of sudden pain, swept +them to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Take them away, oh take them away!" she said. +"That evening their breath was around me while I +sat listening to—take them out of the room, I cannot +endure their sweetness."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst strove to soothe the wild excitement +which his unfortunate flowers had occasioned. It +was a touching sight—that proud man, so cruelly +wronged by his daughter, and yet bending the natural +reserve of his nature into every endearing form, +in order to convince her how deep was his love, +how true his forgiveness.</p> + +<p>"My Florence, try to conquer this keen sensitiveness. +Strive, dear child, to think of these things as +if they had not been!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I had the power!" cried Florence.</p> + +<p>"And do you love this man yet?" said Mr. Hurst, +almost sternly.</p> + +<p>"Father," was the reply, and Florence met her +father's gaze with sorrowful eyes, "I am mourning +for the love that has been cast away—I pine for some +action which may restore my own self-respect. The +very thought of this man as I know him makes me +shudder—but the remembrance of what I believed +him to be makes me weep. Then the trial of this +meeting!"</p> + +<p>"But you shall not see him again unless you desire +it."</p> + +<p>"True, true—but I will see him if he wishes it. +He shall not think that I am coerced or influenced. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +It is due to myself, to you, my father, that he leaves +this country knowing how thorough is my self-reproach +for the past, and my wish that his absence +may be eternal. I believe that I do really wish it, +but see how my poor frame is shaken! I must have +more strength or my heart will be unstable like-wise." +Florence held up her clasped hands that +were trembling like leaves in the autumn wind as +she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Florence," said Mr. Hurst gently, "it is not by +shrinking from painful associations that we conquer +them."</p> + +<p>"But see how weak I am! and all from the breath +of those poor flowers!"</p> + +<p>"There is a source from which strength may be +obtained."</p> + +<p>"My pride, oh, father, that may do to shield me +from the world's scorn, but it avails nothing with +my own heart."</p> + +<p>"But prayer, Florence, prayer to Almighty God +the Infinite. I remember how sweet it was when +you were a little child kneeling by your mother's +lap with your tiny hands uplifted to Heaven. Surely +you have not forgotten to pray, my child?"</p> + +<p>"Alas! in this wild passion I have forgotten every +thing—my duty to you—the very heaven where my +mother is an angel!" cried Florence, and for the first +time in many days she began to weep.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurst took her hands in his, tears stood in his +proud eyes, and his firm lips trembled with tender +emotions. "My child," he said, pointing to a velvet +easy-chair that stood in the chamber, "kneel down +by your mother's empty chair and pray even as +when you were a little child!"</p> + +<p>Florence watched her father as he went out through +her blinding tears. The door closed after him, a +mist swam through the room, she moved toward the +empty chair, and through the dim cloud which her +tears created its crimson cushions glowed brightly, +as if tinged with gold. A gleam of sunshine had +struck them through a half open shutter, but it seemed +to her that the sudden light came directly from the +throne of Heaven.</p> + +<p>The next moment Florence fell upon her knees +before the chair, her face was buried in the cushions, +broken words and swelling sobs filled the room; over +her fell that golden sunbeam, like a flaming arrow +sent from the Throne of Mercy to pierce her heart +and warm it at the same moment.</p> + +<p>The sun went down. Slowly and quietly that +wandering beam mingled with the thousand rays that +streamed from the west, spreading around the young +suppliant like a luminous veil; there was blended +with the gold hues of rich crimson and purple, that +flashed over the ebony mirror, wove themselves in +a gorgeous haze among the snow-white curtains of +the bed, and fell in drops of dusky yellow over the +floor and among the waving apple-boughs.</p> + +<p>But Florence felt nothing of this, her heart was +dark, her frame shook with sobs, and the agony of +her voice was smothered in the cushions where her +face lay buried.</p> + +<p>It came at last, that still small voice that follows +the whirlwind and the storm. In the hush of night +it came as snow-flakes fall from the heavens. And +now Florence lay upon the cushions of her mother's +chair motionless, and calm peace was in her heart, +and a smile of ineffable sweetness lay upon her lips. +It might have been minutes, it might have been hours +for any thing that the young suppliant knew of the +lapse of time since she had crept to her mother's +chair. When she arose the moonlight was streaming +over her through an open window. Never did +those pale beams fall upon features so changed. A +<i>spirituelle</i> loveliness beamed over them, soft and +holy as the moonlight that revealed it.</p> + +<p>Some time after midnight Mr. Hurst went into his +daughter's chamber, for anxiety had kept him up, +and the entire stillness terrified him. She was lying +upon the bed, half veiled by the muslin curtains, +breathing tranquilly as an infant in its mother's +bosom. During many nights she had not slept, but +sweet was her slumber now; the flowers inhaling +the dew beneath the window did not seem more +delicate and placid.</p> + +<p>It was daylight when Florence awoke. A few +rosy streaks were in the sky, and lay reflected upon +the water like threads of crimson broken by the tide. +Out to sea, a little beyond the opening of the cove, +was a large vessel with her sails furled, and evidently +lying-to. Near a curve of the shore she saw a boat +with half a dozen men lolling sleepily in the bow. +Her heart beat quick with a presentiment of some +approaching event. She felt certain that the boat and +the distant ship were in some way connected with +herself. But the thought hardly had time to flash +through her brain when a commotion in the old apple-tree—a +shaking of the limbs and tumultuous rustling +of the leaves—made her start and turn that way. +The largest bough was that instant spurned aside, +and Jameson sprung through the open window. He +was out of breath and seemed greatly excited.</p> + +<p>"Florence, my wife, come with me!" he said, +casting his arms around her shrinking form. "I will +not go without you. See the vessel is yonder—a +boat is on the shore. In half an hour we can be +away from your father, alone, without hindrance to +our love. Come, Florence, come with your husband!"</p> + +<p>Ah, but for the strength which Florence had +sought from above, where would she have been then. +For a moment her heart did turn traitor; for one +single instant there came upon her cheek a crimson +flush, and in her eyes something that made Jameson's +heart leap with exultation; but it passed away, +Florence broke from the arms that were cast around +her, and drew back toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Leave me!" she said, mildly, but with firmness, +"I am not your wife—will never be!"</p> + +<p>"You hate me, then!" exclaimed Jameson, goaded +by her manner. "You still believe what my enemies +say against me."</p> + +<p>"No, I hate no one—I could not hate you!"</p> + +<p>"But you love me no longer."</p> + +<p>Florence turned very pale, but still she was firm. +"It matters nothing if I love or hate now," she said, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +"henceforth, forever and forever, you and I are +strangers. If you have come here in hopes of +taking me from my father, go before he learns any +thing of your visit; a longer stay can only bring evil."</p> + +<p>Again Jameson cast himself at her feet; again his +masterly eloquence was put forth to melt, to subdue, +even to over-awe that fair girl; but all that he could +wring from her was bitter tears—all that he accomplished +was a renewal of anguish that prayer had +hardly conquered.</p> + +<p>"And you will not go! You cast me off forever!" +he exclaimed, starting up with a fierce gesture and +an expression of the eye that made her shrink back.</p> + +<p>"I cannot go—I will not go!" she said, in a low +voice. "You have already taught me how terrible +a thing is remorse. Leave me in peace, if you would +not see me die!"</p> + +<p>"And this is your final answer!" cried Jameson, +and his eyes flashed with fury.</p> + +<p>"I can give no other!"</p> + +<p>"Then farewell, and the curse of my ruin rest +with you," he cried in desperation, and wringing her +hands fiercely in his, he cleared the window with a +bound, and letting himself down by the apple-tree, +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The tempter was gone; Florence was left alone, +her head reeling with pain, her heart aching within +her bosom. Jameson's last words had fallen upon +her heart like fire; what if this refusal to share +his fate had confirmed him in evil? What if she, by +partaking of his fortunes, might have won him to an +honorable and just life. These thoughts were agony +to her, and left no room for calm reflection, or she +would have known that no <i>human</i> influence can reclaim +a base nature; one fault may be redeemed, +nay, many faults that spring from the heat of passion +or the recklessness of youth, but habitual hypocrisy, +craft, falsehood—what female heart ever opposed its +love and truth to vices like these, without being +crushed in the endeavor to save.</p> + +<p>But Florence could not reason then. Her soul was +affrighted by the curse that had been hurled upon it. +Half frantic with these new themes of torture, she +left her room, and hurried down to the cove just in +time to see the boat which contained Jameson half +way to the vessel. Actuated only by a wild desire +to see him depart, she threaded her way through the +oak grove, unmindful of the dew, of her thin raiment, +or of the morning wind that tossed her curls about as +she hurried on. And now she stood upon the outer +point of the shore, where it jutted inward at the mouth +of the cove and commanded a broad view of the +ocean. High trees were around her as she stood +upon the shelving bank, her white garments streaming +in the breeze, her wild eyes gazing upon the vessel +as it wheeled slowly round and made for the open +ocean. Florence remained motionless where she +stood so long as a shadow of the vessel fluttered in +sight. When it was lost in the horizon she turned +slowly and walked toward the house, weary as one +who returns from a toilsome pilgrimage. It was +days and weeks before she came forth again.</p> + +<p>Years went by—many, many years, and yet that +outward bound vessel was never heard of again. +How she perished, or when, no man can tell. The +last ever seen of her to mortal knowledge was when +Florence Hurst stood alone upon the sea-shore, conscious +that she was right, yet filled with bitter anguish +as she watched its departure to that far-off shore +from which no traveler returns.</p> + +<p>And Florence came forth in the world again more +attractive than ever; a spiritual loveliness, softened +without diminishing the brilliancy of her beauty, and +with every feminine grace she had added that of a +meek and contrite spirit. Did she wed again? We +answer, No. Many a lofty intellect and noble heart +bent in homage to hers; but Florence lived only for +her father—the great and good man, who was just +as well as proud, and nobly won his child from her +error by delicate tenderness, such as he had never +lavished upon her faultless youth, when many a man, +to shield his weaker pride, would have driven her +by anger and upbraiding from his heart, and thus +have kindled her warm impulses into defiance and +ruin.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="SUMMER" id="SUMMER"></a>SUMMER.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She comes with soft and scented breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From fragrant southern lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wakens from their trance of death<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flowers, and breaks the hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fettered streams, that burst away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With joyous laugh and song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shout and leap like boys at play<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As home from school they throng.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From sunny climes the breeze set free<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comes with an angel strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart the blue and sparkling sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To visit us again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low of herds is on the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The leaf is on the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cloud-winged barks in silence sail<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With stately majesty<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Along the blue and bending sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like joyous living things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rainbow-tinted birds flit by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With swiftly glancing wings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O summer, summer! joyful time!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Singing a gentle strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou comest from a warmer clime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To visit us again!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="DESCRIPTION_OF_A_VISIT_TO_NIAGARA" id="DESCRIPTION_OF_A_VISIT_TO_NIAGARA"></a> +DESCRIPTION OF A VISIT TO NIAGARA.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY PROFESSOR JAMES MOFFAT.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Through the dark night urging our rapid way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We listen to a low, continued sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of a distant drum calling to arms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It grows with our approach; lulls with the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swells again into a bolder note,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an Æolian harp of giant string.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Again, the tone is changed, and a fierce roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tumult rises from the trembling earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the imprisoned spirits of the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had found a vent for that rebellious shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which from ten thousand lips ascends to Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voice not to be mistaken—even he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose ear it comes for the first time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Claims it as known, and bringing to his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boldest fancies of his early days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy thunders, dread Niagara, day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which vary not their ever-during peal.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Burning impatience, not to be controlled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has hurried on my steps until I stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the breath of thy descending wave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night conceals thy wonders, but enrobes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee with a grandeur, wild, mysterious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with thy spray around me, and the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which rushes upward from thy dark abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy deep organ pealing in my ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy mass is all unseen, and I behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the ghost-like whiteness of thy foam.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The morning comes. The clouds have disappeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clear silver of the eastern sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gives promise of a glowing summer sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the fresh dawn, I hasten to the rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which overhangs the ever-boiling deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the wonders of Niagara<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are spread before me—not the simple dash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of falling waters, which the fancy drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But myriad forms of beautiful and grand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Press on the senses and o'erwhelm the mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yon bright, broad waters on their channel sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they dreamed of the most peaceful flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the far-distant sea. But now their course<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accelerates on their inclining path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though still 'tis with the appearance of a calm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dignified reluctance, and the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remains unbroken, till the inward force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increasingly silently, like that which breaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The short laborious quiet of the insane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursts all restraint, and the wild waters, tossed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fiercest tumult, uncontrollable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Menace all life within their giant grasp;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaping and raging in their frantic glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dashing their spray aloft, as on they rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wild confusion to the dreadful steep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An instant on the verge they seem to pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if, even in their frenzy, such a gulf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were horrible, then slowly bending down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plunge headlong where the never-ceasing roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascends, and the revolving clouds of spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever during yet forever new.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sun appears. And, straightway, on the cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which veils the struggles of the fallen wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In everlasting secrecy, and wafts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away, like smoke of incense, up to Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beams forth the radiant diadem of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brilliant and fixed amid the moving mass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauty comes to deck the glorious scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For as the horizontal sunbeams rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the deep blue summit, or unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The varying hues of green, that pass away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the white of the descending foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So colors of the loveliest rainbow dye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tinge the bright wave, nor lessen aught its pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now joyous companies of fair and young<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come lightly forth, with voice of social glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, one by one, as they approach the brink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A change comes over them. The noisy laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is hushed, the step is soft and reverent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the light jest is quenched in solemn thought—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, dull must be his brain and cold his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all the sacred influences that spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From grandeur and from beauty, who can gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the first time, on the descending flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without restraint upon the flippant tongue.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If such the reverence Great Invisible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attendant on one of thy lesser works,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What dread must overwhelm us when the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is opened to the glories of thyself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sway'st the moving universe and holdst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "waters in the hollow of thy hand."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="SONNET" id="SONNET"></a>SONNET.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY CAROLINE F. ORNE.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There have been tones of cheer, and voices gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And careless laughter ringing lightly by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have listened to wit's mirthful play,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sought to smile at each light fantasy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ah, there was a voice more deep and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I alone might hear of all the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In softest cadence falling on my ear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a sweet undertone amid the song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I longed for this calm hour of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That undisturbed by any voice or sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit from all meaner objects free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might soar unchecked in its far upward flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And by no cord, no heavy fetter bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorning all space and distance, hold commune with thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="AUNT_MABLES_LOVE_STORY" id="AUNT_MABLES_LOVE_STORY"></a>AUNT MABLE'S LOVE STORY.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY SUSAN PINDAR.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>"How heartily sick I am of these love stories!" +exclaimed Kate Lee, as she impatiently threw aside +the last magazine; "they are all flat, stale, and unprofitable; +every one begins with a <i>soirée</i> and ends +with a wedding. I'm sure there is not one word of +truth in any of them."</p> + +<p>"Rather a sweeping condemnation to be given by +a girl of seventeen," answered Aunt Mabel, looking +up with a quiet smile; "when I was your age, +Kate, no romance was too extravagant, no incident +too improbable for my belief. Every young heart +has its love-dream; and you too, my merry Kate, +must sooner or later yield to such an influence."</p> + +<p>"Why, Aunt Mable, who would have ever dreamed +of your advocating love stories! You, so staid, so +grave and kindly to all; your affections seem so universally +diffused among us, that I never can imagine +them to have been monopolized by one. Beside, I +thought as you were never—" Kate paused, and +Aunt Mabel continued the sentence.</p> + +<p>"I never married, you would say, Kate, and thus +it follows that I never loved. Well, perhaps not; +I may be, as you think, an exception; at least I am +not going to trouble you with antiquated love passages, +that, like old faded pictures, require a good +deal of varnishing to be at all attractive. But, I confess, +I like not to hear so young a girl ridiculing what +is, despite the sickly sentiment that so often obscures it, +the purest and noblest evidence of our higher nature."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't understand me, Aunt Mable! I +laugh at the absurdity of the stories. Look at this, +for instance, where a gentleman falls in love with a +shadow. Now I see no substantial <i>foundation</i> for +such an extravagant passion as that. Here is another, +who is equally smitten with a pair of French gaiters. +Now I don't pretend to be over sensible, but I do +not think such things at all natural, or likely to occur; +and if they did, I should look upon the parties concerned +as little less than simpletons. But a real, +true-hearted love story, such as "Edith Pemberton," +or Mrs. Hall's "Women's Trials," those I <i>do</i> like, +and I sympathize so strongly with the heroines that I +long to be assured the incidents are true. If I could +only hear one <i>true</i> love story—something that I knew +had really occurred—then it would serve as a kind +of text for all the rest. Oh! how I long to hear a +real heart-story of actual life!"</p> + +<p>Kate grew quite enthusiastic, and Aunt Mable, after +pausing a few minutes, while a troubled smile crossed +her face, said, "Well, Kate, <i>I</i> will tell you a love +story of real life, the truth of which I can vouch for, +since I knew the parties well. You will believe me, +I know, Kate, without requiring actual name and +date for every occurrence. There are no extravagant +incidents in this "owre true tale," but it is a +story of the heart, and such a one, I believe, you +want to hear."</p> + +<p>Kate's eyes beamed with pleasure, as kissing her +aunt's brow, and gratefully ejaculating "dear, kind +Aunt Mable!" she drew a low ottoman to her aunt's +side, and seated herself with her head on her hand, +and her blooming face upturned with an expression +of anticipated enjoyment. I wish you could have +seen Aunt Mable, as she sat in the soft twilight of +that summer evening, smiling fondly on the young, +bright girl at her side. You would have loved her, +as did every one who came within the sphere of her +gentle influence; and yet she did not possess the +wondrous charm of lingering loveliness, that, like +the fainting perfume of a withered flower, awakens +mingled emotions of tenderness and regret. No, +Aunt Mabel could never have been beautiful; and +yet, as she sat in her quiet, silver-gray silk gown, +and kerchief of the sheerest muslin pinned neatly +over the bosom, there was an air of graceful, lady-like +ease about her, far removed from the primness +of old-maidism. Her features were high, and finely +cut, you would have called her proud and stern, +with a tinge of sarcasm lurking upon the lip, +but for her full, dark-gray eyes, so lustrous, so ineffably +sweet in their deep, soul-beaming tenderness, +that they seemed scarcely to belong to a face so +worn and faded; indeed, they did not seem in keeping +with the silver-threaded hair so smoothly parted +from the low, broad brow, and put away so carefully +beneath a small cap, whose delicate lace, and rich, +white satin, were the only articles of dress in which +Aunt Mabel was a little fastidious. She kept her +sewing in her hand as she commenced her story, and +stitched away most industriously at first, but gradually +as she proceeded the work fell upon her lap, and +she seemed to be lost in abstracted recollections, +speaking as though impelled by some uncontrollable +impulse to recall the events long since passed away.</p> + +<p>"Many years since," said Aunt Mable, in a calm, +soft tone, without having at all the air of one about +telling a story, "many years since, there lived in +one of the smaller cities in our state, a lady named +Lynn. She was a widow, and eked out a very small +income by taking a few families to board. Mrs. +Lynn had one only child, a daughter, who was her +pride and treasure, the idol of her affections. As a +child Jane Lynn was shy and timid, with little of the +gayety and thoughtlessness of childhood. She disliked +rude plays, and instinctively shrunk from the +lively companions of her own age, to seek the society +of those much older and graver than herself. Her +schoolmates nicknamed her the "little old maid;" +and as she grew older the title did not seem inappropriate. +At school her superiority of intellect was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +manifest, and when she entered society the timid +reserve of her manner was attributed to pride, while +her acquaintance thought she considered them her +inferiors.</p> + +<p>This, however, was far from the truth. Jane felt +that she was not popular in society, and it grieved +her, yet she strove in vain to assimilate with those +around her, to feel and act as they did, and to be like +them, admired and loved. But the narrow circle +in which she moved was not at all calculated to appreciate +or draw forth her talent or character. With +a heart filled with all womanly tenderness and gentle +sympathies, a mind stored with romance, and full of +restless longings for the beautiful and true, possessed +of fine tastes that only waited cultivation to ripen +into talent, Jane found herself thrown among those +who neither understood nor sympathized with her. +Her mother idolized her, but Jane felt that had she +been far different from what she was, her mother's +love had been the same; and though she returned her +parent's affection with all the warmth of her nature, +there was ever within her heart a restless yearning +for something beyond. Immersed in a narrow routine +of daily duties, compelled to practice the most rigid +economy, and to lend her every thought and moment +to the assistance of her mother, Jane had little time +for the gratification of those tastes that formed her +sole enjoyment. "It is the perpetual recurrence of +the little that crushes the romance of life," says +Bulwer; and the experience of every day justifies +the truth of his remark. Jane felt herself, as year +after year crept by, becoming grave and silent. She +knew that in her circumstances it was best that the +commonplaces of every-day life should be sufficient +for her, but she grieved as each day she felt the +bright hues of early enthusiasm fading out and giving +place to the cold gray tint of reality.</p> + +<p>With her pure sense of the beautiful, Jane felt +acutely the lack of those personal charms that seem +to win a way to every heart. By those who loved +her, (and the few who knew her well did love her +dearly,) she was called at times beautiful, but a casual +observer would never dream of bestowing upon the +slight, frail creature who timidly shrunk from notice, +any more flattering epithet than "rather a pretty +girl," while those who admired only the rosy beauty +of physical perfection pronounced her decidedly +plain.</p> + +<p>Jane Lynn had entered her twenty-second summer +when her mother's household was increased by the +arrival of a new inmate. Everard Morris was a +man of good fortune, gentlemanly, quiet, and a +bachelor. Possessed of very tender feelings and +ardent temperament, he had seen his thirty-seventh +birth-day, and was still free. He had known Jane +slightly before his introduction to her home, and he +soon evinced a deep and tender interest in her welfare. +Her character was a new study for him, and +he delighted in calling forth all the latent enthusiasm +of her nature. He it was who awakened the slumbering +fires of sentiment, and insisted on her cultivating +tastes too lovely to be possessed in vain; and +when she frankly told him that the refinement of +taste created restless yearnings for pursuits to her +unattainable, he spoke of a happier future, when her +life should be spent amid the employments she loved. +Ere many months had elapsed his feelings deepened +into passionate tenderness, and he avowed himself a +lover. Jane's emotions were mixed and tumultuous +as she listened to his fervent expressions; she reproached +herself with ingratitude in not returning his +love. She felt toward him a grateful affection, for +to him she owed all the real happiness her secluded +life had known; but he did not realize her ideal, he +admired and was proud of her talents, but he did +not sympathize with her tastes.</p> + +<p>Months sped away and seemed to bring to him an +increase of passionate tenderness. Every word and +action spoke his deep devotion. Jane could not remain +insensible to such affection; the love she had +sighed for was hers at last—and it is the happiness of +a loving nature to know that it makes the happiness +of another. Jane's esteem gradually deepened in +tone and character until it became a faithful, trusting +love. She felt no fear for the future, because she +knew her affection had none of the romance that she +had learned to mistrust, even while it enchanted her +imagination. She saw failings and peculiarities in +her lover, but with true womanly gentleness she +forbore with and concealed them. She believed +him when he said he would shield and guard her +from every ill; and her grateful heart sought innumerable +ways to express her appreciating tenderness.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lynn saw what was passing, and was happy, +for Mr. Morris had been to her a friend and benefactor. +And Jane was happy in the consciousness +of being beloved, yet had she much to bear. Her +want of beauty was, as I have said, a source of regret +to her, and she was made unhappy by finding +that Everard Morris was dissatisfied with her appearance. +She thought, in the true spirit of romance, +that the beloved were always lovely; but Mr. Morris +frequently expressed his dissatisfaction that nature +had not made her as beautiful as she was good. I +will not pause to discuss the delicacy of this and +many other observations that caused poor Jane many +secret tears, and sometimes roused even her gentle +spirit to indignation; but affection always conquered +her pride, as her lover still continued to give evidence +of devotion.</p> + +<p>And thus years passed on, the happy future promised +to Jane seemed ever to recede; and slowly the +conviction forced itself on her mind that he whom +she had trusted so implicitly was selfish and vacillating, +generous from impulse, selfish from calculation; +but he still seemed to love her, and she clung +to him because having been so long accustomed to +his devotedness, she shrunk from being again alone. +In the mean season Mrs. Lynn's health became impaired, +and Jane's duties were more arduous than +ever. Morris saw her cheek grow pale, and her +step languid under the pressure of mental and bodily +fatigue; he knew she suffered, and yet, while he +assisted them in many ways, he forbore to make the +only proposition that could have secured happiness +to her he pretended to love. His conduct preyed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +upon the mind of Jane, for she saw that the novelty +of his attachment was over. He had seen her daily +for four years, and while she was really essential to +his happiness, he imagined because the uncertainty +of early passion was past, that his love was waning, +and thought it would be unjust to offer her his hand +without his whole heart, forgetting the protestations +of former days, and regardless of her wasted feelings. +This is unnatural and inconsistent you will say, but +it is true.</p> + +<p>Four years had passed since Everard Morris first +became an inmate of Mrs. Lynn's, and Jane had +learned to doubt his love. "Hope deferred maketh +the heart sick;" and she felt that the only way to +acquire peace was to crush the affection she had +so carefully nourished when she was taught to believe +it essential to his happiness. She could not turn to +another; like the slender vine that has been tenderly +trained about some sturdy plant, and whose tendrils +cannot readily clasp another when its first support +is removed, so her affections still longed for him who +first awoke them, and to whom they had clung so +long. But she never reproached him; her manner +was gentle, but reserved; she neither sought nor +avoided him; and he flattered himself that her affection, +like his own passionate love, had nearly burnt +itself out, yet he had by no means given her entirely +up; he would look about awhile, and at some future +day, perhaps, might make her his wife.</p> + +<p>While affairs were in this state, business called +Mr. Morris into a distant city; he corresponded with +Jane occasionally, but his letters breathed none of +the tenderness of former days; and Jane was glad +they did not, for she felt that he had wronged her, +and she shrunk from avowals that she could no +longer trust.</p> + +<p>Everard Morris was gone six months; he returned, +bringing with him a very young and beautiful bride. +He brought his wife to call on his old friends, Mrs. +Lynn and her daughter. Jane received them with +composure and gentle politeness. Mrs. Morris was +delighted with her kindness and lady-like manners. +She declared they should be intimate friends; but when +they were gone, and Mrs. Lynn, turning in surprise to +her daughter, poured forth a torrent of indignant inquiries. +Jane threw herself on her mother's bosom, +and with a passionate burst of weeping, besought her +never again to mention the past. And it never was +alluded to again between them; but both Jane and her +mother had to parry the inquiries of their acquaintance, +all of whom believed Mr. Morris and Jane were engaged. +This was the severest trial of all, but they +bore up bravely, and none who looked on the quiet +Jane ever dreamed of the bitter ashes of wasted +affection that laid heavy on her heart.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Morris settled near the Lynns, and +visited very frequently; the young wife professed an +ardent attachment to Jane, and sought her society +constantly, while Jane instinctively shrunk more +and more within herself. She saw with painful +regret that Morris seemed to find his happiness at +their fireside rather than his own. He had been +captivated by the freshness and beauty of his young +wife, who, schooled by a designing mother, had +flattered him by her evident preference; he had, to +use an old and coarse adage, "married in haste to +repent at leisure;" and now that the first novelty of +his position had worn off, his feelings returned with +renewed warmth to the earlier object of his attachment. +Delicacy toward her daughter prevented +Mrs. Lynn from treating him with the indignation +she felt; and Jane, calm and self-possessed, seemed +to have overcome every feeling of the past. The +consciousness of right upheld her; she had not given +her affection unsought; he had plead for it passionately, +earnestly, else had she never lavished the +hoarded tenderness of years on one so different from +her own ideal; but that tenderness once poured +forth, could never more return to her; the fountain +of the heart was dried, henceforth she lived but in +the past.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Morris were an ill-assorted couple; +she, gay, volatile, possessing little affection for her +husband, and, what was in his eyes even worse, no +respect for his opinions, which he always considered +as infallible. As their family increased, their differences +augmented. The badly regulated household +of a careless wife and mother was intolerable to the +methodical habits of the bachelor husband; and +while the wife sought for Jane to condole with +her—though she neglected her advice—the husband +found his greatest enjoyment at his old bachelor +home, and once so far forgot himself as to express to +Jane his regret at the step he had taken, and declared +he deserved his punishment. Jane made no +reply, but ever after avoided all opportunity for such +expressions.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Mrs. Lynn's health declined, and +they retired to a smaller dwelling, where Jane devoted +herself to her mother, and increased their +small income by the arduous duties of daily governess. +Her cheek paled, and her eye grew dim beneath +the complicated trials of her situation; and +there were moments when visions of the bright +future once promised rose up as if in mockery of the +dreary present; hope is the parent of disappointment, +and the vista of happiness once opened to her view +made the succeeding gloom still deeper. But she +did not repine; upheld by her devotedness to her +mother, she guarded her tenderly until her death, +which occurred five years after the marriage of Mr. +Morris.</p> + +<p>It is needless to detail the circumstances which +ended at length in a separation between Mr. Morris +and his wife—the latter returned to her home, and +the former went abroad, having placed his children +at school, and besought Jane to watch over them. +Eighteen months subsequent to the death of Mrs. +Lynn, a distant and unknown relative died, bequeathing +a handsome property to Mrs. Lynn, or +her descendants. This event relieved Jane from the +necessity of toil, but it came too late to minister to +her happiness in the degree that once it might have +done. She was care-worn and spirit-broken; the +every-day trials of her life had cooled her enthusiasm +and blunted her keen enjoyment of the beautiful she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +had bent her mind to the minor duties that formed +her routine of existence, until it could no longer soar +toward the elevation it once desired to reach.</p> + +<p>Three years from his departure Everard Morris +returned home to die. And now he became fully +conscious of the wrong he had done to her he once +professed to love. His mind seemed to have expanded +beneath the influence of travel, he was no +longer the mere man of business with no real taste +for the beautiful save in the physical development of +animal life. He had thought of all the past, and the +knowledge of what was, and might have been, filled +his soul with bitterness. He died, and in a long and +earnest appeal for forgiveness he besought Jane to +be the guardian of his children—his wife he never +named. In three months after Mrs. Morris married +again, and went to the West, without a word of +inquiry or affection to her children.</p> + +<p>Need I say how willingly Jane Lynn accepted the +charge bequeathed to her, and how she was at last +blessed in the love of those who from infancy had +regarded her as a more than mother."</p> + +<p>There was a slight tremulousness in Aunt Mabel's +voice as she paused, and Kate, looking up with her +eyes filled with tears, threw herself upon her aunt's +bosom, exclaiming,</p> + +<p>"Dearest, best Aunt Mabel, you are loved truly, +fondly by us all! Ah, I knew you were telling your +own story, and—" but Aunt Mabel gently placed her +hand upon the young girl's lips, and while she pressed +a kiss upon her brow, said, in her usual calm, soft +tone,</p> + +<p>"It is a true story, my love, be the actors who they +may; there is no exaggerated incident in it to invest +it with peculiar interest; but I want you to know +that the subtle influences of affection are ever busy +about us; and however tame and commonplace the +routine of life may be, yet believe, Kate," added +Aunt Mable, with a saddened smile, "each heart has +its mystery, and who may reveal it."</p> +<br />,br /> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="TO_ERATO" id="TO_ERATO"></a>TO ERATO.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Henceforth let Grief forget her pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Melancholy cease to sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hope no longer gaze in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With weary, longing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Love, dear Love, hath made again<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A summer in this winter sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, may the flowers he brings to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In beauty bloom, nor pass away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet one, fond heart, thine eyes are bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And full of stars as is the heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure pleiads of the soul, whose light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From deepest founts of Truth is given—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh let them shine upon my night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And though my life be tempest-driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaping billows of its sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall clasp a thousand forms of thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy soul in trembling tones conveyed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Melts like the morning song of birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like a mellow paèn played<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By angels on celestial chords;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oh, thy lips were only made<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For dropping love's delicious words:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then pour thy spirit into mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until my soul be drowned with thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pilgrim of the desert plain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not more desires the spring denied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not more the vexed and midnight main<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Calls for the mistress of its tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not more the burning earth for rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than I for thee, my own <i>soul's</i> bride—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then pour, oh pour upon my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love that never shall depart!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<h3><a name="THE_LABORERS_COMPANIONS" id="THE_LABORERS_COMPANIONS"></a> +THE LABORER'S COMPANIONS.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">While pleasant care my yielding soil receives,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Other delights the open soul may find;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the high bough the daring hang-bird weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her cunning cradle, rocking in the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The arrowy swallow builds, beneath the eves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her clay-walled grotto, with soft feathers lined;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dull-red robin, under sheltering leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her bowl-like nest to sturdy limbs doth bind;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And many songsters, worth a name in song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plain, <i>homely</i> birds my boy-love sanctified,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On hedge and tree and grassy bog, prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet loves and cares, in carols sweetly plied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such dear strains their simple natures gush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That through my heart at once all tear-blest memories rush.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_ENCHANTED_KNIGHT" id="THE_ENCHANTED_KNIGHT"></a>THE ENCHANTED KNIGHT.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the solemn night, when the soul receives<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dreams it has sighed for long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mused o'er the charmed, romantic leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a book of German Song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From stately towers, I saw the lords<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ride out to the feudal fray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard the ring of meeting swords<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Minnesinger's lay!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, gliding ghost-like through my dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Went the Erl-king, with a moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wizard willow o'erhung the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the spectral moonlight shone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I followed the hero's path, who rode<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In harness and helmet bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through a wood where hostile elves abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the glimmering noon of night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Banner and bugle's call had died<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amid the shadows far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a misty stream, from the mountain-side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dropped like a silver star.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thirsting and flushed, from the steed he leapt<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And quaffed from his helm unbound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then a mystic trance o'er his spirit crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he sank to the elfin ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He slept in the ceaseless midnight cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the faery spell possessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head sunk down, and his gray beard rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the rust of his arméd breast!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When a mighty storm-wind smote the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the thunder crashing fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised the sword from its mould'ring ease<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And strove to burst the spell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thus may the fiery soul, that rides<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a knight, to the field of foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drink of the chill world's tempting tides<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sink to a charmed repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The warmth of the generous heart of youth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will die in the frozen breast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The look of Love and the voice of Truth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be charmed to a palsied rest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In vain will the thunder a moment burst<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The chill of that torpor's breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slumbering soul shall be wakened first<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the Disenchanter, Death!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br />br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="KORNERS_SISTER" id="KORNERS_SISTER"></a>KORNER'S SISTER.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>Close beside the grave of the Soldier-Poet is that of his only sister, +who died of grief for his loss, only surviving him long enough to +sketch his portrait and burial-place. Her last wish was to be laid +near him.</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Lovely and gentle girl!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the spring morning of thy beauty dying—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dust on each sunny curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on thy brow the grave's deep shadows lying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Thine is a lowly bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the green oak, whose spreading bough hangs o'er thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shelters the brother's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who went unto his rest a little while before thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">A perfect love was thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet sister! thou hadst made no other<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Idol for thy soul's shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save him—thy friend and guide, and only brother.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">And not for Lyre and Sword—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His proud resplendant gifts of fame and glory—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh! not for <i>these</i> adored<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was he, whose praise thou readst in song and story.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But't was his presence threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er all thy life, a deep delight and blessing;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And with thy growth it grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strengthening each thought of thy young heart's possessing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Amid each dear home-scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou and he from childhood trod together,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou hadst his arm to lean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon, through every change of dark or sunny weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">And when he passed from Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose from thy soft cheek and bright lip faded;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gloom was on hall and hearth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deep voice in thy soul, by sorrow over-shaded.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Joy had gone forth with <i>him</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green Earth lost its spell, and the blue Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unto thine eye grew dim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou didst pray for Death, as for a rich boon given!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><i>It came</i>!—and joy to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That from <i>his</i> resting-place <i>thine</i> none would sever,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And blessing God didst go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where in his presence thou shouldst dwell forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Thou didst but stay to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The imaged likeness of the dear departed;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To sketch his burial-place—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then die, O, sister! fond and faithful hearted.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_MAN_WHO_WAS_NEVER_HUMBUGGED" id="THE_MAN_WHO_WAS_NEVER_HUMBUGGED"></a> +THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER HUMBUGGED.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY A. LIMNER.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>It was a standing boast with Mr. Wiseacre that +he had never been humbugged in his life. He took +the newspapers and read them regularly, and thus +got an inkling of the new and strange things that +were ever transpiring, or said to be transpiring, in +the world. But to all he cried "humbug!" "imposture!" +"delusion!" If any one were so bold as +to affirm in his presence a belief in the phenomena +of Animal Magnetism, for instance, he would laugh +outright; then expend upon it all sorts of ridicule, +or say that the whole thing was a scandalous trick; +and by way of a finale, wind off thus—</p> + +<p>"You never humbug me with these new things. +Never catch me in gull-traps. I've seen the rise +and fall of too many wonders in my time—am too +old a bird to be caught with this kind of chaff."</p> + +<p>As for Homeopathy, it was treated in a like summary +manner. All was humbug and imposture from +beginning to end. If you said—</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir, let me relate what I have myself +seen—"</p> + +<p>He would interrupt you with—</p> + +<p>"Oh! as to seeing, you may see any thing, and +yet see nothing after all. I've seen the wonders of +this new medical science over and over again. +There are many extraordinary cures made <i>in +imagination</i>. Put a grain of calomel in the Delaware +Bay, and salivate a man with a drop of the +water! Is not it ridiculous? Doesn't it bear upon +the face of it the stamp of absurdity. It's all humbug, +sir! All humbug from beginning to end. I +know! I've looked into it. I've measured the +new wonder, and know its full dimensions—it's +name is 'humbug.'"</p> + +<p>You reply.</p> + +<p>"Men of great force of mind, and large medical +knowledge and experience, see differently. In the +law, <i>similia similiabus curanter</i>, they perceive +more than a mere figment of the imagination, and in +the actual results, too well authenticated for dispute, +evidence of a mathematical correctness in medical +science never before attained, and scarcely hoped +for by its most ardent devotees."</p> + +<p>But he cries,</p> + +<p>"Humbug! Humbug! All humbug! I know. +I've looked at it. I understand its worth, and that +is—just nothing at all. Talk to me of any thing else +and I'll listen to you—but, for mercy's sake, don't +expect me to swallow at a gulp any thing of this +sort, for I can't do it. I'd rather believe in Animal +Magnetism. Why, I saw one of these new lights in +medicine, who was called in to a child in the croup, +actually put two or three little white pellets upon its +tongue, no larger than a pin's head, and go away +with as much coolness as if he were not leaving the +poor little sufferer to certain death. 'For Heaven's +sake!' said I, to the parents, 'aint you going to have +any thing done for that child?' 'The doctor has just +given it medicine,' they replied. 'He has done all +that is required.' I was so out of patience with them +for being such consummate fools, that I put my hat +on and walked out of the house without saying a +word."</p> + +<p>"Did the child die?" you ask.</p> + +<p>"It happened by the merest chance to escape +death. Its constitution was too strong for the grim +destroyer."</p> + +<p>"Was nothing else done?" you ask. "No medicines +given but homeopathic powders?"</p> + +<p>"No. They persevered to the last."</p> + +<p>"The child was well in two or three days I suppose?" +you remark.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replies, a little coldly.</p> + +<p>"Children are not apt to recover from an attack of +croup without medicine." He forgets himself and +answers—</p> + +<p>"But I don't believe it was a real case of croup. +It couldn't have been!"</p> + +<p>And so Mr. Wiseacre treats almost every thing +that makes its appearance. Not because he understands +all about it, but because he knows nothing +about it. It is his very ignorance of a matter that +makes him dogmatic. He knows nothing of the distinction +between truth and the appearances of truth. +So fond is he of talking and showing off his superior +intelligence and acumen, that he is never a listener +in any company, unless by a kind of compulsion, +and then he rarely hears any thing in the eagerness +he feels to get in his word. Usually he keeps sensible +men silent in hopeless astonishment at the very +boldness of his ignorance.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Wiseacre was caught napping once in +his life, and that completely. He was entrapped; +not taken in open day, with a fair field before him. +And it would be easy to entrap him at almost any +time, and with almost any humbug, if the game were +worth the trouble; for, in the light of his own mind, +he cannot see far. His mental vision is not particularly +clear; else he would not so often cry "humbug," +when wiser men stopped to examine and reflect.</p> + +<p>A quiet, thoughtful-looking man once brought to +Mr. Wiseacre a letter of introduction. His name +was Redding. The letter mentioned that he was the +discoverer of a wonderful mechanical power, for +which he was about taking out letters patent. What +it was, the introductory epistle did not say, nor did +Redding communicate any thing relative to the nature +of the discovery, although asked to do so. +There was something about this man that interested +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +Wiseacre. He bore the marks of a superior intellect, +and his manners commanded respect. As +Wiseacre showed him particular attention, he frequently +called in to see him at his store, and sometimes +spent an evening with him at his dwelling. +The more Wiseacre saw of him, and the more he +heard him converse, the higher did he rise in his +opinion. At length Redding, in a moment of confidence, +imparted his secret. He had discovered perpetual +motion! This announcement was made after +a long and learned disquisition on mechanical laws, +in which the balancing of and the reproduction of +forces, and all that, was opened to the wondering +ears of Wiseacre, who, although he pretended to +comprehend every thing clearly, saw it all only in a +very confused light. He knew, in fact, nothing +whatever of mechanical forces. All here was, to +him, an untrodden field. His confidence in Redding, +and his consciousness that he was a man of great +intellectual power, took away all doubt as to the +correctness of what he stated. For once he was +sure that a great discovery had been made—that a +new truth had dawned upon the world. Of this he +was more than ever satisfied when he was shown +the machine itself, in motion, with its wonderful +combinations of mechanical forces, and heard Redding +explain the principle of its action.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful! wonderful!" was now exchanged +for "Humbug! humbug!" If any body had told him +that some one had discovered perpetual motion, he +would have laughed at him, and cried "humbug!" +You couldn't have hired him even to look at it. But +his natural incredulity had been gained over by a +different process. His confidence had first been won +by a specious exterior, his reason captivated by +statements and arguments that seemed like truth, +and his senses deceived by appearances. Not that +there was any design to deceive him in particular—he +only happened to be the first included in a large +number whose credulity was to be taxed pretty extensively."</p> + +<p>"You will exhibit it, of course?" he said to Redding, +after he had been admitted to a sight of the +extraordinary machine.</p> + +<p>"This is too insignificant an affair," replied Redding. +"It will not impress the public mind strongly +enough. It will not give them a truly adequate idea +of the force attainable by this new motive power. +No—I shall not let the public fully into my secret +yet. I expect to reap from it the largest fortune ever +made by any man in this country, and I shall not run +any risks in the outset by a false move. The results +that must follow its right presentation to the public +cannot be calculated. It will entirely supercede +steam and water power in mills, boats, and on railroads, +because it will be cheaper by half. But I need +not tell you this, for you have the sagacity to comprehend +it all yourself. You have seen the machine +in operation, and you fully understand the principle +upon which it acts."</p> + +<p>"How long will it take you to construct such a +machine as you think is required?" asked Wiseacre.</p> + +<p>"It could be done in six months if I had the means. +But, like all other great inventors, I am poor. If I +could associate with me some man of capital, I would +willingly share with him the profits of my discovery, +which will be, in the end, immense."</p> + +<p>"How much money will you need?" asked Wiseacre, +already beginning to burn with a desire for a +part of the immense returns.</p> + +<p>"Two or three thousand dollars. If I could find +any one willing to invest that moderate sum of +money now, I would guarantee to return him four +fold in less than two years, and insure him a hundred +thousand dollars in ten years. But men who have +money generally think a bird in the hand worth ten +in the bush; and with them, almost every thing not +actually in possession is looked upon as in the bush."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wiseacre sat thoughtful for some moments. +Then he asked,</p> + +<p>"How much must you have immediately?"</p> + +<p>"About five hundred dollars, and at least five +hundred dollars a month until the model is completed."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I might do it," said Wiseacre, after +another thoughtful pause.</p> + +<p>"I should be most happy if you could," quickly +responded Redding. "There is no man with whom +I had rather share the benefits of this great discovery +than yourself. Whosoever goes into it with me is +sure to make an immense fortune."</p> + +<p>Wiseacre no longer hesitated. The five hundred +dollars were advanced, and the new model commenced. +As to its progress, and the exact amount +it cost in construction, he was not accurately advised, +but one thing he knew—he had to draw five hundred +dollars out of his business every month; and this he +found not always the most convenient operation in +the world.</p> + +<p>At length the model was completed. When shown +to Wiseacre, it did not seem to be upon the grand +scale he had expected; nor did it, to his eyes, look as +if its construction had cost two or three thousand +dollars. But Mr. Redding was such a fair man, that +no serious doubts had a chance to array themselves +against him.</p> + +<p>Two or three scientific gentlemen were first admitted +to a view of the machine. They examined +it; heard Redding explained the principle upon +which it acted, and were shown the beautiful manner +in which the reproduction of forces was obtained. +Some shrugged their shoulders; some said they +wouldn't believe their own eyes in regard to perpetual +motion—that the thing was a physical impossibility; +while others half doubted and half believed. +With all these skeptics and half-skeptics Wiseacre +was out of all patience. Seeing, he said, was believing; +and he wouldn't give a fig for a man who +couldn't rely upon the evidence of his own senses.</p> + +<p>At length Redding's great achievement in mechanics +was announced to the public, and his model +opened for exhibition. Free tickets were sent to +editors, and liberal advertisements inserted in their +papers. The gentlemen of the press examined the +machine, and pretty generally pronounced it a very +singular affair certainly, and, as far as they could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +judge, all that it pretended to be. Gradually that +portion of the public interested in such matters, +awoke from the indifference felt on the first announcement +of the discovery, and began to look at and +enter into warm discussions about the machine. +Some believed, but the majority either doubted or +denied that it was perpetual motion. A few boldly +affirmed that there was some trick, and that it would +be discovered in the end.</p> + +<p>Toward the lukewarm, the doubting, and the +denying, Wiseacre was in direct antagonism. He +had no sort of patience with them. At all times, and +in all places, he boldly took the affirmative in regard +to the discovery of perpetual motion, and showed no +quarter to any one who was bold enough to doubt.</p> + +<p>Among those who could not believe the evidence +of his own senses, was an eminent natural philosopher, +who visited the machine almost every day, and +as often conversed with Redding about the new +principle in mechanics which he had discovered and +applied. The theory was specious, and yet opposed +to it was the unalterable, ever-potent force of gravitation, +which he saw must overcome all so called +self-existant motion. The more he thought about it, +and the oftener he looked at and examined Redding's +machine, and talked with the inventor, the more +confused did his mind become. At length, after obtaining +the most accurate information in regard to +the construction of the machine, he set to work and +made one precisely like it; but it wouldn't go. +Satisfied, now, that there was imposture, he resolved +to ferret it out. There was some force beyond +the machine he was convinced. Communicating +his suspicions to a couple of friends, he was readily +joined by them in a proposed effort to find out the +true secret of the motion imparted to the machine. +He had noticed that Redding had another room adjoining +the one in which the model was exhibited, +and that upon the door was written "No admittance." +Into this he determined to penetrate—and +he put this determination into practice, accompanied +by two friends, on the first favorable opportunity. +Fortunately, it happened that the door leading to this +room was without the door of the one leading into +the exhibition-room. While Redding was engaged +in showing the machine to a pretty large company, +including Wiseacre, who spent a good deal of time +there, the explorers withdrew, and finding the key +in the door, entered quietly the adjoining room, which +they took care to fasten on the inside. The only +suspicious object here was a large closet. This was +locked; but as the intention had been to make a +pretty thorough search, a short, strong, steel crow-bar +was soon produced from beneath a cloak, and +the door in due time made to yield. Wonderful discovery! +There sat a man with a little table by his +side, upon which was a dim lamp, a plate of bread +and cheese, and a mug of beer. He was engaged in +turning a wheel!</p> + +<p>The machine stopped instantly and would not go +on, much to the perplexity and alarm of the inventor. +Wiseacre was deeply disturbed. In the midst of the +murmur of surprise and disapprobation that followed, +a man suddenly entered the room, and cried out in a +low voice,</p> + +<p>"It's all humbug! We've discovered the cause +of the motion! Come and see!"</p> + +<p>All rushed out after the man, and entered the room +over the door of which was written so conspicuously +"No admittance." No, not all—Redding passed on +down stairs, and was never again heard of!</p> + +<p>The scene that followed we need not describe. +The poor laborer at the wheel, for a dollar a day, +had like to have been broken on his wheel, but the +crowd in mercy spared him. As for poor Wiseacre, +who had never been humbugged in his life, he was so +completely "used up" by this undreamed of result, +that he could hardly look any body in the face for +two or three months. But he got over it some time +since, and is now a more thorough disbeliever in all +new things than before.</p> + +<p>"You don't humbug me!" is his stereotyped +answer to all announcements of new discoveries. +Even in regard to the magnetic telegraph he is still +quite skeptical, and shrugs his shoulders, and elevates +his eyebrows, as much as to say, "It'll blow up one +of these times, mark my word for it." Nobody has +yet been able to persuade him to go to the Exchange +and look at the operation of the batteries there and +see for himself. He doesn't really believe in the +thing, and smiles inwardly, as the rough poles and +naked wires stare him in the face while passing along +the street. He looks confidently to see them converted +into poles for scaffolding before twelve months +pass away.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THE_SISTERS" id="THE_SISTERS"></a>THE SISTERS.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY G. G. FOSTER.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, look not forth with those deep earnest eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To catch the gleaming of your lovers' plumes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dearer, surer, trustier passion lies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sisters' hearts than lovers' cheeks illumes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man worships and forsakes; and as he flies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From flower to flower their beauty he consumes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then leaves the wasted heart and faded flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die forgotten in their sunless bower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But sisters' love, like angels' sympathies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is as the breath of Heaven and cannot change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No earthly shudder taints its sinless kiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No sorrow can your loving hearts estrange;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No selfish pride destroy the priceless bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of loving and confiding. Oh exchange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not love like this, so heavenly and so true.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all the vows that lovers' lips e'er knew<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 559px;"> +<img src="images/illus189.png" width="559" height="800" +alt="THE SISTERS" title="" /></div> +<h5>W. Drummond. A.C. Thompson</h5> +<h4>THE SISTERS</h4> +<h5>Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine.</h5> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="BRUTUS_IN_HIS_TENT" id="BRUTUS_IN_HIS_TENT"></a>BRUTUS IN HIS TENT.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY WM. H. C. HOSMER.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h5>How ill this taper burns!—hah! who comes here? <span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span></h5> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">On wall-girt Sardis weary day hath shed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The golden blaze of his expiring beam;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rings her paven walks beneath the tread<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of guards that near the hour of battle deem—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose brazen helmets in the starlight gleam;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From tented lines no murmur loud descends,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For martial thousands of the battle dream<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On which the fate of bleeding Rome depends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When blushing dawn awakes and night's dark curtain rends.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Though hushed War's couchant tigers in their lair<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The tranquil time to <i>one</i> brings not repose—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A voice was whispering to his soul—"Despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The gods will give the triumph to thy foes."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can sleep, with leaden hand, our eyelids close<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When throng distempered fancies, and depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thought a shadow on the future throws?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When shapes unearthly into being start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a snake, Remorse uncoils within the heart?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">At midnight deep when bards avow that tombs<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are by their cold inhabitants forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Roman chief his wasted lamp relumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And calmly reads by mortal wo unshaken:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His iron frame of rest had not partaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And doubt—dark enemy of slumber—fills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A breast where fear no trembling chord could waken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And on his ear an awful voice yet thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rose, when Cæsar fell, from Rome's old Seven Hills.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A sound—"that earth owns not"—he hears, and starts,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And grasps the handle of his weapon tried;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, while the rustling tent-cloth slowly parts,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A figure enters and stands by his side:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There was an air of majesty and pride<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the bold bearing of that spectre pale—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crimson on its robe was still undried,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And dagger wounds, that tell a bloody tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the power of words, the opening folds unveil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">With fearful meaning towers the phantom grim,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On Brutus fixing its cold, beamless eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The face, though that of Julius, seems to him<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Formed from the moonlight of a misty sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The birds of night, affrighted, flutter by,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And a wild sound upon the shuddering air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Creeps as if earth were breathing out a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the fast-waning lamp, as if aware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some awful shade was nigh, emits a ghostly glare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Stern Brutus quails not, though his wo-worn cheeks<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blanch with emotion, and in tone full loud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus to the ghastly apparition speaks—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"Why stand before me in that gory shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unwelcome guest! thy purpose unavowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Art thou the shaping of my wildered brain?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spectre answered, with a gesture proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In hollow accents—"We will meet again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the best blood of Rome smokes on Philippi's plain."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="TO_VIOLET" id="TO_VIOLET"></a>TO VIOLET.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>BY JEROME A. MABY.</h5> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Years—eventful years have passed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sweet sister! since I met thy smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm thinking now what change they've cast<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Upon your form and mine the while;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy girlhood's days with them are flown—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A calmer light must fill thine eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy voice have now an added tone;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy tresses fall more dark and free.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, in my dreams of thee and home,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A slight, pale girl I ever see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose smiles to her mild lip do come,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Like stars in heaven—tremblingly!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For with thy young heart's lovingness<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There aye seemed blent a troubled fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if it knew <i>all</i> tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Must see its worship perish here!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oh, the prayers I poured to Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That time prove not to <i>thee</i> how golden links are riven!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And I—oh, sister! <i>I</i> am changed—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You scarce would know the dreaming boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For all too far his steps have ranged<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Through wildering ways of Strife and Joy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! falcon-eyed Ambition's schemes—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The thrill that comes on mounting wings—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have left no love for quiet dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And learned contempt for tamer things!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Pleasure to my youthful cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So many a hot, wild flush has won,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That to her foils I've grown too weak—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some nerve must still be passion-spun!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if 'mid scenes all bravery—glow—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The night has found me proud and blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stern, mournful things—that make life's wo—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Have struck sad music from my breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when at times Thought leaves me calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And boyhood's memories float by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Then</i> well I know how changed I am—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And a strange weakness dims my eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! sister, on this heart of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weight—stain—have come, since last I met that smile of thine!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="THINK_NOT_THAT_I_LOVE_THEE" id="THINK_NOT_THAT_I_LOVE_THEE"></a>"THINK NOT THAT I LOVE THEE."</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> + +<h3>A BALLAD.</h3> + +<h5>MUSIC COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE BY</h5> + +<h4>J. L. MILNER,</h4> + +<h5><i>AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO HIS FRIEND, J. G. OSBOURN, ESQ.</i></h5> +<br /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/music1.png" width="700" height="626" +alt="music 1" title="" /></div> +<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 609px;"> +<img src="images/music2.png" width="609" height="800" +alt="music 2" title="" /></div> +<br /> + + +<h5>SECOND VERSE.</h5> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Think not that I love thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alluring coquette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vows you have broken<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I too can forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love that I gave thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou ne'er could'st repay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So affection for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has passed away.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS" id="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"></a> +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h3> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Life of Oliver Cromwell. By J. T. Headley. New +York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo</i>.</p></div> + +<p>This volume is elegantly printed, and contains the most +characteristic portrait of Cromwell we have seen. In regard +to thought and composition it is Mr. Headley's best +book. Without being deficient in the energy and pictorial +power which have given such popularity to his other productions, +it indicates an advance in respect to artistic arrangement +of matter and correctness of composition. It +is needless to say that the author has not elaborated it into +a finished work, or done full justice to his talents in its +general treatment. We do not agree with Mr. Headley in +his notion of Cromwell, and think that his marked prepossession +for his hero has unconsciously led him to alter the +natural relations of the facts and principles with which he +deals; but still we feel bound to give him credit for an extensive +study of his subject, and for bringing together +numerous interesting details which can be found in no +other single biography of Cromwell. Among his authorities +and guides we are sorry to see that he has not included +Hallam. The portion of the latter's Constitutional History +of England devoted to the reign of Charles I., the Commonwealth +and the Protectorate, deserves, at least, the respectful +attention of every writer on those subjects. Indeed +we think Hallam so much an authority that a deviation +from him on a question of fact or principle should be +accompanied by arguments contesting his statements. Of +all the historians of the period we conceive him to be +almost the only one who loses the partisan in the judge. +The questions mooted in the controversy between Charles +and his Parliament are still hotly contested, and are so calculated +to inflame the passions, that almost every historian +of the time turns advocate. Mr. Headley's passionate sensibility +should have been a little cooled by "fraternizing" +with Mr. Hallam's judicial understanding.</p> + +<p>The leading merit of Mr. Headley's volume is his description +of Cromwell's battles; Marston Moor, Preston, +Naseby, Dunbar and Worcester, are not mere names, suggesting +certain mechanical military movements to the +reader of the present book. The smoke and dust and blood +and carnage of war—the passions it excites, and the heroism +it prompts, are all brought right before the eye. Many +historians have attempted to convey in general terms a +notion of the kind of men that Cromwell brought into +battle, but it is in Mr. Headley's volume that we really +obtain a distinct conception of the renowned Ironsides. +He has just enough sympathy with the soldier and the +Puritan to reproduce in imagination the religious passions +which animated that band of "braves." As a considerable +portion of Cromwell's life relates to his military character, +Mr. Headley has a wide field for the exercise of his singular +power of painting battle-pieces.</p> + +<p>As the present biography, of all the lives of Cromwell +with which we are acquainted, is calculated to be the +most popular, we regret that the author has not taken a +Juster view of Cromwell's character and actions. It is +important in a republican country, that the popular mind +should have just notions of constitutional liberty, and every +attempt to convert such despots as Napoleon and Cromwell +into champions of freedom, will, in proportion to its success, +prepare the way for a brood of such men in our own +country. In regard to Mr. Headley, we think that his +sympathy with Cromwell's great powers as a warrior and +ruler has vitiated his view of many transactions vitally +connected with the principles of freedom. Compared with +Carlyle, however, he may be almost considered impartial. +He is frank and fearless in presenting his opinions, and +does not confuse the mind by mixing up statements of +fact with any of the trancendental Scotchman's sentimentality.</p> + +<p>The English Revolution of 1640 began in a defense of +legal privileges and ended in a military despotism. It commenced +in withstanding attacks on civil and religious rights +and ended in the dominion of a sect. The point, therefore, +where the lover of freedom should cease to sympathize +with it is plain. It is useless for the republican to say that +every revolution of the kind must necessarily take a similar +course, for that is not an argument for Cromwell's usurpation, +but an argument against the expediency of opposing +attacks by a king, on the rights and privileges of the people. +The truth is that the English Revolution was at first a +popular movement, having a clear majority of the property, +intelligence and numbers of the people on its side. The +king, in breaking the fundamental laws of the kingdom, +made war on the community, and was to be resisted just +as much as if he were king of France or Spain, and had +invaded the country. It is easy to trace the progress of +this resistance, until by the action of religious bigotry and +other inflaming passions, the powers of the opposition became +concentrated in the hands of a body of military +fanatics, commanded by an imperious soldier, and representing +a small minority even of the Puritans. The king, +a weak and vacillating man, made an attempt at arbitrary +power, was resisted, and after years of civil war, ended +his days on the scaffold; Cromwell, without any of those +palliations which charity might urge in extenuation of the +king, on the ground of the prejudices of his station, took +advantage of the weakness of the country, after it had +been torn by civil war, usurped supreme power, and became +the most arbitrary monarch England had seen since +William the Conqueror. No one doubts his genius, and it +seems strange that any one should doubt his despotic +character.</p> + +<p>The truth is that Cromwell's natural character, even on +the hypothesis of his sincerity, was arbitrary, and the very +opposite of what we look for in the character of a champion +of freedom. It seems to us supremely ridiculous to talk of +such a man as being capable of having his conduct determined +by a parliament or a council. He pretended to look +to God, not to human laws or fallible men, for the direction +of his actions. In the name of the Deity he charged +at the head of his Ironsides. In the name of the Deity he +massacred the Irish garrisons. In the name of the Deity +he sent dragoons to overturn parliaments. He believed +neither in the sovereignty of the people, nor the sovereignty +of the laws, and it made little difference whether his opponent +was Charles I. or Sir Harry Vane, provided he +were an opponent. In regard to the inmost essence of +tyranny, that of exalting the individual will over every +thing else, and of meeting opposition and obstacles by +pure force, Charles I. was a weakling in comparison with +Cromwell. Now if, in respect to human governments, +democracy and republicanism consist in allowing any +great and strong man to assume the supreme power, on his +simple assertion that he has a commission from Heaven so +to do; if constitutional liberty is a government of will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +instead of a government of laws, then the partisans of +Cromwell are justified in their eulogies. It appears to us +that the only ground on which the Protector's tyranny is +more endurable than the king's, consists in the fact that +from its nature it could not be permanent, and could not +establish itself into the dignity of a precedent. It was a +power depending neither on the assent of the people, nor +on laws and institutions, but simply on the character of +one man. As far as it went, it did no good in any way to +the cause of freedom, for to Cromwell's government, and +to the fanaticism which preceded it, we owe the reaction +of Charles the Second's reign, when licentiousness in +manners, and servility in politics succeeded in making +virtue and freedom synonymous with hypocrisy and cant.</p> + +<p>In regard to Cromwell's massacres in Ireland, which +even Mr. Headley denounces as uncivilized, a great deal +of nonsense has been written by Carlyle. The fact is that +Cromwell, in these matters, acted as Cortez did in Mexico, +and Pizarro in Peru, and deserves no more charity. If he +performed them from policy, as Carlyle intimates, he must +be considered a disciple of Machiavelli and the Devil; if +he performed them from religious bigotry, he may rank +with St. Dominic and Charles the Ninth. We are sick of +hearing brutality and wickedness, either in Puritan or +Catholic, extenuated on the ground of bigotry. This +bigotry which prompts inhuman deeds, is not an excuse +for sin, but the greatest of spiritual sins. It indicates a +condition of mind in which the individual deifies his +malignant passions.</p> + +<p>We are sorry that Mr. Headley has written his biography +with such a marked leaning to Cromwell. We believe +that a large majority of readers will obtain their notions of +the Protector from his pages, and that they will be no +better republicans thereby. The very brilliancy and ability +of his work will only make it more influential upon the +popular mind.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A Supplement to the Plays of William Shakspeare. Comprising +Seven Dramas which have been ascribed to his +Pen but are not included with his Writings in Modern +Editions. Edited, with Notes, and an Introduction to +each Play, by William Gilmore Simms. New York: +Geo. F. Cooledge & Brother. 1 vol. 8vo.</i></p></div> + +<p>The public are under obligations to Mr. Simms, not only +for reprinting a series of dramas which are objects of +curiosity from their connection with the name of Shakspeare, +but for the elegant and ingenious introductions he +has furnished from his own pen. With regard to the +question whether Shakspeare did or did not write these +plays, our opinion has ever inclined to the negative, and +a careful perusal of Mr. Simms's views has rather confirmed +than shaken our impression. The internal evidence, +with the exception of passages in the Two Noble Kinsmen, +is strongly against the hypothesis of Shakspeare's authorship, +and the external evidence appears to us unsatisfactory. +Mr. Simms's idea is that they were the productions +of Shakspeare's youth and apprenticeship, and on this supposition +he accounts for their obvious inferiority to the +acknowledged plays. Now it seems to us that the juvenile +efforts of the world's master-mind would give some evidence +of his powers, however imperfect might be the form +of their expression; and especially that they would not +resemble the matured products of contemporary mediocrity. +Of the plays in the present volume, the only one +which has the character of youthful genius is the tragedy +of Lecrine, and this is the youth of Marlowe rather than +of Shakspeare. The London Prodigal and the Puritan, +Lord Cromwell and Sir John Oldcastle, have no trace of +youthful fire or even rant. They are the offspring of sober, +contented, irreclaimable, unimprovable mediocrity, with a +decided tendency to the stupid rather than the sublime. +They were probably the journey-work of some of the +legion playwrights connected with the London theatres, +and cannot be compared with the dramas of Jonson, Deckar, +Middleton, Fletcher, Marston, Tourneur, Massinger and +Ford. They lack the vitality, the <i>vim</i>, which burns and +blazes even in the works of the second class dramatists of +the time. The Yorkshire Tragedy bears the stamp of +Middleton rather than Shakspeare. With regard to the +Two Noble Kinsmen, perhaps the greatest play included +in the collection of Beaumont and Fletcher, we think that +the Shaksperian passages might have been imitations of +Shakspeare's manner, and we have a sufficiently high +opinion of Fletcher's genius to suppose that this imitation +was not beyond his powers. The general character of +the play shows that Shakspeare, at any rate, merely contributed +to it. It is conceived and developed in the hot and +hectic style of Fletcher, and abounds in his strained heroics +and gratuitous obscenities. The Jailor's Daughter, a +coarse caricature of Ophelia, is one of the greatest crimes +against the sacredness of misery which a poet ever perpetrated.</p> + +<p>Schlegel said of Thomas Lord Cromwell, Sir John Oldcastle, +and A Yorkshire Tragedy, that they were not only +Shakspeare's, but in his opinion deserved to be classed +among his best and maturest works. This is the most +ridiculous judgment which a great critic ever made, and +coming as it does, after the author's profound view of +Shakspeare's genius, is as singular as it is ridiculous.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. By Alphonse de Lamartine. +New York: D. Appleton & Co. 2 vols. 12mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>Lamartine is a man of fine genius and great courage, +but both as an author and politician is a sentimentalist. +His characteristic mental quality, that of seeing all external +objects through a luminous mist exhaling from his heart +and imagination, is as prominent in the present volume of +travels as in his political speeches and state papers. He +sees nothing in clear, white light; every thing through a +personal medium. To use a distinction of an ingenious +analyst, he tells you rather of the beauty and truth of his +feelings than the beauty and truth he feels; and accordingly +his sentimentality is closely allied to vanity. This +absence of clear perception is not the result of his being +a poet, but of his being a poet of the second class. Homer, +Dante, Shakspeare, even Milton, would not fail in politics +from a similar lack of seeing things as they are. We believe +that Homer and Shakspeare might have made better +statesmen than Pericles and Bacon. The great poet fails +in practical life not from seeing things through a distorting +medium, but from viewing them in relation to an ideal +standard. This was the case with Milton. Now Lamartine +is in the habit of <i>Lamartinizing</i> the whole world in +his writings. The mirror he holds up to life and nature +simply reflects himself. He cannot pass beyond his own +individuality—he has no objective insight.</p> + +<p>We will guarantee that every reader of the present +volumes will rise from their perusal with a knowledge of +the author rather than the subject. He will obtain no information +of men, scenery, or remarkable places, such as +he might receive from a common tourist, deficient equally +in sentiment and imagination; neither will he carry away +such clear pictures and representations as Scott or Goethe +might stamp upon his memory. He will simply be informed +of the thoughts, fancies, opinions, and varying moods of +Lamartine, as awakened by the objects which met his eye. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +These objects, which a great poet would consider of the +first importance, are with the Frenchman only secondary +to the exhibition of himself. If this mingled egotism and +vanity were affected, it would disgust the reader, but as it +is the natural action of the author's mind, and is accompanied +with much eloquence and beauty of composition, it +is more likely to fascinate than to offend. At the present +moment, when the author is with the public a more important +object than Athens or Jerusalem, the present +volumes will probably be the more eagerly read on account +of their leading defect.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Falcon Family; or Young Ireland. By the author of +the Bachelor of the Albany. Boston: T. Wiley, Jr.</i></p></div> + +<p>We should judge the author of the present amusing work +to be a young lawyer, extensively read in miscellaneous +literature, and disposed to make the most of his wit, +rhetoric and acquirements. His style of thinking and +composition is that of a first rate magazine writer rather +than novelist. He is a brilliant sketcher and caricaturist, +without any hold upon character, and with little power of +conceiving or telling a story. He is ever sparkling and +clever, without weight or depth. But he has many elements +of popularity, and unites a good share of shrewdness +with an infinite amount of small wit. The object of +the present work is to ridicule Young Ireland in particular, +and Young Europe in general, including hits at Young +England, Young Israel, (the children of Israel,) and <i>La +Jeune France</i>. All of these, Mitchell, D'Iraeli, Moncton +Milnes and the rest, are classed under the common term of +<i>boyocracy</i>, a very good phrase to denote the ridiculous +portions of the young creed. Though the author has no +view of this class of sentimental or termagant politicians +except on their ludicrous side, he exposes that side with a +brilliant remorselessness which is refreshing in this age of +universal cant. Though something of a coxcomb himself, +he has no mercy on the fop turned politician and theologian. +The mistake of his satire on Young Ireland consists in +overlooking the reality of the wrongs under which that +country groans, and the depth and intensity of the passions +roused. In regard to style the author is a mannerist. +The present novel reads like a continuation or reproduction +of the Bachelor of the Albany.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Researches on the Chemistry of Food, and the Motion of the +Juices in the Animal Body. By Liebig, M. D. Lowell: +Daniel Bixby & Co. 1 vol. 12 mo</i>.</p></div> + +<p>This volume is edited by Professor Horsford, of Harvard +University. It is an acute and profound work of science, +worth all the common books on the subject put together. +The author considers his investigation, as recorded in the +present volume, the most important he ever made. His +theory is this: "The surface of the body is a membrane +from which evaporation goes uninterruptedly forward. +In consequence of this evaporation, all the fluids of the +body acquire, in obedience to atmospheric pressure, motion +toward the evaporating surface. This is obviously the +chief cause of the passage of the nutritious fluids from the +blood-vessels, and of their diffusion through the body. +We know now what important functions the skin (and +lungs) fulfill through evaporation. It is a condition of +nourishment, and the influence of a moist or dry air upon +the health of the body, or of mechanical agitation by +walking or running, which increases the perspiration, is +self-evident." It will be readily seen that this discovery +has an important bearing upon the preservation of health.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Wanderings and Fortunes of Some German Emigrants +By Frederick Gerstacker. Translated by David Black. +New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>We have often desired to see a book of this character, +giving the first views and impressions of foreigners coming +to settle here, as they made their way from the Atlantic to +the West. The present volume is curiously minute in +detailing the course and incidents of the journey, and apart +from its interest as a narrative, contains not a little matter +which should attract the attention of the statesman. In +respect to the merit of composition or description the book +hardly rises above mediocrity.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Cæsar's Commentaries on the Gallic War. With English +Notes, a Lexicon, Indexes, &c. By Rev. J. A. Spencer, +A. M. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>This is the best edition of Cæsar we have ever seen, and +to the young student it is invaluable. Every assistance is +given to the complete comprehension of the Commentaries; +and few can rise from the diligent perusal of the volume +without having understood and almost exhausted one at +least of the classics.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Gramática Inglesa de Urcullu. Edited by Fayette Robinson. +Grammar of the Spanish Language. By Fayette Robinson.</i></p></div> + +<p>These two books, by an accomplished linguist scholar, +fill a want which has long been felt. Most of the works +previously published are too diffuse and elaborate for the +purposes of schools, or too contracted to give any thing +more than a skeleton of the tongue. Mr. Robinson has +adopted a system eminently practical, and made two +books which entitle him to the thanks of pupil and +teacher. As he states, grammatical legislation is abandoned +and example substituted for rules. Extensive +tables of verbs, prepositions and idioms, have been prepared, +which do away with almost all of the difficulties +connected with the study of that tongue a monarch called +the language of the gods. The paradigms of the verbs +have been prepared evidently with the greatest care, and +a new form given to what grammarians call the conditional +and subjunctive moods, so as to adapt the Castilian +to the English language. Tables of dialogues are also +added, which are pure and classical in both English and +Spanish.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robinson has, in editing the English Grammar of +Urcullu, made great improvements by the addition of what +he modestly calls "<i>notillas</i>," (little notes,) but which +greatly add to the perfectness of the book. The important +table of the verbs of the language by Hernandez and the +officers of the Spanish academy, and the chapter on terms +of courtesy in the United States, are most valuable additions. +This book is most valuable as a supplement to the +Spanish Grammar, and the moderate price at which the +two are sold, renders it most desirable and convenient to +purchase them together.</p> + +<p>Though we detect some typographical inaccuracies +they are merely literal accidents, and the books reflect +credit on author, publishers, and stereotyper. We most +cordially recommend them.</p> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>History of the French Revolution of 1789. By Louis Blanc. +Translated from the French. Phila.: Lea & Blanchard.</i></p></div> + +<p>The popularity acquired by M. Blanc from his "History +of Ten Years," as well as the fact of his having been for +a time a member of the Provisional Government of the +French Republic, will doubtless cause this book to be +widely read. It is always interesting, but seldom impartial.</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> +Historie des Oracles.</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> +Maria del Occidente—otherwise, we believe, Mrs. +Brooks—is styled in "The Doctor," &c. "the most impassioned +and most imaginative of all poetesses." And without +taking into account <i>quædam ardentiora</i> scattered here +and there throughout her singular poem, there is undoubtedly +ground for the first clause, and, with the more accurate +substitution of "fanciful" for "imaginative" for the +whole of the eulogy. It is altogether an extraordinary +performance.—<i>London Quarterly Review.</i></p></div> +<br /> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> +The author of "Notes on Cuba." Boston, 1844.</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> +A frequent case among the maids of South America.</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> +This terrible slaughter took place on the night of the +16th June, 1816, under the advice, and with the participation +of the women of Mompox, a beautiful city on an +island in the River Magdalena. The event has enlisted the +muse of many a native patriot and poet, who grew wild +when they recalled the courage of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Those dames of Magdalena,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who, in one fearful night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slew full four hundred tyrants,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor shrunk from blood in fright."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Such women deserve the apostrophe of Macbeth to his +wife:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bring forth men children only."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<br /> +</div> +<br /><br /> + +<p>Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>Certain unusual instances of spelling and grammar have been retained. Errors in punctuation +and obvious typos have been corrected without remark.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 2 +August 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, AUGUST 1848 *** + +***** This file should be named 29959-h.htm or 29959-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/9/5/29959/ + +Produced by Simon Tarlink, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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