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diff --git a/29959.txt b/29959.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76c1cd0 --- /dev/null +++ b/29959.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7244 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** 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 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: handwritten inscription--your obedient servant, +Maria Brooks.] + + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. + +VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1848. NO. 2. + + + + +THE LATE MARIA BROOKS. + +BY RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD. + +[WITH A PORTRAIT.] + + +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 MARIA DEL +OCCIDENTE. + +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." + +In this period poetry was resorted to for amusement and consolation. +At nineteen she wrote a 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 "Zophiel," very +much in the style of which is this stanza: + + With even step, in mourning garb arrayed, + Fair Judith walked, and grandeur marked her air; + Though humble dust, in pious sprinklings laid. + Soiled the dark tresses of her copious hair. + +And this picture of a boy: + + Softly supine his rosy limbs reposed, + His locks curled high, leaving the forehead bare: + And o'er his eyes the light lids gently closed, + As they had feared to hide the brilliance there. + +And this description of the preparations of Esther to appear before +Ahasuerus: + + "Take ye, my maids, this mournful garb away; + Bring all my glowing gems and garments fair; + A nation's fate impending hangs to-day, + But on my beauty and your duteous care." + + Prompt to obey, her ivory form they lave; + Some comb and braid her hair of wavy gold; + Some softly wipe away the limpid wave + That o'er her dimply limbs in drops of fragrance rolled. + + Refreshed and faultless from their hands she came, + Like form celestial clad in raiment bright; + O'er all her garb rich India's treasures flame, + In mingling beams of rainbow-colored light. + + Graceful she entered the forbidden court, + Her bosom throbbing with her purpose high; + Slow were her steps, and unassured her port, + While hope just trembled in her azure eye. + + Light on the marble fell her ermine tread. + And when the king, reclined in musing mood, + Lifts, at the gentle sound, his stately head, + Low at his feet the sweet intruder stood. + +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: + + Lone in the desert, drear and deep, + Beneath the forest's whispering shade, + Where brambles twine and mosses creep, + The lovely Charlotte's grave is made. + + But though no breathing marble there + Shall gleam in beauty through the gloom, + The turf that hides her golden hair + With sweetest desert flowers shall bloom. + + And while the moon her tender light + Upon the hallowed scene shall fling, + The mocking-bird shall sit all night + Among the dewy leaves, and sing. + +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 "Zophiel, 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 "Zophiel," 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. + +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,[1] 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. + +[Footnote 1: Historie des Oracles.] + +The story of Zophiel, 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 Zophiel thus speaks to Egla of Phraerion: + + Yet still she bloomed--uninjured, innocent-- + Though now for seven sweet moons by Zophiel watched and wooed. + +The king of Medea, introduced in the second canto, is an ideal +personage; but the history of that country, 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. Zophiel 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: + + Though the first seraph formed, how could I tell + The ways of guile? What marvels I believed + When cold ambition mimicked love so well + That half the sons of heaven looked on deceived! + +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 Zophiel, after arresting his course: + + "Sublime Intelligence, + Once chosen for my friend and worthy me: + Not so wouldst thou have labored to be hence, + Had my emprise been crowned with victory. + When I was bright in heaven, thy seraph eyes + Sought only mine. But he who every power + Beside, while hope allured him, could despise, + Changed and forsook me, in misfortune's hour." + +To which Zophiel replies: + + "Changed, and forsook thee? this from thee to me? + Once noble spirit! Oh! had not too much + My o'er fond heart adored thy fallacy, + I had not, now, been here to bear thy keen reproach; + Forsook thee in misfortune? at thy side + I closer fought as peril thickened round, + Watched o'er thee fallen: the light of heaven denied, + But proved my love more fervent and profound. + Prone as thou wert, had I been mortal-born, + And owned as many lives as leaves there be, + From all Hyrcania by his tempest torn + I had lost, one by one, and given the last for thee. + Oh! had thy plighted pact of faith been kept, + Still unaccomplished were the curse of sin; + 'Mid all the woes thy ruined followers wept, + Had friendship lingered, hell could not have been." + +Phraerion, another fallen angel, but of a nature gentler than that of +Zophiel, is thus introduced: + + Harmless Phraerion, formed to dwell on high, + Retained the looks that had been his above; + And his harmonious lip, and sweet, blue eye, + Soothed the fallen seraph's heart, and changed his scorn to love; + No soul-creative in this being born, + Its restless, daring, fond aspirings hid: + Within the vortex of rebellion drawn, + He joined the shining ranks _as others did_. + Success but little had advanced; defeat + He thought so little, scarce to him were worse; + And, as he held in heaven inferior seat, + Less was his bliss, and lighter was his curse. + He formed no plans for happiness: content + To curl the tendril, fold the bud; his pain + So light, he scarcely felt his banishment. + Zophiel, perchance, had held him in disdain; + But, formed for friendship, from his o'erfraught soul + 'Twas such relief his burning thoughts to pour + In other ears, that oft the strong control + Of pride he felt them burst, and could restrain no more. + Zophiel was soft, but yet all flame; by turns + Love, grief, remorse, shame, pity, jealousy, + Each boundless in his breast, impels or burns: + His joy was bliss, his pain was agony. + +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, + + Sad from my birth, nay, born upon that day + When perished all my race, my infant ears + Were opened first with groans; and the first ray + I saw, came dimly through my mother's tears. + +Zophiel 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 Zophiel 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 Zophiel 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: + + With unassured yet graceful step advancing, + The light vermilion of her cheek more warm + For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing + Over the strange attire that well became such form + To lend her space the admiring band gave way; + The sandals on her silvery feet were blue; + Of saffron tint her robe, as when young day + Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling dew. + Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem + Or ornament impedes its wavy fold, + Long and profuse; save that, above its hem, + 'Twas broidered with pomegranate-wreath, in gold. + And, by a silken cincture, broad and blue, + In shapely guise about the waste confined, + Blent with the curls that, of a lighter hue, + Half floated, waving in their length behind; + The other half, in braided tresses twined, + Was decked with rose of pearls, and sapphires azure too, + Arranged with curious skill to imitate + The sweet acacia's blossoms; just as live + And droop those tender flowers in natural state; + And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive, + And pendent, sometimes touch her neck; and there + Seemed shrinking from its softness as alive. + And round her arms, flour-white and round and fair, + Slight bandelets were twined of colors five, + Like little rainbows seemly on those arms; + None of that court had seen the like before, + Soft, fragrant, bright--so much like heaven her charms, + It scarce could seem idolatry to adore. + He who beheld her hand forgot her face; + Yet in that face was all beside forgot; + And he who, as she went, beheld her pace, + And locks profuse, had said, "nay, turn thee not." + +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 Altheetor, 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 Zophiel, are painted with a beauty, power +and passion scarcely surpassed. + + Touching his golden harp to prelude sweet, + Entered the youth, so pensive, pale, and fair; + Advanced respectful to the virgin's feet, + And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance there. + Like perfume, soft his gentle accents rose, + And sweetly thrilled the gilded roof along; + His warm, devoted soul no terror knows, + And truth and love lend fervor to his song. + She hides her face upon her couch, that there + She may not see him die. No groan--she springs + Frantic between a hope-beam and despair, + And twines her long hair round him as he sings. + Then thus: "O! being, who unseen but near, + Art hovering now, behold and pity me! + For love, hope, beauty, music--all that's dear, + Look, look on me, and spare my agony! + Spirit! in mercy make not me the cause, + The hateful cause, of this kind being's death! + In pity kill me first! He lives--he draws-- + Thou wilt not blast?--he draws his harmless breath!" + + Still lives Altheetor; still unguarded strays + One hand o'er his fallen lyre; but all his soul + Is lost--given up. He fain would turn to gaze, + But cannot turn, so twined. Now all that stole + Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve, + Himself could not have told--all wound and clasped + In her white arms and hair. Ah! can they serve + To save him? "What a sea of sweets!" he gasped, + But 'twas delight: sound, fragrance, all were breathing. + Still swelled the transport: "Let me look and thank:" + He sighed (celestial smiles his lips enwreathing,) + "I die--but ask no more," he said, and sank; + Still by her arms supported--lower--lower-- + As by soft sleep oppressed; so calm, so fair, + He rested on the purple tapestried floor, + It seemed an angel lay reposing there. + +And Zophiel exclaims, + + "He died of love, or the o'er-perfect joy + Of being pitied--prayed for--pressed by thee. + O! for the fate of that devoted boy + I'd sell my birthright to eternity. + I'm not the cause of this thy last distress. + Nay! look upon thy spirit ere he flies! + Look on me once, and learn to hate me less!" + He said; and tears fell fast from his immortal eyes. + +Beloved and admired at first, Egla becomes an object of hatred and +fear; for Zophiel 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 Zophiel +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. + +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 Phraerion on the +best means of saving her from the perils of human existence. One +evening, + + Round Phraerion, nearer drawn, + One beauteous arm he flung: "First to my love! + We'll see her safe; then to our task till dawn." + Well pleased, Phraerion answered that embrace; + All balmy he with thousand breathing sweets, + From thousand dewy flowers. "But to what place," + He said, "will Zophiel go? who danger greets + As if 'twere peace. The palace of the gnome, + Tahathyam, for our purpose most were meet; + But then, the wave, so cold and fierce, the gloom, + The whirlpools, rocks, that guard that deep retreat! + Yet _there_ are fountains, which no sunny ray + E'er danced upon, and drops come there at last, + Which, for whole ages, filtering all the way, + Through all the veins of earth, in winding maze have past. + These take from mortal beauty every stain, + And smooth the unseemly lines of age and pain, + With every wondrous efficacy rife; + Nay, once a spirit whispered of a draught, + Of which a drop, by any mortal quaffed, + Would save, for terms of years, his feeble, flickering life." + +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 Zophiel and Phraerion to this beautiful but unhappy +creature will remind the reader of the splendid creations of Dante. + + The soft flower-spirit shuddered, looked on high, + And from his bolder brother would have fled; + But then the anger kindling in that eye + He could not bear. So to fair Egla's bed + Followed and looked; then shuddering all with dread, + To wondrous realms, unknown to men, he led; + Continuing long in sunset course his flight, + Until for flowery Sicily he bent; + Then, where Italia smiled upon the night, + Between their nearest shores chose midway his descent. + The sea was calm, and the reflected moon + Still trembled on its surface; not a breath + Curled the broad mirror. Night had passed her noon; + How soft the air! how cold the depths beneath! + The spirits hover o'er that surface smooth, + Zophiel's white arm around Phraerion's twined, + In fond caresses, his tender cares to soothe, + While either's nearer wing the other's crossed behind. + Well pleased, Phraerion half forgot his dread, + And first, with foot as white as lotus leaf, + The sleepy surface of the waves essayed; + But then his smile of love gave place to drops of grief. + How could he for that fluid, dense and chill, + Change the sweet floods of air they floated on? + E'en at the touch his shrinking fibres thrill; + But ardent Zophiel, panting, hurries on, + And (catching his mild brother's tears, with lip + That whispered courage 'twixt each glowing kiss,) + Persuades to plunge: limbs, wings, and locks they dip; + Whate'er the other's pains, the lover felt but bliss. + Quickly he draws Phraerion on, his toil + Even lighter than he hoped: some power benign + Seems to restrain the surges, while they boil + 'Mid crags and caverns, as of his design + Respectful. That black, bitter element, + As if obedient to his wish, gave way; + So, comforting Phraerion, on he went, + And a high, craggy arch they reach at dawn of day, + Upon the upper world; and forced them through + That arch, the thick, cold floods, with such a roar, + That the bold sprite receded, and would view + The cave before he ventured to explore. + Then, fearful lest his frighted guide might part + And not be missed amid such strife and din, + He strained him closer to his burning heart, + And, trusting to his strength, rushed fiercely in. + + On, on, for many a weary mile they fare; + Till thinner grew the floods, long, dark and dense, + From nearness to earth's core; and now, a glare + Of grateful light relieved their piercing sense; + As when, above, the sun his genial streams + Of warmth and light darts mingling with the waves, + Whole fathoms down; while, amorous of his beams, + Each scaly, monstrous thing leaps from its slimy caves. + And now, Phraerion, with a tender cry, + Far sweeter than the land-bird's note, afar + Heard through the azure arches of the sky, + By the long-baffled, storm-worn mariner: + "Hold, Zophiel! rest thee now--our task is done, + Tahathyam's realms alone can give this light! + O! though it is not the life-awakening sun, + How sweet to see it break upon such fearful night!" + + Clear grew the wave, and thin; a substance white, + The wide-expanding cavern floors and flanks; + Could one have looked from high how fair the sight! + Like these, the dolphin, on Bahaman banks, + Cleaves the warm fluid, in his rainbow tints, + While even his shadow on the sands below + Is seen; as through the wave he glides, and glints, + Where lies the polished shell, and branching corals grow. + No massive gate impedes; the wave, in vain, + Might strive against the air to break or fall; + And, at the portal of that strange domain, + A clear, bright curtain seemed, or crystal wall. + The spirits pass its bounds, but would not far + Tread its slant pavement, like unbidden guest; + The while, on either side, a bower of spar + Gave invitation for a moment's rest. + And, deep in either bower, a little throne + Looked so fantastic, it were hard to know + If busy nature fashioned it alone, + Or found some curious artist here below. + + Soon spoke Phraerion: "Come, Tahathyam, come, + Thou know'st me well! I saw thee once to love; + And bring a guest to view thy sparkling dome + Who comes full fraught with tidings from above." + Those gentle tones, angelically clear, + Past from his lips, in mazy depths retreating, + (As if that bower had been the cavern's ear,) + Full many a stadia far; and kept repeating, + As through the perforated rock they pass, + Echo to echo guiding them; their tone + (As just from the sweet spirit's lip) at last + Tahathyam heard: where, on a glittering throne he solitary sat. + +Sending through the rock an answering strain, to give the spirits +welcome, the gnome prepares to meet them at his palace-door: + + He sat upon a car, (and the large pearl, + Once cradled in it, glimmered now without,) + Bound midway on two serpents' backs, that curl + In silent swiftness as he glides about. + A shell, 'twas first in liquid amber wet, + Then ere the fragrant cement hardened round, + All o'er with large and precious stones 'twas set + By skillful Tsavaven, or made or found. + The reins seemed pliant crystal (but their strength + Had matched his earthly mother's silken band) + And, flecked with rubies, flowed in ample length, + Like sparkles o'er Tahathyam's beauteous hand. + The reptiles, in their fearful beauty, drew, + As if from love, like steeds of Araby; + Like blood of lady's lip their scarlet hue; + Their scales so bright and sleek, 'twas pleasure but to see, + With open mouths, as proud to show the bit, + They raise their heads, and arch their necks--(with eye + As bright as if with meteor fire 'twere lit;) + And dart their barbed tongues, 'twixt fangs of ivory. + These, when the quick advancing sprites they saw + Furl their swift wings, and tread with angel grace + The smooth, fair pavement, checked their speed in awe, + And glided far aside as if to give them space. + +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 Zophiel and Phraerion are ushered +through sparry portals to a banquet. + + High towered the palace and its massive pile, + Made dubious if of nature or of art, + So wild and so uncouth; yet, all the while, + Shaped to strange grace in every varying part. + And groves adorned it, green in hue, and bright, + As icicles about a laurel-tree; + And danced about their twigs a wonderous light; + Whence came that light so far beneath the sea? + Zophiel looked up to know, and to his view + The vault scarce seemed less vast than that of day; + No rocky roof was seen; a tender blue + Appeared, as of the sky, and clouds about it play: + And, in the midst, an orb looked as 'twere meant + To shame the sun, it mimicked him so well. + But ah! no quickening, grateful warmth it sent; + Cold as the rock beneath, the paly radiance fell. + Within, from thousand lamps the lustre strays. + Reflected back from gems about the wall; + And from twelve dolphin shapes a fountain plays, + Just in the centre of a spacious hall; + But whether in the sunbeam formed to sport, + These shapes once lived in supleness and pride, + And then, to decorate this wonderous court, + Were stolen from the waves and petrified; + Or, moulded by some imitative gnome, + And scaled all o'er with gems, they were but stone, + Casting their showers and rainbows 'neath the dome. + To man or angel's eye might not be known. + No snowy fleece in these sad realms was found, + Nor silken ball by maiden loved so well; + But ranged in lightest garniture around, + In seemly folds, a shining tapestry fell. + And fibres of asbestos, bleached in fire, + And all with pearls and sparkling gems o'erflecked, + Of that strange court composed the rich attire, + And such the cold, fair form of sad Tahathyam decked. + +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-- + + The banquet-cups, of many a hue and shape, + Bossed o'er with gems, were beautiful to view; + But, for the madness of the vaunted grape, + Their only draught was a pure limpid dew, + The spirits while they sat in social guise, + Pledging each goblet with an answering kiss, + Marked many a gnome conceal his bursting sighs; + And thought death happier than a life like this. + But they had music; at one ample side + Of the vast arena of that sparkling hall, + Fringed round with gems, that all the rest outvied. + In form of canopy, was seen to fall + The stony tapestry, over what, at first, + An altar to some deity appeared; + But it had cost full many a year to adjust + The limpid crystal tubes that 'neath upreared + Their different lucid lengths; and so complete + Their wondrous 'rangement, that a tuneful gnome + Drew from them sounds more varied, clear, and sweet, + Than ever yet had rung in any earthly dome. + Loud, shrilly, liquid, soft; at that quick touch + Such modulation wooed his angel ears + That Zophiel wondered, started from his couch + And thought upon the music of the spheres. + +But Zophiel lingers with ill-dissembled impatience and Tahathyam leads +the way to where the elixir of life is to be surrendered. + + Soon through the rock they wind; the draught divine + Was hidden by a veil the king alone might lift. + Cephroniel's son, with half-averted face + And faltering hand, that curtain drew, and showed, + Of solid diamond formed, a lucid vase; + And warm within the pure elixir glowed; + Bright red, like flame and blood, (could they so meet,) + Ascending, sparkling, dancing, whirling, ever + In quick perpetual movement; and of heat + So high, the rock was warm beneath their feet, + (Yet heat in its intenseness hurtful never,) + Even to the entrance of the long arcade + Which led to that deep shrine, in the rock's breast + As far as if the half-angel were afraid + To know the secret he himself possessed. + Tahathyam filled a slip of spar, with dread, + As if stood by and frowned some power divine; + Then trembling, as he turned to Zophiel, said, + "But for one service shall thou call it thine: + Bring me a wife; as I have named the way; + (I will not risk destruction save for love!) + Fair-haired and beauteous like my mother; say-- + Plight me this pact; so shalt thou bear above, + For thine own purpose, what has here been kept + Since bloomed the second age, to angels dear. + Bursting from earth's dark womb, the fierce wave swept + Off every form that lived and loved, while here, + Deep hidden here, I still lived on and wept." + +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. + +The spirits leave the cavern, and Zophiel 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. + + Zophiel, with toil severe, + But bliss in view, through the thrice murky night, + Sped swiftly on. A treasure now more dear + He had to guard, than boldest hope had dared + To breathe for years; but rougher grew the way; + And soft Phraerion, shrinking back and scared + At every whirling depth, wept for his flowers and day. + Shivered, and pained, and shrieking, as the waves + Wildly impel them 'gainst the jutting rocks; + Not all the care and strength of Zophiel saves + His tender guide from half the wildering shocks + He bore. The calm, which favored their descent, + And bade them look upon their task as o'er, + Was past; and now the inmost earth seemed rent + With such fierce storms as never raged before. + Of a long mortal life had the whole pain + Essenced in one consummate pang, been borne, + Known, and survived, its still would be in vain + To try to paint the pains felt by these sprites forlorn. + The precious drop closed in its hollow spar, + Between his lips Zophiel in triumph bore. + Now, earth and sea seem shaken! Dashed afar + He feels it part;--'tis dropt;--the waters roar, + He sees it in a sable vortex whirling, + Formed by a cavern vast, that 'neath the sea, + Sucks the fierce torrent in. + +The furious storm has been raised by the power of his betrayer and +persecutor, and in gloomy desperation Zophiel rises with the frail +Phraerion to the upper air: + + Black clouds, in mass deform, + Were frowning; yet a moment's calm was there, + As it had stopped to breathe awhile the storm. + Their white feet pressed the desert sod; they shook + From their bright locks the briny drops; nor stayed + Zophiel on ills, present or past, to look. + +But his flight toward Medea is stayed by a renewal of the tempest-- + + Loud and more loud the blast; in mingled gyre, + Flew leaves and stones; and with a deafening crash + Fell the uprooted trees; heaven seemed on fire-- + Not, as 'tis wont, with intermitting flash, + But, like an ocean all of liquid flame, + The whole broad arch gave one continuous glare, + While through the red light from their prowling came + The frighted beasts, and ran, but could not find a lair. + +At length comes a shock, as if the earth crashed against some other +planet, and they are thrown amazed and prostrate upon the heath. +Zophiel, + + Too fierce for fear, uprose; yet ere for flight in a mood + Served his torn wings, a form before him stood + In gloomy majesty. Like starless night, + A sable mantle fell in cloudy fold + From its stupendous breast; and as it trod + The pale and lurid light at distance rolled + Before its princely feet, receding on the sod. + +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. + +Zophiel 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. + + His wings were folded o'er his eyes; severe + As was the pain he'd borne from wave and wind, + The dubious warning of that being drear, + Who met him in the lightning, to his mind + Was torture worse; a dark presentiment + Came o'er his soul with paralyzing chill, + As when Fate vaguely whispers her intent + To poison mortal joy with sense of coming ill. + He searched about the grove with all the care + Of trembling jealousy, as if to trace + By track or wounded flower some rival there; + And scarcely dared to look upon the face + Of her he loved, lest it some tale might tell + To make the only hope that soothed him vain: + He hears her notes in numbers die and swell, + But almost fears to listen to the strain + Himself had taught her, lest some hated name + Had been with that dear gentle air enwreathed. + While he was far; she sighed--he nearer came, + Oh, transport! Zophiel was the name she breathed. + +He saw her--but + + Paused, ere he would advance, for very bliss. + The joy of a whole mortal life he felt + In that one moment. Now, too long unseen, + He fain had shown his beauteous form, and knelt + But while he still delayed, a mortal rushed between. + +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, + + Full in the midst, and taller than the rest, + Zameia stood distinct, and not a sigh + Disturbed the gem that sparkled on her breast; + Her oval cheek was heightened to a dye + That shamed the mellow vermeil of the wreath + Which in her jetty locks became her well, + And mingled fragrance with her sweeter breath, + The while her haughty lips more beautifully swell + With consciousness of every charm's excess; + While with becoming scorn she turned her face + From every eye that darted its caress, + As if some god alone might hope for her embrace. + +Again she is discovered, sleeping, by the rocky margin of a river: + + Pallid and worn, but beautiful and young, + Though marked her charms by wildest passion's trace; + Her long round arms, over a fragment flung, + From pillow all too rude protect a face, + Whose dark and high arched brows gave to the thought + To deem what radiance once they towered above; + But all its proudly beauteous outline taught + That anger there had shared the throne of love. + +It was Zameia that rushed between Zophiel 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. + +Zophiel, 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, + + And when they fled he hid him in a cave + Strewn with the bones of some sad wretch who there, + Apart from men, had sought a desert grave, + And yielded to the demon of despair. + There beauteous Zophiel, shrinking from the day, + Envying the wretch that so his life had ended, + Wailed his eternity; + +But, at last, is visited by Raphael, who gives him hopes of +restoration to his original rank in heaven. + +The concluding canto is entitled "The Bridal of Helon," and in the +following lines it contains much of the author's philosophy of life: + + The bard has sung, God never formed a soul + Without its own peculiar mate, to meet + Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole + Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete! + But thousand evil things there are that hate + To look on happiness; these hurt, impede, + And, leagued with time, space, circumstance, and fate, + Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine and pant and bleed. + And as the dove to far Palmyra flying, + From where her native founts of Antioch beam, + Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, + Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream; + So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring, + Love's pure, congenial spring unfound, unquaffed, + Suffers, recoils, then, thirsty and despairing + Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught. + +On consulting "Zophiel," 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. + +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. Zophiel +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 Zophiel 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 Zophiel 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. + +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. + +In 1834 she caused to be published in Boston an edition of "Zophiel," +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 "Zophiel" scarcely +anywhere excited any interest or attracted any attention. At the end +of a month but about twenty copies 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.[2] + +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. + +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.'" + +[Footnote 2: 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 _quaedam +ardentiora_ 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.--_London +Quarterly Review._] + +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 "Zophiel," is described by a +recent traveler[3] 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." + +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 +"Zophiel." + +Mrs. Brooks died at Patricio, in Cuba, near the close of December, +1844. + +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. + +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. + +[Footnote 3: The author of "Notes on Cuba." Boston, 1844.] + + + + + +THE CRUISE OF THE RAKER. + +A TALE OF THE WAR OF 1812-15. + +BY HENRY A. CLARK. + + +CHAPTER I. + +_The Departure of the Privateer._ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +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 epaulette 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. + +"Well, Harry," said Captain Greene, "it's a dirty night, but I'll turn +in a spell, and leave you in command." + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +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. + +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. + +"I say, Jack Marlinspike!" + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +"Jack, get some oakum." + +Jack speedily brought a fist-full. + +"Now, Jack, some _slush_." + +Jack dipped the oakum in the slush-bucket which hung against the +main-mast. + +"Now, Jack, a little tar." + +The mixture was immediately dropped into the tar-bucket. + +"Now, Jack, stow it away in Pratt's mouth--don't wake him up--'tis a +delicate undertaking, but he sleeps soundly." + +"Lord! a stroke of lightning wouldn't wake him--ha! ha! ha! he'll +dream he is eating his breakfast!" + +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. + +Pratt breathed hard, but slept on, though the melody of his snoring +was sadly impaired in the clearness of its utterance. + +Morris gazed at him quietly, and then sung out, + +"Pratt--Pratt--what are you lying there wheezing like a porpoise for? +Get up, man, your watch is not out." + +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. + +"By heaven, just tell me who did that 'ar nasty trick--that's all." + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, Pratt! somebody has been fooling you--you must look out for the +future." + +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. + +As the reader will perceive, Lieut. Morris was decidedly fond of a +joke, as, indeed, is every sailor. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Well, massa--what want?" + +"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?" + +"Yes, Massa." + +"Well, recollect it now; go and empty your ash-pot, so you'll learn +how." + +"Yes, massa." + +Cuffy soon appeared with his pot, which he capsized as directed, and +got his eyes full of the dust. + +"O, Lord! O, Lord! I see um now; I guess you wont catch dis child that +way agin." + +"Well, well, Cuffy! we must all learn by experience." + +"Gorry, massa, guess I wont try de hot water!" + +"Well, I wouldn't, Cuff. Now hurry up the pork--you've learnt +something this morning." + +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 entirely for speed, seemed also a vessel well able to enter +into an engagement with any vessel of its size and complement. + +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. + + +CHAPTER II. + +_The Merchant Brig._ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good-bye to dear England, father!" said the beautiful girl; "shall we +ever see it again?" + +"_You_ may, dear Julia, probably _I_ never shall." + +"Well, let us hope that we may." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"O, yes! but, father, it is time for you to take your morning glass. +You know you wont feel well if you forget it." + +"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." + +"Well, John, bring Mr. Williams his morning glass." + +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. + +"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." + +"You are only a little sea-sick, John." + +"Not so dommed little, either." + +"You are not yet used to your new situation, John; in a few days +you'll be quite a sailor." + +"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. + +"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your cargo overboard. You'll +sail better if you lighten ship." + +"Dom this ere sailing--ugh--I will die." + +Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the galley, and closed his +eyes with a heroic determination. + +Such an event, as might be expected, was a great 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. + +He was aroused at length by the same tar who had first noticed his +sickness, + +"I say, lubber, are you sick?" + +"Yes, dom sick." + +"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." + +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. + +"There, now, you lubber, I'm going to cure you, if you'll only foller +directions." + +John merely grunted. + +"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." + +John very faintly uttered, that he couldn't "eat a dom bit." + +"Then you'll die, and the fishes will eat YOU." + +John shuddered, "Well, I'll try." + +So saying, he downed one of the pieces of pork, which as speedily came +up again. + +"Now drink, and be quick about it, or I shall drink it for you." + +With much exertion they made John eat and drink heartily, after which +they left him to sleep awhile. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Where away?" + +"Right over the lee-bow." + +"What do you make of her?" + +"Square to'sails, queer rig--flag, can't see it." + +"O! captain," said Julia, "can't you go near enough to speak it?" + +"Of course I _could_, 'cause it's right on the lee, but whether I'd +better or not is quite another thing." + +"The captain knows best, my dear," said the merchant. + +"Certainly, but I should so like to see some other faces besides those +which are about us every day." + +"If you are tired already, my pretty lady," said Captain Horton, "I +wonder what you'll be before we get to the Indies." + +"Heigh-ho," sighed the fair lady. + +"Mast-head there," shouted Captain Horton. + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +"What do you make of her _now_?" + +"Nothing yet, sir; we are overhauling her fast though." + +In a short time the top-sails of the strange vessel became visible +from the deck. + +"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." + +"Well captain," inquired Julia, "is it an English vessel?" + +"May be 't is--can't tell where 't was built." + +"Can't you see the flag?" + +"Can't make it out yet." + +"Captain Horton," exclaimed the merchant, who had been watching his +countenance from the moment he had descended the ratlins, "you _do_ +know something about that vessel, I am sure." + +Captain Horton interrupted him by an earnest glance toward Julia, +which the fair girl herself noticed. + +"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." + +The bright eyes of the girl as she spoke grew brighter, and her little +hand was clenched as if it held a sword. + +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-- + +"Well, I'm inclined to think it's what we call a pirate, my fair +lady." + +"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!" + +"John," said his master, "be still, or if you must cry, go below." + +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. + +"Can't you run from her, captain?" asked the merchant. + +"Have you no guns aboard?" inquired Julia. + +"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." + +"You are to windward of them, captain," said Julia. + +"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!" + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +"'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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Will they--O, dear me! and what is that, does it hurt a fellow?" + +"O, no! he dies easy." + +"Dies! oh, lud!" + +"Why, yes! you know what walking the plank is, don't yer?" + +"No I don't. O, dear!" + +"Well, they run a plank over the side of the ship, and ask you very +politely to walk out to the end of it." + +"O, lud! and don't they let a body hold on?" + +"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." + +"And don't they help you out?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"They just blow your brains out with a pistol, that's all." + +"O, lud!" + +"Yes, John, that's the way they use folks." + +"The bloody villains! and have we all got to walk the plank? Oh! dear +Miss Julia, and all?" + +"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. + +"What! don't they kill the women, then?" + +"No, no, John, they lets them live." + +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. + +"I have it--I have it!" + +"What, John?" + +But John danced off, leaving the sailor to wonder at the sudden +metamorphosis in the feelings of the cockney. + +"Well, that's a queer son of a lubber; I wonder what he's after now." + +John, in the meantime, approached Julia, and in a very mysterious +manner desired a few moments private conversation with her. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Well, what is it, John?" + +"I'll tell you, Miss Julia. Dick Halyard says they only kill the +men--they makes all them walk the plank, which is--" + +"I know what it is," said Julia, with a slight shudder. + +"Well, they saves all the women, out o' respect for the weaker sex. +Now, Miss Julia." + +"Why, John!" + +"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?" + +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. + +John was delighted. + +"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." + +Julia returned to her father's side, and silently watched the strange +sail, which was evidently drawing nearer, as her dark hull had shown +itself above the waters. + +"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." + +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. + + [_To be continued._ + + + + +THE SOUL'S DREAM. + +BY GEORGE H. BOKER. + + Like an army with its banners, onward marched the mighty sun, + To his home in triumph hastening, when the hard-fought field was won; + While the thronging clouds hung proudly o'er the victor's bright array, + Gold and red and purple pennons, welcoming the host of day. + + Gazing on the glowing pageant, slowly fading from the air, + Closed my mind its heavy eyelids, nodding o'er the world of care; + And the soaring thoughts came fluttering downward to their tranquil nest, + Folded up their wearied pinions, sinking one by one to rest. + + Till a deep, o'ermastering slumber seemed to wrap my very soul, + And a gracious dream from Heaven, treading lightly, to me stole: + Downward from its plumes ethereal, on my thirsting bosom flowed + Dews which to the land of spirits all their mystic virtue owed. + + And when touched that potent essence, Time divided as a cloud, + From the Past, the Present, Future rolled aside oblivion's shroud; + And Life's hills and vales far-stretching full before my vision lay, + Seeming but an isle of shadow in Eternity's broad day. + + On the Past I bent my glances, saw the gentle, guileless child + Face to face with God conversing, and the awful Presence smiled-- + Smiled a glory on the forehead of the simple-hearted one, + And the radiance, back reflected, cast a splendor round the throne. + + Saw the boy, by Heaven instructed through earth's mute, symbolic forms, + Drinking wisdom with his senses, which the higher nature warms; + Saw that purer knowledge mingled with the worldling's base alloy, + And the passions' foul impression stamped upon his face of joy. + + O, I cried to God in anguish, is this boasted wisdom vain, + For which I, by night and sunshine, tax my overwearied brain; + Till, alas! grown too familiar with the thoughts that knock at Heaven, + I would further pierce the mystery than to mortal eye is given? + + Is the learning of our childhood, is the pure and easy lore + Speaking in a heart unsullied, better than the vaunted store + Heaped, like ice, to chill and harden every faculty save mind, + By the hand of haughty Science, sometimes wandering, sometimes blind? + + But no answer reached my senses; for my feeble voice was lost, + When the Future came in darkness, like a rushing armed host; + Shouting cries of fear and danger, shouting words of hope and cheer, + Racking me with threat and promise, ever coming, never here. + + Then my spirit stretched its vision, prying in the doubtful gloom, + Half a glimpse to me was given o'er Time's boundary-stone--the tomb. + With a shriek, like that which rises from a sinking, night-wrecked bark, + Burst my soul the bounds of slumber, and the world and I were dark! + + While the dull and leaden Present on my palsied spirit pressed, + Till the soaring thoughts rose upward, bounding from their earthly rest; + Shaking down the golden dew-drops from their pinions proud and strong, + And the cares of life fell from me, fading in the realm of Song. + + + + +THE MAID OF BOGOTA. + +A TALE FROM COLOMBIAN HISTORY. + +BY W. GILMORE SIMMS. + + +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. + +Dona 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 _ideal_ +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. + +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 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 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. + + It was a dream of freedom-- + A mocking dream, though bright-- + That showed the men of Bogota + All arming for the fight; + All eager for the hour that wakes + The thunders of redeeming war, + And rushing forth with glittering steel, + To join the bands of Bolivar. + + My soul, I said, it cannot be + That Bogota shall be denied + Her Arismendi, too--her chief + To pluck her honor up, and pride; + The wild Llanero boasts his braves + That, stung with patriot wrath and shame, + Rushed redly to the realm of graves, + And rose, through blood and death, to fame. + + How glads mine ear with other sounds, + Of freemen worthy these, that tell! + Ribas, who felt Caraccas' wounds, + And for her hope and triumph fell; + And that young hero, well beloved, + Giraldat, still a name for song; + Piar, Marino, dying soon, + But, for the future, living long. + + Oh! could we stir with other names, + The cold, deaf hearts that hear us now, + How would it bring a thousand shames, + In fire, to each Bogotian's brow! + How clap in pride Grenada's hands; + How glows Venezuela's heart; + And how, through Cartagena's lands, + A thousand chiefs and hero's start. + + Paez, Sodeno, lo! they rush, + Each with his wild and Cossack rout; + A moment feels the fearful hush, + A moment hears the fearful shout! + They heed no lack of arts and arms, + But all their country's perils feel, + And sworn for freedom, bravely break, + The glitering legions of Castile. + + I see the gallant Roxas grasp + The towering banner of her sway; + And Monagas, with fearful clasp, + Plucks down the chief that stops the way; + The reckless Urdaneta rides, + Where rives the earth the iron hail; + Nor long the Spanish foeman bides, + The stroke of old Zaraza's flail. + + Oh, generous heroes! how ye rise! + How glow your states with equal fires! + 'Tis there Valencia's banner flies, + And there Cumana's soul aspires; + There, on each hand, from east to west, + From Oronook to Panama, + Each province bares its noble breast, + Each hero--save in Bogota! + +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. + +"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 _men_ of Bogota feel with herself--feel as +she makes even me to feel." + +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. + +"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. 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 +_without_? Vain expectation, if you are unwilling to peril any thing +for yourselves _within_! 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." + +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. + +"Your error," said he, in a whisper to Senor Don Joachim de +Zalabariata, "was in not bringing young men into your counsels." + +"We shall have them hereafter," was the reply, also in a whisper. + +"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 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. + +"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." + +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. + + Then be it so, if serviles ye will be, + When manhood's soul had broken every chain, + 'T were scarce a blessing now to make ye free, + For such condition tutored long in vain, + Yet may we weep the fortunes of our land, + Though woman's tears were never known to take + One link away from that oppressive band, + Ye have not soul, not soul enough to break! + + Oh! there were hearts of might in other days, + Brave chiefs, whose memory still is dear to fame; + Alas for ours!--the gallant deeds we praise + But show more deeply red our cheeks of shame: + As from the midnight gloom the weary eye, + With sense that cannot the bright dawn forget, + Looks sadly hopeless, from the vacant sky, + To that where late the glorious day-star set! + + Yet all's not midnight dark, if in your land + There be some gallant hearts to brave the strife; + One single generous blow from Freedom's hand + May speak again our sunniest hopes to life; + If but one blessed drop in living veins + Be worthy those who teach us from the dead, + Vengeance and weapons both are in your chains, + Hurled fearlessly upon your despot's head! + + Yet, if no memory of the living past + Can wake ye now to brave the indignant strife, + 'T were nothing wise, at least, that we should last + When death itself might wear a look of life! + Ay, when the oppressive arm is lifted high, + And scourge and torture still conduct to graves, + To strike, though hopeless still--to strike and die! + They live not, worthy freedom, who are slaves! + +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: + +"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 _men_ 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!" + +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[4]--the admiration of the Liberator +was insuppressible. + +"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!" + +[Footnote 4: A frequent case among the maids of South America.] + +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 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: + +"_He_ 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".[5] + +"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." + +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. + +[Footnote 5: 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 + + "Those dames of Magdalena, + Who, in one fearful night, + Slew full four hundred tyrants, + Nor shrunk from blood in fright." + +Such women deserve the apostrophe of Macbeth to his wife: + + "Bring forth men children only."] + +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. + +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? + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 encouraged 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 _pronunciamento_. 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. + +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, + +"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?" + +"But we shall be spared--we shall be saved," was the reply of the +lover. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + + What, peace for our country! when ye've made her a grave, + A den for the tyrant, a cell for the slave; + A pestilent plague-spot, accursing and curst, + As vile as the vilest, and worse than the worst. + + The chain may be broken, the tyranny o'er, + But the sweet charms that blessed her ye may not restore; + Not your blood, though poured forth from life's ruddiest vein, + Shall free her from sorrows, or cleanse her from stain! + + 'Tis the grief that ye may not remove the disgrace, + That brands with the blackness of hell all your race; + 'Tis the sorrow that nothing may cleanse ye of shame, + That has wrought us to madness, and filled us with flame. + + Years may pass, but the memory deep in our souls, + Shall make the tale darker as Time onward rolls; + And the future that grows from our ruin shall know + Its own, and its country's and liberty's foe. + + And still in the prayer at its altars shall rise, + Appeal for the vengeance of earth and of skies; + Men shall pray that the curse of all time may pursue, + And plead for the curse of eternity too! + + Nor wantonly vengeful in spirit their prayer, + Since the weal of the whole world forbids them to spare; + What hope would there be for mankind if our race, + Through the rule of the brutal, is robbed by the base? + + What hope for the future--what hope for the free? + And where would the promise of liberty be, + If Time had no terror, no doom for the slave, + Who would stab his own mother, and shout o'er her grave! + +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, for the first time, that the spirit of this noble maiden seemed +to shrink from the approach of death. + +"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!" + +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 _saya_, or +veil, which she wore. Drawing it aside for the purpose, the words +"_Vive la Patria!_" embroidered in letters of gold, were discovered on +the _basquina_. 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. + +"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. + + + + +TO THE EAGLE. + +BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. + + + Imperial bird! that soarest to the sky-- + Cleaving through clouds and storms thine upward way-- + Or, fixing steadfastly that dauntless eye, + Dost face the great, effulgent god of day! + Proud monarch of the feathery tribes of air! + My soul exulting marks thy bold career, + Up, through the azure fields, to regions fair, + Where, bathed in light, thy pinions disappear. + + Thou, with the gods, upon Olympus dwelt, + The emblem, and the favorite bird of Jove-- + And godlike power in thy broad wings hast felt + Since first they spread o'er land and sea to rove: + From Ida's top the Thunderer's piercing sight + Flashed on the hosts which Ilium did defy; + So from thy eyrie on the beetling height + Shoot down the lightning-glances of thine eye! + + From his Olympian throne Jove stooped to earth + For ends inglorious in the god of gods! + Leaving the beauty of celestial birth, + To rob Humanity's less fair abodes: + Oh, passion more rapacious than divine, + That stole the peace of innocence away! + So, when descend those tireless wings of thine, + They stoop to make defenselessness their prey. + + Lo! where thou comest from the realms afar! + Thy strong wings whir like some huge bellows' breath-- + Swift falls thy fiery eyeball, like a star, + And dark thy shadow as the pall of death! + But thou hast marked a tall and reverend tree, + And now thy talons clinch yon leafless limb; + Before thee stretch the sandy shore and sea, + And sails, like ghosts, move in the distance dim. + + Fair is the scene! Yet thy voracious eye + Drinks not its beauty; but with bloody glare + Watches the wild-fowl idly floating by, + Or snow-white sea-gull winnowing the air: + Oh, pitiless is thine unerring beak! + Quick, as the wings of thought, thy pinions fall-- + Then bear their victim to the mountain-peak + Where clamorous eaglets flutter at thy call. + + Seaward again thou turn'st to chase the storm, + Where winds and waters furiously roar! + Above the doomed ship thy boding form + Is coming Fate's dark shadow cast before! + The billows that engulf man's sturdy frame + As sport to thy careering pinions seem; + And though to silence sinks the sailor's name, + His end is told in thy relentless scream! + + Where the great cataract sends up to heaven + Its sprayey incense in perpetual cloud, + Thy wings in twain the sacred bow have riven, + And onward sailed irreverently proud! + Unflinching bird! No frigid clime congeals + The fervid blood that riots in thy veins; + No torrid sun thine upborne nature feels-- + The North, the South, alike are thy domains. + + Emblem of all that can endure, or dare, + Art thou, bold eagle, in thy hardihood! + Emblem of Freedom, when thou cleav'st the air-- + Emblem of Tyranny, when bathed in blood! + Thou wert the genius of Rome's sanguine wars-- + Heroes have fought and freely bled for thee; + And here, above our glorious "stripes and stars," + We hail thy signal wings of LIBERTY! + + The poet sees in thee a type sublime + Of his far-reaching, high-aspiring Art! + His fancy seeks with thee each starry clime, + And thou art on the signet of his heart. + Be _still_ the symbol of a spirit free, + Imperial bird! to unborn ages given-- + And to my soul, that it may soar like thee, + Steadfastly looking in the eye of HEAVEN. + + + + +_FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION. + +A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE. + +BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE +WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC._ + +(_Continued from page 12._) + +PART II. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _lee_ shore. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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 chateau d'Argenson. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _their_ flight also is now +but as an ended minute. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, +in wise consideration of their tender years, was postponed until the +termination of the third summer. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Abbe 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +If Melanie d'Argenson had been a lovely girl, the good abbe 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. + +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. + +Hence, as the Abbe 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _he_ was +frequently _ordered_ on duty of a nature which, under ordinary +circumstances, is performed by volunteers. + +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. + +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. + +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 suffered 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Then I will to horse, uncle," replied Raoul, "before this night is +two hours older for St. Renan." + +"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." + +"To know of my own knowledge if she be true or false, uncle." + +"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." + +"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 _cannot_! I have proved it before now, uncle abbe; 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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_royal_, which we should nowadays call an _imperial_, on his chin. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There was not a room in the old house, not a view from a single +window, not a tree in the noble park, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 chateau. + +"Oh, yes, monseigneur," the old man returned immediately, "he has been +here all the summer, and the chateau 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." + +"Ah, they _are_ 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." + +"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." + +"As what, Matthieu?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"What else will you tell me, Matthieu? Let us hear it, and then I +shall be better able to decide." + +"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 that +this is not strange, and more than strange, infamous, and dishonoring +to the very name of man and woman?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was Melanie--alone--and if his eyes deceived him not, weeping +bitterly. + +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. + +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, + +"Great God! great God! has he come up from the grave to reproach me! I +am true, Raoul; true to the last, my beloved!" + +And with a long, shivering, low shriek, she staggered, and would have +fallen to the earth had he not caught her in his arms. + +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. + + [_Conclusion in our next._ + + + + +THE BLOCKHOUSE. + +BY ALFRED B. STREET. + + + Upon yon hillock in this valley's midst, + Where the low crimson sun lies sweetly now + On corn-fields--clustered trees--and meadows wide + Scattered with rustic homesteads, once there stood + A blockhouse, with its loop-holes, pointed roof, + Wide jutting stories, and high base of stone. + A hamlet of rough log-built cabins stood + Beside it; here a band of settlers dwelt. + One of the number, a gray stalwort man, + Still lingers on the crumbling shores of Time. + Old age has made him garrulous, and oft + I've listened to his talk of other days + In which his youth bore part. His eye would then + Flash lightning, and his trembling hand would clench + His staff, as if it were a rifle grasped + In readiness for the foe. + + "One summer's day," + Thus he commenced beside a crackling hearth + Whilst the storm roared without, "a fresh bright noon, + Us men were wending homeward from the fields, + Where all the breezy morning we had toiled. + I paused a moment on a grassy knoll + And glanced around. Our scythes had been at work, + And here and there a meadow had been shorn + And looked like velvet; still the grain stood rich; + The brilliant sunshine sparkled on the curves + Of the long drooping corn-leaves, till a veil + Of light seemed quivering o'er the furrowed green. + The herds were grouped within the pasture-fields, + And smokes curled lazily from the cabin-roofs. + 'T was a glad scene, and as I looked my heart + Swelled up to Heaven in fervent gratitude. + Ha! from the circling woods what form steals out + Strait in my line of vision, then shrinks back! + 'The savage! haste, men, haste! away, away! + The bloody savage!' 'T was that perilous time + When our young country stood in arms for right + And freedom, and, within the forests, each + Worked with his loaded rifle at his back. + We all unslung our weapons, and with hearts + Nerving for trial, flew toward our homes. + We reached them as wild whoopings filled the air, + And dusky forms came bounding from the woods. + We pressed toward the blockhouse, with our wives + And children madly shrieking in our midst. + But ere we reached it, like a torrent dashed + Our tawny foes amongst us. Oh that scene + Of dread and horror! Knives and tomahawks + Darted and flashed. In vain we poured our shots + From our long rifles; breast to breast, in vain, + And eye to eye, we fought. My comrades dropped + Around me, and their scalps were wrenched away + As they lay writhing. From our midst our wives + Were torn and brained; our shrieking infants dashed + Upon the bloody earth, until our steps + Were clogged with their remains. Still on we pressed + With our clubbed rifles, sweeping blow on blow; + But, one by one, my bleeding comrades fell, + Until my brother and myself alone + Remained of all our band. My wife had clung + Close to my side throughout the horrid strife, + I, warding off each blow, and struggling on. + And now we three were near the blockhouse-door, + Closed by a secret spring. My brother first + Its succor reached; it opened at his touch. + Just then an Indian darted to my side + And grasped my trembling wife"--the old man paused + And veiled his eyes, whilst shudderings shook his frame + As the wind shakes the leaf. "I saw her, youth, + Sink with one bitter shriek beneath the edge + Of his red, swooping hatchet. Turned to stone + I stood an instant, but my brother's hand + Dragged me within the blockhouse. As the door + Closed to the spring, and quick my brother thrust + The heavy bars athwart, for I was sick + With horror, piercing whoops of baffled rage + Echoed without. Recovering from my deep, + O'erwhelming stupor, as I heard those sounds + My veins ran liquid flame; with iron grasp + I clenched my rifle. From the loops we poured + Quick shots upon the foe, who, shrinking back, + To the low cabin-roofs applied the brand-- + Up with fierce fury flashed the greedy flames. + Just then my brother thrust his head from out + A loop--quick cracked a rifle, and he fell + Dead on the planks. With yells that froze my blood, + A score of warriors at the blockhouse-door + Heaped a great pile of boughs. A streak of fire + Ran like a serpent through it, and then leaped + Broad up the sides. Through every loop-hole poured + Deep smoke, with now and then a fiery flash. + The air grew thick and hot, until I seemed + To breathe but flame. I staggered to a loop. + Dancing around with flourished tomahawks + I saw my horrid foes. But ha! that glimpse! + Again! oh can it be my wavering sight! + No, no, forms break from out the forest depths, + And hurry onward; gleaming arms I see. + Joy, joy, 't is coming succor! Swift they come, + Swift as the wind. The swarthy warriors gaze + Like startled deer. Crash, crash, now peal the shots + Amongst them, and with looks of fierce despair + They group together, aim a scattered fire, + Then seek to break with tomahawk and knife + Through the advancing circle, but in vain, + They fall beneath the stalwort blows of men + Who long had suffered under savage hate. + Hunters and settlers of the valley roused + At length to vengeance. With a rapid hand + The blockhouse-door I opened and rushed out, + Wielding my rifle. Youth, this arm is old + And withered now, but every blow I struck + Then made the blood-drops spatter to my brow, + Until I bathed in crimson. With deep joy + I felt the iron sink within the brain + And clatter on the bone, until the stock + Snapped from the barrel. But the fight soon passed, + And as the last red foe beneath my arm + Dropped dead, I sunk exhausted at the feet + Of my preservers. A wild, murky gloom, + Filled with fierce eyes, fell round me, but kind Heaven + Lifted at length the blackness; on my soul + The keen glare fell no more, and I arose + With the blue sky above me, and the earth + Laughing around in all its glorious beauty." + + +[Illustration: The Departure +From H. C. Corbould. Drawn with alterations & engraved by Geo. B. +Ellis Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +THE DEPARTURE. + +BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. + +[Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1848, by EDWARD +STEPHENS, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United +States for the Southern District of New York.] + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + +CHAPTER I. + + Oh do not look so bright and blest, + For still there comes a fear, + When hours like thine look happiest, + That grief is then most near. + There lurks a dread in all delight, + A shadow near each ray, + That warns us thus to fear their flight, + When most we wish their stay. MOORE. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Again the door was pushed open, and now not 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Does he trifle with me--has he dared--" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"But he will approve in time, beloved, believe me he will," said the +young man, clasping both her hands in his and kissing them. + +"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." + +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. + +"I am sure you love me, Florence." + +"Love you!" her breath swelled and fluttered as the words left her +lips. "Love! I fear--I know that all this is idolatry!" + +"Else why are you here." + +"Truly, most truly!" + +"Risking all things, even reputation, for me, and I so unworthy." + +"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!" + +"And yet you are here, alone with me, beloved, in this old house." + +"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." + +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. + +"You take me up too seriously," he said, attempting to draw her toward +him, but she resisted proudly. "I only spoke of _possible_ 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." + +"And you gave the promise," said Florence, while her beautiful +features settled into a grieved and dissatisfied expression. "You gave +this promise?" + +"Why, Florence, what ails you? I had no choice. You had already left +home, and he would listen to no other terms." + +"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--" + +"And is this too much? Do you begin to regret, Florence?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Hark! I hear wheels. It must be the clergyman and Byrne," said +Jameson, listening. + +"And is a stranger coming," inquired Florence, "any one but the +clergyman? I was not prepared for that!" + +"But we must have a witness. He is my friend, and one that can be +trusted. You need have no fear of Byrne." + +"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. + +"What matters it, beautiful as you always are." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +Meantime the bridegroom and his friend walked slowly toward the water. + +"And so you have snared the bird at last," said Byrne. + +"I did not think you could manage to get her down here. When did she +come?" + +"Yesterday," said Jameson. + +"Alone?" + +"Quite alone; her father thinks her visiting a friend." + +"But _you_ left the city yesterday." + +"Yes." + +"And not with her?" + +"She came down alone--so did I." + +"But directly after--ha!" + +Jameson smiled, that same crafty smile that had curled his lips even +when they rested upon the forehead of Florence Hurst. + +"And did she sanction this. By heavens! I would not have believed +it--so proud, so sensitive!" + +"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." + +"But what object have you in this?" + +"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." + +"But how would he know this; surely you would not become the +informant?" + +"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." + +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. + +"You do not approve of this?" said Jameson, studying his companion's +countenance. + +"No." + +"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." + +"It may be so," said the other, in a dissatisfied manner. + +"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. + +Byrne dashed his cane across the pansies, sending the broken blossoms +in a shower over the gravel-walks. + +"Well, manage as you like, the affair is nothing to me, but it smacks +strongly of the scoundrel, Herbert, I can tell you that." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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 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 +_his_ 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I believe--I know that there has," replied Florence, instantly +saddened by the gravity of the clergyman. + +"And his objections arose purely from pride--aristocratic pride?" + +"I never heard any other reason given for withholding his consent," +replied Florence. "To me he never gave a reason. His commands were +peremptory." + +"And you have known this young man long?" + +"I was but fifteen when he first came into my father's employ." + +"And you love him with your whole heart?" + +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. + +"Enough--I will marry them!" he said firmly. "I only wish the young +man may prove worthy of all this--" + +His soliloquy was cut short by the appearance of Jameson and his +friend. + +They were married--Florence Hurst, the only daughter and heiress of +the richest merchant in New York, to Jameson, the protegee and +book-keeper of her proud father. + +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. + +"Florence, Florence--how is this! why do you weep, beloved?" + +"I do not know," said the bride, gently; "but since the good clergyman +has left us, my heart is heavy, and I feel alone." + +"Do you not love me, Florence? Have you lost confidence in me?" + +Florence lifted her eyes, shining with affection, and placed her hand +in his. + +"But this secrecy troubles me. Let us tell my father at once," she +said, earnestly. + +"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?" + +"Surely his consent may be obtained. He said nothing of concealment to +me." + +"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. + +"A little. He questioned me of the motives which induced my father to +oppose our marriage." + +"And that was all?" + +"Yes; you came in just then, and the rest seems like a dream." + +"A blessed, sweet dream, Florence, for it made you my wife," said +Jameson. + +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." + +"Florence, is this distrust--is it dislike?" cried Jameson, startled +out of his usual self-command. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Florence!" + +"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. + + +CHAPTER II. + + Thy vows are all broken, + And light is thy fame; + I hear thy name spoken, + And share in the shame. + They will name thee before me, + A knell to mine ear; + A shudder comes o'er me-- + Why wert thou so dear? BYRON. + + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Speak, Florence, your depression grieves me," continued Mr. Hurst, as +he heard the sobs she was trying in vain to suppress. + +"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!" + +"And who said that I did deem him unworthy for _these_ 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?" + +"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?" + +"_He_ 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?" + +"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?" + +"Of your love for him, Florence Hurst!" + +There was something terrible in the voice of mingled astonishment and +dismay with which this exclamation was made. + +"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!" + +"Who told you that I did?" + +"_He_ told me, he, Herbert Jameson. It was for this you made him an +outcast." + +"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. + +"Then why that command to myself--why was I never to see or hear from +him again?" cried Florence, almost gasping for breath. + +"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!" + +"Father--father--father!" + +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. + +"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!" + +"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 +_can_ love, does love you." + +"I know that he does!" said Florence with a sort of wild exultation. +"I know that he loves me." + +"And would you, if I were to give my consent--could you become the +wife of Herbert Jameson?" + +"Father, I could! I would!" + +"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." + +"Father!" cried Florence, while a burst of wild and startling joy +broke over her face, "I will stand the issue! My life--my very soul +would I pledge on his integrity." + +Mr. Hurst looked at her with mournful sternness while she was +speaking, and then proceeded to write a note which he instantly +dispatched. + +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. + +"Go in yonder, from thence you can hear all that passes." + +"Father, is it right--will it be honorable?" said Florence, hesitating +and weak with agitation. + +"It is right--it is honorable! Go in!" His voice was stern, the +gesture with which he enforced it peremptory, and poor Florence +obeyed. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"At any rate the bare suspicion of these things was all the reason you +deigned to give," he said. + +Florence heard and saw--conviction, the loathed thing, came creeping +colder and colder to her bosom. + +"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!" + +"And what may those other wrongs be?" was the cold and half sneering +rejoinder to this passionate outbreak. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"You love"--the words absolutely choked the proud man--"you love my +daughter then--why was this never mentioned to me?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I _have_ the power, what should withhold me!" + +"Oh, many things. Your daughter, for instance!" + +"My daughter!" + +"You interrupt me, sir. I was about to say your 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Well, something very like it, I must confess." + +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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +He stood up, then, as I have said, with more of respect in his manner +than had hitherto marked it. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"But, Mr. Hurst--" + +"Peace, sir!" + +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. + +"Sit still, sir, and hear what I have to say." + +"I will--I listen, Mr. Hurst, but do be more composed. I did not mean +to offend you in asking after--" + +"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 that the fire within him though smothered was not quenched. + +"I am silent, sir," cried the wretch, completely cowed by the strong +will of his antagonist. + +"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." + +"Sir, these are hard words," faltered Jameson; but Mr. Hurst lifted +his hand sharply, and went on. + +"You want money. How much did you expect to obtain from me?" + +"I--I--this is too abrupt, Mr. Hurst, you impute motives--" + +"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." + +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. + +"You are too much excited, Mr. Hurst, I will call some other time," he +faltered out. + +"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?" + +"Mr. Hurst, what do you wish--what am I to do?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"But remember--" + +"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." + +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--" + +"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." + +"But shall I have the money down?" said Jameson, still gazing upon the +floor. "Remember, sir, my affections, my--" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"The income--and that only to be paid in a foreign land, and while you +remain there." + +"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." + +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. + +"From her own lips--hear it, then. Go in," he said, casting open the +door through which he had entered the room, "go in!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + +"Oh, father, father, do not look on me!" + +Jameson knelt and touched the cold hand in which she had grasped a +portion of the pillow. + +"Florence!" + +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. + +Jameson drew back, and for the instant his countenance 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. + +"And do you hate me so, Florence?" he said, in a voice that was full +of keen feeling. + +"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. + +"_I_ come by your father's permission, Florence; will you be more +cruel than he is?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"You have sought me, but why? What more do you wish? Do I not seem +wretched enough?" + +"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. + +Throwing a tone of passionate tenderness into his voice, he approached +her, this time unchecked. + +"Florence, dear Florence, must we part thus; will you send me from you +for ever?" + +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!" + +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. + +"What is this!" he said, throwing his arm around the half fainting +girl, and turning sternly toward her tormentor, "have you dared--" + +"No, no!" gasped Florence. "I was ill--I--oh, father, without you I +have no strength. Save me from myself!" + +"I will," said Mr. Hurst, gently and with great tenderness drawing the +trembling young creature close to his bosom. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Do you wish to see this man again, my child?" said Mr. Hurst, "I can +trust you, Florence, decide for yourself." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I _will_ triumph yet! I _will_ 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!" + +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 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. + + +CHAPTER III. + + Oh! wert thou still what once I fondly deemed, + All that thy mien expressed, thy spirit seemed, + My love had been devotion, till in death + Thy name had trembled on my latest breath. + + * * * * * * * + + Had'st thou but died ere yet dishonor's cloud + O'er that young heart had gathered as a shroud, + I then had mourned thee proudly, and my grief + In its own loftiness had found relief; + A noble sorrow cherished to the last, + When every meaner wo had long been past. + Yes, let affection weep, no common tear + She sheds when bending o'er an honored bier. + Let nature mourn the dead--a grief like this, + To pangs that rend _my_ bosom had been bliss. + + MRS. HEMANS. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"My Florence, try to conquer this keen sensitiveness. Strive, dear +child, to think of these things as if they had not been!" + +"Oh, if I had the power!" cried Florence. + +"And do you love this man yet?" said Mr. Hurst, almost sternly. + +"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!" + +"But you shall not see him again unless you desire it." + +"True, true--but I will see him if he wishes it. He shall not think +that I am coerced or influenced. 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. + +"Florence," said Mr. Hurst gently, "it is not by shrinking from +painful associations that we conquer them." + +"But see how weak I am! and all from the breath of those poor +flowers!" + +"There is a source from which strength may be obtained." + +"My pride, oh, father, that may do to shield me from the world's +scorn, but it avails nothing with my own heart." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_spirituelle_ loveliness beamed over them, soft and holy as the +moonlight that revealed it. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Leave me!" she said, mildly, but with firmness, "I am not your +wife--will never be!" + +"You hate me, then!" exclaimed Jameson, goaded by her manner. "You +still believe what my enemies say against me." + +"No, I hate no one--I could not hate you!" + +"But you love me no longer." + +Florence turned very pale, but still she was firm. "It matters nothing +if I love or hate now," she said, "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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"And this is your final answer!" cried Jameson, and his eyes flashed +with fury. + +"I can give no other!" + +"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. + +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 _human_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +SUMMER. + +BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N. + + + She comes with soft and scented breath, + From fragrant southern lands, + And wakens from their trance of death + The flowers, and breaks the hands + Of fettered streams, that burst away + With joyous laugh and song, + And shout and leap like boys at play + As home from school they throng. + + From sunny climes the breeze set free + Comes with an angel strain + Athwart the blue and sparkling sea + To visit us again. + The low of herds is on the gale, + The leaf is on the tree, + And cloud-winged barks in silence sail + With stately majesty + + Along the blue and bending sky, + Like joyous living things, + And rainbow-tinted birds flit by + With swiftly glancing wings: + O summer, summer! joyful time! + Singing a gentle strain, + Thou comest from a warmer clime + To visit us again! + + + + +DESCRIPTION OF A VISIT TO NIAGARA. + +BY PROFESSOR JAMES MOFFAT. + + + Through the dark night urging our rapid way + We listen to a low, continued sound, + As of a distant drum calling to arms. + It grows with our approach; lulls with the breeze, + And swells again into a bolder note, + Like an AEolian harp of giant string. + Again, the tone is changed, and a fierce roar + Of tumult rises from the trembling earth, + As if the imprisoned spirits of the deep + Had found a vent for that rebellious shout, + Which from ten thousand lips ascends to Heaven. + Voice not to be mistaken--even he + Upon whose ear it comes for the first time + Claims it as known, and bringing to his heart + The boldest fancies of his early days-- + Thy thunders, dread Niagara, day and night, + Which vary not their ever-during peal. + Burning impatience, not to be controlled, + Has hurried on my steps until I stand + Within the breath of thy descending wave. + The night conceals thy wonders, but enrobes + Thee with a grandeur, wild, mysterious, + As with thy spray around me, and the wind + Which rushes upward from thy dark abyss, + And thy deep organ pealing in my ear, + Thy mass is all unseen, and I behold + Only the ghost-like whiteness of thy foam. + The morning comes. The clouds have disappeared, + And the clear silver of the eastern sky + Gives promise of a glowing summer sun. + In the fresh dawn, I hasten to the rock + Which overhangs the ever-boiling deep, + And all the wonders of Niagara + Are spread before me--not the simple dash + Of falling waters, which the fancy drew, + But myriad forms of beautiful and grand + Press on the senses and o'erwhelm the mind. + Yon bright, broad waters on their channel sleep + As if they dreamed of the most peaceful flow + To the far-distant sea. But now their course + Accelerates on their inclining path, + Though still 'tis with the appearance of a calm + And dignified reluctance, and the wave + Remains unbroken, till the inward force + Increasingly silently, like that which breaks + The short laborious quiet of the insane, + Bursts all restraint, and the wild waters, tossed + In fiercest tumult, uncontrollable, + Menace all life within their giant grasp; + Leaping and raging in their frantic glee, + Dashing their spray aloft, as on they rush + In wild confusion to the dreadful steep. + An instant on the verge they seem to pause, + As if, even in their frenzy, such a gulf + Were horrible, then slowly bending down, + Plunge headlong where the never-ceasing roar + Ascends, and the revolving clouds of spray, + Forever during yet forever new. + The sun appears. And, straightway, on the cloud + Which veils the struggles of the fallen wave + In everlasting secrecy, and wafts + Away, like smoke of incense, up to Heaven, + Beams forth the radiant diadem of light, + Brilliant and fixed amid the moving mass; + And beauty comes to deck the glorious scene. + For as the horizontal sunbeams rest + Upon the deep blue summit, or unfold + The varying hues of green, that pass away + Into the white of the descending foam, + So colors of the loveliest rainbow dye + Tinge the bright wave, nor lessen aught its pride, + Now joyous companies of fair and young + Come lightly forth, with voice of social glee, + But, one by one, as they approach the brink, + A change comes over them. The noisy laugh + Is hushed, the step is soft and reverent, + And the light jest is quenched in solemn thought-- + Yea, dull must be his brain and cold his heart + To all the sacred influences that spring + From grandeur and from beauty, who can gaze, + For the first time, on the descending flood + Without restraint upon the flippant tongue. + If such the reverence Great Invisible, + Attendant on one of thy lesser works, + What dread must overwhelm us when the eye + Is opened to the glories of thyself, + Who sway'st the moving universe and holdst + The "waters in the hollow of thy hand." + + + + +SONNET. + +BY CAROLINE F. ORNE. + + + There have been tones of cheer, and voices gay, + And careless laughter ringing lightly by, + And I have listened to wit's mirthful play, + And sought to smile at each light fantasy. + But ah, there was a voice more deep and clear, + That I alone might hear of all the throng, + In softest cadence falling on my ear + Like a sweet undertone amid the song. + And then I longed for this calm hour of night, + That undisturbed by any voice or sound, + My spirit from all meaner objects free + Might soar unchecked in its far upward flight, + And by no cord, no heavy fetter bound, + Scorning all space and distance, hold commune with thee. + + + + +AUNT MABLE'S LOVE STORY. + +BY SUSAN PINDAR. + + +"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 _soiree_ and ends +with a wedding. I'm sure there is not one word of truth in any of +them." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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 _foundation_ 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 _do_ +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 _true_ 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!" + +Kate grew quite enthusiastic, and Aunt Mable, after pausing a few +minutes, while a troubled smile crossed her face, said, "Well, Kate, +_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." + +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. + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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, + +"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, + +"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." + + + + + +TO ERATO. + +BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. + + + Henceforth let Grief forget her pain, + And Melancholy cease to sigh; + And Hope no longer gaze in vain + With weary, longing eye, + Since Love, dear Love, hath made again + A summer in this winter sky-- + Oh, may the flowers he brings to-day + In beauty bloom, nor pass away. + + Sweet one, fond heart, thine eyes are bright, + And full of stars as is the heaven, + Pure pleiads of the soul, whose light + From deepest founts of Truth is given-- + Oh let them shine upon my night, + And though my life be tempest-driven, + The leaping billows of its sea + Shall clasp a thousand forms of thee. + + Thy soul in trembling tones conveyed + Melts like the morning song of birds, + Or like a mellow paen played + By angels on celestial chords;-- + And oh, thy lips were only made + For dropping love's delicious words:-- + Then pour thy spirit into mine + Until my soul be drowned with thine. + + The pilgrim of the desert plain + Not more desires the spring denied, + Not more the vexed and midnight main + Calls for the mistress of its tide, + Not more the burning earth for rain, + Than I for thee, my own _soul's_ bride-- + Then pour, oh pour upon my heart + The love that never shall depart! + + + + +THE LABORER'S COMPANIONS. + +BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. + + + While pleasant care my yielding soil receives, + Other delights the open soul may find; + On the high bough the daring hang-bird weaves + Her cunning cradle, rocking in the wind; + The arrowy swallow builds, beneath the eves, + Her clay-walled grotto, with soft feathers lined; + The dull-red robin, under sheltering leaves, + + Her bowl-like nest to sturdy limbs doth bind; + And many songsters, worth a name in song, + Plain, _homely_ birds my boy-love sanctified, + On hedge and tree and grassy bog, prolong + Sweet loves and cares, in carols sweetly plied; + In such dear strains their simple natures gush + That through my heart at once all tear-blest memories rush. + + + + +THE ENCHANTED KNIGHT. + +BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. + + + In the solemn night, when the soul receives + The dreams it has sighed for long, + I mused o'er the charmed, romantic leaves + Of a book of German Song. + + From stately towers, I saw the lords + Ride out to the feudal fray; + I heard the ring of meeting swords + And the Minnesinger's lay! + + And, gliding ghost-like through my dream, + Went the Erl-king, with a moan, + Where the wizard willow o'erhung the stream, + And the spectral moonlight shone. + + I followed the hero's path, who rode + In harness and helmet bright, + Through a wood where hostile elves abode, + In the glimmering noon of night! + + Banner and bugle's call had died + Amid the shadows far, + And a misty stream, from the mountain-side, + Dropped like a silver star. + + Thirsting and flushed, from the steed he leapt + And quaffed from his helm unbound; + Then a mystic trance o'er his spirit crept, + And he sank to the elfin ground. + + He slept in the ceaseless midnight cold, + By the faery spell possessed, + His head sunk down, and his gray beard rolled + On the rust of his armed breast! + + When a mighty storm-wind smote the trees, + And the thunder crashing fell, + He raised the sword from its mould'ring ease + And strove to burst the spell. + + And thus may the fiery soul, that rides + Like a knight, to the field of foes, + Drink of the chill world's tempting tides + And sink to a charmed repose. + + The warmth of the generous heart of youth + Will die in the frozen breast-- + The look of Love and the voice of Truth + Be charmed to a palsied rest! + + In vain will the thunder a moment burst + The chill of that torpor's breath; + The slumbering soul shall be wakened first + By the Disenchanter, Death! + + + + +KORNER'S SISTER. + +BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES. + +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. + + Lovely and gentle girl! + In the spring morning of thy beauty dying-- + Dust on each sunny curl, + And on thy brow the grave's deep shadows lying. + + Thine is a lowly bed. + But the green oak, whose spreading bough hangs o'er thee, + Shelters the brother's head, + Who went unto his rest a little while before thee. + + A perfect love was thine, + Sweet sister! thou hadst made no other + Idol for thy soul's shrine + Save him--thy friend and guide, and only brother. + + And not for Lyre and Sword-- + His proud resplendant gifts of fame and glory-- + Oh! not for _these_ adored + Was he, whose praise thou readst in song and story. + + But't was his presence threw, + O'er all thy life, a deep delight and blessing; + And with thy growth it grew, + Strengthening each thought of thy young heart's possessing. + + Amid each dear home-scene + That thou and he from childhood trod together, + Thou hadst his arm to lean + Upon, through every change of dark or sunny weather. + + And when he passed from Earth, + The rose from thy soft cheek and bright lip faded; + Gloom was on hall and hearth-- + A deep voice in thy soul, by sorrow over-shaded. + + Joy had gone forth with _him_; + The green Earth lost its spell, and the blue Heaven + Unto thine eye grew dim; + And thou didst pray for Death, as for a rich boon given! + + _It came_!--and joy to know, + That from _his_ resting-place _thine_ none would sever, + And blessing God didst go, + Where in his presence thou shouldst dwell forever. + + Thou didst but stay to trace + The imaged likeness of the dear departed; + To sketch his burial-place-- + Then die, O, sister! fond and faithful hearted. + + + + +THE MAN WHO WAS NEVER HUMBUGGED. + +BY A. LIMNER. + + +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-- + +"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." + +As for Homeopathy, it was treated in a like summary manner. All was +humbug and imposture from beginning to end. If you said-- + +"But, my dear sir, let me relate what I have myself seen--" + +He would interrupt you with-- + +"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 _in imagination_. 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.'" + +You reply. + +"Men of great force of mind, and large medical knowledge and +experience, see differently. In the law, _similia similiabus +curanter_, 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." + +But he cries, + +"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." + +"Did the child die?" you ask. + +"It happened by the merest chance to escape death. Its constitution +was too strong for the grim destroyer." + +"Was nothing else done?" you ask. "No medicines given but homeopathic +powders?" + +"No. They persevered to the last." + +"The child was well in two or three days I suppose?" you remark. + +"Yes," he replies, a little coldly. + +"Children are not apt to recover from an attack of croup without +medicine." He forgets himself and answers-- + +"But I don't believe it was a real case of croup. It couldn't have +been!" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"You will exhibit it, of course?" he said to Redding, after he had +been admitted to a sight of the extraordinary machine. + +"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." + +"How long will it take you to construct such a machine as you think is +required?" asked Wiseacre. + +"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." + +"How much money will you need?" asked Wiseacre, already beginning to +burn with a desire for a part of the immense returns. + +"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." + +Mr. Wiseacre sat thoughtful for some moments. Then he asked, + +"How much must you have immediately?" + +"About five hundred dollars, and at least five hundred dollars a month +until the model is completed." + +"Perhaps I might do it," said Wiseacre, after another thoughtful +pause. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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! + +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, + +"It's all humbug! We've discovered the cause of the motion! Come and +see!" + +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! + +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. + +"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. + + + + +THE SISTERS. + +BY G. G. FOSTER. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + + Nay, look not forth with those deep earnest eyes + To catch the gleaming of your lovers' plumes; + A dearer, surer, trustier passion lies + In sisters' hearts than lovers' cheeks illumes. + Man worships and forsakes; and as he flies + From flower to flower their beauty he consumes; + Then leaves the wasted heart and faded flower + To die forgotten in their sunless bower. + + But sisters' love, like angels' sympathies, + Is as the breath of Heaven and cannot change + No earthly shudder taints its sinless kiss. + No sorrow can your loving hearts estrange; + No selfish pride destroy the priceless bliss + Of loving and confiding. Oh exchange + Not love like this, so heavenly and so true. + For all the vows that lovers' lips e'er knew + +[Illustration: W. Drummond. A.C. Thompson +THE SISTERS +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine.] + + + + +BRUTUS IN HIS TENT. + +BY WM. H. C. HOSMER. + +How ill this taper burns!--hah! who comes here? SHAKSPEARE. + + + On wall-girt Sardis weary day hath shed + The golden blaze of his expiring beam; + And rings her paven walks beneath the tread + Of guards that near the hour of battle deem-- + Whose brazen helmets in the starlight gleam; + From tented lines no murmur loud descends, + For martial thousands of the battle dream + On which the fate of bleeding Rome depends + When blushing dawn awakes and night's dark curtain rends. + + Though hushed War's couchant tigers in their lair + The tranquil time to _one_ brings not repose-- + A voice was whispering to his soul--"Despair! + The gods will give the triumph to thy foes." + Can sleep, with leaden hand, our eyelids close + When throng distempered fancies, and depart, + And thought a shadow on the future throws? + When shapes unearthly into being start, + And, like a snake, Remorse uncoils within the heart? + + At midnight deep when bards avow that tombs + Are by their cold inhabitants forsaken, + The Roman chief his wasted lamp relumes, + And calmly reads by mortal wo unshaken: + His iron frame of rest had not partaken, + And doubt--dark enemy of slumber--fills + A breast where fear no trembling chord could waken, + And on his ear an awful voice yet thrills + That rose, when Caesar fell, from Rome's old Seven Hills. + + A sound--"that earth owns not"--he hears, and starts, + And grasps the handle of his weapon tried; + Then, while the rustling tent-cloth slowly parts, + A figure enters and stands by his side: + There was an air of majesty and pride + In the bold bearing of that spectre pale-- + The crimson on its robe was still undried, + And dagger wounds, that tell a bloody tale + Beyond the power of words, the opening folds unveil. + + With fearful meaning towers the phantom grim, + On Brutus fixing its cold, beamless eye; + The face, though that of Julius, seems to him + Formed from the moonlight of a misty sky: + The birds of night, affrighted, flutter by, + And a wild sound upon the shuddering air + Creeps as if earth were breathing out a sigh, + And the fast-waning lamp, as if aware + Some awful shade was nigh, emits a ghostly glare. + + Stern Brutus quails not, though his wo-worn cheeks + Blanch with emotion, and in tone full loud + Thus to the ghastly apparition speaks-- + "Why stand before me in that gory shroud, + Unwelcome guest! thy purpose unavowed; + Art thou the shaping of my wildered brain?" + The spectre answered, with a gesture proud, + In hollow accents--"We will meet again + When the best blood of Rome smokes on Philippi's plain." + + + + +TO VIOLET. + +BY JEROME A. MABY. + + + Years--eventful years have passed + Sweet sister! since I met thy smile; + I'm thinking now what change they've cast + Upon your form and mine the while; + Thy girlhood's days with them are flown-- + A calmer light must fill thine eye; + Thy voice have now an added tone; + Thy tresses fall more dark and free. + Yet, in my dreams of thee and home, + A slight, pale girl I ever see, + Whose smiles to her mild lip do come, + Like stars in heaven--tremblingly! + For with thy young heart's lovingness + There aye seemed blent a troubled fear, + As if it knew _all_ tenderness + Must see its worship perish here! + And oh, the prayers I poured to Heaven, + That time prove not to _thee_ how golden links are riven! + + And I--oh, sister! _I_ am changed-- + You scarce would know the dreaming boy; + For all too far his steps have ranged + Through wildering ways of Strife and Joy + Oh! falcon-eyed Ambition's schemes-- + The thrill that comes on mounting wings-- + Have left no love for quiet dreams, + And learned contempt for tamer things! + And Pleasure to my youthful cheek + So many a hot, wild flush has won, + That to her foils I've grown too weak-- + Some nerve must still be passion-spun! + And if 'mid scenes all bravery--glow-- + The night has found me proud and blest, + Stern, mournful things--that make life's wo-- + Have struck sad music from my breast! + And when at times Thought leaves me calm, + And boyhood's memories float by, + _Then_ well I know how changed I am-- + And a strange weakness dims my eye! + Oh! sister, on this heart of mine + Weight--stain--have come, since last I met that smile of thine! + + + + +"THINK NOT THAT I LOVE THEE." + +A BALLAD. + +MUSIC COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE BY + +J. L. MILNER, + +_AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO HIS FRIEND, J. G. OSBOURN, ESQ._ + +P. DOLCE. + + +[Illustration: music] + +[Illustration: music + +SECOND VERSE. + + Think not that I love thee, + Alluring coquette, + The vows you have broken + I too can forget; + The love that I gave thee, + Thou ne'er could'st repay, + So affection for thee + Has passed away.] + + + + +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. + + _The Life of Oliver Cromwell. By J. T. Headley. New + York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + + + _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._ + +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 +_vim_, 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. + +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. + + + _Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. By Alphonse de Lamartine. + New York: D. Appleton & Co. 2 vols. 12mo._ + +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 _Lamartinizing_ 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. + +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. 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. + + + _The Falcon Family; or Young Ireland. By the author of + the Bachelor of the Albany. Boston: T. Wiley, Jr._ + +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 _La Jeune France_. All of these, Mitchell, +D'Iraeli, Moncton Milnes and the rest, are classed under the common +term of _boyocracy_, 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. + + + _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_. + +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. + + + _The Wanderings and Fortunes of Some German Emigrants + By Frederick Gerstacker. Translated by David Black. New + York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ + +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. + + + _Caesar'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._ + +This is the best edition of Caesar 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. + + + _Gramatica Inglesa de Urcullu. Edited by Fayette + Robinson. Grammar of the Spanish Language. By Fayette + Robinson._ + +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. + +Mr. Robinson has, in editing the English Grammar of Urcullu, made +great improvements by the addition of what he modestly calls +"_notillas_," (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. + +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. + + + _History of the French Revolution of 1789. By Louis + Blanc. Translated from the French. Phila.: Lea & + Blanchard._ + +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. + + +Transcriber's Note: + +Certain unusual instances of spelling and grammar have been retained. +Errors in punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been corrected +without remark. + + + + + +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.txt or 29959.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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